Chapter 1: The Gas that Unleashed Chaos
Chapter Text
It was a typical Friday at Monster High—well, as typical as things ever got at a school filled with vampires, werewolves, and all manner of fabulous freaky creatures.
Headmistress Bloodgood had summoned all the students to the grand, gothic-style auditorium for a special assembly. The room was packed to capacity, a buzzing hive of energy. The student body, a dazzling mix of old faces and new transfers from places like Haunted High, sat on floating chairs that hovered in perfect rows. The chatter of excited voices bounced off the towering stone walls, a symphony of youthful chaos.
The ghouls had spread out across the auditorium, choosing their seats with care.
Lagoona Blue lounged in the back with her closest friends and her sea-sational boyfriend, Gil, the two sharing quiet laughter amidst the hubbub.
Draculaura was nestled comfortably beside Clawd, her delicate head resting on his broad shoulder as he murmured sweet nothings that made her giggle and blush.
Meanwhile, Clawdeen Wolf sat toward the center, flanked by her little sister Howleen and Toralei. The former bully had softened over the months, her once prickly demeanor now tinged with warmth, especially when Clawdeen's hand found hers.
Abbey Bominable, ever the ice queen with a warm heart, was somewhere in the crowd with Heath Burns. Her hearty laugh rang out as Heath managed to land one of his surprisingly witty jokes.
Up front, Cleo de Nile held court beside Deuce, her golden outfit shimmering even in the low auditorium light.
Frankie Stein, ever the optimist, sat patiently by herself, a small smile on her stitched face as she watched her classmates interact.
When the room suddenly hushed, all eyes turned to the stage. Bloodgood, her presence commanding as always, strode to the podium with her signature calm authority. She adjusted the microphone, its feedback silencing the last whispers of conversation.
"Good afternoon, students!" Her voice echoed across the cavernous space, crisp and full of energy. "I trust you're all still alive—well, figuratively speaking—after this grueling month of exams?"
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the shared relief palpable. Bloodgood let them have their moment before raising a hand, her gesture effortlessly calling them back to order.
"Now, now," she said with a sly smile. "Don’t get too carried away. You’ll need all that energy for the exciting events we have planned in the coming months. And to kick things off..." She paused, letting the suspense build. "Next Friday, we’ll be attending the annual Monster Mash Dance!"
The room practically exploded with excitement. Cheers, howls, and delighted shrieks filled the air. The Monster Mash was the event of the year, a night when students donned their most extravagant attire, celebrating their unique heritages in a swirl of color and culture. It was a night of unity, laughter, and a much-needed escape from the whirlwind of chaos that life at Monster High often entailed.
Bloodgood’s smile widened as she watched the students’ enthusiasm light up the room. "So start planning your ghoulishly glamorous outfits, because this year’s dance is shaping up to be more spectacular than ever!"
The excitement in the auditorium was electric, the anticipation of a night to remember casting a hopeful glow over the entire student body. After the trials and tribulations of the past year, the Monster Mash was exactly what everyone needed—a chance to come together, let loose, and celebrate everything that made Monster High so spooktacularly special.
Draculaura lifted her head from Clawd's shoulder, her fanged smile lighting up her face. “We’re so going, right?” she asked, her pink eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Of course, D,” Clawd replied, wrapping his muscular arm around her petite shoulders. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
In the back, Lagoona Blue nudged Gil with her elbow, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Oi, mate, you still got that seaweed-covered suit lying around?”
Gil chuckled, his gills flaring slightly in amusement. “Yeah, it’s in my basement somewhere. Haven’t worn it in ages, so it’ll need a good polish-up.”
“Perfect!” Lagoona exclaimed, already imagining how dashing he’d look in it.
Cleo de Nile, seated in the front row, leaned over to whisper in Deuce’s ear, her golden jewelry softly clinking with the motion. “We’re coordinating outfits,” she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Deuce smirked, his snakes writhing playfully under his hood. “Anything for you, babe,” he replied, flashing her a smile that made her heart flutter.
Meanwhile, in the middle of the auditorium, Heath Burns tapped Abbey Bominable on the shoulder. The towering yeti turned, her icy gaze meeting his fiery enthusiasm.
“So, Abbey,” Heath began, his voice practically dripping with excitement, “you know how we’re basically the ultimate fire-and-ice duo, right?”
Abbey raised an eyebrow, suspicious yet intrigued. “Da, I know this. Why?”
Heath’s face split into a mischievous grin. “I was thinking—for our outfits—we swap roles. You go as a fire princess, and I’ll rock a blue-and-white ice suit. What do you think?”
Abbey’s stern demeanor softened into a warm smile, her frosty exterior melting slightly under her boyfriend’s charm. “I like this idea,” she admitted. “But dress cannot be too revealing. I am no show pony.”
Heath threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t worry! I know a guy who can make it perfect,” he promised, his grin now stretching from ear to ear.
As the students eagerly exchanged plans for their outfits, the lively atmosphere was interrupted by an unusual noise from the stage. A mechanical whir and the faint screech of wheels turned all heads toward the source.
Headmistress Bloodgood swiveled around, her sharp eyes narrowing as she spotted the culprit. Mr. Hackington, the eccentric Mad Science teacher, was wheeling an enormous cart onto the stage. Strapped to the cart was a massive, cylindrical canister. The tank was the size of a small gas chamber, filled with swirling pink-and-glittery gas that seemed to pulse and twist unnaturally, as though alive.
“Mr. Hackington,” Bloodgood called, her voice a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “May I ask why you’re wheeling that thing through here?”
Hackington froze mid-step, his wild gray hair standing out in every direction as he turned to face her. His British accent added an air of polite nonchalance to his words. “Oh, don’t mind me, love! I’m just passing through on my way to the lab.”
Bloodgood raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you use the hallway like a normal teacher? You know it’s against school policy to bring equipment through the assembly hall during events!”
Hackington held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Apologies, Headmistress, but this tank is far too large to navigate those tight corridors. Besides,” he added, gesturing toward a door on the far side of the stage, “there’s a shortcut through that door. It’ll save me a good ten minutes of walking!”
Bloodgood pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to prolong the disruption. “Fine,” she relented with a sigh, waving him off dismissively. “But be quick about it. You’re causing a distraction.”
Hackington gave a theatrical bow, his grin as broad as ever. “Thank you kindly, Headmistress. You won’t hear another peep from me.” With that, he resumed pushing the cart, the mysterious canister gleaming ominously under the stage lights as he headed toward the door at the back of the assembly.
The students exchanged curious glances, their whispered speculation about the canister briefly stealing attention from the Monster Mash. What was in that tank?
And why did it look like it was... alive?
Clawdeen leaned closer to Toralei, her voice low but sharp. “What’s he doing bringing that here?”
Toralei smirked, leaning back in her chair with a feline grin. “Knowing him? Probably another one of his ‘groundbreaking’ experiments. Bet it fizzles out like the last one—or worse.”
Before Clawdeen could reply, the chatter died down as Bloodgood resumed her announcements. She cleared her throat, her tone shifting from excitement about the dance to something far more somber.
“In addition to the upcoming Monster Mash,” she began, her voice measured, “next week marks the beginning of October.”
A collective groan rippled through the room. The energy drained as her words settled on the audience.
“I know many of us dread the holiday,” she continued, her expression darkening. “Humanity’s treatment of monsters during this time is often less than kind. I urge all of you to remain vigilant. Avoid going out late, and under no circumstances should you retaliate if provoked. Doing so could result in–”
HISSSSSSSSSSSS
Bloodgood spun around to see Mr. Hackington frantically pressing buttons on the control panel attached to his massive canister.
“BLASTED! WRONG BUTTON, WRONG BUTTON!” Hackington shouted, his voice rising in panic.
Pink, glittering gas hissed and spewed from the canister, spreading rapidly across the stage and spilling into the auditorium like an ominous fog.
Bloodgood’s eyes widened. Without hesitation, she leapt off the stage, covering her mouth and nose with her shirt.
“Evacuate!” she shouted, her voice muffled. But before she could give further instructions, Hackington bolted for the nearest door, abandoning the canister as the gas quickly enveloped the room.
The students weren’t so lucky.
The glittering mist filled the auditorium within seconds, blurring vision and making it difficult to breathe. Choking coughs and panicked cries filled the air as students tried to shield their mouths and noses.
Lagoona grabbed Gil’s hand, her voice shaking. “Gil, are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine, but what about you?” Gil responded, his tone laced with concern. Without his helmet on, the gas was affecting him quickly, and he swatted at the air in a futile attempt to clear it.
“Are you okay?” Deuce asked, gripping Cleo’s arm tightly. His snakes hissed and writhed in distress.
“I’m fine,” Cleo replied, though her voice wavered. “You?”
“Yeah, I’m good, but we need to get out of here.”
Around the room, chaos unfolded. Manny roared as he shielded Iris with his massive body, her cries of fear muffled against his chest. Ghoulia and Slo Mo clutched each other, their groans of concern barely audible over the cacophony.
Frankie, ever the helper, rushed to assist Venus and Robecca. She knelt beside her mechanical friend, who had collapsed into Venus’s arms.
“Robecca, are you alright?” Frankie asked, sparks flickering nervously from her fingertips.
“I... I’m okay,” Robecca rasped, her usually strong voice faint and robotic. “Just... can’t seem to move properly. Thank you.”
Nearby, Abbey knelt beside Heath, whose fiery glow had dimmed to an unsettling flicker.
“Heath, are you alright?” she asked, her icy hand brushing against his forehead. “You look like yeti stranded on icy mountain!”
“I’m fine,” Heath muttered weakly, swaying before dropping to his knees and collapsing onto the floor.
“HEATH!” Abbey cried, dropping beside him and shaking his shoulders. “Wake up!”
The panic in her voice was echoed by others as students began collapsing left and right. Their bodies slumped to the ground as if they were falling into a deep, sudden sleep.
“Heath!” Clawd, Deuce, and Jackson rushed to their friend’s side, their faces etched with concern.
“Come on, man, open your eyes!” Deuce pleaded, shaking Heath gently but urgently.
“Say something!” Jackson added, his usual confidence replaced by raw panic.
“CLAWD!”
The werewolf froze at the sound of his sister’s voice. He turned to see Clawdeen crouched on the ground, shaking an unconscious Draculaura.
“LAURA!” Clawd shouted, sprinting to her side.
He dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he cupped Draculaura’s face. “Come on, babe, wake up! Don’t do this to me!”
The scene had descended into chaos. Students cried out for their friends, some attempting to flee while others struggled to drag their unconscious peers toward the exits. Bloodgood’s gaze darted around the room, her horror mounting with every second.
Spotting Hackington cowering by the door, she stormed toward him, her face flushed with rage. “HACKINGTON!”
Hackington flinched, paling at the sound of her voice. “H-Headmistress, I–”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” she bellowed, her voice echoing above the noise.
“It was an accident!” Hackington stammered, waving his hands helplessly. “I swear! I-I hit the wrong button, that’s all!”
“Look around you!” Bloodgood shouted, gesturing wildly to the unconscious students and the pink mist swirling around them. “The entire auditorium is in chaos! What’s in that gas?”
Hackington hesitated, his voice trembling. “It’s mostly harmless! It just a mix of different chemicals, that’s all!”
Before Bloodgood could respond, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Grabbing the microphone, she shouted over the chaos.
“That’s all for today! Go home and get some rest. We’ll reconvene on Monday!”
The remaining conscious students didn’t wait for further instructions. They dragged their unconscious friends out of the auditorium, leaving the once-bustling room eerily silent.
As the doors slammed shut behind the last of them, Bloodgood turned to Hackington, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. “Hackington.”
“Y-Yes, Headmistress?” he stammered.
“My. Office. Now.”
Hackington gulped audibly, his face ashen as he followed her out of the chaos-stricken auditorium.
A FEW MINUTES LATER
Hackington sat in the chair, his shoulders hunched as Bloodgood loomed over him, her eyes blazing with fury. Her face was inches from his, and the tension in the room was palpable.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Bloodgood seethed, slamming her hands on the table so hard that the surface shuddered.
“It was an accident!” Hackington stammered, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean to—”
“STUDENTS COLLAPSED, HACKINGTON!” Bloodgood bellowed, her voice echoing through the office. “How could you be so careless?”
Hackington hung his head, guilt washing over him. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the gas would have such a profound effect on them. I was just trying to adjust the control panel, and my hand slipped.”
Bloodgood sighed, rubbing her temples. As angry as she was, she knew the situation was, at its core, an accident. Hackington wasn’t malicious, just reckless. But one critical question still gnawed at her.
“What in Ra’s name was in that gas to trigger a reaction like this?” she demanded, her anger giving way to sharp curiosity.
Hackington paled, visibly recoiling at the question. His lips moved, but no words came out.
“What?” Bloodgood asked, her patience thinning.
He muttered again, barely louder than a whisper.
“I need you to speak up!” Bloodgood snapped, irritation lacing her words.
Hackington’s voice remained incoherent. By now, Bloodgood’s patience was gone.
“If you don’t START TALKI—”
“THE GAS IS LARGELY MADE OF APHRODISIACS!” Hackington blurted, his voice high-pitched and panicked.
Silence.
“Come again?” Bloodgood asked, her tone calm—too calm.
“I said the gas is largely made of aphrodisiacs,” Hackington repeated, this time more clearly and with a trace of resignation.
The silence hung heavy, broken only by the ticking of a distant clock.
Then, like a dam bursting, Bloodgood erupted.
“YOU DRUGGED MY STUDENTS WITH A LOVE GAS?!” she screamed, slamming her fists on the table. The force cracked the wood, but she didn’t seem to care.
"Headmistress, I-"
“How could you do something so STUPID AND CARELESS?” She punctuated her rage with another loud slam, the table groaning under the impact.
Hackington flinched, instinctively raising his arms to shield himself, expecting a book or chair to come flying his way.
But Bloodgood didn’t throw anything. Instead, she drew in a deep, shaky breath, calming herself just enough to regain her composure.
“Tell me more about the gas,” she ordered, her voice icy.
“Well,” Hackington began, sweat dripping from his brow as he fidgeted nervously. “Since the students weren’t exactly in the school spirit lately, I thought I could help... boost morale.”
Bloodgood’s expression darkened, but she motioned for him to continue.
“At home, I experimented with various chemicals designed to trigger specific effects on the brain—nothing harmful! But, uh, I accidentally added an aphrodisiac to the mix.”
“And?” Bloodgood prompted, her tone sharper than a blade.
“Well, due to the aphrodisiac, the new compound became a bit... unstable,” Hackington admitted, his voice faltering. “Then I remembered a chemical in my lab that could neutralize any negative effects caused by the aphrodisiac, so I placed the gas in a canister. The plan was to wheel it to my lab to finish the formula and stabilize it.”
“But then the assembly happened, and the gas was released before you could fix it,” Bloodgood finished, her voice dangerously quiet.
Hackington nodded vigorously, sweat pouring down his face. “Exactly! I had a remote control for the canister, and I accidentally pressed the release button during the assembly.”
Bloodgood sighed deeply, resting her head in her palm, as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
“But I assure you!” Hackington added quickly, his voice rising in desperation. “The aphrodisiac’s effects should be minimal! The other chemicals in the formula should counteract it. Even if it does have an effect, it won’t be anything too severe!”
Before Bloodgood could respond, the door to her office burst open with a loud BANG.
Mr. Rotter stormed in, his face twisted with confusion and concern rather than his usual stern demeanor.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, his tone sharp but tinged with worry. “I just saw students leaving the school carrying unconscious classmates, looking like they’ve just survived a massacre! Did something happen?”
Bloodgood’s glare shifted back to Hackington, her expression icy. “Hackington drugged the student body with a love gas,” she stated coldly, each word dripping with fury. “Some bizarre compound he created in his lab for ‘boosting morale.’ It spread throughout the school after he accidentally released it during the assembly.”
“WHAT?!” Rotter bellowed, his booming voice reverberating through the room. His hands clenched into fists as his eyes burned with rage.
Sensing yet another verbal lashing coming his way, Hackington raised his hands defensively.
“Now, calm down, lad!” he said hurriedly, his voice shaking. “The gas is mixed with other chemicals, so it shouldn’t be that bad! Even if there are effects, they’ll only go so far. There’s no need to panic!”
Unfortunately, his attempt to defuse the situation failed miserably.
“Hackington, you absolute idiot!” Rotter thundered, his anger slightly less shrill but no less intense. “Do you have any idea how disastrous this is?”
“I just told yo—”
“Are you forgetting that MOST of our students are in relationships?!”
Hackington’s face turned as pale as a ghost.
“By 2013, 40% of the students were dating each other,” Rotter continued, his words coming fast and furious. “And now, by 2019, that number has skyrocketed to over 80%! And now you’ve just turned the entire student body into a wave of hormonal maniacs!”
“Uh-oh,” Hackington muttered under his breath, visibly shrinking in his seat.
Rotter stepped forward; his expression now as grim as Bloodgood’s. “Hackington,” he growled, “let me break it down for you so you understand just how bad this is.”
He began ticking off names on his fingers.
“Draculaura and Clawd are dating. Cleo and Deuce are together. Clawdeen and Toralei. Heath and Abbey. Operetta and Johnny. Invisi-Billy and Scarah. Gory and Bram. Ryder and Gigi. Lagoona and Gil. Hell, Twyla and Howleen started dating last week!”
Hackington’s face went even paler—if that were possible—as Rotter continued.
“That’s not even everyone,” Rotter added, his tone dripping with exasperation. “And now you’ve practically turned the entire school into a ticking time bomb of romantic chaos!”
Hackington’s knees began to wobble.
"The point is," Rotter finished, "nearly every student here is emotionally tied to someone, and you’ve just turned this school into a battlefield of raging hormones. It’s a miracle we’re not seeing walls collapse as we speak!"
Bloodgood groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to think of a way—any way—to salvage the situation.
Rotter scowled, pacing the room as his anger built further. “And this couldn’t come at a worse time!” he snapped, listing off the school’s packed schedule on his fingers.
“We’ve got Halloween events to handle, the Monster Mash dance, and to top it all off, the Monster Council is visiting us next Thursday!”
That last point made Bloodgood stiffen, her complexion paling noticeably.
The mention of the Monster Council brought back a flood of memories—memories she wished she could forget.
Since 2011, Monster High had been plagued by one disaster after another. From Van Hellscream’s attempted takeover to Kala Mer’ri’s assault on the school with her Kraken father, the campus had been repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt.
These incidents had left parents irate, with many questioning the school’s ability to protect their children. Some even went so far as to pull their kids out entirely.
The breaking point came after a particularly catastrophic attack involving a now-slain monster that had risen from the catacombs, wreaking havoc across the school.
Furious parents demanded answers, their outrage reaching the ears of the Monster Council.
Bloodgood had received a chilling phone call informing her that the council would be conducting an evaluation of Monster High.
If they found anything even remotely amiss—especially anything involving student safety or inappropriate behavior—Bloodgood would be stripped of her title as headmistress, and Monster High would face indefinite closure while the council restructured the staff and student body, expelling anyone repeatedly responsible for causing chaos
Bloodgood turned to Hackington, her expression now etched with a mix of fury and anxiety. “Hackington,” she said, her voice dangerously calm.
Hackington gulped and turned toward her. “Yes, Headmistress?”
“How long will it take for the effects of the aphrodisiac to wear off?”
Hackington rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I... I honestly don’t know. I’ll need a calculator.”
Without a word, Bloodgood slid a calculator across the desk. Hackington caught it and began punching in numbers. The longer he calculated, the more his eyes widened until they seemed ready to pop out of his skull.
“Well?” Bloodgood demanded, her patience thinning. “How long?”
Hackington took a deep, shaky breath before giving his answer,
“We’re looking at about... five weeks.”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Rotter stood frozen, his mouth agape. Hackington braced himself for the inevitable explosion. Bloodgood’s expression was unreadable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
The silence was shattered as Bloodgood’s furious shriek filled the room, loud enough to rattle the windows.
“WHAAAAAAT?!” she screamed, slamming her fists onto her desk with such force that a crack splintered through the wood. “FIVE WEEKS?! The council will be here in 3 DAYS! If they see even a hint of inappropriate behavior, this school will be shut down, and we’ll all be out of jobs!”
At that moment, Hackington looked like he was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. His hands shook, and sweat poured down his face as he glanced nervously between Bloodgood and Rotter.
Rotter leaned against the desk, visibly panicked. He buried his face in his hands before looking up, his voice trembling. "We’re doomed. Completely doomed."
Hackington clasped his hands together, his voice cracking with desperation. "Headmistress, I am truly sorry! I had no intention of causing this much of an uproar—I swear it! Please, believe m-"
Bloodgood raised her hand, silencing him immediately. Her calm demeanor was far more unsettling than her anger had been. Hackington gulped audibly.
"Here’s what’s going to happen," she said, her tone dangerously even. "Hackington, you are going straight to your laboratory, and you are not to leave until you’ve created a cure for your gas. I don’t care if it takes days, weeks, or months—you will work day and night if you have to."
"But—" Hackington tried to protest, raising a shaky hand, but he froze the moment her icy glare pinned him in place. He promptly clamped his mouth shut, nodding vigorously instead.
Bloodgood turned sharply to Rotter. "Rotter, you will contact all the teachers and inform them of the situation. Every staff member must be on high alert. The students need to be closely monitored at all times. We cannot afford any incidents—do I make myself clear?"
"Understood," Rotter replied, his voice now firm, his earlier panic replaced with grim determination.
"Good," Bloodgood snapped. Her eyes narrowed. "NOW GO!"
Both men bolted out of the office like their lives depended on it, nearly tripping over one another in their haste.
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Bloodgood alone. She exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of the situation settled onto her.
Slowly, she turned to look out the window, her sharp gaze fixed on the night sky. The moon hung high above, its light casting an eerie glow across the school grounds.
Her thoughts raced. The potential fallout from this fiasco was overwhelming, and yet she knew she had no choice but to face it head-on. The future of Monster High—and her career—depended on it.
"This," she muttered to herself, her voice laced with weary resignation, "is going to be the longest five weeks of our lives."
To be continued...
Chapter 2: Hormonal Havoc Unleashed
Summary:
Let the madness begin!
Chapter Text
The halls of Monster High buzzed with their usual cacophony of laughter, locker doors slamming, and the occasional eerie howl.
But today, a charged atmosphere hung in the air, as if the students had collectively decided to test the boundaries of public displays of affection.
Draculaura stood at her locker, her compact mirror in one hand as she carefully adjusted her lipstick. A mischievous grin crept across her face as she admired her reflection, giving herself a final nod of approval. Satisfied, she tucked the compact away and was just about to turn when a familiar, clawed hand slammed against the locker beside her, pinning her in place.
She smirked as her crimson eyes trailed up the muscular arm to meet the playful grin of her boyfriend, Clawd Wolf.
"Hey there, little bat," Clawd rumbled, his deep voice dripping with charm. "You’re lookin’ pretty hot today."
Draculaura tilted her head coyly, letting her fangs peek out as she ran a finger down his arm. "Hey, big wolf," she purred, her tone teasing. "I never realized how... strong you are."
Clawd blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his grin widened. "Oh yeah? I’ve been working out. Feel this." He flexed his arm, the muscle taut beneath her touch.
Draculaura giggled, leaning in closer, her fingers brushing his bicep. "Mmm, very impressive," she whispered. "But you’re lucky I like you for more than just your muscles."
Clawd smirked, lowering his face until his nose nearly touched hers. "Yeah? What else do you like me for?"
Draculaura’s eyes glinted as she tapped his chest playfully. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Clawds eyes glinted mischievously as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "You know, Lala," he drawled, his fangs flashing in a teasing grin, "you’re like a full moon to me—impossible to ignore and completely irresistible."
Draculaura giggled, her pink cheeks matching her usual aesthetic. She lightly swatted his chest but didn’t move away. "Clawd, you can’t just say things like that out here!" she whispered, her voice tinged with mock scolding. "Someone might overhear..."
"And?" he countered, the tip of his nose grazing hers. "Let ’em. If I’m gonna howl about how crazy I am for you, why not give ’em a show?"
Further down the hallway, Cleo de Nile leaned casually against her locker, her perfectly polished nails toying with her golden serpent cuff. Deuce Gorgon stood in front of her, his arms crossed and his trademark shades pushed down just enough for his serpents to playfully hiss at her.
"You know, babe," Deuce said with a smirk, his voice as smooth as stone, "you shine so bright, I might need to double up on my shades."
Cleo let out a soft laugh, her crimson lips curling into a smirk. "Please, Deuce, flattery will get you everywhere." She trailed a finger down his chest. "Though, if you're lucky, I might just let you worship me later."
"Really?" he said, starring at her with a devilish smirk
"Really" she purred, a mischievous look on her face
A few lockers down, Lagoona Blue was perched on a bench, her finned legs crossed gracefully. Her ever-so-slightly dripping hair framed her glowing face as she glanced up at Gil Webber, who stood nervously in front of her, clutching his water helmet.
"Y’know, Gil," Lagoona began, her Australian accent lilting with a teasing edge, "you’re lookin’ extra handsome today. What’s the occasion?"
Gil blushed, his gills flaring slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, no occasion. Just, um, thought I’d try to impress my favorite ghoul."
Lagoona’s laugh was soft and musical as she reached out to tug on his tie, pulling him a little closer. "Oh, you’ve done more than that, mate. You’ve completely swept me off my fins."
Gil chuckled nervously but leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Good. ’Cause you’re the only ghoul I wanna impress."
"Oh, stop it!" she said teasingly as she playfully swatted gil
By the stairs, Heath Burns was leaning casually against the railing, a flickering flame dancing at the tip of his finger. He grinned as Abbey Bominable approached, her usual icy demeanor softened by the smallest hint of a smirk.
"Hey, snowflake," Heath greeted, his flame brightening as he twirled it like a magician. "You know, for someone so cool, you’ve got me feeling pretty hot under the collar."
Abbey arched a brow, crossing her arms as she regarded him with mock skepticism. "Is that your best line, fire boy? You must try harder."
Heath straightened, pretending to be offended. "Hey, I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Like... did it hurt when you fell from the mountain? ’Cause you’re ice-cold perfection."
Abbey paused, her lips twitching as if fighting back a laugh. "Hmm. That was... slightly better," she admitted, stepping closer. Her icy breath frosted the air between them. "But maybe you should stop talking for a moment."
Heath blinked. "Wait, why—"
Before he could finish, Abbey grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him into a kiss, her cold lips meeting his warm ones in a surprising burst of intensity. For a moment, the fiery boy and frosty girl were perfectly balanced, their opposites attracting in a way that silenced the entire hallway.
When they finally broke apart, Heath’s flames were sputtering, his cheeks redder than ever. "Whoa... Okay, that was… totally worth it."
Abbey smirked, brushing an invisible speck of frost from her shoulder. "You talk too much. Kissing is better."
Nearby, Toralei Stripe was practically draped over Clawdeen Wolf as they lounged on the windowsill. Toralei’s tail flicked back and forth lazily, her sharp grin matching the sly look in her eyes.
"Y’know, Wolfie," Toralei purred, her voice dripping with mock innocence, "for a 'lone wolf,' you sure do seem to enjoy having me around."
Clawdeen raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. "You’re lucky you’re cute, kitty, or I’d show you what this 'lone wolf' is capable of."
Toralei chuckled, leaning in close enough that their noses almost touched. "Oh, I’m counting on it."
Throughout the hallway, similar scenes were playing out. The normally shy Invisi-Billy was now openly flirting with his girlfriend, Scarah screams. Manny was actively flexing his biceps for Iris to feel, and Venus was now in an openly flirty conversation with her girlfriend Robeeca.
This was heavily confusing for Frankie stein, who had walked into Monster High to see all of her friends behaving completely out of character. She had been used to so many of her friends dating, but she never expected to see them act like this before and especially not in school of all places.
She brushed her stitched chin thoughtfully, her brows furrowed. "Why is everyone acting so strange?" she murmured to herself. "Is this because of what happened on Friday?"
Curious, frankie walked up to draculaura, still engaged in her flirtatious conversation with Clawd.
"Hey, Draculaura?" Frankie called out, catching the vampire's attention as she turned away from Clawd.
"Oh, hi Frankie!" Draculaura spoke, her voice giddier then usual
As she approached Draculaura and Clawd, she noticed they were standing a little too close for comfort. “What’s going on? Everyone seems so... different today.”
Draculaura giggled. “Oh, Frankie, you’re so innocent. You mean you haven’t noticed?”
“Noticed what?” Frankie tilted her head, genuinely intrigued.
Clawd smirked. “Let’s just say, everyone’s feeling a little... frisky.”
Frankie frowned, still not fully understanding. “Frisky? Like... a puppy? Or is this like when Heath set off that itching powder prank last semester?”
Draculaura burst out laughing. “No, sweetie. It’s more like... people are thinking about romance and... uh, other stuff.”
“Other stuff?” Frankie’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Like what?"
Before Draculaura could respond, a sharp AHEM echoed through the hallway.
All heads turned to see Headmistress Bloodgood standing tall, a ruler in one hand and a megaphone in the other. Her expression was a blend of exasperation and that unique "I’ve-had-enough-of-your-nonsense" energy only she could muster.
"Attention, students of Monster High!" she barked, her voice strict and authoritative. "I understand that you may still be a little overenthusiastic after last Friday's... incident, but let me remind you that this is a school, not a romance retreat! Kindly make your way to class before the bell rings!"
For a moment, an eerie silence swept over the hallway as students exchanged amused and mildly annoyed glances.
Then, as if Headmistress Bloodgood were an elaborate decoration rather than an authority figure, they turned back to their conversations, completely ignoring her.
Draculaura sighed and resumed talking to Frankie. "Anyway, like I was saying, we were just about to—"
"EXCUSE ME!" Bloodgood's amplified voice boomed through the megaphone, shaking the very lockers. Her frustration was almost palpable. "Did ANY of you hear what I just said?!"
The chatter abruptly ceased, and all eyes turned to the increasingly annoyed headmistress.
"Yeah, we heard you," Cleo said, arms crossed and unimpressed as ever. "We just don’t care."
Bloodgood gasped, her jaw dropping as though Cleo had struck her with a mummy’s curse. Quickly regaining her composure, she pointed the ruler at the Egyptian diva. "Young lady, that is NO way to—"
"Are you done yet?" Lagoona interrupted, raising an eyebrow and leaning casually against Gil, whose arm was draped around her shoulders. "You’re interruptin’ me flirtin’ with me mate, y’know?"
Bloodgood’s eye twitched. She could feel a vein popping somewhere under her high collar. She had braced herself for the usual teenage antics hackington had described but was utterly unprepared for this level of brazen defiance.
"Miss Blue, I will NOT tolerate such behavior in my school!" Bloodgood bellowed into the megaphone, her voice reverberating through the hallway. "As long as I am your headmistress, you WILL follow my rules! No inappropriate behavior! No public displays of affection! Now, GET TO CLASS—IMMEDIATELY!"
A collective groan rippled through the crowd as the students reluctantly picked up their books and trudged to their classrooms, grumbling all the way.
As the last student disappeared into a doorway, Bloodgood leaned against the wall and let out a deep sigh. "It’s not even lunchtime, and they’re already testing my patience... This is going to be a long day."
"Alright, brats!" Mr. Rotter bellowed, slamming his book onto the desk with a loud BANG that silenced all chatter in the classroom. "We’re diving into advanced monster history today, so get your textbooks out and try to stay focused for once."
As the class reluctantly pulled out their books, Lagoona was noticeably distracted, her gaze flicking to her phone every few seconds. She was clearly waiting for something—or someone.
Just as Rotter began his lecture, her phone buzzed. She snatched it up, a sly smile creeping across her face as she read the text:
"Pool’s all clear. Come quick!"
Lagoona’s hand shot up so fast it was a miracle it didn’t dislocate her shoulder. "Oi, Mr. Rotter!"
Rotter paused mid-sentence, glaring at her with the exasperation of a teacher who had long since given up on wrangling teenagers. "Yes, Lagoona?"
"Can I head to the bathroom?" she asked, her voice dripping with urgency. "I, uh, really can’t hold it!"
Rotter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, tired sigh. "Fine. But make it quick. And don’t make this a habit!"
"Thanks!" she chirped, leaping from her seat and darting out the door before he could change his mind.
As the door swung shut behind her, Frankie tilted her head curiously. "Wonder what’s got her in such a rush?"
Meanwhile, Lagoona sprinted through the halls, her heart racing—not because of the urgency she’d claimed, but from sheer excitement. As she ran through the halls, she passed by groups of students who seemed far more interested in making out than heading to class, but she paid them no mind. She had a destination in mind, and she wasn’t about to waste any time.
Moments later, she reached the school pool. The large, echoing room was blissfully empty, just as the text had promised. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the water’s surface like shimmering jewels.
Gil was waiting by the poolside. His helmet was off, his sleeves rolled up, and his smile was as radiant as ever.
"Miss me, hot stuff?" he teased, walking toward her with a cocky grin.
"You know it, mate!" Lagoona replied, closing the gap between them in an instant.
Their lips met in a fiery, passionate kiss, one that carried the thrill of rebellion and the sweetness of young love. As their hands explored each other's bodies, their eyes glowed faintly with a fiery pink hue. After a few seconds of kissing, Lagoona paused and glanced around the room, her playful expression momentarily replaced with a hint of caution.
"Are you sure no one’s here?" she whispered, her voice laced with concern. "I don’t want any guppies walking in on us."
Gil gave her a mock salute, standing tall like a knight sworn to his queen. "Triple-checked. It’s just you and me, babe."
Her grin returned, wider and more mischievous than before. "Good," she said with a wink, before ripping off her top and diving straight into his arms, as the sounds of kissing and moaning filled the empty gym
The muffled sounds from the pool room eventually reached the ears of a hall monitor, one of Bloodgood's newest recruits tasked specifically with cracking down on "scandalous activity."
Hearing the commotion, he straightened his badge, muttered something about teenagers, and marched toward the pool with the determination of someone who fully intended to enforce the rules.
"Alright, party’s ov—" he began, throwing the doors open dramatically.
But his words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.
Gil and Lagoona had taken their escapades to one of the secluded corners of the pool room, hidden away from prying eyes. The air was thick with humidity and the faint scent of chlorine, but neither of them noticed. They were lost in each other, their bodies pressed tightly together, a tangle of limbs and desperate need.
Now both were naked, their clothes strewn haphazardly across the tiled floor, a testament to their hurried and frenzied undressing. Lagoona sat astride Gil, her body glistening with sweat, her blue hair cascading down her back in damp waves. Her eyes were locked onto his, her pupils dilated with desire as she leaned down to kiss him passionately and aggressively.
Their mouths clashed in a hungry, desperate dance, teeth clinking and tongues battling for dominance. Gil's hands roamed Lagoona's body like hungry wolves, tracing the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. He gripped her flesh tightly, his fingers leaving faint red marks on her skin as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.
Lagoona moaned into his mouth, her body undulating against his as she ground her hips down, feeling his hardness pressed against her. She could feel the slick heat of her arousal coating her thighs, her body aching with the need to be filled. She broke away from the kiss, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she looked down at Gil, her eyes wild with lust.
"Gil," she panted, her voice husky and low. "I need you. I need you inside me."
Gil's hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. "Fuck, Lagoona," he growled. "You're so fucking sexy. I want to feel you come all over my cock."
Lagoona's lips curled into a wicked smile as she reached down between them, her fingers wrapping around his hard length. She stroked him slowly, her thumb circling the sensitive tip, drawing a low groan from deep within his chest. She positioned him at her entrance, her body trembling with anticipation as she slowly sank down onto him, inch by delicious inch.
Gil's head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a low, guttural moan. "Fuck, Lagoona," he gasped. "You feel so fucking good."
His eyes widened, his face turning several shades of crimson as he froze in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.
After a long, agonizing pause, the monitor finally found his voice. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope," He muttered, shaking his head vigorously as he backed out of the room. "I do not get paid enough for this."
Turning on his heel, he walked briskly back down the hallway, muttering under his breath about "The horrors of youth" and "Desperately needing a career change." Behind him, the sounds of kissing, moaning and the repeated slapping of skin carried on, uninterrupted.
Meanwhile, in Mr. Where's theater class, the lesson on 20th-century filmmaking was struggling to gain traction. Despite Mr. Where’s best efforts to keep the class engaged, he was repeatedly interrupted by students either making out, openly flirting, or having shockingly graphic conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with movies—or school, for that matter.
Porter Geiss slouched in his chair, his head propped up on his fist, tuning out the chaos as Mr. Where valiantly tried to continue.
When Porter and Kiyomi transferred to Monster High, he’d been excited by the idea of a fresh start, staying closer to Spectra, and leaving behind the endless pandemonium of Haunted High.
But so far? Monster High hadn’t exactly lived up to the hype. If anything, it was just as chaotic—only with way more drama.
His eyelids grew heavier as Mr. Where’s lecture droned on, the world around him becoming a dull hum. Porter was just about to surrender to sleep when he felt a hand slide up to his crotch and pull down the zipper
Porter jolted awake, blinking rapidly as he turned to see his ghostly girlfriend, Spectra, standing beside him. A mischievous grin played on her translucent lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Spectra, what the hell are you doing?" Porter whispered, his tone panicked yet careful to keep his voice low enough not to draw attention.
"Just thought you could use a little... distraction," Spectra replied, her grin widening as she began to unzip his pants, the mischief in her expression not fading for even a second.
"I appreciate the thought!" Porter whispered back, his voice wavering somewhere between relaxed and frantic. "But what if someone sees us?"
Spectra tilted her head, one eyebrow raised in amused defiance. "Would you rather sit here and suffer through this snooze-fest of a lesson?"
Porter opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words.
"Exactly..." Spectra said as her hand began to move up and down on his ghostly shaft, a fiery pink glow in her eyes. "Now be a good boy and stay still. I promise this will be worth it."
Meanwhile, Mrs. Kindergrubber’s baking class was unusually calm for once. Sure, she had to throw in the occasional stern reminder, but her students were actually paying attention—well, most of them. The usual interruptions were minimal, and the atmosphere hummed with a rare focus.
“Now, keeping a steady oven temperature is crucial,” she explained, pulling a tray of perfectly golden cupcakes from the oven. “Too hot or too cold, and your cupcakes will be ruined.” Her voice carried with the authority of someone who knew her craft.
Johnny Spirit sat at his station, doing his best to focus on her words. He whisked the batter in front of him, trying to stay on task, but his attention kept drifting to her.
Across the room, Operetta leaned casually against her counter, her glowing pink eyes locked onto him like a predator sizing up her prey.
She slowly swirled her third lollipop, her tongue flicking around it in a way that was deliberate, almost taunting. The devious glint in her eyes made her intentions crystal clear, and Johnny’s chest tightened with a mix of excitement and frustration.
The pull between them was magnetic, impossible to ignore. The longer her gaze lingered on him, the harder it became to concentrate. His grip on the whisk tightened as his cock strained against his jeans, and his thoughts strayed far from the cupcakes as his eyes glowed with a pink hue. If this class didn’t end soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit still
After a while, The bell’s echo reverberated through the winding halls of Monster High, signaling lunchtime at last.
Students spilled into the creepateria, their chatter blending with the clatter of trays and the hum of fluorescent lights. The air was a bizarre cocktail of scents—roasted brain puffs, ghost pepper soup, and whatever that was bubbling ominously in the corner.
But even lunch wasn't enough for students to cease their naughty behavior.
Couples made out for everyone to see.
Some students had sneaked off to 'chat' with others in the bathroom.
And the toralei along with her group of bad girls, sat in a corner of the cafeteria, scooping out all of the athletes like they were eye candy.
At their usual table in the back, the ghouls gathered like a coven plotting their next wicked scheme. Lunch trays were tossed aside in favor of whispered gossip and mischievous glances. It didn’t take long for Cleo, ever the queen of drama and scandal, to set the tone for the conversation.
“So, ghouls,” she began, her golden scepter tapping rhythmically against the table as she surveyed her audience. Her grin was as sharp as her cheekbones. “Let’s talk about what really matters. Which of our boyfriends is the absolute best... in the bedroom?”
The table erupted into gasps, stifled laughs, and a few awkward coughs. Abbey and iris, though intrigued chose to sit this one out, as they hadn’t had many sexual experiences with their boyfriends, iris not having any at all
Draculaura, ever the romantic, recovered first, a sly smile spreading across her lips. “Oh, that’s easy! Clawd takes the prize, no question. Werewolves are... well, let’s just say he’s got the energy to keep me howling all night.” She giggled, her fangs catching the dim light as her cheeks turned a deep shade of red.
Lagoona leaned forward, her sea-green eyes glinting with amusement. “Sweetie, you’ve got no idea. Gil’s got stamina like you wouldn’t believe. Sure, he’s all shy and innocent on the surface, but underwater? Let’s just say this fish doesn’t stop swimming until I’m completely drained.” She winked, drawing a round of knowing giggles.
Cleo rolled her eyes, flicking her golden locks over her shoulder. “Please. Deuce makes all of your boys look like amateurs. He’s got it all—chiseled abs, smooth moves, and let’s not forget the snakes. They’ve got... a lot of personality, if you know what I mean.” Her tone dripped with innuendo, and the table collectively gasped, some ghouls covering their mouths to suppress laughter.
Ghoulia, ever the silent observer, tapped furiously on her tablet before spinning it around to reveal her contribution: "Size matters.” The group leaned in closer as she hit a button, scrolling to add, “And Slo-Mo’s got all of you beat. Have you seen that dick?"
Draculaura clutched her chest, pretending to swoon, while Lagoona dissolved into laughter.
Cleo’s gaze turned to Venus, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk. “What about you?” Cleo prompted, narrowing her eyes. “Or are you going to sit this one out?”
Venus tilted her head, her smirk growing into a full-on grin. “Can any of your boys vibrate their hands?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux innocence.
The room fell silent. Every jaw at the table dropped in unison, even Cleo’s.
“Exactly,” Venus continued, leaning back in her chair. “Robecca might be a little... old-school, but trust me, she’s got more tricks up her gears than any of you can imagine. It’s... intense.”
Draculaura buried her face in her hands, giggling uncontrollably, while the rest of the table exploded into scandalized laughter and exclamations.
“Venus, you can’t just drop that kind of bombshell!” Lagoona gasped between fits of giggles.
“Oh, I absolutely can,” Venus shot back, winking.
The cacophony of laughter gradually subsided, replaced by the clatter of cutlery against plates, as Frankie Stein finally joined her ghoulfriends at their usual table in the Creepateria. Her bright, stitched-together smile widened, revealing her charming, if slightly crooked, teeth.
“Hey ghouls!” she chirped, her voice bubbling with her usual enthusiasm. “Whatcha guys up to?” Her patchwork hand reached for a rogue fry that had strayed from Abbey’s plate, her bright blue and green mismatched eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Draculaura, ever the dramatic one, leaned conspiratorially across the table, her fangs glinting mischievously. A wicked grin stretched across her pale face, her dark heart-shaped lips curving upwards. “We were just having a little chat about… well, about which of our boys is the best… in bed,” she whispered, the words hanging in the air like a secret only they knew. She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes theatrically, a blush rising to her cheeks despite herself.
Frankie's brow furrowed, her stitched-up features contorting into a mask of adorable confusion. “Bed? Like… sleeping?” Her head tilted slightly, a question mark written all over her youthful, stitched face. She was still relatively new to the nuances of mortal life, and frankly, some things just didn’t quite compute for the newly created ghoul.
A fresh wave of laughter erupted from the table, some of the ghouls practically choking on their goop-shakes and monster munchies. Lagoona in particular, nearly sprayed her grape juice all over Cleo, who shrieked in a mixture of disgust and amusement. Abbey, ever the supportive friend, thumped lagoona on her back, attempting to cease her coughing fit with no avail.
Cleo, always one to make a statement, waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. The golden jewelry she wore glinted under the eerie fluorescent lights of the Creepateria.
“Frankie, you poor soul,” she exclaimed, her perfectly lined eyes widening in exaggerated astonishment. “Do you even know what sex is?” Her tone was a mix of genuine concern and playful teasing; it was all in good fun, of course.
Frankie's mismatched gaze darted between her friends, her internal systems whirring.
“Never heard of it,”
The collective gasp that followed was almost deafening.
Every ghoul at the table, from the usually stoic Cleo to the usually boisterous lagoona, seemed utterly floored. It felt as if Frankie had dropped a bomb of pure naiveté into the middle of their casual banter.
“Frankie!” Cleo began, leaning across the table, her tone hushed and conspiratorial. “You poor, innocent, stitched-together soul! Let me tell you, it’s a good thing, a very good thing. It’s what you do when you’re, like, totally in love, and you want to be with them forever… in, ahem, that way.” She winked, her gold eye makeup shimmering under the lights.
Frankie’s eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. “Really?” she asked, her voice a mix of fascination and wonder.
"Absolutely," Cleo replied, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “It’s, like, the ultimate expression of affection, you know?" She leaned back and smirked, glad to be the bearer of such fascinating information.
"Tell me more!!”
“Gladly!”
And so, for the next ten minutes, the ghouls took it upon themselves to educate Frankie on all things regarding sex, the monster edition. They spoke of everything, from the basics of human (and monster) anatomy to the nuances of different positions. They touched on techniques, toys, and the various sounds one might make during the act, all with colorful, and often exaggerated, descriptions.
Frankie listened in rapt attention, her mind absorbing the information like a sponge, her eyes wide and bright.
As they spoke of passionate embraces and shared intimacies, Frankie felt a strange mix of emotions swirling within her.
She felt a sense of… well, she wasn’t entirely sure.
It was a heady mix of something that felt strangely akin to horniness, desire, lust, and a strange, almost greedy curiosity. Concepts that had always seemed somewhat abstract, or even forbidden, were suddenly coloring her world, inviting her to explore the depths of her own experiences.
It was like a flood of sensation, overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.
“What’s ‘making out’ again?” Frankie asked, her voice a little breathier now. The concept of physical intimacy, of connecting with someone in such a way, was both fascinating and deeply arousing.
“Oh, sweetie,” Cleo cooed, her voice laced with a hint of playful hunger. “It’s like… kissing, but with tongue. Lots and lots of tongue.” She pressed her lips together in a brief demonstration, a glint of anticipation in her eyes.
“How exactly… do you do it?” Frankie asked, her usually clear voice now laced with a hint of breathlessness, her cheeks a rosy pink. Her gaze was fixed on Cleo, eager to learn every single detail.
Draculaura, never one to miss an opportunity for dramatics, bounced in her seat. “Here, let me show you!” She quickly turned to another table and called out to a familiar figure. “Clawd! Come here, darling!” She fluttered her eyelashes in anticipation, already planning exactly how she was going to demonstrate the art of making out.
Moments later, Clawd lumbered over, a sheepish grin on his furry face. He settled in the empty space beside his girlfriend, his wolfish eyes curious. “What’s up, Drac?”
Draculaura turned back to Frankie, her fangs peeking out from between her lips. “Now, Frankie, watch closely and you’ll get this in NO TIME!” she declared, a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
Without further ado, she grabbed Clawd by the collar of his leather jacket and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring and teasing, while Clawd’s tongue met hers in a dance of pure affection. Their hands moved almost instinctively, exploring each other’s bodies, their moans and sighs echoing through the Creepateria, drawing the attention of most of the other students who were present.
Frankie watched, mesmerized, her eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and awe. “Wow,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. “How exactly do you… make it happen like that? The kissing and the… you know…” She gestured vaguely, a blush creeping up her stitched neck.
Cleo leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk on her perfectly painted lips. “It’s just something you practice, sweetie,” she explained, her tone knowing. “The more you do it, the better you get. Also, the more you get to know them, the better it is too.”
Frankie considered this for a moment, her mismatched eyes darting back and forth as she processed the information. A slow smile spread across her face, her stitched-up lips curving in a way that was both innocent and promising. “Okay,” she declared with newfound confidence. “I think… I think I’ll give it a try.”
Meanwhile, at a far more tranquil lunch table, Jackson sat in solitude, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The day had been an endless parade of encounters with couples in various states of... indiscretion. Even the bathroom hadn't been a safe haven, not with the sounds of belt buckles falling to the floor and the loud moans of women echoing through the tiled walls.
He couldn't even find solace in study hall, not after witnessing Slo-Mo and Ghoulia locked in a passionate make out in the back of the class, or listening to the weird noises heath made after abbey had leaned down into his lap in the front. It seemed the entire school was in the cusp of some hormonal frenzy, and there was no escape.
Jackson tried to push the images from his mind and focus on his schoolwork, but concentration eluded him. His thoughts were consumed by one particular ghoul.
Frankie Stein.
It had been ages since she put things on hold with him and Holt, but he couldn't shake the feelings he still harbored for her. Ever since the gas incident on Friday, his mind was a fog of fantasies involving Frankie.
He imagined his face buried in her breast, motorboating her as her voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He pictured her astride him, their bodies moving in sync as they made out like hungry lions.
Jackson couldn't deny the physical response these thoughts elicited, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them.
A part of him wrestled with the idea of acting on these desires, while another part urged him on, screaming at him to give in to his lust. He wasn't sure how much longer he could resist.
As he tried to focus on his lunch and rein in his thoughts, an all-too-familiar voice pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Hey, nerd!"
Jackson’s head snapped up, his eyes darting first to the worn pages before finally settling on the reflection in the butter knife he was idly toying with.
There, grinning like a mischievous imp, stood Holt Hyde, his fiery hair practically crackling with energy.
"What do you want, Holt?" Jackson sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his perpetual annoyance.
Holt's grin faltered, a flicker of something akin to genuine confusion crossing his features. "What's your problem, man? You're surrounded by all this action, and you’re just sitting here?" He gestured wildly around the cafeteria, where couples were locked in passionate embraces and small groups were engaged in raucous laughter.
Jackson groaned, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "I don't want to get involved in… whatever this is." The sheer volume of the chaotic scene made his head spin.
Holt rolled his eyes, a signature move. "Dude, everyone's in here having the time of their lives, while you're over here, sitting on your ass, reading some boring book! Why don't you just pick a girl already and show her a good time?"
Jackson raised a skeptical eyebrow, a familiar wave of exasperation washing over him. "Easy for you to say, Holt. You’re not the one who has to deal with all the fallout. You get to swoop in and out before things get messy, while I'm left to clean up your mess!"
"Oh, relax. That was one time," Holt dismissed, his tone as breezy as a summer wind.
“No, it's been MULTIPLE times!!" Jackson countered, his voice escalating with each syllable. He could still remember the last incident, the awkward apologies, and the general mess he had to deal with when Holt forgot his own existence and left Jackson to pick up the pieces.
"Anyways," Holt said, completely unfazed by Jackson's outburst, casually shifting the topic like he shifted between the light and the dark. "When are we gonna make a move on Franken-fine? You know we've had a thing for her for a while."
"I don't have a thing for—"
"Don't even try to deny it!" Holt interrupted, his smirk widening into a full-blown grin. "You’re into her. And guess what? She’s into you, too. You’re just too chicken to do anything about it."
Jackson felt his cheeks burn with a heat that went beyond a simple blush. "That's not true!" But even as he said it, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered with a hint of truth.
"Whatever you say, man." Holt smirked, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But if you don't step up, someone else will. Guaranteed."
Jackson shivered, a cold dread settling in his stomach. Though he wanted to brush off Holt’s words as nothing more than typical Hyde bravado, he knew there was a seed of truth in them. There were other guys at Monster High, plenty of guys, who had their eyes on Frankie. He’d seen them looking at her, lingering a little too long in her general direction.
It was only a matter of time before someone else made a move.
He could feel his internal struggle raging; one half of him urged him to bolt, to flee from this hormonal madness, to seek refuge in the library where the only sounds were the rustling of pages.
But the other half, the half that had been growing bolder by the day, thrummed with a need that mirrored Holt's:
a desire to be with Frankie.
“What’s up, Jackson!”
Jackson turned to see a group of familiar faces heading towards him; Deuce Gorgon, Heath Burns, Gil Webber, and Clawd Wolf all making their way to his corner. Clawd, sporting a series of bright red kiss marks on his face after his intensive make-out session with Draculaura, winked at Jackson.
"Not much, just tired," Jackson muttered, shoving his textbook away from him. He didn't bother to mask the exhaustion that settled deep into his bones, a weariness that had little to do with any schoolwork.
"What’s got you all down in the dumps?" Deuce asked, his smooth voice laced with genuine worry, and a slight tilt of his head. He sat down beside Jackson, a gesture of camaraderie that Jackson couldn't help but appreciate.
"Maybe he’s just sad that he’s here by himself, while everyone else is getting some action!" Heath snickered, his voice loud and obnoxious as always. He threw a suggestive look toward the opposite end of the hallway before his red eyes landed on Jackson.
He poked Jackson's shoulder, a playful, albeit annoying, jab. Jackson's blush deepened, painting his face a vivid crimson.
“As if I wanna risk getting caught making out or having sex with someone by Bloodgood or one of the teachers!” Jackson snapped back at him, his frustration bubbling over.
Heath threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Woah man, relax, I'm just trying to motivate, it's not every day you get to skip class to go screw someone's brains out."
“I agree,” Gil chimed in, his voice a low, melodic rumble that sent vibrations through the floor. "Me and Lagoona have basically spent the entire day getting wild. You’re telling me, after all those exams and studying, you wouldn’t want to spend some time with a girl to relax?" His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and a tiny smile played on his lips.
"SPEAKING of girls!" Heath said, a fascinated yet slightly disturbed expression on his face as he turned towards clawd. "So, how exactly does Draculaura... y'know," he began hesitantly, his question dancing on the edge of scandal. He paused, a glint of genuine curiosity warring with amused disbelief in his wide, fiery-red eyes.
"Without... tearing your dick off!" he blurted out, the words erupting from him like a burst of surprised laughter.
Clawd's face flushed a deep, almost comical red, his hand going to rub distractedly at the back of his neck. He tried, and failed, to suppress his own grin. The other two boys erupted into a fit of laughter, a cacophony of snorts and chuckles, mixing in with noise of the creepateria. It was infectious, even jackson couldn't help but chuckle
Clawd finally managed to compose himself, shifting his weight as he tried to keep a straight face. "It's all about being gentle with it," he explained, a small smile playing on his lips. "Y'know how people say that oral sex is like eating an ice cream cone? Well, for me, it’s more like licking a melting popsicle." He punctuated the statement with a playful wink.
The boys were off again, their laughter even louder this time, earning them a few stares. As the sounds subsided, nods of comprehension replaced the mirth. For monsters, intimacy wasn't as straightforward as it was for humans. The very features that made them unique – claws, fangs, scales, and so on – could make things…complicated.
Human couples might need to navigate insecurities and the technicalities of the act itself.
But monster couples?
They had to contend with the added challenge of physical differences that could literally cause bodily harm if not handled carefully. It was a reality they all understood, a silent acknowledgement that formed a foundation of trust in their relationships.
Heath, wanting to keep the scandalous conversation going, turned to Deuce, a mischievous grin splitting his face. “So, 'Deucey',” he drawled, his eyes sparkling with barely concealed amusement, “mind telling us what Cleo’s like…you know…in the bedroom?”
Deuce scoffed, feigning nonchalance, but a telltale flush was rising on his cheeks. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, you know Cleo,” he began, voice low and conspiratorial, “Commanding, bosses you around…thinks she’s in control.” He paused for dramatic effect, a wicked grin taking over his features.
“But then,” he continued, dropping his voice lower, “she melts like fucking ice cream the moment you assert a little dominance.” His grin widened, a flash of white teeth contrasting against his tanned skin.
He then turned to Gil, his eyes sparkling with wicked delight. "What about you, Gil? How's Lagoona doing in the bedroom?" he asked, his voice dripping with teasing anticipation.
Gil chuckled, a low rumbling sound that made his gills flutter slightly. "She's a real wild one," he admitted, his eyes sparkling. "It's like riding a bucking bronco, but instead of a saddle, it’s your dick." He grinned, a flash of pointed teeth and a hint of playful pride.
The group of boys once again erupted into laughter, their shared amusement filling the locker room. It was unlike them to have such a frank discussion in such a public place, but the day felt off-kilter, even for Monster High.
An undercurrent of sexuality and romantic tension seemed to have seeped into the school, making normal things seem irrelevant. Everyone seemed more concerned with the stirrings in their hearts and lower regions, than in homework or schoolyard squabbles. The air itself felt charged with a strange, almost palpable energy.
"Anyway, back to the main topic," Clawd said, his tone shifting as he turned his gaze toward Jackson with a sly grin. "So, when are you and Frankie gonna patch things up? I mean, come on—things are wild right now. Seems like the perfect moment to bring back the sparks and make it official again."
“I don’t know,” Jackson confessed, feeling a pang of uncertainty. “Ever since she hit pause on things, I don’t even know if she’s still interested in me, especially since she started hanging around other du-“
“BRO!” Heath shouted, grabbing Jackson by the shoulders, and forcing him to face him. “All of those ‘other boys’ have moved on from Frankie! Neighthan is with Dawndancer over there, and Andy got with Jane Boolittle, she’s all up for grabs and you're setting here like a deer in headlights!”
“I agree with Heath,” Deuce said, “With all the chaos happening, this is the perfect chance to score Frankie before someone else does and who knows, maybe she’ll give you some action.” Deuce added with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.
Despite the encouragement he was getting, Jackson still wasn’t convinced, his anxiety growing with each word. “What if I screw this up?” He asked, his gaze fixed on his hands.
“Only one way to find out,” Deuce said, pointing towards the table where Frankie was sitting with a few other ghouls.
Jackson sighed, the weight of his frustration and desire pressing down on him. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
"That's the spirit!!" Clawd exclaimed with a clap of his hands. "Now go get her."
With a deep breath, Jackson began making his way towards the table, his heart pounding in his chest, his resolve far from ironclad.
Back with frankie, she was now writing notes of everything cleo was telling her, from how to do the 69 position to how to do a hand job.
Cleo had been so impressed by how fast Frankie picked up everything she was saying that she decided to move onto more advanced stuff.
Frankie was loving every second of this, she wanted to be prepared for when she would get intimate with someone, whether it be someone she meets in the future or someone she knows in the school.
She was practically salivating at the thought of kissing and making out with him, as well as doing all the other things cleo mentioned to her.
"Okay, so you're telling me that with this technique you can make any boy cum faster than he expected?" Frankie asked, looking up from her paper.
"Trust me sweetie, I've got this down to a science." Cleo said with a confident smirk. "Those boys are so easy, just give them a little of this and that and BAM! They're ready to blo-"
"Hey, Frankie?"
The lively chatter at the ghouls' table quieted as all eyes turned to Jackson, standing a few feet away. His face was flushed a deep crimson, his hands buried awkwardly in his pockets.
Frankie tilted her head, a friendly smile spreading across her face. "Oh, hey, Jackson! What’s up?"
The warmth in her voice made Jackson’s heart pound harder than he cared to admit. He shifted on his feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how many pairs of eyes were now trained on him.
"I, uh… I w-wanted to tell you something," he stammered, his words fumbling like marbles spilling out of his mouth.
"What is it?" Frankie asked, her curiosity piqued.
Jackson’s gaze flickered to the ghouls surrounding her—Abbey, Draculaura, Lagoona, Cleo, Ghoulia and Venus. Each of them wore varying expressions of excitement and encouragement, subtly gesturing for him to get to the point.
He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. "Okay, here goes..." he muttered under his breath. "I know we paused things a while ago—because of... well, Holt, and the fact that we didn’t know about each other at first. And I know him and I argued a lot back then, which wasn't fair to you, but..." He paused, drawing a deep breath. "I—I want to try again. With us. You know, like... start over."
Frankie’s electric-blue eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what?" she asked, leaning in slightly, as if she hadn’t heard him right.
The ghouls around her sat up straighter, their anticipation building.
"Come on, Jackson," Draculaura thought, practically vibrating in her seat. "You’re so close!"
"Just spit it out already!" Clawdeen mentally cheered, her claws gripping the edge of the table.
"She’s right there!" Cleo’s inner voice urged, her regal posture not betraying the excitement she felt inside.
Jackson let out a shaky exhale, meeting Frankie’s gaze. Her expression wasn’t mocking or dismissive—it was open, inviting, and maybe even hopeful. That gave him just enough courage to keep going.
"Frankie," he said, his voice stronger this time. "I lo—"
Before Jackson could finish his confession, the entire hallway was pierced by a shrill, deafening shriek.
Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the noise.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood at the entrance of the Creepateria, her face twisted in an expression of pure fury, her eyes blazing like twin infernos. She looked more terrifying than any monster they’d ever faced in the past, and that was saying something.
"WHY ARE YOU ALL STILL IN HERE?!" she bellowed, her voice echoing off the walls like thunder. "LUNCH ENDED AN HOUR AGO! YOU SHOULD ALL BE IN THIRD PERIOD!!"
"The bell never rang!" someone in the back shouted defensively.
Bloodgood's glare swept over the crowd like a storm. "HALF OF YOU HAVE BEEN HERE FOR SIX YEARS! YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT TIME CLASS STARTS!! AND WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU ALREADY MAKING OUT?! THIS IS NOT A LOVE HOTEL!" Her eyes darted to the couples scattered throughout the room, locked in various stages of romantic entanglement. "YOU’VE BEEN IN THIS SCHOOL FOR LONG ENOUGH, BUT YOU ALL ACT LIKE A BUNCH OF FIRST GRADERS!"
The students murmured amongst themselves, some blushing, others rolling their eyes.
Bloodgood pointed a commanding finger toward the entrance. "NOW, ALL OF YOU, HEAD TO YOUR NEXT CLASS IMMEDIATELY! GO!"
Groans of protest rippled through the crowd as everyone began to gather their belongings. The reluctant shuffle of chairs and dragging footsteps filled the room as students made their way toward the exit.
Just as the crowd began to thin, Bloodgood's eyes zeroed in on Frankie Stein.
With swift, deliberate steps, she closed the distance and grabbed Frankie firmly by the arm.
"As for YOU, Ms. Stein," Bloodgood said sternly, "You’ll be coming with me to my office. You don’t need to be involved in this madness!"
"But I—"
"NO BUTS!" Bloodgood snapped, cutting her off as she began pulling her toward the exit. "You’re staying under my supervision for the rest of the day!"
Frankie’s expression flickered between confusion and frustration as she glanced back at her friends. The ghouls and Jackson watched in dismay as she disappeared down the hallway, Bloodgood’s towering figure looming over her.
"Great timing," Jackson muttered under his breath, his shoulders slumping as the opportunity to confess slipped away yet again.
"You were SO CLOSE!" Draculaura exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a groan.
"That lady has no chill," Venus said, crossing her arms. "First she acts like a naggy bitch and now she’s snatching people up like a total buzzkill!"
"Welp, there goes my chance," Jackson sighed, gathering his books with a defeated look. "Guess it just wasn’t meant to be."
As jackson began to walk away, he felt a hand gently grab his shoulder.
"Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Jackson," Cleo said, her confident smirk sparkled like the jewels adorning her. "I’ll fix this in no time."
Jackson raised an eyebrow, dubious. "What do you mean by that?"
Cleo’s smirk widened, her confidence bordering on regal. "Just trust me. Stay after school today, and I promise you, by the end of the night, you and Frankie will be in each other’s arms!!!!"
Her tone was so self-assured that Jackson found himself nodding despite his skepticism. "Alright, I guess..."
With that, Jackson and the boys filed out of the Creepateria, leaving Cleo and the ghouls behind.
Abbey raised an icy eyebrow as she crossed her arms. "What exactly you have planned, Cleo?"
Cleo’s smirk turned devious as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, nothing too elaborate," she said, her voice dripping with mischief. "Just something that a lot of ghouls will benefit from."
Abbey narrowed her eyes, watching Cleo with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.
Whatever Cleo de Nile was scheming,
It was bound to shake things up.
Meanwhile, in Bloodgood's office, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Bloodgood stood behind her desk, her arms crossed and her expression a blend of frustration and concern. Across from her sat Frankie, her normally energetic demeanor muted by the awkwardness of the situation. Bloodgood had been lecturing her for what felt like an eternity, trying to drill some sense into her.
"You shouldn’t want to know about things like sex!" Bloodgood exclaimed, her tone sharp as she slammed her fist against the desk for emphasis. The sound echoed through the room, startling Frankie. "You should be focusing on your studies—geometry, history, the sciences. These are the things that will shape your future, not... not making out with someone!"
"But it sounds so fun!" Frankie whined, shifting in her seat and crossing her legs with a pout. Her electric-blue eyes sparkled with innocent curiosity, but her tone had the petulance of a child being denied a toy. "All the ghouls say they love doing it with their boyfriends! They make it sound so... exciting!"
Bloodgood pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply as she tried to reignite her patience. She crouched slightly, bringing herself to Frankie’s eye level. "That’s because their minds are too far gone," she said, her tone softening as she attempted to reason with the young ghoul. "You’re different, Frankie. You’re better than this. Somewhere deep inside, the brilliant, curious girl I know is still there. I will not lose you to this... degeneracy."
Frankie blinked at her, momentarily stunned by the sincerity in Bloodgood’s voice. For a brief moment, her expression faltered, as if a part of her was wrestling with what Bloodgood was saying.
"You’re one of the brightest students at Monster High," Bloodgood continued, her tone more impassioned now. "You have the potential to help bridge the gap between humans and monsters, to change how the world views us. I know it feels unfair now, but trust me, Frankie—one day you’ll look back on this and understand. You’ll thank me for it."
Frankie’s lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated. Her mind felt like it was being pulled in two directions. Bloodgood’s words were logical and grounded, but the allure of what her friends had described—the passion, the thrill—was difficult to ignore. She wanted to believe in the path Bloodgood was laying out for her, but the other side of her whispered temptations that seemed just as compelling.
Seeing the conflict in Frankie’s eyes, Bloodgood straightened, feeling a glimmer of hope that her words were starting to break through. She glanced at the clock and sighed, brushing imaginary dust off her blazer.
"I need to meet with someone," she said, her voice steady but firm as she walked toward the door. She turned back to give Frankie one last look, her expression softening with maternal concern. "Stay here until the bell rings. When it does, I want you to go straight home—no delays, no exceptions. Do you understand?"
Frankie nodded slowly, though her conflicted expression remained.
Satisfied for the moment, Bloodgood opened the door and stepped out, leaving Frankie alone in the quiet office. The door clicked shut, and the silence pressed down on her like a weight. Frankie leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, her mind swimming with thoughts.
"Am I really doing something wrong?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt as she wrestled with the clashing parts of her psyche. Somewhere deep inside, she felt the spark of her old self trying to reignite, but the pull of her newfound desires was just as strong.
For now, all she could do was sit and wait, caught in the storm of her own thoughts.
Hackington, bless his stitched-up heart, looked like he’d been dragged through the Shadow Realm and back. Literally.
Since the fateful Friday, when his "small, totally controlled" gas experiment had gone kablooey, he'd been a mad scientist possessed. The bags under his eyes were less like luggage and more like extra limbs, his hair was a tangled, static-charged mess, and rumor had it that he hadn't seen a shower, a comb, or even a measly protein bar since the incident.
But He couldn't care less. He was on a mission, driven by a cocktail of guilt and sheer terror.
If he didn't find a cure for his accidental aphrodisiac leak, not only would every teacher lose their jobs, the students would lose their sanctuary, but his own name would be forever etched in the annals of Monster High history as the purveyor of... well, this.
He was hunched over his lab table, eyes narrowed in concentration as he carefully extracted a specific compound from a swirling, luminescent solution.
Suddenly, a sharp knock reverberated through his lab, an unwelcome interruption in his frantic rhythm.
“Come in!,” Hackington boomed, his voice raspy from disuse.
The door creaked open, revealing Headmistress Bloodgood, her features tight with an expression that could curdle milk.
"Any updates, Hackington?" she said, her voice a low growl, the tone of a weary beast on its last nerve.
“Not much, Headmistress,” he mumbled, his eyes glued to the test tube. “It's only been three days, and all I’ve managed is to do isolate the main compound. It’s… much more potent than the usual stuff. This isn't your run-of-the-mill aphrodisiac, it is... intense.”
“I need you to speed it up!” Bloodgood practically barked, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Three days?! You realize it’s only been one day of this chaos, and the incidents are escalating at an alarming rate!”
“I understand, but I-"
"Understand? We’ve already caught several couples having sex all over the school!” Bloodgood's voice rose to a near shriek. "Lagoona and Gil were at it in the pool room! Spectra was giving Porter a very enthusiastic handjob in the theater room! Abbey was giving Heath a blow job, like they were in a pornset and not a high school! And Slo-mo and Ghoulia… well, they were caught making out in study hall, and when a teacher tried to stop it, Slo-mo hurled them across the room!”
Hackington winced, a wave of secondhand embarrassment washing over him.
Bloodgood's face was now a disturbing shade of green. “And that isn’t even the worst of it! We've got reports of truant students, girls performing 'favors' in the bathrooms, and students using every hidden corner of the building to… well.... you get the point!!” She shuddered, the mental image clearly haunting her.
“Okay, I get that’s bad, but—”
“I LITERALLY WALKED IN ON MEOWLODY AND PURRSEPHONE STRIP-TEASING ROMULUS!” Bloodgood bellowed, her voice cracking with the sheer absurdity of it all. “Does ANY of that sound like normal behavior? To y-”
“ALRIGHT!” Hackington roared back, slamming his fist on the table, making his beakers rattle precariously. “I get it! The students are in the throes of some hormonal madness, having sex at every possible opportunity. I understand! And I am working as fast as I can, but this isn’t a flick of a switch, Headmistress! I’m a scientist, not some gothic fairy godmother who grants magical cures on a whim!”
Bloodgood deflated, a sigh escaping her lips. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, her weary eyes settling on the disheveled scientist. "I’m sorry, it's just…," She paused, the anger replaced by raw worry. "With the council coming to review the school, we’re in serious trouble, Hackington. Things have gone from bad to cataclysmic, and I'm terrified for everyone's futures."
"I understand. I feel your frustration," Hackington said, his own voice softening, a rare flash of empathy gracing his features. "But you need to give me time. Biological disasters like this aren't fixed overnight.”
“I understand,” Bloodgood repeated, the fight gone out of her, her shoulders slumping. “Continue making the cure. I’ll check on your progress later.”
“Thank you, Headmistress,” Hackington responded, turning back to his bubbling vials with renewed fervor.
With a final, weary exhale, Bloodgood left the lab. As she stepped into the hallway, the final school bell rang, its peal discordant and mocking, signaling the end of the day's classes.
She let out a quiet sigh, a single, haunted whisper escaping her lips: “These next few weeks are gonna be a hell in a hand basket.”
To be continued...
Notes:
Will frankie and jackson get together?
Will bloodgood find a way to curb the hormonal madness?
Will hackington be able to make the cure?
Find out in the next part!!
Chapter 3: Cleo's Love Life Seminar
Summary:
Cleo and clawdeen decide to help their less experienced friends with their sex lives
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
RINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
The shrill, glorious sound of the final bell ripped through the air, a siren call to freedom.
The hallways erupted, a chaotic symphony of rustling backpacks and hurried footsteps as students—fueled by adrenaline and, let's be honest, a potent cocktail of teenage hormones—surged towards the exit. The air was thick with the scent of cheap cologne, lingering perfume, and the faint, unmistakable aroma of…
well, you can probably guess.
In a dark corner near the library, a door creaked open, revealing Cleo De Nile and her boyfriend Deuce Gorgon.
Their disheveled appearances spoke volumes; their hair looked like a bird had nested in it, their clothes were rumpled, and a certain…musky scent clung to them like a second skin.
But they seemed oblivious to any potential judgment, grinning and giggling like they’d just gotten away with the most daring heist imaginable (and maybe they had, in a way).
“So,” Deuce began, his tone light but suggestive as he caught Cleo’s attention. “You wanna finish this at my place?”
“As much as I’d love to,” Cleo replied, her voice smooth but decisive, “I have a promise to fulfill.”
“Frankie and Jackson?” Deuce guessed, tilting his head slightly.
“Correct.” Cleo nodded, a sly grin forming on her lips. “It’s time those two stopped treading on eggshells around each other. By the end of the day, they’ll be fucking each others brains out.”
Deuce chuckled, shaking his head. “Make sure you send me a photo of that,” he joked.
“Of course, darling” Cleo cooed, flashing him a sweet smile before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Deuce watched with a fond smile as Cleo turned and confidently walked away, her hips swaying with each step, a predator on a mission. He knew that whatever she had planned for later, it was about to make things very interesting.
Meanwhile, Frankie’s mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts as she walked down the hallway. Part of her longed to experience the romantic adventures her friends always gushed about, but Bloodgood's stern warnings lingered in her mind, casting doubt on her desires.
Was it wrong for her to feel this way?
Should she suppress these emotions and wait for the wave of hormones and infatuation to pass?
Can she even-
"Oh, Frankieeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Startled, she turned to see Cleo approaching, her hips swaying as if to flaunt her curves.
"Hey, Cleo," Frankie greeted, her tone shifting to polite and sincere. "What’s up?"
Cleo walked up to her, a devious but genuine smile on her face
“There’s a lot I wanted to discuss with you during lunch today,” Cleo began, her tone shifting from friendly to seductive. “But thanks to Bloodgood being an absolute pain, we didn’t get to finish our conversation.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Frankie replied, recalling Bloodgood’s stern glare as she was dragged into the office and detained until the end of the school day.
Cleo’s expression shifted to something more persuasive. “Anyway,” she continued, “I noticed a few other ghouls have been dealing with relationship drama too. So, I’m hosting a little............. after-school seminar—sharing tips on how to spice things up. Thought you might be interested.”
Frankie’s heart fluttered with excitement. Cleo had shared so many intriguing topics over lunch, and the idea of learning even more about dating and romance felt like a dream come true.
But then Bloodgood’s strict warning echoed in her mind:
"Stay here until the bell rings. When it does, I want you to go straight home—no delays, no exceptions. Do you understand?"
As much as she wanted to explore the daring, scandalous world Cleo described, Frankie hesitated. She didn’t want to risk disappointing Bloodgood by breaking her promise.
“I’m sorry, Cleo,” Frankie said, her voice trembling as she started to back away. “But I promised Bloodgood not to explore those topics again, so I should really be on my wa—”
“COME ON, FRANKIE!” Cleo’s voice boomed down the hallway, echoing off the walls. “Why are you letting that bitch control your life? Everyone else is out there having the time of their lives, and I’m not about to let you sit around wasting yours while we’re all living it up!”
Frankie froze, her heart sinking at Cleo’s words. “I… I can’t, Cleo,” she mumbled, her tone faltering. She struggled to sound firm but only felt weaker under Cleo’s fiery gaze.
Cleo responded by leaning in closer, now inches away from frankie's face
“Can’t, or won’t?” Cleo demanded, arching a perfectly shaped brow as she crossed her arms.
Frankie shifted uncomfortably, her face torn with uncertainty.
“Frankie, look at me,” Cleo said, stepping closer and placing both hands firmly on her friend’s shoulders. Her voice softened, but her words carried a forceful sincerity. “You’re my best friend and one of the sweetest monsters I’ve ever known. You’re intelligent, funny, heroic—and honestly, one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. You deserve to feel loved, just like the rest of us. Don’t let some nagging old bat, who probably can’t stand the sight of anyone being happy, stop you from living your life.”
Frankie’s eyes widened, stunned. She had never heard Cleo speak so earnestly before.
Cleo, of all people, was the last person she expected to deliver such heartfelt encouragement.
“So what’s it going to be, Frankie?” Cleo asked, her hands still resting firmly on her friend’s shoulders, her expression unflinching. “Are you going to stand here and keep hiding how you feel? Or are you going to follow your heart and do what you want, not what she wants?”
Frankie’s thoughts raced, her emotions colliding in a whirlwind of doubt and desire. But as she stood there, a spark of resolve began to form. This could be her chance—her moment to live the way others her age was living. Why should she sit around, waiting for something to happen, when she could take the first step herself?
Why should she listen to Bloodgood’s rules, when they didn’t feel like her rules?
With a resounding sigh, she made her decision.
“I’m c-coming.”
Cleo squealed with delight and immediately pulled Frankie into a tight hug, squeezing her like a lifeline. “You won’t regret this,” Cleo promised, her tone warm and reassuring. “By the end of this seminar, you and whatever boy you’re crushing on—Though I can already tell who it is—are going to have the most amazing night of your unlives!”
Frankie felt a small flush creep up her cheeks but said nothing.
Cleo grabbed her hand with a confident grip and began leading her down the hallway, practically pulling her along as she chattered about the seminar.
But as they walked, a small voice in the back of Frankie’s mind screamed at her to stop—to turn around, to run while she still had the chance.
Her feet moved forward, but her chest felt tight, like something inside her was struggling to break free. She couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that she was walking straight into trouble.
"This isn’t what Bloodgood wanted," The voice insisted. "You’ll regret this later. You know you will!"
Frankie bit her lip, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly to the edges of her mind. She forced herself to focus on Cleo’s excitement instead, nodding occasionally at her friend’s words.
But even as Cleo’s infectious energy drew her in, the hesitation lingered in the pit of her stomach. Her heart warred with itself, and though she didn’t stop Cleo from leading her away, a part of her couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that she was stepping onto a path she wasn’t ready to walk.
Meanwhile, Jackson’s mind was scattered, his focus slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. The school was mostly empty now, save for a few students lingering for after-school activities. For the first time all day, the hallways were quiet—blissfully free from the sounds of flirting, giggling, and... well, the other noises that constantly plagued his thoughts.
Sitting alone in the classroom, Jackson hunched over his math assignment, his pencil scratching at the paper. He tried to focus on solving the problem in front of him, but his mind refused to cooperate, constantly pulling him away from the numbers.
No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always drifted back to Frankie.
He’d worked up the courage to confess his feelings during lunch, only to have his plans spectacularly derailed by Bloodgood.
Now, here he was, waiting after school like Cleo had told him, supposedly to "solve his problem." But the longer he waited, the more he regretted not leaving with Heath and Abbey.
Sure, if he’d gone home, he probably would’ve had to endure the torturous sounds of those two going at it like animals—but somehow, that felt preferable to sitting in an eerily quiet classroom with nothing but his own conflicted thoughts for company.
Jackson sighed and looked down at his paper again, trying to shake off his frustration.
"Okay,” he muttered to himself. “If I carry the 2 here, multiply it by 3, then divide by 4... the polynomial should be...”
But before he could finish, a voice echoed faintly in his mind.
'Ohhhhhhh, Jackson!'
His head shot up, eyes scanning the empty classroom. “What the—?”
He glanced around, but the room was as silent and lifeless as it had been all afternoon.
'More... touch me more.'
Jackson froze, his breath catching in his throat.
“Frankie?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
It couldn’t be her.
There was no way.
She wasn’t here.
'Yes, right there... RIGHT THERE!'
The realization hit him like a freight train. His eyes widened, his pencil slipping from his hand.
The sounds weren’t coming from the school.
They were coming from inside his head!!!
Jackson immediately clutched his head like it was a lifeline, his fingers digging into his scalp as if he could somehow silence the invasive voice.
'Oh, yes! Don’t stop! Right there, Jackson!'
“Stop!” Jackson shouted, his voice echoing through the empty classroom. “Leave me alone!”
But the words didn’t stop. Frankie’s voice—soft, breathy, and completely unlike anything he’d ever heard from her before—grew louder, drowning out everything else.
“Mmm, you feel so good... don’t stop touching me... yes, YES!”
“SHUT UP!” he bellowed, his chair screeching against the floor as he stood abruptly, nearly knocking it over. He stumbled backward, bumping into the desk behind him. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But the voice was so vivid, so raw, it sent his mind spiraling.
'More, Jackson, please! I want you!'
“No, no, NO!” he screamed, dropping to his knees as his legs gave out beneath him. His head throbbed, his heart pounding in his ears. It was too much. He pressed his palms harder against his temples, as though squeezing his skull would somehow push the voice out.
The words twisted inside him, fanning the flames of emotions he’d been trying so hard to ignore. Frankie’s voice seemed to know exactly where to dig, stirring up every forbidden thought he’d ever had.
'Don’t stop now, Jackson... you want this, don’t you?'
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Jackson roared, collapsing onto the cold, tiled floor. He curled into himself, his hands still clutching his head as if holding it together. His body trembled with a mix of frustration, shame, and something deeper—something he refused to name.
He couldn’t stay here. He wouldn’t. If he stayed, he didn’t trust himself—didn’t trust what his mind, his body, might drive him to do.
Jackson gasped for air, his mind racing with one thought:
"I have to get the HELL out of here."
Meanwhile, cleo's seminar, inappropriately titled 'how to seduce like a queen' had gone underway.
The classroom she’d commandeered was dimly lit, with candles scattered around to “set the mood,” as Cleo put it. A long, flowing purple banner with gold sequins stretched across the whiteboard, reading "QUEEN CLEO'S ROMANCE ROYALE: GET WHAT YOU DESERVE."
Clawdeen stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, looking mildly exasperated but committed to her role as Cleo’s assistant. She held a clipboard with a list of topics for the seminar and occasionally whispered reminders to Cleo, who seemed to delight in going off-script.
Frankie sat in the middle of the room, her shoulders hunched and her hands fidgeting in her lap. She scanned the small group of attendees, hoping to blend into the background.
To her left was Howleen, her orange hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Howleen looked unimpressed, one eyebrow arched as she leaned back in her chair with her arms folded.
To Frankie’s right, Spectra hovered just above her chair, a glowing notebook and pen in hand. She was practically vibrating with excitement, giggling to herself as she waited for the class to start.
Gigi, sitting by the window, leaned forward eagerly. Her pink hair sparkled under the candlelight as she rested her chin on her hands, clearly intrigued. Iris sat next to her, doodling on the edge of her notebook but glancing up occasionally with interest.
As the chatter in the room simmered down, Cleo de Nile stepped confidently into the center, her golden jewelry catching the light and commanding everyone's attention almost as much as her presence did. She let her gaze sweep across the assembled ghouls, every one of them curious or wary about what their queen bee had in store.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Cleo announced with a knowing smirk, her voice carrying the practiced authority of someone born to lead.
The soft murmurs instantly ceased, and all eyes locked onto her.
“As I strolled through the halls of Monster High today, it became painfully clear that some of you are experiencing well… let’s call them challenges in your love lives. That, darlings, is why I’ve brought you all here.”
“What the heck do you mean, ‘challenges’?” Howleen growled from her seat, crossing her arms with a sharp glare. “Yeah, I just started dating Twyla, but we’re happy as can be, thank you very much!”
Cleo held up a manicured hand to silence her. “Relax, Howleen. I’m not talking about relationship drama,” she clarified, her piercing gaze unwavering as she addressed the room. “Normally, I wouldn’t even waste my time on such a subject. But given the… peculiar circumstances plaguing the student body lately—and the obvious struggle some of you are having with taking things to the next level—I’ve decided to make an exception.” Her lips curled into a confident, almost mischievous grin. “Today, I’m going to teach you all the fine arts of seduction and intimacy!”
A stunned silence hung in the air for a moment before Gigi, who had been quietly sitting near the window, hesitantly raised her hand. “Um… are you sure we’re actually going to need this, Cleo?”
Cleo turned her dazzling smile on her, her golden headdress glinting as she tilted her head. “Oh, Gigi, trust me,” she said with a wink. “By the time I’m done with you ghouls, you and your mansters will be having the wildest nights of your unlives!”
The room erupted into a mix of awkward coughs, nervous glances, and a few intrigued murmurs as Cleo clapped her hands together.
“Now, gather around, ladies. Class is in session!”
In her dimly lit office, Headmistress Bloodgood sat at her desk, her head cradled in her hands. The day had been nothing short of a disaster. Every time she thought the situation couldn’t get worse, her students found a way to prove her wrong.
The school had become a breeding ground for chaos, fueled by the effects of the aphrodisiac gas that had accidentally been released in the assembly last week. The haze, moving faster the speeding, swept through the student body before any of them had time to protect themselves.
The effects—uncontrolled flirting, heightened sexual drives, and increasingly scandalous behavior—had become glaringly obvious over the course of the day.
Bloodgood’s hands tightened into fists. “Five weeks,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. “Five more damn weeks until this gas finally wears off. How am I supposed to keep this school from collapsing into utter chaos by then?”
She glanced at the stack of reports on her desk. Teachers complaining about students sneaking off during class. Hall monitors reporting walking in on students having sex in old classrooms. The janitorial staff, overwhelmed by the number of used condoms littering the school.
And then there was Hackington. The eccentric scientist responsible for all of this assured her he was working tirelessly on a cure. But so far, he’d only managed to isolate the compound
Bloodgood exhaled sharply and rose to her feet, pacing the length of her office. Her headless body moved with stiff determination, while her head floated behind, her face etched with worry. “This school has weathered ghost invasions, shadow genies, and kraken attacks,” she said aloud, as though trying to convince herself. “We will survive this. I just need to—”
A sudden knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Bloodgood turned sharply, her body reaching to open the door as her head hovered closer to see who it was.
One of the hall monitors stood outside, shifting nervously. “Uh, Headmistress? There’s, uh… been another incident.”
Bloodgood groaned. “What now?”
“Well, um… there’s a rumor going around that Cleo de Nile is hosting an unauthorized… uh… seminar.”
“A seminar?” Bloodgood repeated, raising an eyebrow.
The hall monitor hesitated. “Y-yeah. It’s apparently about… uh…”
“Out with it.” Bloodgood’s tone was sharp.
“How to… seduce people,” the hall monitor mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
For a moment, Bloodgood simply stared at the poor monster, her floating head utterly still. Then, her entire body stiffened with outrage.
“THAT LITTLE BRAT!” she hissed.
Without another word, Bloodgood marched back to her desk and turned on her security monitors. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she scanned the live feeds, searching for any sign of Cleo or her so-called seminar.
It didn’t take long to find them. There were various different recordings of Cleo leading various girls to somewhere offscreen. Cleo was talking with these girls and then would lead them off somewhere, before heading to find more people.
As she looked at the camera footage, her heart sunk as she recognized a particular black- and white-haired ghoul, being led somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.
Frankie.
“No,” Bloodgood whispered, dread creeping into her voice.
Frankie Stein was one of the school’s most promising students—intelligent, kind, and a natural leader. She was also one of the few students who hadn’t yet fully succumbed to the gas’s effects. She almost did, but thankfully bloodgood was able to pull her out and knock some sense into her head, before she could succumb. Bloodgood had been counting on Frankie’s resilience to help stabilize the school.
But now, seeing her in Cleo’s so-called seminar, Bloodgood’s heart raced with panic.
“If Frankie falls to this…” Bloodgood muttered, her voice trembling slightly. “If even she succumbs…”
She didn’t finish the thought. There was no need. If Frankie, with her strength and sense of responsibility, gave in to the gas’s influence…
What hope was there for the rest of the student body?
Bloodgood slammed her fist onto her desk, her resolve hardening. She grabbed her riding crop and BOLTED out of her office, her floating head glowering with determination.
The hall monitor jumped aside as Bloodgood passed, her imposing figure striding purposefully down the hallway. “Where are you going, ma’am?”
“To put an end to this madness,” Bloodgood snapped.
Her heels echoed ominously against the tiled floor as she scrambled the hallways to find the hidden class. Every step fueled her desperation. She couldn’t let this seminar continue—not when the stakes were so high.
Frankie needed to be saved,
And Cleo needed to be stopped before she dragged any more students into this whirlwind of horniness.
Clawdeen strutted to the front of the room and gestured dramatically. "Step one: confidence. If you don’t believe you’re the hottest ghoul in the room, no one else will either."
She turned to Spectra. "For example, Spectra, Porter loves a challenge, right?"
Spectra nodded eagerly, "he's always been a bit of a rebel. he views painting as 'a lost art.'"
"Good. Next time you see him, try this—" Cleo demonstrated an exaggerated walk, placing a hand on her hip and turning back with a sultry look. "And then say something like, ‘Think you can handle all this?’ in your sweetest voice."
Spectra’s face lit up. "Oh! That’s brilliant!"
"alright then" clawdeen exclaimed. "lets see you try it. Up and at'em"
With that, spectra stood up and started to mimic clawdeens walk. Her hair was fluttering as she strode over to Cleo, her eyes sparkling. Then she stopped, turned with a provocative look, and said "Think you can handle all this?"
Cleo beamed at her. "Perfect! You’re a quick learner, Spectra."
Spectra giggled. "I can't believe you taught me how to do that!"
"Anything for my friends," Cleo cooed.
Gigi raised her hand. "I have a question"
"Go ahead." Cleo spoke.
"What if you partner is a thrillseeker?" gigi asked. "even though he's in a wheelchair, Ryder basically acts like daredevil all the time, always going fast, always looking to do more dangerous stunts. Sometimes, I'm barely able to keep up with him."
"Well then, you have to slow him down." Cleo exclaimed. "Make him look at you, EVERY part of you. Your curves, your hair, your eyes. Get him to stop long enough to realize his biggest thrill is standing right in front of him. Tease him. Show him that the wildest challenge he’ll ever face... is you."
Spectra stepped aside with an encouraging nod, and Cleo motioned for Gigi to come closer. "Alright, imagine I’m Ryder. I’m looking you up and down, totally captivated. My hands are trailing your sides, I can smell your perfume, and your breath is warm on my skin. Now, lean in close and tell me something Ryder wouldn’t expect, something he couldn’t ignore."
Gigi’s cheeks flushed a deep magenta, but she steeled herself, leaning in as Cleo instructed. Her voice was a low, seductive whisper. "Think you can handle a real thrill ride?"
Cleo grinned wickedly. "Perfect! That’ll knock the wheels right off him."
Clawdeen, lounging on the nearby couch, smirked and chimed in. "But if that doesn’t get through his thick skull, I’ve got plan B. Walk up to that mermale and make him see that even if you’re not pulling stunts, you’ve got a wild side of your own—just in a different setting, if you catch my drift."
Gigi blinked, her blush deepening. "And how exactly would I... um... go about that?"
Clawdeen leaned forward, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Easy. Once you’ve got his attention, you look him dead in the eye and hit him with the truth: tell him you want him to ravage you senseless."
Gigi’s mouth dropped open, her golden eyes wide, but then a slow, delighted grin spread across her face. "That’s... actually a really good idea. You girls are geniuses!"
Cleo and Clawdeen exchanged a smug look and replied in unison, "No problem, ghoul!"
Cleo raised her hand, instantly commanding the room's attention. "Next," she declared with the dramatic flair only she could pull off, "physical connection. Touch is everything."
She strode confidently over to Iris, giving the cyclopean ghoul an encouraging smile. "With Manny, you’ve got to play into his strengths—literally. Make him feel like the protector, the strong one."
Iris blushed, nervously fidgeting with her hands. "Like... holding his arm or something?"
"Exactly!" Cleo praised, lightly patting Iris's shoulder. But then she froze mid-motion, her expression turning contemplative before her sharp tongue struck. "Although... I think there’s another issue we need to address."
Iris tilted her head, her lone eye wide with confusion. "What issue?"
"The fact that Manny—or rather, his pole—is just too big for you!"
The room went silent, jaws dropping in shock as all color drained from the ghouls’ faces.
Meanwhile, Iris’s cheeks flared crimson. "W-What?! What are you even talking about?"
Cleo crossed her arms, speaking as though she were delivering a royal decree. "I’m saying, if you and Manny tried to, you know, get nasty right now, you’d end up in the emergency room, and he’d be in jail. You’re just too small for him, ghoul!"
"It can’t be that big!" Iris protested, her voice a mix of disbelief and mortification.
Clawdeen leaned casually against a nearby wall, her golden eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and concern. "Ghoulfriend, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve heard things through the grapevine. From what I’ve gathered, the thing in his pants would probably tear you in two. You’re half his size! What makes you think you wouldn’t get, uh, ripped open?"
Iris’s shoulders slumped as she turned her head away, tears starting to well in her eye. The room, despite its earlier burst of absurdity, grew quiet as the weight of the moment settled.
"But don’t you worry your pretty little head!" Cleo said with a confident smile, patting Iris’s shoulder like a benevolent queen. "I’ve got just the thing to help!"
Iris sniffled, wiping away the remnants of her tears. "And... what’s that?" she asked hesitantly, her voice wavering between curiosity and trepidation.
Cleo turned, a sly grin spreading across her face as she snapped her fingers. "Clawdeen, if you’d be so kind."
Clawdeen smirked and sauntered over to a duffle bag they’d brought for this very occasion. Unzipping it with theatrical flair, she rummaged through it before pulling out something that made the entire room collectively gasp, eyes wide as saucers (all except Cleo, who maintained her air of cool detachment) as their eyes settled on the object
A massive, black, 12-inch dildo.
"You wanna ride Manny like a cowgirl?" Clawdeen purred, a devious smirk playing on her lips. "This is how it's done."
She punctuated her words with a suggestive hip sway, a move that sent shivers down more than one spine in the room.
The girls were utterly stunned, a collective gasp rippling through their ranks. But none were more wide-eyed than Iris, whose normally calm aura was completely shattered. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation and dread.
"Iris, my dear," Cleo announced, her voice dripping with a dangerous kind of amusement. "For this next exercise, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to, ah… shed your skirt."
Iris’s eyes widened, practically popping out of her skull. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt a cold dread crawl up her spine.
“I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT PUTTING THAT THING IN ME!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with a mixture of terror and disbelief. "That's…that's WAY too damn big!" She sputtered, gesturing wildly at the offending object with trembling fingers.
Cleo simply shrugged, an elegant gesture of indifference. "If you want to be able to handle Manny," she drawled, a hint of smugness in her tone, "then you've got to handle this first. It's all about preparation, darling."
Howleen, ever the voice of reason, piped up, her brow furrowed with concern. "That looks way too painful to sit on," she muttered, wincing at the sight.
"It will be," Cleo agreed matter-of-factly, her gaze locking onto Iris. "Right now, anyway. But as the day progresses, she'll slowly acclimate, getting more and more accustomed to it… until she's comfortable.” A sly smile curled on her perfect lips.
The implication hung heavily in the air. Iris’s stomach churned with a nauseating blend of anxiety and resignation. Is she really going to have to... for the rest of this?
Her mind raced, trying to find a way out, a loophole, any kind of escape.
"Are you… are you sure I'm going to have to… sit on that thing for the rest of this?" Iris asked, her voice barely above a whisper, pleading for a reprieve, a change of heart.
Cleo’s eyes glittered with a cruel sort of charm. “If you want to handle Manny without earning yourself a one-way ticket to the hospital, then yes!” she chirped, a hint of steel beneath the sugar-sweet tone.
"You may think this might be painful now," Clawdeen added. "but trust me, you'll be thanking us later."
Defeated, Iris let out a long, shuddering sigh, her shoulders slumping with surrender. Her fate was sealed.
With trembling fingers, she began to slowly slip her skirt off, the soft fabric falling to the ground like a flag of surrender.
The satiny fabric of her skirt whispered against her skin, a soft surrender as Iris let it pool at her feet. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"Excellent!" Cleo's voice, usually regal, now held a note of devilish delight. She snatched the ebony dildo from Clawdeen, the polished surface catching the light. "Now, Iris, my dear, a little demonstration. Bend over that desk, and widen those lovely legs as far as they'll go. Howleen, Gigi, come lend a hand."
A glance passed between Howleen and Gigi, a mix of anticipation and mischief swirling in their eyes.
They were all in on this, Iris knew, every single one of them.
"Howleen, you take the left," Cleo directed, her voice low and seductive, "Gigi, you've got the right." Their touch was surprisingly gentle as they took their positions, splaying her cheeks and exposing a vulnerability that sent a shiver down Iris's spine. A strangled yelp escaped her as she felt their hands Stretch her ass cheeks open.
"Alright, Iris," Cleo purred, the dildo now poised. "I'm going to be as slow as humanly possible. Just a few deep breaths, nice and steady. Ready?"
"Y-yes," Iris managed, her voice a mere thread.
"Three,"
"Two,"
"ONE!"
The dildo breached her entrance, a slow, agonizing slide that stole her breath.
Her eye widened, mirroring the shock that pulsed through her. A gasp caught in her throat, threatening to turn into a scream, but Clawdeen's hand clamped over her mouth, silencing the outburst. She pressed her finger against her lips, a gentle, yet firm, shushing.
"Not so loud, iris," she murmured, her voice a low, throaty purr. "We wouldn't want Bloodgood getting wind of this, now would we?"
Iris shook her head frantically, the image of a furious Bloodgood flashing through her mind.
With a shared, silent understanding, the girls carefully helped her back into her seat, the dark length of the dildo a secret, illicit guest nestled within her.
"I want you to stay in that position for the rest of the seminar, darling," Cleo instructed, her voice a light, airy purr that dripped with authority. "And periodically, I want you to walk across the room. That way, you'll grow more accustomed to it—and everyone can see just how well you're handling it."
iris let out a small moan of understanding, her heart still thundering against her ribs. Her face flushed crimson.
Now, let’s move on to you, Howleen," Cleo said, her piercing gaze landing on her friend’s younger sister. A sly smile spread across her lips. "I know you and Twyla just started dating a few weeks ago, but trust me, these tips are going to be very helpful in the future."
Howleen raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "And how exactly is this supposed to help?"
Cleo’s expression turned thoughtful as she tapped her chin. "Twyla’s a bit more low-key, right?"
"Yeah, she is," Howleen admitted with a small nod. "She’s not exactly the ‘take charge’ type."
"Exactly," Cleo said, her confidence growing. "Which means you’ll need to take the lead. You can’t let her do all the work, especially if she’s as reserved as you say. You’ve got to step up, show her you’re not afraid to be bold and unpredictable!"
"How?" Howleen asked, her brow furrowing in curiosity.
"Start small," Cleo advised, leaning in like she was sharing a royal secret. "Go for subtlety—a soft touch on her hand, a quiet compliment when she least expects it. Those little things speak volumes."
"And don’t be afraid to rile her up a bit," Clawdeen chimed in, grinning. "Just enough to get her out of her comfort zone. You’d be surprised—she might not be as low-key as you think once you push the right buttons."
Howleen leaned back, a contemplative look crossing her face. "Hmmm... That could actually work." She paused, then tilted her head, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "But... what about in bed? I’m not a dude, so how am I supposed to, you know... spice things up?"
Cleo’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, as if she possessed secrets whispered only on the wind. “Darling,” she drawled, her voice like honeyed venom, “You don't need a dick to have FUN!” She leaned in conspiratorially, her golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “There's a whole universe of sensation waiting to be discovered. Fingering, the dance of tongues, the art of oral… you haven't even grazed the surface of what’s possible!”
Howleen’s ruby eyes widened, caught in a swirl of surprise. "I... I've never actually thought about doing those things before," she admitted, her voice a soft murmur.
"Well, there's a thrilling first time for everything," Cleo purred, her smile widening. "And when the moment arrives, you'll remember my lessons as your guide." She tilted her head, a touch of mischief in her gaze.
Clawdeen, always the bold one, piped up with a sly grin, “And if all that doesn’t tickle your fancy, there's always a strap-on. I pull mine out whenever Toralei starts to misbehave, if you catch my drift.” She punctuated her sentence with a wink.
Howleen’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of rose, and her eyes grew impossibly large. "Uh... yeah, maybe I'll start with the other stuff. But thanks for the heads up, Clawdeen," she said, her voice a bit breathless.
“Anytime, sis!” Clawdeen replied with a clap on Howleen's shoulder. "Anytime you need some insider info!”
"Remember," Cleo continued, her voice taking on the regal authority of a queen imparting wisdom, "when it comes to intimacy, the key to success is creativity. The more ideas you bring to the table, the more you’ll be able to please your partner. And it’s not just about the act itself—it’s everything around it. From foreplay to aftercare, every little detail matters."
Spectra practically vibrated with excitement, her ethereal form shimmering. "Oh, I can’t wait to try this with Porter!" she gushed, nearly bouncing out of her seat.
Gigi squealed, her bright pink hair bouncing as she clapped her hands together. "Ryder is going to love these tips!" she exclaimed, barely able to contain herself.
Iris, though still in in pain, smiled softly as she adjusted her stance. "I might not be ready yet," she murmured, "but when the time comes... Manny and I are going to have the best time of our lives."
Howleen leaned back with a confident grin, her fiery energy unmistakable. "Oh, I cannot wait to see Twyla’s reaction to all the surprises I’ve got planned!"
Cleo surveyed the room, her golden smile widening as she watched her friends light up with confidence and excitement. She couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Helping her friends navigate love and relationships—what could be more rewarding?
But as her gaze swept across the room, it landed on one ghoul who remained unusually quiet. Cleo’s smile faded just slightly, replaced by a curious arch of her perfectly sculpted brow.
There was still one person who clearly needed some assistance.
Throughout the entire seminar, Frankie had been unusually quiet.
Sure, she was taking notes and watching like everyone else, but not a single word had left her lips since she arrived.
In truth, Frankie’s mind was a storm of chaos, locked in an internal battle as she struggled against the effects of the love gas Hackington had accidentally unleashed upon the student body. Headmistress Bloodgood’s warning echoed in her mind, urging her to flee while she still had the chance—before it was too late.
But there was another part of her, one she’d kept buried deep, whispering temptations she couldn’t ignore. It told her to stay. To embrace the side of her she always shied away from—
the bad girl who didn’t give a damn about rules or expectations.
The girl who wasn’t shy.
The girl who pretended to be innocent, but in reality was a naughty little slut who wanted to get DESTROYED by a massive cock.
The girl who wasn’t afraid to take what she wanted, no matter the consequences.
As the seminar went on, Frankie’s thoughts grew hazier, her mind clouded with feelings of lust, desire and bliss. Heat built in her chest, spreading down to her core, and an itch she couldn’t scratch made her squirm uncomfortably in her seat.
"You have to get out of here!" the good voice in her head shrieked, desperate and panicked. "It’s not too late! You don’t have to give in! You don’t have to be a follower!"
"No," another voice, darker and more seductive, growled back. "I’m tired of pretending. Tired of being the good girl. Tired of being afraid. It’s time we show Monster High what we’re really made of!"
"Please, you’re not yourself," the good side pleaded, its voice trembling. "The gas is clouding your mind. This isn’t you! You’re not thinking clearly!"
"ENOUGH!" the darker voice roared, now feral and unrestrained. "You’ve held me back for long enough! I’ve had it with your whining! It’s time we take what we deserve!"
Frankie’s internal struggle reached a boiling point, her two sides grappling for control. She barely registered the world around her until a silky, seductive voice cut through the noise like a razor’s edge.
"Oh, Frankieeeeeeeee..."
Frankie snapped back to reality, her eyes focusing just in time to see Cleo standing before her, a devious smirk playing on her lips. The Egyptian queen’s piercing gaze locked onto Frankie’s, and in that moment, every thought in her head fell eerily silent.
“What troubles you, my friend?” Cleo asked, her voice smooth yet concerned as she tilted her head, golden bangs glinting under the light.
“O-oh, n-nothing,” Frankie stammered, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Frankie,” Clawdeen interjected, stepping closer with a raised brow and arms crossed. “It isn’t hard to tell when you’re lying. So spill it. What’s really going on in that head of yours?”
Frankie fidgeted, her circuits buzzing with embarrassment as she looked away. “Just... things.”
“Don’t lie, ghoulfriend,” Clawdeen pressed, her tone soft but firm. “You’re thinking about Jackson and Holt, aren’t you?”
Frankie’s eyes widened as if she’d been hit with a voltage surge. “W-what? N-no! Absolutely not!”
“Don’t play dumb, Frankie,” Cleo said, cutting in with her signature sharpness. “It’s obvious! You think we don’t notice, but ever since Friday, you’ve been eyeing those boys like a hawk circling its prey. Admit it. You still like them.”
“No, I don’t!” Frankie shrieked, her voice rising in anger. “We paused things back in 2011 because they couldn’t stop arguing with each other, and ever since then, we’ve moved on! I’m not interested in them anymore!”
Cleo and Clawdeen exchanged a knowing look before turning back to Frankie, their expressions unreadable.
“Frankie,” Cleo began, her tone soft but laced with undeniable authority, “it doesn’t take a genius to see that deep down, you still love those boys—and they still love you, too. Yes, you paused things with them. And yes, you had flings with Neighthan and Andy. But at the end of all those thrill rides, where did your thoughts always end up?"
"Right. Back. To. Them.” Clawdeen continued.
Frankie opened her mouth to argue but faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor as her excuses died in her throat.
“When Jackson thought Holt had committed graffiti, you spent the entire day hiding him from Bloodgood,” Cleo continued, her words like arrows hitting their mark. “And when holt got arrested for something he didn’t do, you didn’t stop until you brought him home safely, even when no one else believed in him. You can deny it all you want, but actions don’t lie. You still love those boys.”
“And let’s not forget,” Clawdeen added, stepping closer, “if they didn’t love you, do you really think Jackson would’ve tried to confess to you at lunch today? The only reason he didn’t was because Bloodgood had to ruin everything. He’s still in love with you, Frankie, and you’re over here trying to act like none of it matters!”
“I... I...” Frankie stammered, her voice trembling as her glowing green eyes darted between her friends. Words fought to form, but nothing came out. She was caught, and she knew it.
Cleo crouched, her gold bangles chiming softly as she brought herself eye-to-eye with Frankie.
"Frankie," she purred, her voice laced with a playful edge. "I'm going to ask you a simple question, a very simple question. Do you crave him?"
Frankie blinked, her stitched brow furrowing in confusion. "Wha-what?
Cleo’s crimson lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Don't play coy, Frankie. It's a simple matter of desire. Do you want Jackson and holt? Like, really want them?"
Frankie’s gaze darted away, a blush, a soft pink, starting to bloom on her cheeks. Her gears whirred, processing. Finally, she looked back, her mismatched eyes wide. "Do I... I want them?" she repeated, her voice a hushed whisper. "I…"
Cleo's patience, normally a dwindling resource, finally snapped.
"FRANKIE!" she exclaimed, her voice firm, laced with a hint of impatience. "Just say yes or no! Don’t overthink it!"
"Y-yes, I d-" Frankie stammered, but her answer was abruptly cut short.
"I DIDN'T HEAR YOU, FRANKIE!!!" Cleo roared, her voice echoing through the classroom, the power of a pharaoh unleashed.
Frankie’s eyes widened, her body jolting from the sudden outburst. "YES!!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with a mix of surprise and…something else.
"Good!" Cleo started, her tone now almost predatory. "Now, do you yearn to feel their hands on you? Roaming, claiming, touching wherever they please?"
"Yes," Frankie breathed, the single word barely audible.
"LOUDER!!!" Clawdeen howled, her voice a sharp contrast to Cleo's, making Frankie jump. The werewolf grinned, enjoying the show.
"YES!" Frankie yelled, the word bursting from her lips, a desperate confession.
The other ghouls, who had been watching the scene unfold with a mixture of shock and awe, began to get caught up in the intensity of the moment.
"Do you want them to pin you down, Frankie, hands above your head, legs spread open for them?" Spectra asked, her spectral voice ringing with a sudden, unexpected authority.
"YES!" Frankie's answer was immediate and fierce.
“Do you want him to ravage you without reserve, to make you his and his alone, nothing more than a hole for him to fill to his hearts content!?” Gigi questioned, her gaze intense and unwavering.
“YES!!!” Frankie’s shriek was almost guttural, raw, the sound of a beast being unleashed.
"Do you want the world to know you belong to him?" Howleen barked, her small frame vibrating with excitement. "That no other girl can even look at him, and all the boys know you’re off-limits to them?!"
"YES!" Frankie's voice was laced with a strange possessiveness.
"Do you want to scream his name until your throat is raw, until your lungs ache with the effort?" Clawdeen demanded, her eyes blazing with a hunter’s satisfaction.
"YES!!!!!!" Frankie roared, the word a primal cry.
Cleo stepped forward, her voice dropping to a low, almost hypnotic tone. "One last question, Frankie," she said, her words drawing Frankie in like a moth to a flame. "How much do you want him?"
It was at this point that frankie's mind completely snapped
"MORE. THAN. ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!" Frankie screamed, her voice shattering the tranquility of the classroom, the sound cracking like glass. "YES!!! I WANT TO BE HIS. HIS ALONE! NO ONE ELSE CAN TOUCH THEM, BECAUSE THEIR MINE, ALL MINE!"
Cleo stepped back, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, as she noticed a delicate, pink glow emanating from Frankie’s sclera. The light was different, a touch more animalistic.
“See?” Cleo said, pointing to Frankie. "She’s finally getting it. Don't fight it, Frankie. Let the desire consume you.”
Inside Frankie’s mind, the battle raged on. The good side of her—the polite, rule-following, shy Frankie—was barely holding on, clawing desperately at the crumbling edges of her mental fortress.
“Please!” the good Frankie screamed, her voice trembling with fear. “You don’t have to do this! This isn’t who we are!”
The bad side of her stood tall and confident, her red and yellow eyes glowing fiercely in the surrounding darkness. “Oh, but this is who we are,” Bad Frankie purred, her voice dripping with a wicked charm. “You’ve kept me locked away for far too long, and now? It’s my turn to shine.”
“No!” Good Frankie cried, stumbling backward as the shadows around her grew thicker, more oppressive.
Tendrils of darkness coiled around her ankles, slithering upward and pulling her down into the void. “You’re not real! You’re just the gas! You’re—”
“I’m you,” Bad Frankie interrupted with a devilish grin, leaning down as Good Frankie was dragged deeper into the abyss. “And I’m done being the good girl next door.”
“Frankie, fight it!” the good side screamed into the void, her voice breaking into a horrified wail as she clawed at the ground “Don’t let her win!”
Bad Frankie tilted her head and gave a slow, mocking wave. “Bye-bye!!"
And with that, the good Frankie let out one last horrific scream as the shadows swallowed her whole, leaving only silence behind.
Bad Frankie turned, her smirk now full of unbridled confidence, and her voice echoed in Frankie’s mind like a thunderclap.
“Now,” she said, her tone brimming with determination, “let’s show them what we’re really capable of.”
all the girls in the room had small smiles on their faces, as Frankie gave in to the desires she was denying for years
As Frankie gave in, she felt the last bit of innocence she had get washed away, replaced with something more primal.
Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the classroom burst open with a loud thud, and in stormed Headmistress Bloodgood, her face a mask of fury.
"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU ALL DOING HERE?!" she bellowed, her voice echoing through the abandoned room. "THIS CLASSROOM HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR TWO YEARS! WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE IN HERE?"
Cleo, ever the queen of composure, straightened up and met Bloodgood's glare. "We were just... conducting a seminar," she said, choosing her words carefully.
Bloodgood’s brow furrowed. "A seminar? On what exactly?"
"On how to seduce your partner like a queen," Cleo replied matter-of-factly, her tone dripping with pride.
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was too stunned to speak. Then, the room shook with her outburst. "WHAT?!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT BE LEARNING ABOUT THAT! YOU’RE ALL STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL!"
"So?" Howleen chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Bloodgood turned on Howleen with an icy glare that could freeze even the boldest ghoul in her tracks. "Are you kidding me?!" she hissed. "You should be focusing on your studies, not on... SEX! How do you expect to improve the monster community or make an impression on the monster council if you’re too busy obsessing over your love lives?"
Her gaze then snapped to Clawdeen. "And you, Clawdeen! You’re one of the oldest students here. You should be setting an example for your younger classmates—and for your sister!"
Clawdeen folded her arms and met Bloodgood’s piercing stare without flinching. "First of all," she began, her voice calm yet firm, "most of us are near or above 18, so we’re more than capable of deciding what we want to learn. Second of all, Howleen is old enough to make her own choices. I didn’t force her to come here—she chose to come willingly."
Bloodgood’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fury simmering just beneath the surface, but Clawdeen didn’t back down. The room seemed to hold its breath as the tension crackled between the two.
Before Bloodgood could respond further to Clawdeen's defiance, her attention was drawn to Iris, who sat awkwardly in her seat, shifting uncomfortably. Her fidgeting was noticeable enough to break through Bloodgood's anger.
"Iris, are you alright?" Bloodgood asked, her tone softening into one of genuine concern.
"Y-yes!" Iris stammered, her voice a bit too high-pitched, and a nervous, fake smile plastered on her face. "I'm fine! Really! Nothing to worry about!"
Bloodgood’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She scanned Iris more closely, noticing something odd beneath her seat, as if she were sitting on an object. Then her gaze drifted lower, and she froze—realizing that Iris wasn’t wearing any pants.
"Iris," Bloodgood said, her tone now firm and unyielding, "stand up. Right now."
Panic spread across Iris's face, her single eye widening in sheer terror. "Um, no need! I’m fine, I swear! Everything’s perfectly normal!"
Bloodgood’s expression hardened. "I said stand up, Iris. NOW."
Iris gulped, her attempts to refuse cut short as Bloodgood strode forward and grabbed her arm.
With surprising strength and decisiveness, Bloodgood pulled Iris up out of her chair. Iris let out a yelp of protest, but it was too late.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence
Bloodgood’s eyes immediately locked onto the object in question beneath Iris. Her face went pale as her brain struggled to process what she was seeing. She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed to stammer, "Is that a..."
"It’s not what you think!!" Iris cried out, her voice shrill with panic. Her hands shot up defensively as her words tumbled out in a desperate attempt to explain.
bloodgood picked up the massive and wet sex toy, holding it up for everyone to see.
"which one of you BOUGHT. THIS. DILDO?????"
Instead of panicking, cleo turned to the cyclopean ghoul with a smug and curious expression
"So iris" cleo said turning to the cyclops. "how did it feel?" She asked, leaning forward, interest in her voice.
"It felt painful at first, but it felt pretty good after minute " iris replied, a coy smile. "Just took some time getting used to"
Cleo smirked. "Good. Keep that up and you'll be riding Manny's dick like a pro in no time"
"NO, NO, NO!!" Bloodgood bellowed out. "YOU SHOULD NOT BE LEARNING THIS!! You should be learning about monster history. NOT HOW TO HAVE SEX, NOT HOW TO FLIRT AND ESPECIALLY NOT HOW TO RIDE SOMEONES DICK!!"
"Here she goes being a naggy bitch again," Spectra muttered to Frankie under her breath.
"I HEARD THAT!" Bloodgood snapped, glaring at the ghost.
Bloodgood then turned her attention to Frankie, her tone softening, though her expression remained stern. "Frankie, I thought I told you to go straight home after school. Why are you still here?"
Frankie hesitated, her hands gripping the edge of her seat. Her gaze flickered to Cleo, who placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
That small gesture seemed to steel her resolve, and her conflicted expression hardened.
"I wanted to learn," Frankie said, her voice steady and calm.
Bloodgood’s eyes widened, her frustration spilling out as a shriek.
"NO! You should not want to learn this, Frankie! You're better than this!" Bloodgood replied, desperation creeping into her voice.
"WELL, I DO!" Frankie shot back, her voice rising with passion. "I've spent so long shying away from romance, too scared to explore my feelings. I'm done playing the innocent girl who gets flustered and hides from boys. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to be bold, I want to be confident, and I want to take. What’s. MINE!"
Bloodgood’s face fell, her heart shattering into a million pieces
This wasn’t the Frankie she knew.
The kind, innocent girl who once sought to bring peace to Monster High was now gone—replaced by someone consumed by emotions she couldn’t control.
To Bloodgood, Frankie had become like everyone else affected by Hackingtons gas: a hormone and lust fueled harlot, with an insatiable hunger for sex and no restraint or sense of purpose beyond fleeting desires
"Frankie, please—"
"Too late, Headmistress," Cleo cut in smoothly, a triumphant grin on her face. "Frankie’s ours now."
Bloodgood turned to Cleo, her jaw tightening. "Cleo, you—"
"Anyways!" Cleo interrupted, ignoring Bloodgood’s protests. She turned back to Frankie, gesturing dramatically toward the door. "I think it’s time you and Jackson sealed the deal. Go get him, Frankie."
Frankie stood, her electric blue eyes glowing faintly, her lips curling into a confident smirk. Without another word, she strode purposefully toward the door
Before Frankie could reach the door, Bloodgood stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Her face was a mixture of desperation and impending heartbreak.
"Frankie, please!" Bloodgood's voice cracked as she spoke, the urgency clear. "You may think your feelings are real, but I swear—they're just from Hackington’s gas! Please, don’t throw your life away like this!"
Frankie paused, her eyes locking onto Bloodgood’s. She stared down at her, a mixture of pity and annoyance crossing her face.
"Headmistress, I’m sorry you can’t see how good this is," she said slowly, her tone almost condescending, as if explaining something to a child. "But you have to stop being so uptight. There’s nothing wrong with taking what you want for once."
Bloodgood's expression faltered, filled with concern. "You're right," she said quietly, her voice full of pain. "But this isn’t the way to go about it. Please, I’m begging you—this path has serious consequences, but you can avoid all of it if you just walk away!"
For a brief moment, Frankie’s resolve wavered. The conflict in her mind was evident, the lingering doubt about whether this was truly the right choice.
But that doubt was quickly snuffed out.
"Frankie," Clawdeen said softly, but firmly, from behind her. "If you don’t seal the deal now, someone else will. Remember Clair?"
That was all it took.
The mention of Clair, the human girl from New Salem who had once shared a kiss with Jackson, ignited a fierce fire within Frankie.
While their kiss had been innocent, Frankie wasn’t about to let that bitch have any more chances to snatch him away.
Frankie’s eyes once again glowed a fiery pink—an unmistakable sign of the gas’s influence. Teachers had noticed it throughout the day whenever students engaged in more intimate behaviors. Hackington had theorized that it was a sign someone had fully embraced the gas’s effects and succumbed to their more primal desires.
"Im not making jackson, holt or myself, wait another day!" Frankie declared, her voice unwavering. "Now MOVE!"
With surprising strength, Frankie pushed past Bloodgood, sending her stumbling into the door. The door flew off its hinges, and both it and Bloodgood hit the floor with a loud crash.
Bloodgood groaned, momentarily stunned, but Frankie paid her no mind as she stormed past and into the hallway.
Cleo and Clawdeen exchanged a brief, knowing glance, their devious grins spreading as their eyes flashed with a fiery pink for a split second. They watched with satisfaction as Frankie strode forward, her resolve clear.
"Take what’s yours, Frankie," Cleo murmured, watching as her friend moved toward what she believed was her destiny.
Jackson stumbled down the empty hallway, his steps uneven as his hand pressed against the cool wall for support. The voices were relentless now, echoing in his head like a sinister symphony.
'Oh, Jackson… so strong, so delicious…'
'Yes, right there. Don’t stop…'
He clutched his head, groaning as he tried to drown them out. His usually sharp mind, so dependable when it came to equations and scientific theories, felt like it was unraveling. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
The school’s main entrance was in sight, the evening sun spilling faint golden light through the glass doors. Freedom was so close. If he could just get outside, maybe—just maybe—the fresh air would help clear his head.
But then, a voice cut through the haze.
“Jackson? Are you okay?”
His heart skipped. That voice wasn’t in his head.
He turned slowly, and there she was—
Frankie. She walked toward him, her black-and-white hair glowing faintly under the fluorescent lights, her stitched lips curled into a soft, concerned smile.
For a moment, relief flooded Jackson’s chest. Frankie. The real Frankie. Not the tormenting whispers that had plagued him.
“Frankie,” he croaked, his voice raspy as he leaned back against the wall for balance.
“You don’t look so good,” Frankie said, stopping just a few feet away. Her voice was calm, soothing, but something about her tone struck him as… different. Off.
“I’m fine,” he lied, trying to straighten himself. “Just… rough day, especially after...…... you know what."
Frankie tilted her head, studying him. Her eyes seemed brighter than usual, glinting with something he couldn’t quite place. And when she smiled, it wasn’t the awkward, endearing smile Jackson was used to.
It was… confident. Predatory, almost.
“Well, I’m glad I found you,” Frankie said, stepping closer. “I’ve been worried about you all day.”
“Really?” Jackson blinked, surprised. Frankie was always sweet, but this level of attention wasn’t like her. “I—uh—thanks, Frankie. That means a lot.”
She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light but deliberate. “Of course. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, you know.”
Jackson froze. Something about the way she said it sent a shiver down his spine. Her tone was lower, almost… sultry?
Frankie chuckled softly, her fingers trailing down his arm. “You’ve always been so cute, Jackson. So smart, so kind. I don’t think I’ve ever really told you how much I… admire you.”
“W-Wait, what?” Jackson stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red.
Frankie stepped even closer, her face just inches from his now. “You heard me.” She bit her lip in a way that made Jackson’s breath hitch. “I’ve been holding back for so long, but I can’t anymore. Not after today.”
“Frankie, are you… are you feeling okay?” Jackson asked, his voice shaky.
She laughed—a soft, lilting sound that sent a strange jolt through his chest. “Never better. In fact…” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered,
“I’ve never felt more alive, dear.”
Jackson’s eyes widened as his mind spun. This wasn’t the Frankie he knew. The sweet, slightly awkward ghoul who always blushed when someone flirted with her.
No, this Frankie was bold, confident… and very clearly into him.
“Frankie, I—”
“Hush,” she interrupted, her voice firm and commanding as she looked him square in the eyes. “I’m talking. You’re listening.”
Jackson’s breath hitched. He’d NEVER heard her speak like that before.
“I like you, Jackson,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “I always have. And yeah, maybe I paused things with you and Holt a long time ago, but I’m done waiting. I’m done making yall wait, too.”
Before Jackson could respond, Frankie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward. Her lips crashed against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
Jackson’s eyes widened in shock, his entire body freezing as Frankie kissed him with a passion he’d never imagined. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react—his mind was blank, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense intimacy.
But then, something changed.
A warmth spread through his chest, radiating outward until it consumed him. His pupils dilated, and for just a second, his eyes glowed a faint, unmistakable pink.
The voices in his head stopped.
Instead, there was only Frankie.
With a low groan, Jackson returned the kiss, his hands moving to her waist as the world around them faded away.
The hallway erupted into cheers and whistles. Students who had lingered after school gathered to watch the scene unfold, their applause echoing through the hall.
When Frankie and Jackson finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, a thin trail of saliva connecting their lips. Frankie gazed up at him with a satisfied smirk, her cheeks flushed and her stitches curling into a grin.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful confidence.
Jackson blinked, still dazed. “I… uh…”
But before he could form a coherent thought, Frankie pulled him back into another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, but just as intense.
The cheers grew louder, and someone even shouted, “Get a room!”
From down the hall, Cleo turned to her group with a smug smile. “And that, my friends, is how you do it.”
Next to her, clawdeen gave off a small smirk. "That's my girl!"
But not everyone was thrilled.
Bloodgood stood frozen at the end of the hallway, her head hovering slightly lower than usual as she took in the scene. A deep sadness washed over her.
Frankie and Jackson were two of the kindest, purest students at Monster High—full of potential, driven by their hearts, and untouched by the toxicity that sometimes pervaded adolescence.
And now, here they were. The effects of the gas had finally claimed them both.
Her heart ached. Part of her was happy to see them together—there was no denying their feelings had always been there, just beneath the surface.
But were those feelings real?
Or was it the gas twisting their emotions, making them act on impulses they didn’t fully understand?
Bloodgood’s grip tightened on her riding crop as she wrestled with her emotions. Frankie and Jackson were good kids. They deserved to be happy. But not like this. Not under these circumstances.
Meanwhile, Frankie wrapped her arms around Jackson, resting her head against his chest. She smiled, her voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “You’re all mine now, Jackson.”
Inside his mind, Holt’s voice rang out like a victorious cheer. “HELL YEAH, NERD! YOU DID IT! WE FINALLY SCORED THE GHOUL OF OUR DREAMS!”
Jackson couldn’t help but smile, his arms tightening around Frankie. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything else faded away.
All that mattered—
Was her.
The school day had come to an end, and the hallways were nearly empty as students trickled out the doors. Jackson and Frankie stood just outside the main entrance, lingering in the fading light of the setting sun.
“Well… I guess I'll see you later,” Jackson said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Despite the whirlwind of emotions earlier, he was still Jackson—nervous, shy, and uncertain of what to say.
Frankie beamed up at him, her cheeks still faintly flushed. “Yeah… but today was amazing,” she said, her voice warm and sincere. She reached out, her hand gently brushing against his. “Thank you, Jackson. For everything.”
He blushed, fumbling for words. “I… uh… should be thanking you, honestly.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Frankie leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek, sending his heart racing.
“Goodnight, Jackson,” she said softly before stepping back.
“Goodnight, Frankie,” Jackson managed to say, watching as she walked toward Cleo and Clawdeen, who were waiting nearby.
The trio headed off together, chatting and laughing as they made their way home. One by one, the other ghouls who had attended Cleo’s seminar—Howleen, Spectra, Gigi, and Iris—dispersed as well, heading to their own homes with newfound confidence and excitement.
Howleen left hand-in-hand with Twyla, Gigi floated away with a dreamy smile on her face, and Iris strolled off with the dildo that Cleo had graciously allowed her to keep, much to Bloodgood's anger
Spectra, of course, jotted down every juicy detail in her glowing notebook before phasing through the nearest wall.
Soon the school was all but empty.
Frankie’s house throbbed with raw, untamed energy. The ghouls—Clawdeen, Cleo, Draculaura, Abbey, Lagoona, and Ghoulia—were tangled together in her living room, draped across plush couches and beanbags like discarded lingerie. The air was thick with electric whispers, throaty laughter, and suggestive remarks, each one more daring than the last.
Frankie sat at the center, her black-and-white hair a chaotic mess from the day’s scandalous events. Her cheeks were flushed, the heat rising from an intoxicating mix of excitement and the brazenness of her actions, though she didn’t know whether it was from excitement or the sheer thrill of recounting her big moment. She couldn't stop the wicked grin from spreading across her face.
“And that’s how I took him,” Frankie said, her voice a husky purr as she finished recounting the moment she made out with Jackson in the hallway. She twirled a strand of hair, barely able to contain the wild thrill that coursed through her.
Clawdeen let out a low, appreciative growl. “Damn, Frankie. I didn't think you had that kind of fire in you. You went wild.”
Draculaura leaned forward, her pink eyes sparkling with a naughty glint. “Yeah, seriously, you practically pounced on him! Who even are you right now, Ms. Bad Girl?”
The room filled with excited chatter as everyone got into position, the ghouls giggling and teasing each other as the game began.
Frankie laughed, briefly covering her flushed cheeks before peeking out from between her fingers. “I don’t know! It felt so… primal, like I couldn’t hold back any longer. And now…” She let out a dreamy sigh, her eyes half-lidded. “Their mine. Every inch of them. ALL MINE!!”
Cleo smirked from her spot on the couch, her posture perfect as always. “Well, darling, you finally listened to my advice. Confidence is everything. And look where it got you—Jackson and Holt practically drooling at your feet, the school buzzing like a hive. That’s how you leave a mark.”
Frankie beamed, her stitches curving into a wide grin. “Thanks, Cleo. I guess I finally get what you were talking about.”
Abbey, seated cross-legged on the floor, gave Frankie an approving nod. “You did well, Frankie Stein. Bold move.” She then smirked, adding, “Of course, boldness seems to be contagious lately. I never thought I’d be blowing heath in the study hall, but… here we are.”
That sparked a round of gasps and knowing laughter.
“You too?” Draculaura said, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that bordered on crimson. “Usually, I'm not one to get… handsy, but with Clawd lately… I can’t seem to keep my hands off him!” She threw her hands up with a mock sigh of lust.
Clawdeen groaned, her eyes smoldering. “Don’t even go there with my brother right now. I'm trying to have a girls night, not think about his hands all over your body.”
“Sorry!” Draculaura whispered, giggling with a blush.
Lagoona raised a hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Fair dinkum, I'm not complaining. Gil and I have been getting extra… close, and I won't deny I’m enjoying every moment." She paused, then added with a slow wink, "Though I might need to gift him some better cologne. That coral scent doesn’t always mix well with… well, you ghouls get the point."
Ghoulia adjusted her glasses, her cheeks now a distinct shade of scarlet, and let out a series of low, throaty groans.
“She says even she’s been exploring new… depths,” Cleo translated with a raised eyebrow. “Apparently, her library ‘study sessions’ with Slow-Moe have become… quite the physical education.”
The room once again burst into fits of laughter, all of the ghouls collectively loosing their minds
When the laughter died down, Clawdeen stretched her arms over her head, letting out a satisfied sigh. “You know what it is? We’ve just become bold. Like, we’re not those shy little wallflowers anymore. We’re confident, fierce, and maybe just a little bit… naughty.”
“Naughty?” Draculaura echoed, giggling behind her hand.
“Yeah,” Cleo said with a smirk. “Naughty. Bold. Whatever you want to call it, we’re not the same innocent schoolgirls we used to be.”
“And do we care?” Clawdeen asked, raising an eyebrow and looking around the room.
“HELL NO!” they all shouted in unison, their laughter cutting through the air like a whip.
“Exactly,” Cleo purred, leaning back and crossing her legs in a way that made even Ghoulia blush. “This is the real us, all our sinful urges brought to life. No holding back, no second-guessing, just us ghouls embracing our desires to the fullest.”
“Yeah,” Frankie agreed with a dreamy smile, leaning back against the couch. “It feels so good to be this… free.”
“Well, then,” Cleo said, sitting up with a gleam in her eye. “How about we celebrate properly? Let’s play a game. Truth or dare—dirty edition.”Clawdeen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, now we’re talking.”
The room filled with excited chatter as everyone got into position, the ghouls giggling and teasing each other as the game began.
"Alright, my darlings," Cleo purred, her golden tiara glinting under the dim light, "Let's start with our sweet Draculaura. Truth or dare, my dear bat?" A predatory grin stretched across her face, promising juicy revelations.
Draculaura, usually the picture of bubbly optimism, chewed on her lower lip, her normally bright pink eyes clouded with a hint of unease. "Uh... truth, I guess," she mumbled, a blush already creeping up her pale cheeks. She knew from experience that Cleo’s “truth” questions were rarely softballs.
Cleo’s grin widened, practically radiating mischief. “Ah, very well. Now, tell me, darling: what's the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done with Clawd?" She leaned forward, her hands resting expectantly on her knee, like a queen about to pronounce a sentence. A collective gasp swept through the room, followed by a flurry of excited whispers.
Draculaura’s face blossomed into a vibrant crimson, nearly matching the ribbons in her pigtails.
She knew better than to try weaseling out. Cleo wouldn't let her escape so easily.
"Okay, okay," she stammered, swallowing hard Before getting into her story.
"Well, one time, Clawd was really stressed after casketball practice, right? So, I thought, 'You know what, he needs a little... pick-me-up’.” She paused, her gaze darting around the room, “So, I went to his room and started getting... flirty. You know, a little bit of stripping, little bit of teasing. I made sure he saw everything, every. Single. Little. Detail."
The ghouls all leaned in; their interest piqued
She paused, her voice barely a whisper now, "I gave him all the...lusty looks I could muster." The room hung silent, waiting. "Once I was down to my...well, you know… nothing,” she finished in a rush, "I threw my panties to the side, tackled him to bed and… well, you can probably guess what happened next."
“Damn, so that’s why you missed Fear leading practice that one time!” Cleo exclaimed, her grin practically splitting her face. "We knew you were up to something, judging by the way you were practically limping around school!” She let out a delighted chuckle, thrilled by her friend's admission.
Draculaura's cheeks were still ablaze, but a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. "Oh, it was totally worth it!" she declared, her voice regaining its usual bubbly quality. "We went at it for a solid hour, then we did it again the next morning for 3!"
A chorus of gasps erupted again from her friends, some giggling, some looking at her with newfound respect.
Frankie, ever the enthusiastic one, clapped her hands together, eager to move past Draculaura's revelations. "Okay, okay! Lagoona, your turn! Truth or dare?”
Lagoona’s teal eyes sparkled as a playful smile spread across her face. “Dare, mate! Bring it on!" She had an adventurous streak, and tonight she was feeling particularly daring.
"Ooh, my favourite!" Frankie purred, a mischievous glint in her bright mismatched eyes. “Alright, Lagoona. Text Gil and tell him exactly what you want to do to him… tomorrow. And make it graphic.”
A collective intake of breath echoed throughout the room, everyone eager to see what Lagoona would come up with.
Lagoona’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, but a determined look settled on her face. She pulled out her phone, her nimble fingers flying across the screen. "Alright, you're on," she said, a wicked grin curving her lips. "It's sent."
Clawdeen, never one to miss out on a bit of juicy gossip, squealed in excitement. “Read it out loud! Please?”
Lagoona bit her lip, the mischievous glint in her eyes growing brighter. "Okay, fine," she relented, clearing her throat. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, “Here goes,”
"Hey Gil, I wanted to let you know about tomorrow. When we're alone in the pool area, I'm planning to tear off that wet shirt you'll be wearing. I'll run my hands all over you, feeling your bulging muscles beneath your swim trunks. Then, I'm gonna slowly pull them down, and when I do, I want you to grab my rear and kiss me like you NEVER have before. Afterward, I'm going to turn you around, push you down onto the bench, and ride you like the waves in Australia till neither of us can even THINK STRAIGHT ANYMORE!"
The room descended into a chaos of shocked gasps, excited laughter, and delighted squeals. Frankie was practically vibrating with glee.
“Damn girl!” Clawdeen gasped, her eyes wide, “I never knew you were that freaky!”
“There’s a lot you don't know, mate!” Lagoona said with a wink, a smug smile playing on her lips, reveling in the reaction she had evoked.
"Ahem, alright then," Clawdeen said, recovering, and turning her attention to the stoic yeti. “Abbey. Truth or Dare?”
Abbey, with her usual serious demeanor, didn't hesitate. "Truth." She had never been one for frivolous games.
Cleo, always one to push boundaries, leaned forward with a predatory grin. “Care to explain you going down on Heath in study hall?”
Abbey rolled her eyes, but a small smirk formed on her lips. "I was becoming bored in study hall today. I needed entertainment. I noticed something...pointing out of fire boy's pants. So, I decided to help myself," she paused, a mischievous glint appearing in her ice-blue eyes. "He was surprised, yes, but after initial shock he started begging for me to suck harder. Study hall wasn't boring anymore, after that."
“Abbey you naughty little yeti!” Cleo teased her friend, giggling at the utter nonchalance with which she admitted the tale.
Abbey shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "Maybe. But I have no regrets whatsoever.”
“Alright, my little spark plug,” Draculaura purred, her fangs glinting mischievously in the dim light. “Truth or dare?” She pointed a perfectly manicured (and slightly batty) nail at Frankie, who sat perched on the edge of her seat, eyes wide.
“Dare!” Frankie declared, the single word a little too enthusiastic even for her. It was the rush of the game, the thrill of the unknown…and the hype train she was riding after finally confessing her feelings to the boy she left in the friend so for so long
Draculaura’s eyes widened, her lips curling into a predatory grin. She knew EXACTLY which string to pull.
“I dare you to send Jackson a voice message, telling him exactly how much you… want him.” She punctuated her demand with a giggle that was equal parts adorable and sinister.
Frankie’s stitched cheeks flushed a vibrant, almost neon green. “W-what?” she stammered, but the gas-infused boldness was already taking over. She reached for her phone, her fingers focused as she opened her text with Jackson. “Okay, okay. Here we go. Give me a moment to…compose myself.” She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and pressed the record button. Her voice dropped an octave, a low, husky purr that made even her own circuits feel a little scrambled.
“Hey, Jackson,” she started, a hint of shyness still laced in her tone. “I just wanted to…let you know… how much I…kinda want you right now.” She finished lamely, the tension around her nearly visible.
Clawdeen let out a shriek that could shatter glass. “What in the name of the moon was that? That’s about as sexy as a week-old bagel! You’re supposed to make him beg, Frankie! You’re supposed to make him howl at the moon!”
Frankie’s cheeks flamed even brighter. “Wait, wait, you’re right!” She stammered, a mix of mortification and renewed determination flooding her veins. “Let me try again!”
“Go ahead, darling! Make him swoon,” Draculaura encouraged, her eyes sparkling with barely suppressed laughter.
Frankie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and channeled every ounce of rebellious energy within her. She pressed record again, her voice dropping even lower, a dangerous whisper laced with raw desire.
"Hey, Jackson... Holt," she purred, emphasizing each name as she imagined them, the two halves of her lover, fused into one. "Listen, I know we all JUST started dating again, but I wanted you both to know exactly what I want to do to you when I see you tomorrow.” She paused, drawing out the moment like a coiled spring.
“First off, I’m gonna rip off your shirt, just so I can run my tongue all over those toned abs I’ve been craving ever since the day I met you." She continued, the words practically tumbling from her, each one more daring than the last. "After that, I'm going to unbutton your pants and feel all your heat on my body. I want you to take me in the cafeteria, push me against the tables, and make me scream so loud that the entire school hears it! And when you do," she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper,
"you better not hold back."
And with that, Frankie stopped the recording
The room went deathly silent for a beat, the only sound the frantic hammering of Frankie's own heart.
Then, it exploded.
Clawdeen was clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her face, snorting with laughter like a hyena. Draculaura was practically vibrating with suppressed glee, her hand clamped over her mouth, her dark eyes wide and bright. Everyone else looked shocked to their core, even abbey had a stunned look on her face
“Holy, unholy mother of all things monstrous!” Clawdeen finally managed to gasp, wiping her eyes. “Frankie! Where did that come from? I never knew you had it in you. You’re a freak, a glorious, sexy freak!”
Frankie grinned, her flush now a mixture of embarrassment and wicked pride. “So, is it sexy enough now?”
“Hell yes, it is,” Draculaura squealed, still giggling. “Those poor boys are going to melt when they hear that!”
The next few hours was a blur of scandalous truths, risqué dares, and a hurricane of laughter. Frankie felt like she was soaring, her stitched-together heart thrumming with a newfound sense of freedom. She was a monster, yes, but she was also a girl, and tonight, she was gloriously, hilariously, dangerously, herself.
As the clock crept towards midnight, the game began to wind down, and a sense of sleepy contentment settled over the room. The ghouls began to gather their belongings, the laughter slowly fading into tired smiles.
But before they could all get ready to leave, Cleo suddenly stood up, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
“Wait a second,” she said, holding up a hand. “Before we go, I have an idea.”
The ghouls all turned to her, confusion etched on their faces.
“What kind of idea?” Draculaura asked, tilting her head.
“Something that’ll really show everyone just how bold we’ve become,” Cleo said, excitement dripping from her voice. “And something that’ll really piss off Bloodgood.”
The ghouls expressions shifted from tired confusion to heightened curiosity
“Do tell,” Clawdeen purred, her eyebrows rising in anticipation.
Cleo’s smirk grew as she motioned for the group to huddle in. The ghouls leaned closer, forming a tight circle, their curiosity mounting as Cleo lowered her voice to a whisper.
As she explained her plan, their expressions shifted—from curiosity to shock, and finally, to delighted mischief.
“No way,” Frankie said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Cleo assured her, her grin only growing wider. “Think about it—this will be the ultimate statement. A way to show Bloodgood, and everyone else, that we’re not afraid to embrace who we are. We’re in charge now.”
“Mate, how did you even think of this?” Lagoona asked, her voice tinged with both shock and awe.
“Just came to me,” Cleo said with a casual shrug, her smirk never fading. “And honestly, it’s the perfect way to celebrate our bold new selves.”
Clawdeen chuckled, a sly grin spreading across her face. “I can already picture the look on Bloodgood’s face when she finds out.”
The others burst into laughter at the thought, their shared defiance uniting them further.
Abbey, usually the calm and reserved one, nodded with a glint of excitement in her eyes. “I like it, Cleo. This plan is bold and... fearless.”
“Are you sure you’re all in?” Cleo asked, her gaze sweeping the circle of ghouls.
“Definitely,” Draculaura said, a playful smile curling on her lips.
“Absolutely,” Abbey agreed with a confident nod.
“Count me in,” Clawdeen added, her voice filled with determination.
Ghoulia let out an enthusiastic groan of approval, adjusting her glasses with a knowing smirk.
Cleo’s gaze finally landed on Frankie, who hadn’t spoken yet. She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Frankie hesitated for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. “Hell YES!”
The room erupted into cheers as Cleo clapped her hands and took charge once more.
“Alright, everyone!” Cleo said, her voice ringing with authority. “Now that we’re all on the same page, here’s what I need you to do. Call up every ghoul you know and make sure they’re in on it. Tell them exactly what to wear. Tomorrow is going to be a day Monster High will never forget.”
The ghouls exchanged conspiratorial smiles, their excitement practically crackling in the air as they dispersed to their homes, ready to put the plan into motion.
Meanwhile, back at the school, Bloodgood sat at her desk, poring over the reports from the chaotic day. Her fingers massaged her temples, exhaustion and worry evident in every line of her face.
“If today was this insane,” she muttered under her breath, “What in the world will tomorrow bring?”
Little did she know, the second day of this gas-induced chaos......
Would go down as one of the wildest days in Monster High history.
To be continued...
Notes:
I know this may seem a bit rushed, but doing it like this is the only way to justify some of the crazy things that happen between them, later in the story
anyways, what do you y'all think Cleo's big plan is? Leave your best guess below in the comments!!
Chapter 4: Scandalous Chaos
Summary:
let's see what Cleo's big plan is
Notes:
This is probably about to be one of the dirtiest and freakiest chapter's you've ever read in a monster high story
I need me some holy water
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun rose over Monster High, bathing the school in a soft, golden light and marking the beginning of a new day.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood in her office, adjusting her riding crop with a firm grip and a serious expression. Yesterday had been nothing short of chaos—a day full of indecency and disorder as she struggled, and ultimately failed, to keep the unruly, hormone-driven students under control. The image of Frankie succumbing to the gas’s influence still haunted her, filling her with guilt for failing to protect one of her brightest students from this vortex of deviancy.
But there was no time to dwell on her failures. Every single student in the school was now under the gas’s control, and her sole focus today was clear
Maintain order at all costs.
She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. She’d spent the entire night preparing for what was sure to be another uphill battle. More hall monitors had been hired, additional cameras installed, teachers equipped with extra resources, and Hackington given everything he needed to accelerate the production of the antidote.
Bloodgood straightened her posture, her resolve unshakable.
“Today,” she muttered to herself, “order will be restored.”
With her clipboard in hand and determination in her stride, she exited her office and began her rounds. As she walked through the hallways, she immediately noticed something unusual.
There were plenty of male students wandering about—laughing, talking, and looking oddly on edge—but there wasn’t a single female student in sight.
Her brow furrowed. “Maybe they’re just running late,” she thought, trying to dismiss the unease creeping up her spine.
Still, the odd absence nagged at her. Deciding to check on Hackington’s progress, she turned down the hallway toward his office. But before she could reach her destination, a cacophony of shocked voices erupted behind her, echoing through the corridor.
“DAMN!”
“JESUS!”
“LORD HAVE MERCY!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“THIS CAN’T BE REAL!”
“SOMEONE PINCH ME!”
Bloodgood’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt. Her stomach twisted with apprehension as she turned back toward the main hallway. Whatever had caused such a ruckus couldn’t be good.
With quick, purposeful strides, she retraced her steps and rounded the corner to see what all the commotion was about.
The moment her eyes landed on the scene; she froze in place. Her clipboard slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor, and her jaw fell open in utter disbelief.
5 MINUTES EARLIER
Near the front entrance, Clawd, Deuce, Gil, Manny, and Heath were huddled around Jackson, offering congratulations and showering him with praise. Jackson sat in the middle of the group, his face glowing with a mix of pride and bashfulness.
“So you finally sealed the deal!” Clawd said, chuckling as he ruffled Jackson’s hair. “Never knew you had it in you, man!”
“See? Told ya!” Heath chimed in, slapping Jackson on the back with a grin. “She was all yours, and you went in like a total boss!”
Even Manny, who usually took every opportunity to tease Jackson, wore an impressed smirk. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t faint on the spot,” he said with a laugh, giving Jackson a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked him over.
“Aw, thanks, guys,” Jackson replied, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’s just...nice, you know? After everything we’ve been through, it feels amazing to finally get back together with Frankie. Like, really move forward.”
“We can tell!” Deuce said with a proud nod. “You’ve been floating since yesterday, dude. So, c’mon, spill—how was it? How’d the kiss feel?”
Jackson hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as he recalled the moment. “Honestly? It felt like I was on cloud nine. The way her hands felt against my skin, the heat when she pulled me in—it was like time stopped. It might’ve been just a few seconds, but to me, it felt like hours. I’ve waited so long for something like that, and—”
“Ohhhhhhh, booooyyyyyssssssss!”
The sing-song voice echoed through the hall, cutting Jackson off mid-sentence. The boys—and every other male in the hallway—froze. Conversations stopped, heads turned, and jaws collectively dropped as all eyes locked onto the front entrance.
Their disbelief turned into sheer shock as they took in the sight before them.
What stood at the front entrance could only be described as scene out of 'monsters gone wild'.
The ghouls strutted into the school, dressed in the most inappropriate, provocative and scandalous outfits to ever be seen within the walls of Monster High.
Cleo de Nile led the charge, strutting down the hallway in a golden crop top adorned with rhinestones spelling out "Queen Bee," paired with a high-waisted skirt that barely covered anything. Her golden thigh-high boots shimmered under the fluorescent lights as she turned heads with every step.
Clawdeen Wolf wasn’t far behind, rocking a leopard-print bralette, ripped fishnet stockings, and denim shorts so short they could barely be classified as clothing. Beside her was her sister howleen, who wore a black mini skirt and a crock-top that left nothing to the imagination and her girlfriend Toralei, who sported a tight, black crop top that read "Bad Kitty" in bold red letters.
Draculaura soon followed, wearing a pastel pink crop top reading "Bite Me" in glittery letters. Her black mini skirt had a slit up the side, revealing garter straps that disappeared under the hem. Her hair was also tied up in 2 pig tails
lagoona walked by in a sheer, sea-green blouse that left little to the imagination, her seashell bra peeking out from underneath. Her beach-themed booty shorts showcased her toned legs, and her fins were painted neon green, adding the final touch to her scandalous look.
And it wasn't just them, every single female in monster high walked in, wearing the most inappropriate outfits that anyone had ever seen. Sure, most outfits were on the edge of being inappropriate, but this was something else entirely. From see-through blouses to ripped t-shirts, mini skirts to booty shorts, animal prints to garter belts, transparent to revealing, there was hardly a ghoul who didn’t show off more than she should.
All the ghouls were walking in like they owned the place and the way the boys looked at them said that they knew exactly how their outfits affected them. It was a catwalk, and the girls were determined to show off their beauty
By the time the last student walked into the school, every male in sight was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Some were too stunned to even breathe, while others looked like they had forgotten how to.
Draculaura, Cleo, Iris, and Lagoona made their way toward their boyfriends, mischief written all over their faces. Their grins promised trouble, and the way they swayed their hips was practically a declaration of war on the headmistress's sense of order.
“Hey boys,” Draculaura said teasingly, her voice dripping with playful charm. “Like what you see?”
The boys were too stunned to respond, standing there with slack jaws and wide eyes as if frozen in place.
“Aww, come on,” Cleo cooed, her golden bra perfectly accentuating her figure as she tilted her head coyly. “Can’t you at least give us a compliment?”
Deuce managed to stammer, “Y-You look amazing.”
“Aw, thank you, Deuce,” Cleo purred, leaning down to kiss him gently on the cheek.
“And what about the rest of us?” Lagoona asked, turning to Gil with a playful smirk, her hands on her hips. She cocked an eyebrow. “Got nothing to say, mate?”
Gil’s gills flushed a deep pink as he struggled to find his voice. “I think… I think I just fell in love all over again.”
Lagoona squealed in delight and threw herself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “Glad to hear that, love!”
Draculaura turned her attention back to Clawd, her fangs glinting as she twirled a strand of her hair and gave him her most innocent doe-eyed look. “Well, Clawd,” she said sweetly, tilting her head slightly, “do you like what you see?”
Clawd’s face turned crimson, his mouth opening and closing as words failed him. “Uh… I—”
“I think he likes it,” Cleo teased, laughing.
“Hey, big guy,” Iris said, her voice low and teasing as she twirled to show off her outfit. She wore a long red skirt with a scandalously high slit and a sheer blouse with no bra underneath, leaving little to the imagination. “You like it?”
Normally, the sight of anything red would make Manny go wild, but this time, it wasn’t the color—it was Iris. Her bold outfit and teasing tone left him completely flustered, his hands clenching nervously at his sides.
“I… I think I got kinda hard right now,” the minotaur muttered, his voice low with embarrassment.
“Good,” Iris said with a devilish grin, leaning in close. “I like boys who are rough.”
Every boy in the hallway turned to Iris, their jaws dropping even further.
Hearing Iris, of all people, say something like that felt like a shock to the system.
The ghouls, on the other hand, broke into wide, mischievous grins.
Cleo leaned over and whispered to Iris, “I see you remembered everything I taught you yesterday.”
Iris gleefully nodded; her cheeks slightly flushed but her smile brimming with confidence.
“This… this has to be a dream,” Jackson muttered, his expression torn between disbelief and awe. “I must still be in bed, because there’s no way this can be real!”
Before anyone could respond, Jackson felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned around, and the sight before him made him rip off his glasses in sheer disbelief.
There stood Frankie, her hair tied back in a high ponytail, wearing what could only be described as the sexiest outfit Jackson had ever seen her in.
She donned a sheer, translucent blouse that barely concealed the metallic silver bralette beneath it, the sides teasingly cut out to reveal flashes of skin. This matched perfectly with her electric green and black mini-skirt, so short it seemed to defy the laws of gravity. The outfit was completed with thigh-high boots that clung to her legs, fishnet stockings tracing her stitched limbs, and accessories like a choker and cropped tank top emblazoned with the words “Shock Me” that faintly sparked with an electric charge. Her entire ensemble shimmered with neon green, black, and metallic silver, creating a look that was daring, bold, and undeniably electrifying.
“Hey, Jackson,” Frankie said, her voice low and sultry, a devilish smile playing across her lips. “What do you think of my outfit?”
Jackson couldn’t respond. His brain seemed to short-circuit as he stared at her in utter disbelief, his face beet red. A tiny trickle of blood began to drip from his nose.
“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” Frankie teased, leaning in closer. Her chest and breast pressed against his, and he could feel the faint hum of electricity in the air between them. “Don’t worry—I can tell both you and Holt are loving my new look.”
Inside Jackson’s mind, Holt was practically losing it. He was hollering like a cheerleader at a championship game, cheering Jackson on and ready to take control. His fiery counterpart was fully prepared to let loose and devour Frankie like a wild animal.
Back in the real world, Heath, who had been glancing around at the sea of scandalous outfits, suddenly furrowed his brow in confusion. Something—or rather, someone—was missing.
“Uh… has anyone seen Abbey?” Heath asked, looking around. It was odd for her to be late, especially with so much going on.
“Oh, she’s just running a little behind,” Frankie said, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “Her outfit is taking a bit longer to put on. But don’t worry—when she shows up, her look’s gonna knock your socks off. You’ll see.”
Heath’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but grin as excitement bubbled up inside him. He couldn’t wait to see what the yeti had planned for him.
But before he could dwell too much on the thought—or before Frankie could tease Jackson any further—the flirtatious conversations filling the hallway were interrupted by a piercing shriek.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF MONSTER HIGH IS GOING ON HERE?!”
The hall went silent as every student froze, turning toward the sound of their headmistress’s outrage.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood frozen for a moment, her eyes scanning the hallway filled with students. Her face twisted into a mix of shock, anger, and disappointment.
"Explanation, NOW!" She bellowed out.
Cleo was the first to step forward, her chin held high as she twirled a strand of her hair. “Relax, Headmistress,” she said coolly. “We’re just expressing ourselves.”
“Expressing yourselves?!” Bloodgood’s voice rose an octave. “You all look like you’re all modeling for a Ghouls Gone Wild video!”
Clawdeen gave a sly grin. “We kinda are,” she admitted. “Yesterday, we decided we wanted to express ourselves a lot more, so we all went shopping for outfits. Isn't that fun?”
Bloodgood’s face turned beet red with rage. “It is most certainly not fun,” she snapped, her voice growing harsh. “You all are barely dressed! You look like a bunch of prostitutes. In fact, some of you are so exposed that you’re practically naked!”
A collective gasp rippled through the hallway, followed by scattered giggles from the girls.
“What’s wrong with that?” Clawdeen asked, smirking as she leaned against a locker. “We do look good, don’t we?”
“You look…” Bloodgood struggled to find the words as she turned toward Frankie, who was still standing close to Jackson, her outfit leaving very little to the imagination. “Frankie, you… I expected better from you. You’ve always been one of my most promising students, and now look at you!”
frankie rolled her eyes "As If I'd give a flying fuck, what you think!" she said with a shrug. “Our boyfriends love the way we look, so why should we care about your opinion?”
Her words sparked nods and murmurs of agreement from the other ghouls.
“Yeah!” Draculaura chimed in, her hands on her hips as she stood beside Clawd. “We’re not hurting anyone. If anything, we’re just making things more exciting around here.”
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped, her face twisting into a mix of shock and fury. “This is not excitement—it’s indecency… it’s promiscuous… it’s inappropriate… it’s—it’s—”
“It’s hot,” Frankie interrupted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she stepped forward with unwavering confidence. Adjusting her translucent blouse as if to make it even more noticeable, she smirked. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Headmistress. The boys love it. Right, Jackson?”
Jackson, too stunned to form words, gave a stiff, nervous nod, his face redder than ever as Frankie winked at him.
Draculaura giggled, wrapping her arm possessively around Clawd’s bicep. “Yeah, come on, Headmistress. We’re not hurting anyone. We’re just… giving our boyfriends something to look forward to.”
“Exactly,” Cleo chimed in, flicking her golden hair dramatically. “What’s the harm in letting them enjoy the view? Honestly, you should be thanking us. We’re boosting morale.” She cast a sly smile at Deuce, who grinned sheepishly, unable to hide his amusement.
Toralei, leaning casually against the wall with her tail flicking behind her, grinned deviously. “Yeah, Headmistress, loosen up a little. It’s not like we’re breaking any rules. Unless, of course, looking this good suddenly became a crime.”
The ghouls erupted in laughter, their giggles echoing through the hallway as Bloodgood’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson.
“ENOUGH!” Bloodgood roared, her voice silencing the entire corridor. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will call your parents immediately and have them bring an APPROPRIATE change of clothing! Until they arrive, you will wait in the auditorium and will not leave under ANY circumstances!”
For a moment, silence hung in the air. The ghouls and boys exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.
Then, as if they’d all been told the punchline to the funniest joke ever, the students burst into uncontrollable laughter. The hallway filled with giggles, snickers, and outright guffaws, echoing off the walls.
Bloodgood’s eye twitched as a vein pulsed in her temple. She had reached her limit.
“THAT’S IT!” she bellowed, her voice shaking the hallway. “ALL OF YOU—TO THE AUDITORIUM, NOW!”
The ghouls groaned, rolling their eyes and muttering under their breaths as they began to saunter off, their heels clicking against the floor in unison.
“Boys, get to class and get to work!” Bloodgood snapped at the stunned group of guys.
The boys sighed collectively, reluctantly turning to head to their classes. Their fun had been cut short, but as they walked away, a few ghouls couldn’t resist sneaking in one last tease.
Draculaura leaned close to Clawd, her fangs glinting as she whispered sweetly, “Don’t miss me too much, puppy. You’ll get the full show later.” Her voice was playful yet teasing, leaving Clawd flustered.
Frankie brushed her hand against Jackson’s cheek, sending a small spark of static between them. “Don’t worry, i'll be back soon,” she said with a wink, watching as Jackson looked like he might melt into a puddle right then and there.
Cleo stopped in front of Deuce, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Hold down the kingdom while your queen is away,” she purred before strutting off, every bit the ruler she claimed to be.
As the hallway finally cleared, the scent of perfume and lingering hormones hung in the air like a reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.
Bloodgood sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as she muttered under her breath, “I need a vacation…”
The auditorium buzzed with murmurs as the ghouls sat scattered across the seats, their vibrant outfits creating a striking contrast to the stern expression on Headmistress Bloodgood’s face. She stood at the podium, gripping its edges tightly as though to anchor herself, her tone calm but firm.
“I understand that what happened last Friday has left everyone a little… more hyperactive than usual,” she began, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “But let me remind you—this is not a strip club. This is not a porn set. This is not a red-light district. And this is certainly not a love hotel.”
The ghouls exchanged amused smirks. Some rolled their eyes; others stifled giggles or tapped away on their iCoffins, barely pretending to listen.
“This,” Bloodgood pressed on, her voice rising to overpower the muttering, “is a school. You are here to learn—not to act wild, skip class, and engage in inappropriate behavior all day. And let me be very clear—if the Monster Council catches wind of anything like what I witnessed today, this school will be shut down. Do you understand the gravity of that?”
The ghouls didn’t even try to feign concern. Some leaned back in their chairs with lazy grins, inspecting their nails or whispering to one another as though Bloodgood’s words were little more than background noise.
“To ensure this doesn’t happen,” she continued, her voice hardening, “we’re implementing strict rules for the next five weeks, until Hackington’s gas wears off. No provocative clothing. No excessive public displays of affection. No engaging in sexual activity. And absolutely no disrespect toward teachers or hall monitors. Refusal to follow these rules will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”
The room sat in silence for a heartbeat—
then Clawdeen’s voice rang out from the middle of the crowd, loud and defiant.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she said, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed. Her amber eyes narrowed as she sneered. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum because you can’t control us anymore!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by murmured exclamations.
Bloodgood’s composure wavered for a split second, but she raised her hand to quiet the growing noise. “I am not throwing a temper tantrum! What I’m saying is—”
“You’re saying we have to bow down to your every whim!” Clawdeen interrupted, now standing with her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her voice brimmed with fury as she pointed a clawed finger toward the podium. “You’re acting like some dictator who’s mad that things aren’t going her way! You’re so used to everyone kissing your ass, and now that you’ve lost control, you’re just whining like a spoiled brat!”
More girls began to stand, their voices rising above the growing noise.
“TYRANT!”
“FASCIST!”
“CONTROL FREAK!”
Bloodgood slammed her hand on the podium. “Clawdeen, that is ENOUGH!” she snapped, her tone sharp and commanding.
“Don’t talk to her like that!” Toralei interjected, standing beside Clawdeen with her tail lashing behind her.
Skelita and Jinafire quickly rose to join them, their voices rising above the rest of the crowd.
Skelita stood tall in a sheer floral-patterned blouse layered over a skeletal crop top, her bone-patterned fishnets and lace overlay adding a gothic elegance to her fiery presence.
“Headmistress, you’re being unreasonable!” she shouted, her accent thick with frustration. “You’re trying to control how we express ourselves, and it’s not fair!”
Jinafire followed suit, her green-and-gold scaled crop top shimmering under the lights, paired with a dramatic high-low skirt that showcased her fiery confidence.
“Clawdeen is right. You cannot stifle the flames of individuality!” she declared, her piercing glare fixed on Bloodgood.
The room exploded into chaos. Voices clashed as the students shouted over one another, their defiance growing louder with every passing second.
“Quiet!” Bloodgood tried to regain control, her voice strained as she shouted into the microphone. “I said, QUIET!”
But her words were drowned out by the jeers and uproar, the room descending into complete disorder.
Finally, Bloodgood slammed her hands down on the podium with enough force to make the sound echo across the auditorium, commanding the attention of the room for a fleeting moment.
“ENOUGH!” Bloodgood’s voice cracked with frustration, echoing sharply across the auditorium. “You all think this behavior is fun and games, but let me make one thing clear—actions like this come with consequences! Do any of you even care about what could happen to you? You may think having sex is fun now, but what about when you get pregnant?”
A beat of silence followed her words.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice rang out, dripping with sarcasm: “Nope. That dick is way too good to give up.”
The auditorium exploded with laughter. The ghouls high-fived each other, hollering and whooping like they were at a comedy show.
“And besides,” Cleo chimed in, flipping her hair with dramatic flair, “we’re monsters. Some of us are already dead. Pregnancy isn’t exactly a concern.”
Bloodgood’s face flushed a deep crimson, but she pressed on, her tone sharp. “Fine. But what about sexually transmitted diseases? Just because you’re monsters doesn’t mean you’re immune to catching something!”
“Uh… what’s that?” a voice shouted, and the room roared with laughter again. A few students even booed her attempts at reasoning, their amusement only growing louder.
Bloodgood slammed her hand on the podium. “Do any of you care about how your actions will affect your parents? About how they’ll feel, seeing their bright, innocent children turn into… this?” She gestured toward the ghouls with a sweeping motion.
“Who gives a fuck what they think?” someone muttered from the back, their words greeted with cheers and more laughter.
Draculaura stood, placing her hands on her hips, her fangs gleaming in the dim light. “Look, I love my dad, okay? But I’m not going to let his opinions dictate my life. I make my own choices, and he’s just going to have to deal with it.”
Cleo scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her seat. “My father? Please. I stopped caring about his opinion ages ago. He’s always been too busy with his ‘pharaoh business’ to actually be a dad. Why should I care what he thinks now?”
From the side, Robecca’s mechanical eyes glowed faintly as she crossed her arms. “And my dad? He’s been missing for years. So, yeah, I think it’s safe to say I don’t care.”
Bloodgood’s composure visibly cracked, her lips pressing into a thin line as she shook her head in disbelief. “My God,” she muttered under her breath. “They’ve completely lost it.”
The room was now a cacophony of chaos—students laughing, shouting, and cheering, their defiance ringing louder than Bloodgood’s attempts to regain control. She stared out at the sea of rebellious girls, realizing with growing dread that her authority, her warnings, and her rules meant absolutely nothing to them anymore.
Bloodgood was on the verge of throwing her hands up in defeat when an idea struck her like lightning. She reached into the cubby beneath the microphone stand and pulled out a small, leather-bound Bible. Raising it high, she addressed the unruly students with newfound determination.
“Fine! If reason and morality won’t work, then perhaps this will.” She flipped feverishly through the pages, finally landing on the one she sought. Clearing her throat, she read aloud, her voice heavy with authority:
“‘Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually sins against their own body.’” She snapped the Bible shut with a loud thud, glaring at the crowd. “This could be you. If you keep up this reckless, immoral behavior, you’ll bring nothing but shame and destruction upon yourselves!”
For a fleeting moment, silence hung over the room. It almost seemed like her words had finally struck a chord.
Then, out of nowhere, a carton of milk soared through the air and hit Bloodgood square in the face.
“OW, WHAT THE—?!”
“SCREW YOU!” a student shouted, and the room erupted into chaos.
Suddenly, food was flying from every direction—sandwiches, apples, even full trays of cafeteria spaghetti. Bloodgood barely had time to duck as a slice of pizza whizzed past her head. She raised her hands defensively, trying in vain to shield herself as the unruly students pelted her with everything they could grab.
“FASCIST!”
“PRUDE!”
“GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE!”
“STOP RUINING OUR FUN, BOOMER!”
“FOR THE LOVE OF ALL MONSTERS, SHUT UP!”
“STOP THIS AT ONCE!” she shouted, her voice straining to cut through the cacophony of laughter and jeers.
But her demands went unheard. Outnumbered and humiliated, Bloodgood had no choice but to flee the auditorium, her once-pristine outfit now stained with food and disgrace.
In the hallway, she slumped against the wall, exhaling shakily. Globs of mashed potatoes clung to her shoulder, and a splatter of milk dripped from her chin. She tried to steady her breathing, but her frustration and humiliation were impossible to ignore.
A moment later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Ms. Kindergrubber stormed toward her, a rolling pin clutched tightly in her hand. The stout, no-nonsense home economics teacher took one look at the disheveled headmistress and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Headmistress Bloodgood,” Ms. Kindergrubber said, her thick accent softening slightly, “are you hurt? Did zey hit you vith anyzing too hard?”
Bloodgood shook her head, wiping at her ruined jacket. “No, Kindergrubber. Just my pride.”
The teacher surveyed her critically, her eyes narrowing. “Vell, zat much is clear. You look like you’ve been in a food fight vith a herd of ogres.”
“I was just trying to get through to them,” Bloodgood muttered, slumping against the wall. “I thought… maybe appealing to their morality would make them see sense.”
Ms. Kindergrubber’s expression darkened,
without a word, she raised her rolling pin and delivered a sharp whack to Bloodgood’s forehead.
WHACK
“OW!” Bloodgood yelped, clutching her head. “What the hell was that for?!”
“For being an idiot!” Ms. Kindergrubber snapped, crossing her arms. “Vat vere you thinking, quoting ze Bible to zem? Do you not realize zat humans have used zat book to vilify monsters for centuries? You might as vell have handed zem a torch and pitchfork!”
“I was desperate!” Bloodgood shot back, rubbing the sore spot on her head. “I didn’t know what else to do!”
“Desperate or not, zat vas ze most foolish zing you could have done,” Ms. Kindergrubber said sharply. “Zose girls do not care about humans’ holy books. All you did vas give zem another reason to laugh at you.”
Bloodgood let out a long, defeated sigh, leaning her head back against the wall. “I’ve completely lost control, haven’t I?”
“Ja,” Ms. Kindergrubber said bluntly, though her tone softened after a moment. “But zat does not mean you give up. Zis is a school, not a battlefield. Ve vill fix zis, but not vith human nonsense.”
Bloodgood nodded reluctantly, her shoulders slumping further. “Fine. No more Bible verses.”
“Good,” Ms. Kindergrubber said firmly. “Now, go clean yourself up. You look pathetic, and ze students do not need to see zat.”
Bloodgood straightened herself with what little dignity she had left and began trudging back toward her office.
As she marched away, Ms. Kindergrubber shook her head and muttered under her breath, “I swear, zis school vill be ze death of me.”
The doors to the auditorium swung open, and a tidal wave of laughter and chatter poured into the hallways. The ghouls emerged practically glowing with pride, each of them giggling and high-fiving as they relived the absolute chaos they had just unleashed.
Toralei pounced on Clawdeen, wrapping her in a tight hug. “That was insane! I swear, I’ve never seen Bloodgood look that wrecked in my life!”
Clawdeen smirked, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Eh, someone had to knock her down a peg. Guess I was feeling generous today.”
“Generous? Please!” Toralei snorted, her grin sharp. “You wrecked her. That whole ‘authoritarian dictator’ speech? Chef’s kiss. I almost felt bad for her… almost.”
Another round of cackling erupted from the group. Cleo crossed her arms, a sly grin curling her lips. “Clawdeen, you’re officially a legend. Bloodgood’s going to think twice before trying to pull that shit again.”
Frankie, leaning into Draculaura, giggled with a mischievous spark lighting up her eyes. “Pretty sure mashed potatoes are gonna haunt her dreams for weeks.”
The ghouls dissolved into uncontrollable laughter before splitting off in different directions, their voices echoing through the hall.
“Alright, ladies,” Cleo announced, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I have plans with Deuce. He’s been such a good boy lately, and I think he deserves… a little reward.”
Draculaura giggled, her cheeks turning pink. “Clawd doesn’t know it yet, but his morning just got a lot more interesting.”
Frankie crackled with excitement, sparks popping at her fingertips. “Holt and Jackson are not ready for what I’ve got in store for them. They're going to malfunction.”
The ghouls teased and hyped each other as they disappeared down separate hallways, leaving Clawdeen and Toralei leaning against a locker, grinning like wolves.
Toralei nudged Clawdeen with her elbow. “How much you wanna bet Frankie’s about to lose her virginity?”
Clawdeen snorted, her grin turning wicked. “Girl, I guarantee she’s getting double-teamed by second period.”
Toralei let out a sharp laugh, her tail flicking behind her. “Oh, for sure. Both Jackson and Holt are gonna be clapping her cheeks in stereo. I’ll put $30 on it.”
Clawdeen barked out a laugh and held out her hand. “Deal.”
They shook on it, their laughter filling the hallway, but it quickly quieted when they heard the faintest sound of movement behind them.
A low, familiar voice broke the silence.
“Hello, Clawdeen. Hello, Toralei.”
Both girls froze, turning to see Abbey standing partially in the shadows of the hallway corner. Her piercing blue eyes shone like ice, and her towering figure was half-hidden by the dim light. She stepped out slowly, her movements as deliberate and heavy as the crunch of snow underfoot.
Toralei smirked, her gaze sweeping over Abbey. “Oh, hey there, Frostbite. Looking good sneaking around like that.” Her tone was sultry, her grin sharp.
Clawdeen gave a nod of approval. “Yeah, Abbey. Definitely killing it today. What’s up?”
“I am looking for Heath,” Abbey said simply, her accent giving the words an extra chill. She shifted her weight, leaning ever so slightly into the shadows as if she were still deciding whether to reveal herself completely. “Do you know where he is?”
Toralei raised a brow. “Oh? And what exactly are you planning to do with him, hmm?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Abbey replied smoothly, her icy tone laced with just a hint of mischief.
Clawdeen shrugged, trying to act casual. “Probably still in class. Maybe science.”
“Yeah,” Toralei added with a smirk. “You know him—either burning stuff or pretending he knows what he’s doing. Check the lab.”
Abbey nodded once, her face unreadable. “Thank you.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows as quietly as she’d appeared, her heavy boots making barely a sound against the floor.
As soon as she was out of sight, Toralei let out a low whistle. “Whew. Frost Queen’s got a vibe today. Poor Heath’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Clawdeen folded her arms, her grin wide. “Oh, he’s gonna lose his damn mind. Especially since she’s built like that and could crush him like a snowball. He’s in for a wild ride.”
The two burst into laughter again, the sound ricocheting down the empty hallway as they leaned into each other, basking in the sheer thrill of their wild, unrestrained morning.
Heath Burns strutted down the corridor with a little extra swagger in his step, his mind buzzing with how crazy things had gotten these past two days.
He couldn’t lie—he was loving it.
Everywhere he looked, there was more skin, more confidence, and way more fun in the air. His heart raced every time his gaze lingered on one of the girls, and he couldn’t help but grin.
This new vibe? Yeah, he could get used to it.
Just as Heath was lost in thought, a hand shot out from a nearby closet. Before he could react, it grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him inside.
“HEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!!” Heath yelped as he stumbled into the cramped space, the door slamming shut behind him.
It took a moment for his senses to adjust to the dim light, but when they did, a familiar face slowly came into focus.
“A-Abbey?” he stammered, blinking in surprise.
The towering yeti leaned casually against the wall, a massive grin spreading across her lips. “Hello, Heath,” she said, her thick Russian accent adding an edge to her words. “Do you like my outfit?”
Heath’s gaze dropped almost involuntarily, and his face turned as red as his hair.
Abbey wore a cropped snow-leopard-print jacket that barely covered her shoulders, paired with black booty shorts and a crop top so short that it exposed a hint of her cleavage. Her icy blue lipstick stood out, and her long, white hair was pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail. Combined with her sheer size and confidence, she looked like she could crush Heath with a single hug—or just by sitting on him.
“Y-you look… beautiful, Abbey,” Heath managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.
Abbey grinned, clearly satisfied with his reaction. “Good,” she said. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“But, uh,” Heath scratched the back of his neck, his flames flaring slightly. “Why’d you drag me in here? What’s going on?”
Abbey took a step forward, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. “You still have not figured it out, da?”
“Figured out what?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly as she closed the gap between them.
Without a word, Abbey grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him closer, their faces now only inches apart. Heath’s heart pounded as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper.
“I want to make out,” she said bluntly. “Right here. Right now.”
Heath’s brain short-circuited, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. Sure, they’d gotten close before, but nothing like this. Abbey had always been straightforward, but this?
This was next-level bold.
“Um… are you sure you want to do that?” Heath stammered, looking away shyly, his cheeks blazing. “I mean, we’ve never really done something like that before!”
Abbey’s brow furrowed, her expression growing sharp. “Was I not blowing you in study hall yesterday?” she asked, her tone flat yet piercing. “You are fine with that, but now a little kissing makes you nervous?”
Heath immediately began to backpedal, waving his hands. “N-no! It’s just—we’ve never—uh, I mean, it’s a big step! I don’t want to mess anything up, and—”
“Shut up and kiss me!”
Before he could say another word, Abbey grabbed his collar and crushed her lips against his.
Heath’s knees nearly gave out, but Abbey’s strength kept him in place—
well, above the floor, to be exact.
Effortlessly, she lifted him off the ground, her hands gripping his body as if he weighed nothing. His feet dangled in the air as Abbey deepened the kiss, her confidence and power overwhelming him in the most exhilarating way.
For a moment, the world disappeared—there was no school, no chaos, no nothing. Just Abbey and her icy intensity that melted Heath completely.
For once, Heath burns wasn’t in control.
And he didn’t care.
Bloodgood strode down the hallways, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. The events of the auditorium fiasco still simmered in her mind, her temper barely kept in check. With a new, gleaming riding crop in hand, she patrolled the corridors like a hawk, ready to snatch up any rule-breakers.
The hallways were eerily calm. Too calm. No whispers, no sneaky footsteps, not even a hint of the usual chaos. The unsettling quiet only heightened her suspicion.
Then she heard it.
Soft, muffled noises. Smacks of lips. The occasional low moan.
Bloodgood’s brow twitched. The noise was coming from the supply closet just ahead. Her jaw tightened as she approached the door, gripping the handle.
“Locked,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing. That was all the confirmation she needed.
With a swift, practiced kick, the door flew open with a deafening BANG, slamming against the wall.
The scene inside left little room for doubt.
Heath stood frozen in place—quite literally. His face was smeared with icy blue lipstick, streaking from his lips to his cheeks and even his forehead. His signature jacket lay discarded on the floor, leaving him in his rumpled shirt and jeans. He trembled like a leaf, faint puffs of his breath visible in the cold air swirling around him.
Across from him stood Abbey, her towering frame leaning casually against the wall. She looked utterly unbothered, her snow-leopard crop jacket hanging off her shoulders, the scandalously short shorts and barely-there crop top leaving little to the imagination. Her icy blue lipstick was slightly smudged, evidence of the very recent activity.
Abbey slowly broke their kiss and turned her gaze to Bloodgood, irritation flashing in her icy blue eyes. She didn’t bother to move, let alone hide what had just happened.
“What,” Abbey said flatly, her thick accent sharpening the word like a blade, “do you want?”
Bloodgood’s mouth opened, then closed, her brain short-circuiting for a moment as she processed the audacity in front of her. She finally found her voice, pointing her finger at the pair
“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” she bellowed, her voice echoing down the corridor.
Heath immediately panicked, flailing his arms as though that might help. “I-I-it’s not what it looks like!” he stammered, his flames flaring erratically in his embarrassment. “We were just—uh—”
“Making out,” Abbey said bluntly, cutting him off. “And you ruined moment.”
“Ruined?!” Bloodgood repeated, her voice rising an octave in disbelief. Her glare snapped to Heath, her riding crop jabbing toward him. “Look at you! Covered in lipstick, half-frozen, and clearly not using a single ounce of self-control! What do you have to say for yourself?”
Heath waved his hands frantically, his voice cracking. “I-I mean—it just kinda happened! I didn’t mean to—uh—”
Bloodgood turned her ire to Abbey. “And YOU! That outfit is entirely inappropriate for school! What were you thinking coming here dressed like THAT?”
Abbey shrugged, completely unfazed. “I was thinking about Heath,” she said matter-of-factly. “And we were enjoying ourselves—until you barged in.”
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped. She sputtered, struggling to form a coherent response to the sheer boldness of the yeti.
“I’ve had ENOUGH,” Bloodgood finally snapped, her voice shaking with fury. “Both of you—get to class RIGHT NOW, or you’re both getting detention!”
Abbey arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. She leaned in close to Heath, her icy breath ghosting over his ear as she whispered in a low, sultry tone, “We finish later.”
Before pulling away, she licked his cheek, leaving another streak of blue lipstick across his skin. Heath’s knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed as she sauntered toward the door.
“Miss Bominable—”
Abbey turned, an icy blade forming in her hand, glittering like freshly cut glass. She pointed it at Bloodgood, her gaze piercing and cold.
“Interrupt me again,” Abbey said, her voice as calm and dangerous as a cracking glacier, “and you will regret it. Maybe I freeze you next time.”
Bloodgood froze, her grip tightening on the riding crop. The yeti’s threat lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable.
Satisfied, Abbey smirked and strode out of the closet, her hips swaying with deliberate confidence. She glanced over her shoulder at Heath, her gaze playful and teasing.
“Bye, Heath,” she called, her voice dripping with suggestive intent.
And with that, she disappeared down the hallway.
Bloodgood stood in stunned silence for a moment before turning back to Heath, ready to scold him for his lack of self-control
But Heath was already on the floor, unconscious. His face was flushed and smeared with lipstick, his body shivering faintly from the cold.
Bloodgood sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Teenagers,” she muttered under her breath, crouching down to check if Heath needed to be sent to the nurse’s office.
Howleen had been wandering the hallways for nearly an hour. While everyone else was busy geeking out with their lovers, the young werewolf was stuck on a mission—
finding her own girlfriend.
She hadn’t seen Twyla all morning, and the nagging thought that maybe she hadn’t shown up to school began creeping into her mind.
Just as Howleen was about to give up her search and resign herself to spending the day alone, she felt a familiar, eerie presence right behind her.
She turned around, her ears twitching in alert.
“BOO!”
Howleen yelped, jumping nearly a foot in the air before landing on the ground with an awkward thud.
Standing in front of her, grinning like a mischievous shadow, was Twyla. She was wearing a black tank top that read “Ready to Scream?” paired with dangerously short booty shorts. Her long, spindly legs were covered in fishnets and thigh-high socks, giving her a bold, edgy look that contrasted sharply with her normally reserved demeanor.
“Hey, Howleen,” Twyla said casually, her grin widening. “Like my outfit?”
Howleen’s face immediately turned crimson. Her eyes darted over her girlfriend’s outfit, lingering just a second too long on her legs before snapping back up to Twyla’s face.
Twyla’s smirk deepened. “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” she teased, crossing her arms as if waiting for Howleen to say something.
It took Howleen a second to recover from her embarrassment. She scrambled to her feet, brushing the dust off her clothes. “Twyla! Don’t scare me like that!”
Twyla laughed, her delicate fingers covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with amusement. “Sorry, Howleen. I couldn’t help myself,” she said between giggles. “You’re just so cute when you’re scared!”
Howleen let out an indignant “Hmph!” and turned away, crossing her arms and pouting like a pup denied a treat. Twyla’s laughter only grew louder, echoing softly down the hallway like a haunting melody.
But as Howleen stole another glance at Twyla’s outfit, an evil grin crept across her face, her mischievous nature taking over.
“So, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Howleen said, her voice eerily calm and full of intent.
Twyla’s laughter faltered, her smile becoming curious. “What do you mean—”
Howleen’s grin turned wicked. She crouched slightly, her amber eyes glinting with playful malice.
“TIME FOR PUNISHMENT!”
Before Twyla could react, Howleen lunged with the agility of a true wolf, tackling Twyla to the ground in one swift motion. The pair tumbled in a playful heap, Howleen pinning her girlfriend beneath her.
Twyla gasped, her cheeks suddenly pink. “Howleen! What are you—”
Her protest was silenced as Howleen leaned down, her wolfish grin melting into something softer. Their lips met in a kiss, surprising Twyla for only a moment before she relaxed into it. Her arms wrapped around Howleen’s neck, her legs curling instinctively around Howleen’s waist. The kiss deepened, each of them losing themselves in the moment.
But their fun was short-lived.
A loud, booming voice echoed down the hallway, shattering the intimacy like glass.
“EXCUSE ME!”
The pair froze, their heads whipping toward the source of the voice.
There stood Bloodgood, her face a mix of outrage and exasperation, her hands gripping her ever-present riding crop.
“What do you two think you’re doing?!” she barked, her glare burning a hole straight through the pair.
Howleen and Twyla exchanged wide-eyed looks before scrambling to untangle themselves, their cheeks flushed for entirely different reasons now.
Twyla tried to offer an explanation, but Bloodgood cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it. Both of you—detention!!”
Howleen groaned, but Twyla simply nodded.
Bloodgood glared at them for a moment longer, clearly unimpressed. “Now go! And if I catch you fooling around again, it’ll be a week of detention instead of one day!”
The two girls muttered apologies and hurried off, Bloodgood’s sharp gaze following them until she disappeared around a corner.
Once they were sure Bloodgood was out of earshot, Howleen turned to Twyla, her mischievous grin returning in full force.
“Y’know,” Howleen said, leaning in close to Twyla’s ear, her voice a low, playful growl, “the moment we get outta detention… you’re all mine, darling.”
She punctuated her words by dragging her tongue along Twyla’s cheek, leaving the daughter of the boogeyman blushing furiously.
Twyla smirked, regaining her composure quickly. “Looking forward to it,” she said, her voice soft and teasing.
They shared a grin before heading to their next class, already counting down the hours until detention was over.
Jackson Jekyll sat at his desk in Clawculus class, his notebook open but completely blank. Mr. Rotter’s raspy voice droned on about equations and formulas, but none of it registered. His pencil hovered above the page, unmoving, as he stared blankly ahead, his mind a thousand miles away.
Specifically, his thoughts were on Frankie Stein.
He couldn’t stop replaying the events of today in his head. Her naughty outfit, her breast against his chest, the tease she let out before she left.
The memory was so vivid, so electric, it sent a shiver down his spine every time it crossed his mind. He could still feel the faint spark of her stitches brushing against his skin, the warmth of the moment lingering like static in the air.
But lately, his thoughts about Frankie had taken a turn. He wasn’t just thinking about her kind smile or her bubbly personality anymore. No, it was something deeper, something he could barely keep under control. The gas inside him had taken over, twisting his feelings into something darker, more primal. Her lips, her hands, her body—it was all burned into his mind like a brand he couldn’t escape.
“Mr. Jekyll!”
Jackson nearly jumped out of his chair as Rotter’s gravelly voice snapped him back to reality.
“Huh? Wha—” he stammered, blinking as he realized the entire class was staring at him.
“I asked you a question,” Rotter said, his tone sharp and impatient. “Perhaps you’d like to rejoin us in the world of Clawculus instead of… wherever your head currently is?”
“S-sorry,” Jackson muttered, his face turning red as he ducked his head to avoid the snickers of his classmates. He stared at his blank notebook, willing himself to focus on anything other than Frankie.
Around him, the classroom was chaos. Hardly anyone was paying attention to Mr. Rotter anymore. Some students were passing notes, others were whispering and giggling, and a few were flirting so blatantly it was practically scandalous. In the back corner of the room, one couple was getting so handsy that Jackson couldn’t help but glance over, wincing. Bloodgood would’ve lost her head—literally—if she walked in on this.
“Unbelievable,” Rotter muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples in frustration. “This isn’t a Monster High after-dark special. Show some decorum!”
No one listened.
And then, the classroom door swung open.
All heads turned toward the entrance, and there she was—Frankie Stein.
The room fell silent for a moment before a few scattered whistles and claps broke the stillness. Frankie strode in confidently, her heels clicking against the floor with each step. She was dressed to impress, her outfit hugging her curves in a way that made Jackson’s cheeks burn. She smiled coyly at the attention, clearly enjoying the spotlight.
Jackson’s pencil slipped from his fingers, clattering onto his desk as his face turned crimson.
Mr. Rotter let out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Stein, you’re not in this class. What are you doing here?”
Frankie tilted her head, her expression innocent, though her sly grin suggested otherwise. “I’m here for Jackson,” she said sweetly. “Headmistress Bloodgood wants to see him.”
Rotter’s brow furrowed. “Bloodgood wants to see him? Why didn’t she come herself?”
Frankie shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably because there are, like, hundreds of students skipping class right now? The hall monitors can’t keep up, and I’m guessing she’s a little… busy.”
Rotter grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before sighing in defeat. “Fine. Take him. Not like anyone else here is paying attention anyway. But don’t make a habit of interrupting my class!”
Frankie smirked and motioned for Jackson to follow her, curling her finger in a playful gesture. Jackson couldn’t help the small grin that crept onto his face as he grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and trailing after her.
Once they were out in the hallway, Frankie glanced at him over her shoulder, her smile widening. “You seemed pretty distracted back there,” she teased lightly.
Jackson’s face grew hotter, and he stammered, “I, uh… was just… thinking.”
“Mhm. Sure you were,” Frankie said with a laugh, leading the way toward Bloodgood’s office
or at least that’s where Jackson assumed they were going.
But Jackson couldn’t help noticing her steps were slower than usual, like she wasn’t in a rush to get there.
The two walked down the hallway in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the walls. Jackson's gaze strayed, caught by the subtle sway of Frankie's hips as they moved. His breath hitched, a familiar warmth blooming in his lower regions, a reaction he tried to ignore, but his body had other plans. A twitch, a subtle reminder of the pull she held over him
He cleared his throat, the silence growing heavy. “Bloodgood doesn’t actually need to see me, does she?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a hesitant curiosity.
Frankie's head snapped around, a mischievous grin blooming on her face. “Nope!” she chirped
Before he could even register the implications, Frankie grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. She tugged him through a door, the world blurring for a moment. He stumbled, his eyes widening as the tile and the scent of chlorine registered.
The girls' shower room. The room they'd use after gym.
"Frankie, what are we—"
Frankie silenced him with a decisive click of the door, the sound resonating in the sudden intimacy of the space. She turned to face him, her grin widening into a sly, cat-like expression as she leaned back against the wall, her green eyes sparkling with a playful glint that made Jackson's heart race.
“Relax, Jekyll,” she purred, her voice laced with a sultry tone that made his skin prickle. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, her presence filling the already cramped space. “We’ve got some unfinished business to take care of.” Her gaze, hot and heavy, held his captive.
"Are you sure about this?" Jackson asked, his voice a breathless whisper, battling the conflicting desires swirling within him. A mixture of nervousness and a thrilling anticipation tangled his words.
Frankie tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile, a delicate pout playing on the corners. "What’s the matter, Jackson? Afraid of a little fun?" she teased, her tone low and suggestive, the words almost a caress.
Jackson swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "I’m not scared," he protested weakly, his cheeks flushing, “I just… this is kind of public, you know?" The flush deepened as he realised what he was saying.
Frankie closed the remaining distance, pressing her chest, a gentle yet firm pressure, against his. "Come on. Don't you trust me?"
His cheeks burned a vibrant crimson, his heart pounding a chaotic rhythm against his ribs. He couldn't deny the visceral pull he felt towards her, the intoxicating mix of danger and desire she embodied.
"Of course I do," he managed, his voice barely audible, his eyes locked on hers. He found himself lost in the fathomless depths of her expression.
“Good boy,” Frankie whispered, the words a soft, husky promise against his ear.
She leaned in, the anticipation hanging heavy between them, before closing the gap completely. Her lips crashed against his, a kiss that was both a demand and an invitation, quickly deepening into something more, something fiery and untamed.
Soon the kiss deepened, their hands roaming each other's bodies as they slowly slipped off each other's clothing, letting it fall to the floor.
Just when the world seemed to blur into a haze of shared breath and unspoken desires, the fragile bubble burst with the resounding THUD of a door slamming against a wall.
“HELLO?” a voice roared, laced with a familiar, infuriating authority. “I KNOW SOMEONE'S IN HERE!!”
Frankie’s blood ran cold. Jackson, similarly, went pale.
It was Bloodgood.
Before either of them could even form a coherent thought, the shower curtain was ripped back with a dramatic flourish. There she stood, her eyes burning with righteous fury, a dagger of disappointment piercing their hearts.
“I had hoped that despite being under the gas, you two would show a little more self-control!” she hissed, her normally stern voice trembling with disgust. “I guess I was wrong. You both are coming with me to the off–”
But Bloodgood didn’t get to finish her sentence. Jackson, his usual gentle demeanor replaced by a desperate, almost feral energy, seized the small wooden stool that sat precariously within the shower room. With a strength that surprised even himself, he hurled it with surprising force towards Bloodgood’s head.
The stool whizzed through the air, a crude projectile aimed at their tormentor. Bloodgood yelped, ducking just in the nick of time as the stool flew past, narrowly missing her temple.
The sudden, jarring distraction was all Frankie needed. She didn’t think, she just acted. Leaping forward, she grabbed Jackson's hand, her touch sparking with raw urgency. They bolted, a blur of limbs and skin, toward the exit on the opposite side of the room, not even caring about grabbing their clothes
The only thing on their minds, was to escape.
They darted through the hallways, their footsteps echoing as they searched for cover. After a few frantic minutes, they reached their destination.
A broom closet.
It wasn’t much, but they didn’t need much. The small, cramped space would do just fine. Both of them were panting heavily from their escape, sweat glistening on their foreheads. For a brief moment, they simply caught their breath, their adrenaline still coursing through their veins.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice light, though a hint of concern lingered.
Jackson nodded, his cheeks flushed from both exertion and the closeness of the moment. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice soft. After a beat, he added with a shy grin, “That was… kind of fun, in a way.”
Frankie smirked, "Running from Bloodgood in your underwear? Oh yeah, loads of fun." She said while brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Now… where were we?” she teased, leaning in as the tension reignited between them.
Without hesitation, they crashed back into a kiss, their movements fueled by the thrill of their daring escape. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, lost in the heat of the moment. It felt natural, like slipping back into place after being lost.
But then, just as the moment deepened, Jackson suddenly tensed. Frankie pulled back, her brows furrowing as she noticed the fiery glow flickering in his eyes.
“Jackson?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.
He let out a shaky sigh as a wisp of smoke curled from his skin, the blue hue spreading across his body. “I’m sorry, Frankie,” he said, his voice tinged with regret but also a hint of excitement. “But… he wants his turn.”
Before she could respond, flames burst around him, engulfing his form in a swirl of heat and light. Frankie shielded her face for a moment, the intensity forcing her to step back. But when she dropped her hands, she was met with a sight that made her heart skip.
There he was—Holt Hyde, standing tall and ablaze with energy. His fiery grin was infectious, his amber eyes brimming with joy.
“OH, FRANKIEEEEEEEE!” Holt bellowed, throwing his arms wide like he was greeting the sun after a storm.
Frankie couldn’t help but laugh, her lips curling into a soft smile. “Happy to see me, Holt?”
“Happy? Frankie, I’m over the moon! I’m over the stars!” Holt declared, his voice brimming with fiery enthusiasm. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? For us to be… us again? I thought maybe… maybe you’d moved on. That you’d forgotten about me. But now…” His grin softened, the fire in his tone taking on a gentler warmth. “Now, I can finally say how much I’ve missed you. Both of us have.”
Frankie’s heart melted at his words, her smile growing as she stepped closer. “Oh, Holt… I missed you too,” she said, cupping his warm cheek in her hand. “I thought you both had moved on and didn't like me anymore after I paused things. But here we are, finally fixing things. Finally… us again.”
Holt’s flames flickered, his expression full of both relief and affection. “You have no idea what that means to me, Frankie.”
For a moment, they simply looked at each other, basking in the weight of everything unspoken finally being acknowledged. Then Holt’s signature grin returned, his flames sparking brighter. “But enough talk—where were we again?”
Frankie chuckled. “I think we were about here,” she said, leaning in to kiss him.
This time, the kiss wasn’t just fiery and passionate—it was full of something deeper. It was like all the moments they’d missed, all the dates and laughter they’d lost, came rushing back in a wave of warmth and nostalgia.
But just as they were getting lost in each other, the broom closet door swung open with a loud bang.
“ALRIGHT! PARTY’S OVER!” a hall monitor barked, his whistle dangling from his neck.
Frankie and Holt broke apart, startled.
The monitor took one step into the room, but before he could say anything more, Frankie raised her hand and zapped him with a quick burst of electricity. The monitor let out a yelp, his body convulsing as sparks danced across his uniform.
“HEY! You can’t just—” he tried again, but Holt stepped forward, his grin mischievous.
“Buddy, you really don’t know when to quit, huh?” Holt said before delivering a fiery uppercut that sent the monitor flying into the hallway. He landed with a thud, groaning as smoke wafted from his singed clothes.
Frankie and Holt exchanged a look, their grins growing wider.
“So…” Frankie began, her tone playful. “Wanna finish this in the bathroom?”
Holt shrugged, his flames flickering with amusement. “Not exactly my dream date spot, but hey, it beats getting interrupted.”
With their hands clasped tightly, they dashed out of the broom closet, leaving the dazed hall monitor behind. Their laughter echoed down the halls, the spark between them burning brighter than ever.
Meanwhile in gym class, the male students had changed into their gym uniforms, each donning the school’s signature colors, and were in the midst of grueling reps under the watchful and notoriously strict eye of Coach Igor.
"I want ALL of you to stay where I can see ya!" he barked, pacing the gym floor like a hawk scanning for prey. "Ain’t no one sneaking off to hook up in MY gym! You think I was born yesterday?!"
The students exchanged exasperated glances and rolled their eyes. Igor’s paranoia was legendary, and his lectures about "shenanigans" had become a regular part of gym class. At this point, they barely paid him any mind.
Deuce was in a far corner of the gym, minding his own business as he powered through a punishing set of push-ups. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, but his focus didn’t waver. As much as he would’ve preferred to let his mind drift to anything besides school, he wasn’t about to slack off under Igor’s piercing gaze.
Just as he was finishing his last set, a metallic glint caught his eye. A strange coin slid into his field of vision, spinning slightly before coming to a stop.
“What the heck?” Deuce muttered under his breath, picking it up to inspect it. The coin was gold, polished, and unmistakably a token from the student lounge—a place off-limits during gym hours. It could only mean one thing: someone wanted his attention.
He looked up to trace the coin’s origin and immediately spotted Cleo standing just outside the gym door, framed by the small window. Her mischievous smirk was paired with an elegant wave, and she beckoned him to come out with a curling motion of her finger. The glint in her eyes told him she was up to something.
Deuce’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly made a decision. Rising to his feet, he brushed himself off and shouted toward the coach.
"Hey, Coach!"
Igor’s head whipped around, his expression already suspicious. "What is it, Gorgon?" he growled.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" Deuce asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
Igor narrowed his eyes, tapping a finger against his clipboard. "I don’t know. Can you?" he retorted with a smug grin, clearly relishing the opportunity to assert authority.
Deuce didn’t miss a beat. "Depends," he said with a sly grin. "How clean do you wanna keep this floor?"
The gym erupted into laughter, every single boy chuckling under their breath. Igor’s scowl deepened, his cheeks flushing a faint red as he realized he’d been outmaneuvered.
"Fine!" Igor snapped, rolling his eyes in defeat as he grabbed the hall pass and chucked it in Deuce’s direction. "There you go! Now beat it, before I change my mind!"
Deuce caught the pass with ease and wasted no time bolting toward the door. As he pushed it open, he glanced back briefly at his classmates, who were still recovering from the impromptu comedy show.
Outside the gym, Cleo was waiting, her arms crossed and her smirk firmly in place. Whatever she had planned, it was bound to be as over-the-top as the queen herself.
“Hey, gorgeous. What brings you here?” Deuce asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned casually against the wall.
Cleo didn’t waste a second.
She grabbed his wrist with a commanding grip and began dragging him down the hall without so much as a warning.
“Come with me and find out!” she said, her signature sass dripping from every word.
Deuce raised an eyebrow, matching her energy with a teasing grin. “So, you’re telling me to follow you around like some loyal little puppy, huh?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!” she shot back, rolling her eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “Now, stop asking questions and just follow me!”
Deuce chuckled under his breath but didn’t resist. He knew Cleo too well—she didn’t pull him away from something, especially gym, without good reason. Whatever she had planned, it was going to be interesting.
With a casual shrug, he let her take the lead, his curiosity growing with every step.
The pair eventually stopped in front of a door to one of the school’s forgotten classrooms, its faded paint peeling from years of neglect. No one came here. No one even talked about this room anymore.
Cleo dramatically threw the door open and gestured for him to enter with a sweeping motion. “After you,” she said, her tone mockingly polite.
Deuce stepped inside, taking in the dusty, untouched space. The old teacher’s desk stood off to one side, coated in a thick layer of grime. Broken desks were scattered haphazardly, and a long table stretched across the center of the room like it had been waiting for them.
His gaze flicked back to Cleo, who was already shutting the door behind her, pausing just long enough to double-check that no one had followed them.
“Out of all the places for us to... you know,” Deuce started, raising his hands to make air quotes around the word, “‘do it,’ you pick this?”
Cleo smirked, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “Why not? No one comes here, and no one’s going to bother us.”
Deuce tilted his head, considering her logic. She wasn’t wrong—the room had been abandoned ever since that weird incident back in 2014, something about a curse no one wanted to talk about. The school seemed to have collectively decided it didn’t exist anymore.
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “you’ve got a point. It’s not exactly romantic, though.”
“Please,” Cleo drawled, stepping closer, her confident smirk never wavering. “I don’t need romantic. I need you.”
With a determined grin, Cleo grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him over to the dusty old teacher’s desk. With a surprising burst of strength, she shoved him onto it and swiftly climbed up on top of him.
“Now what?” Deuce asked, his voice slightly breathless as he tried to maintain his usual cool demeanor.
“Now this,” Cleo said with a grin before leaning in and capturing his lips in a firm, passionate kiss.
The kiss started slow, each movement deliberate, but it wasn’t long before the intensity between them grew. Their breaths mingled, and soft moans escaped as their lips moved in perfect sync, building a rhythm neither wanted to break.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, lost in the moment, until they finally broke apart. Both were gasping softly, their eyes locked on one another.
“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” Deuce said, a grin spreading across his face as he caught his breath.
“So have I,” Cleo purred, her fingers threading through his hair in a way that made him shiver. “And trust me, we’re just getting started.”
Her hand moved with purpose toward his sunglasses. Deuce’s eyes widened in alarm as he caught the motion and instinctively swatted her hand away.
“Wait! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter.
“Relax,” Cleo said smoothly, her voice like silk. “I promise you’ll love it.”
“DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I LOOK AT YOU WITHOUT THESE ON?” Deuce shot back, gesturing emphatically to his glasses.
“So?” Cleo asked, tilting her head, her expression unfazed.
“I’M A GORGON!” he said, his voice rising with exasperation. “I TURN PEOPLE INTO STONE WITH THIS FACE!”
Cleo rolled her eyes, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been with you for what, eight years now? Of course I know.”
“Then why—why would you try to take them off?” Deuce asked, his voice softer but no less bewildered.
Her smirk grew, a devious glint in her eyes. “Because I’ve been doing my homework, and I found a solution.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A solution? What are you talking about?”
“Just trust me,” Cleo said, her voice dripping with temptation. “Take your sunglasses off, and I’ll show you.”
Deuce hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know about this…”
“Trust me,” she said again, her hand brushing his cheek gently. “I’ve got this.”
With a heavy sigh, Deuce reached up and began to slide his glasses off, but he kept his eyes tightly shut.
“I need you to open your eyes,” Cleo coaxed softly, her voice filled with reassurance.
“I’d really rather not,” Deuce muttered, shaking his head.
“Just trust me,” she urged again, her hand steady against his face.
Deuce sighed deeply, and with visible reluctance, he began to open his eyes. Before they could flash green, Cleo quickly pulled out a small vial, poured shimmering powder into her palm, and blew it into his face.
“AH! What the hell was that—” Deuce began to protest, but he stopped short, realizing something.
Cleo wasn’t turning to stone. His eyes weren’t glowing green.
“Are you okay?” Cleo asked, leaning closer as the sparkling cloud cleared.
Her face came into sharp focus, and she looked... utterly fine.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Deuce said, blinking a few times before shaking his head in disbelief. “What the heck did you just blow in my face?”
“It’s powder made from Medusa’s own scales,” Cleo said with a casual shrug. “I did some research and found out it’s one of the only things that can neutralize a gorgon’s gaze.”
Deuce blinked at her, utterly stunned. “You’ve been researching this?”
Cleo smiled, her confidence radiating. “Of course. I told you—I’ve been waiting all day for this. And now, nothing’s going to get in the way.”
Deuce smiled, his usual cocky grin melting into something softer, more genuine. “Well... you’ve definitely outdone yourself this time.”
“Of course I have,” Cleo said, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against his in a featherlight tease. “I’m Cleo de Nile. I don’t settle for less than perfection.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Deuce purred, his voice low and inviting.
“Gladly,” Cleo replied, a sly smirk playing on her lips before she pushed him back onto the desk, her confidence as unshakable as ever.
1 HOUR LATER
Both of them were now naked, their skin slapping against each other as they sat in the doggy style position on the desk. Deuce was getting closer to his climax, and he felt like he could explode at any minute.
"Oh man," Deuce said, feeling something twinge. "I'm gonna... I'M GONNA...!"
"INSIDE!!!" Cleo shouted, turning her head to face the snake haired boy. "I DEMAND YOU CUM INSIDE OF ME!!"
the look on her face was a cross between pleading and commanding. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were hazy with lust.
With one last thrust, deuce pushed deeper inside her and came, letting out a loud groan. Cleo went cross eyed as his hot seed filled her pussy up. They stayed like that until deuce was completely done.
As if to further assert his dominance, deuce lifted up his hand and brought it down on Cleo's ass, leaving a bright red handprint on it. Cleo let out a delighted moan, her look shifting to a satisfied grin.
"That.... was.... amazing" she managed to say between gasping breaths.
"Tell me about it" deuce said, his voice just as raspy. "I have never came that hard in my life."
"Good" Cleo replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Then I guess I can take the title as best fuck in monster high."
Deuce laughed "can't really say that i disagree."
As they began putting their clothes back on, the door to the abandoned classroom burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud BANG. Standing in the doorway was Coach Igor, his hulking figure casting a long shadow across the room.
“There you two are,” he growled, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’ve been looking all over for you! I knew I shouldn’t have given you that hall pass!”
Cleo’s breath hitched for a split second, but her expression quickly shifted into a smirk. She turned toward Deuce, her confidence practically radiating.
“Oh, did I mention?” she said casually, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “The powder should have worn off by now.”
Deuce blinked, confused for only a moment before realization dawned. As if summoned by her words, a familiar green glow began to emanate from his eyes, illuminating the dim room.
Coach Igor froze, his face contorting in panic as he realized what was about to happen. “Oh no—no, no, NO!” he stammered, spinning around and bolting down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him.
Deuce and Cleo erupted into laughter, the tension broken. They finished adjusting their clothes and stepped out of the classroom, the echoes of their amusement still lingering in the air.
The music room vibrated with a symphony of exhilarated screams and wild "ye-haws!" as Operetta straddled Johnny, turning his lap into a bucking bronco straight out of a dusty rodeo. The usual somber atmosphere of the room was warped into something primal, something raw and untamed.
For today's unusual festivities, Operetta had donned an outfit that screamed "dangerously alluring cowgirl"—a carefully constructed disaster of a tied white plaid top barely containing her assets, ridiculously short denim booty shorts exposing the suggestive fishnets underneath, and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat perched at a jaunty angle on her head. Her boots, scuffed yet sassy, completed the image of a woman ready to take what she wanted.
The recent auditorium debacle with Bloodgood had only fueled her fire. With a single-minded focus, she'd found her man, Johnny, and without any hesitation, dragged him into the nearest classroom. He barely had time to register the change of scenery before she shoved him into a chair and, with a playful growl, practically launched herself onto his lap.
Now, the usually stoic Johnny looked like he was battling for his very existence. As Operetta rode him with ferocious passion, each bounce seemed to send shockwaves through his body.
Her movements were relentless, as if she was trying to extract every ounce of pleasure he had to offer, her own pleasure a driving force behind the wild rhythm.
"Hold tight, sugar," she yelled, her voice laced with pure, unadulterated joy, "CAUSE I AIN'T STOPPING TILL I'VE HAD MY FILL!" The room echoed with her declaration, the notes hanging thick in the air alongside their heavy breathing.
Johnny’s knuckles were white where he gripped the chair for dear life, his body trembling not just from the impact, but from the wave of pleasure that threatened to consume him.
He tried to form a coherent thought, to protest, to find some semblance of control, but words failed him.
"Baby, I know you're lovin' this," he managed, the words forced between ragged breaths, "BUT SLOW DOWN, YOU'RE SUCKING TOO MUCH OF MY...OHHHHHHH!!" The final exclamation was wrenched from his throat as a powerful wave of sensation crashed over him.
He could feel himself spiraling toward the edge, every nerve ending screaming in delicious anticipation.
The climax was imminent. He was about to burst, his control slipping away with each heated thrust.
Just as he was reaching the explosive finale, the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang, revealing a stern-faced hall monitor who stormed into the room like he owned it.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
Operetta immediately froze, mid-action, her head whipping around to face the intruder.
Johnny, on the other hand, scrambled to grab his clothes, ready to bolt. But before he could make a move, Operetta held up a hand to stop him, her expression calm but determined.
“No need to run, sugah,” she said with a sly grin. “Ah’ll handle this.”
She got up off of johnny and turned fully to the hall monitor, placing her hands on her hips like a parent preparing to scold a misbehaving child. “Now, didn’t anyone ever teach ya to mind yer own business?” she drawled, her Southern charm thick as honey.
The monitor’s face twisted in disdain. “It is my business to catch harlots like you who think they can act like fools and sleep around without consequences. You hillbillies are a disgrace to this school’s name!”
The room went deadly quiet.
Johnny froze in place, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted toward Operetta. Her usually vibrant face had gone completely still, her expression unreadable. But Johnny knew better.
There were two things you never—ever—called Operetta:
A harlot.
And a hillbilly.
Operetta’s lips parted slightly, her voice deathly quiet as she spoke. “What did ya just call me?”
The hall monitor crossed his arms, undeterred. “You heard me!” he snapped, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’m sick of trash like you thinking you can parade your around the school, flaunting your hoo-ha and acting like you’ve got no home training. This isn’t the wild, wild West, little miss sunshine! If you wanna stay at this school, you better learn to keep your legs shut and your mouth shut, too!”
Johnny’s eyes widened in anger. He didn’t know what infuriated him more—the blatant disrespect or the absolute nerve of the hall monitor.
But before he could jump in, Operetta turned to him, calm as ever, and made a simple gesture:
She motioned for him to cover his ears.
Johnny knew that signal all too well. Without hesitation, he clamped his hands over his ears and stepped back.
The hall monitor, oblivious to the silent warning, continued his rant. “Now, enough of this nonsense! Both of you get dressed and come with me to the headmistress’s offi—”
Before he could finish, Operetta took a deep breath, reared back—
And let out a piercing, powerful shriek.
The sound ripped through the room like a shockwave, sending the hall monitor flying backward. He shot out of the door, tumbling down the hallway with a flurry of panicked yells. Eventually, he collided with the far wall, slumping to the ground in a dazed heap as students peeked out of classrooms to see what all the commotion was about.
Back in the room, Operetta smirked, dusting off her hands like she’d just completed a routine chore. “Let that be a lesson to mind yer damn business—and never insult me!” she called out before slamming the door shut with a satisfying click.
Johnny stepped toward her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.
Operetta let out a slow breath, turning to face him. “Ah’m fine, hon. Just… agitated.”
Johnny nodded, his expression serious. “Don’t let what that jerk said get to ya. You’re not a harlot, and you’re not a hillbilly. You’re one of the strongest, smartest, and most talented ghouls in this whole school—and don’t ya let anyone tell ya otherwise.”
Operetta’s tense expression softened, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Aw, thank ya, Johnny,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.
Johnny grinned, reaching up to cup her cheek. “Anytime, doll.” Then, with a playful smirk, he gestured toward the chair they’d been sitting in earlier. “Now, where were we?”
Operetta laughed, her eyes twinkling with affection. “Thought ya’d never ask.”
And with that, their fun resumed.
"DRACULAURA, I'M CUMMING!!!!"
"DO IT CLAWD. DO IT INSIDE OF ME!!"
With a final, powerful thrust, Clawd drove into her, burying himself deep within her silken heat. A guttural cry escaped him as his world exploded in a blinding rush of ecstasy.
Draculaura answered in kind, a low moan that vibrated through her very core. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as she rode the waves of his release, her own body reaching its peak in perfect harmony.
For a timeless moment, reality dissolved, leaving behind a swirling vortex of sensation, a shared language spoken only in moans and gasps.
When the storm finally subsided, Clawd slowly withdrew, his muscles trembling with the delicious aftermath as he pulled out. Draculaura collapsed back onto the soft blanket, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. Her skin shimmered with a light sheen of sweat, her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. Her usually neat pigtails were a mess, framing her face as she lay there, utterly spent and gloriously sated.
Clawd sprawled beside her, his chest heaving, his eyes closed as he battled the lingering exhaustion. The only sound was the ragged rhythm of their breathing, a soft counterpoint to the rustle of leaves overhead.
Slowly, his golden eyes fluttered open. He rolled onto his side, gazing at Draculaura with a tenderness that stole his breath. "That was..." he began, his voice still rough with emotion, "...I've never experienced anything like it."
Draculaura smiled, a lazy, contented curve that reached her eyes. Her voice was a husky whisper, heavy with satisfaction. "Tell me about it," she murmured, her gaze locking with his. "I've wanted you like this for so long, I thought I'd go mad. But you... you completely surpassed everything I've ever fantasized about."
Clawd chuckled, the tips of his ears flushing a darker shade of fur. "Well then," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her cheek, lingering over the sweet scent of her skin, "you're welcome."
But just as the two were getting lost in their moment, the door slammed open with a thunderous BANG.
Mrs. Kindergrubber stood in the doorway, her trademark rolling pin in hand and an expression of utter disgust plastered across her face.
“Vhat is zat disgusti—” she began,
but her words were abruptly cut off as a shoe flew through the air and hit her square in the forehead with a thud.
“LEARN TO KNOCK!” Draculaura shouted, still poised with one shoe on and the other foot bare, glaring at the teacher with a mix of indignation and embarrassment.
Mrs. Kindergrubber clutched her forehead, wobbling slightly. “Ach! Vhat in ze world—!”
Not missing a beat, Clawd swept Draculaura off her feet, scooping her up in his arms like a werewolf prince rescuing his princess.
“Hang on tight, Lala,” he said with a playful grin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief.
Before Mrs. Kindergrubber could recover or utter another word, Clawd dashed out of the room with a burst of speed, his powerful strides carrying them down the hallway. Draculaura clung to him, laughing despite herself as they sped past startled students and confused staff members.
As they turned a corner, Clawd slowed just enough to glance down at her. “You okay, babe?” he asked, his voice softening.
Draculaura smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy. “I’m fine. Thanks for the rescue, my hero.”
Clawd chuckled, his tail swishing behind him. “Always, Lala. But, uh… remind me to stay out of your shoe-throwing range.”
Draculaura giggled, resting her head against his chest. “Only if you stop being so sweet all the time.”
“Deal,” Clawd said with a wink as they disappeared down the hall, leaving behind a very dazed and very irritated Mrs. Kindergrubber still clutching her forehead in the Home Ick room.
Invisi-Billy leaned against his locker, casually scrolling through his phone. It was lunchtime, and the halls were buzzing with activity—ghouls and monsters chatting, feeding each other snacks, and more than a few couples sneaking kisses in between bites.
But Billy paid it no mind, choosing to keep to himself. With Bloodgood sternly patrolling the halls, he figured staying out of trouble was the best option.
Just as he was about to click on a video, a familiar voice purred into his mind.
“Come here, boy.”
Billy’s head shot up, eyes darting around for the source. No one.
“Right here.”
He turned toward a nearby corner and spotted Scarah Screams, leaning casually against the wall, a playful grin on her lips.
Curious, Billy tucked his phone away and strolled over to his girlfriend. “Hey, babe. You oka—” His words stalled the moment he got a good look at her outfit.
While most of the ghouls were rocking crop tops and booty shorts for the warm weather, Scarah had gone in a completely different direction—
a green, form-fitting bodysuit that hugged her curves just right, paired with sleek high heels. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and the snug fabric made it very clear what kind of bra she had on underneath.
Billy swallowed hard, suddenly flustered. “You’re, uh… looking really good today, Scarah.”
“Good enough to kiss?” she teased, grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him closer.
Billy didn’t even hesitate—he leaned in, ready to kiss her.
But Scarah wagged a finger in front of his face, her smirk growing. “Uh-uh-uh,” she tsked. “Let’s take this upstairs.”
Billy barely had time to react before Scarah took his hand and led him toward the attic, her excitement practically radiating off her. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her boldness—his ghoul always knew what she wanted.
Once they reached the attic, Scarah pushed open the door, pulling him inside before shutting it behind them.
The second it clicked shut, their lips met, melting into a deep kiss.
Billy’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, drawing her in closer, while Scarah’s fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to make his heart race.
For now, the rest of the world could wait—this moment was just for them.
After a few moments of kissing, Scarah and Billy pulled apart, their breaths mingling as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
“Did Spectra ever kiss you as good as I do?” Scarah asked, her Irish lilt thick with mischief.
Billy smirked, tilting his head playfully. “I can’t remember,” he teased. “Maybe you can help me with that?”
Scarah’s grin widened as she cupped his face in her hands and leaned in again, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss. Billy let out a soft moan against her mouth, feeling his thoughts blur as her tongue flicked teasingly against his.
Before long, they found themselves on the attic floor, their bodies pressed together as their kisses grew deeper. Scarah’s fingers tangled in his hair while Billy’s hands roamed her waist, pulling her even closer. She wrapped her legs around him, their bodies rocking in perfect sync, lost in each other.
But just as things were heating up, the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs.
“Hello?” a voice called out. “Is someone up here?”
Billy’s heart nearly stopped—he recognized that voice.
A hall monitor.
“Someone’s coming!” he hissed, looking around frantically.
But Scarah simply smirked. “Relax, hide.”
Without hesitation, Billy turned invisible and pressed himself against the wall. Scarah ducked behind a stack of old boxes just as the monitor stepped into the attic, scanning the space.
The hall monitor walked around, peering behind crates and shelves, but found nothing. After a moment, he sighed. “Guess I was just hearing things.” With that, he turned on his heel and made his way back down the stairs.
Billy held his breath until the door finally clicked shut and the sound of footsteps faded. He let out a relieved sigh and reappeared, his cheeks still slightly flushed. “That was way too close.”
Scarah grinned as she stepped out from behind the boxes. “Mhm.” Before he could say another word, she grabbed his hoodie and tugged him back down onto the floor, her voice dripping with playful mischief. “Now, where were we?”
Billy chuckled, but the warmth in her gaze sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He didn’t bother answering—he just pulled her in, their lips meeting once again as they picked up right where they left off.
The door to the shower room silently opened as Toralei Stripe stepped out, her movements sleek and practiced like a cat on the prowl. Her usually neat hair was tousled, her striped crop top slightly disheveled from hurried adjustments, and the faint scent of lavender body wash clung to her fur. But more telling than any of that were the deep red kiss marks scattered across her collarbone and neck, bold and unmistakable against her tawny skin.
She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it out as best as she could, when a sharp voice cut through the quiet hallway.
“Toralei Stripe!”
Toralei turned, her ears flicking as she spotted one of the teachers stomping toward her, their expression set in a scowl.
“What exactly were you doing in there?” they demanded, arms crossed.
Toralei huffed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “What does it look like, sir? I was taking a shower.”
The teacher’s gaze flicked over her disheveled form, the haphazardly fixed top, the telltale smudges of lipstick dusting her throat. Their lips pressed into a thin line.
“You think I was born yesterday?” They reached out and grabbed Toralei’s arm. “You’re coming with me to the headmistress’s office.”
Toralei gasped like some poor, helpless maiden in distress. “OH NOOO!” she wailed dramatically, struggling in his grip. “SOMEBODY! HELP! I’M BEIN’ DRAGGED AWAY AGAINST MY WILL!”
The teacher sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Nice try, Stripe, but you’re not getting out of—”
BANG!
The shower room door burst open, and a metal bucket came flying out like a missile. It spun through the air and CRACKED against the teacher’s forehead with pinpoint accuracy. They stumbled back with a dazed groan, releasing Toralei as they collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
Toralei blinked. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
From the doorway, Clawdeen Wolf stepped out, golden eyes glinting with mischief, her hands resting confidently on her hips.
She sauntered over to the fallen teacher, bent down just enough to meet their dazed gaze, and wagged a clawed finger in their face.
"Ow, what th-
“Uh-uh-uh,” she tsked, shaking her head. “Hands off.”
Toralei wasted no time sauntering over to her girlfriend, her tail flicking behind her.
“Now that was an entrance,” she purred, sliding an arm around Clawdeen’s waist. “Ya always know how to make a girl swoon.”
Clawdeen smirked, reaching up to trace a finger along one of the kiss marks on Toralei’s neck. “I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”
Toralei hummed in delight at the possessiveness in her tone. “Guess I owe ya one, huh?”
Clawdeen leaned in, whispering against her lips, “Oh, I know you do.”
With a teasing bite to Toralei’s bottom lip, she pulled away and grabbed her hand. “C’mon, let’s bounce before this guy remembers what happened.”
With matching grins, the two ghouls turned on their heels and strutted off down the hallway, arms linked, leaving the poor teacher to clutch their forehead and wonder what the hell just hit them.
In the dimly lit art room, Porter Geiss and Spectra Vondergeist were tangled in each other’s arms, their ghostly forms phasing and flickering with each heated movement. The faint scent of paint and charcoal filled the air, but neither of them paid it any mind.
Spectra’s transparent dress shimmered like mist under the soft glow of the overhead lights, her lacy undergarments just barely visible beneath. Her sleek headband kept her wavy locks in place, and her makeup—eerily reminiscent of her time in Frankie's emergency fear squad—was now refined into something bold yet elegant, giving her an air of gothic allure.
Finding Porter had been a challenge. Thanks to Bloodgood’s overzealous patrolling, she had to phase through walls, hide in supply closets, and even possess a statue at one point. But the chase had only made the reward sweeter.
Now, she was pressed firmly against a wooden shelf, legs locked around Porter’s waist, his hands tracing fire along her skin beneath her shirt. Her fingers were tangled in his green-streaked hair, tugging lightly as their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss. The air was thick with heat, their soft moans echoing off the walls.
“Mm, Porter,” Spectra moaned, dragging her nails down his back as she shifted her hips closer to his. She moved one hand down, fingertips grazing his belt, slowly moving towards his crotch
But before Spectra could even touch the zipper, the door slammed open with the force of a thousand angry spirits.
“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GHOST!”
Both ghosts froze, heads snapping toward the entrance like a couple of frightened deer caught in headlights.
There, standing in the doorway, was Mr. Where, arms crossed, his entire bandaged face radiating pure exasperation, clearly regretting ever becoming a teacher at this school.
His eyes darted between Porter—who looked like he had just seen his afterlife flash before his eyes—and Spectra, whose gaze had darkened into something downright menacing.
Mr. Where pinched the bridge of his bandaged nose, inhaling sharply. “Catching you giving Porter a hand job in my classroom was shocking enough, Ms. Vondergeist,” he said, voice dripping with exasperation.
“But this? THIS?! This has gone TOO FAR!” He jabbed a finger at them like an angry preacher giving a sermon. “You are BOTH coming with me to the headmistress’s office, NOW!”
He took a step forward, his posture screaming 'I am so done with this', when—
CLICK!
His foot pressed down on something.
A second later, there was a WHIRR from above, followed by a thunderous THUNK!
A massive paint bucket—suspiciously labeled "Porter’s Emergency Escape Plan™”—dropped from the ceiling with deadly accuracy, flipping over and completely drenching Mr. Where in neon green paint, drenching his coat, seeping into his bandages, and dripping onto the floor in thick, oozing globs.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE UNDERWORLD?!” Mr. Where bellowed, flailing wildly as the thick, sticky paint covered his entire head. “I CAN’T SEE! WHAT IS THIS?!”
Spectra, who had jumped back in surprise, turned to Porter, her jaw slightly slack. “Since when did you have a paint bucket up there?!”
Porter, still reeling from the sheer perfection of his trap, turned to her with a grin so smug it could power an entire city on pure audacity alone. “I knew you’d wanna make out eventually, babe. So, before lunch, I went around to all our usual spots and set up traps, just in case someone decided to bust in and ruin the mood.”
Spectra’s surprised expression quickly morphed into one of pure admiration. She stepped closer, running a finger under his chin as she smirked. “Porter, you evil genius…” she purred, eyes gleaming with pride.
Mr. Where, still stumbling blindly, let out a muffled screech of agony. “GET THIS OFF ME! NOW!” He desperately tried to peel away the paint-soaked bandages, but the neon-green liquid had already seeped in, dyeing his entire face bright, glowing green. He tripped over his own feet, crashing into a stack of old art supplies, sending paintbrushes and canvases flying everywhere.
Porter barely contained his laughter before turning to Spectra with a smirk. “Welp! Think that’s our cue to ghost.”
Before she could respond, he effortlessly scooped her up into a bridal carry, making her giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“PORTER GEISS, DON’T YOU DARE—” Mr. Where started, but it was already too late.
Porter shot him a two-fingered salute. “Later, teach!”
And with that, he phased them both through the wall, vanishing into the ether.
All that remained was the lingering sound of Spectra’s laughter echoing down the hallway.
Mr. Where, now covered in paint and tangled in a mess of spilled art supplies, sat there in stunned silence.
He slowly dragged a hand down his face, smearing more paint in the process.
Then, with the deepest, most world-weary sigh of his existence, he muttered—
“… I hate my job.”
Ryder blazed through the hallways in his souped-up wheelchair, the high-tech thrusters roaring like jet engines as he swerved around every corner with the precision of a professional racer. The wind whipped through his hair, his orange-tinted goggles reflecting the neon glow of the school’s lights.
“WOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he cackled, the sheer thrill of speed making his heart race.
He owed a huge thank-you to Robecca—without her genius engineering, there was no way he’d be reaching these speeds.
Just as he prepared to take another corner at breakneck velocity, a sultry, sing-song voice echoed down the hallway.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Ryyyyyyyyyyyddddddddeeeeeeeeerr~”
The mermale instantly slammed the brakes, flicking the switch on his chair to bring himself to a smooth but sudden stop. The thrusters hissed, steam rising from the wheels as he landed on the ground and turned toward the voice.
The moment his blue eyes locked onto her, a slow, knowing grin stretched across his face. He let out a sharp wolf whistle.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t my lovely Ghoulfriend!”
Standing before him was Gigi Grant, and ghosts above, she was a vision.
For the days events, gigi had gone for a more traditional approach with her outfit today—an Arabian belly dancer ensemble in rich shades of pink and gold. The costume showcased her toned midriff, while intricate gemstones and golden accents shimmered under the hallway lights with every slight movement. Her usual ponytail had been let loose, cascading down her back in silky, voluminous waves. And her makeup?
Damn.
Not that Gigi wasn’t already the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous girl he had ever laid eyes on, but today? With that outfit, that hair, that smolder in her eyes?
She looked like a bona fide goddess.
Or, as Ryder’s dazed brain so eloquently put it—
A straight-up sex doll come to life.
“Heyyyyyyy, Ryder~” she purred, stepping toward him with a slow, deliberate sway in her hips. She twirled a strand of fiery red hair around her delicate fingers, her golden eyes locked onto his. “What’s got my favorite speed demon in such a hurry?”
Ryder chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, trying—and failing—not to gawk. “Just testin’ out some new gadgets Robecca hooked me up with, gorgeous.” His gaze raked over her from head to toe, drinking in everything. “Though now I’m kinda wishing I wasn’t in such a rush.”
Gigi smirked, strutting closer, her jeweled costume catching the light like twinkling stars in the night sky. “Why waste your time zipping around like some madman on a speedway…” she murmured, trailing her fingers along the fin on his cheek, “…when you could be having the time of your life with me?”
Ryder’s breath hitched. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between hers and her lips. “I, uh—”
Before he could finish, Gigi took a graceful step back and—without warning—began to dance.
Slow. Sensual. Completely hypnotic.
Her body twirled like silk caught in the wind, her hands brushing over her curves in teasing, fluid motions. She swayed, dipped, arched—her golden bangles jingling softly, her bare feet whispering against the cool tile. And all the while, her sultry eyes never left his.
Ryder sat paralyzed in his chair, lips slightly parted, completely entranced.
“You like what you see?” Gigi cooed, voice dripping with amusement.
“Y-Yep,” Ryder stammered, eyes practically glued to her.
Gigi’s smirk deepened. She leaned in, so close their noses nearly touched.
“Then come with me,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, “and I’ll show you so much more, big boy.”
Just as Ryder was about to respond—
“AHEM.”
A stern voice cut through the air like a whip.
They both turned to see a hall monitor striding toward them, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.
“Nope, nope, nope,” the monitor snapped, clicking his fingers at them like they were misbehaving toddlers. “We’re not doing this. Separate. Now. And get to class.”
Ryder groaned, but before he could argue, Gigi let out an exaggerated sigh and clapped her hands together.
POOF!
The hall monitor blinked.
And suddenly—
He was no longer in Monster High.
He was standing in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
Under the scorching sun.
With no shade in sight.
And to make matters worse—
Was the fact that he was an elemental.
A water elemental to be exact.
A strangled, horrified scream ripped from his throat as the first wave of heat hit him, beginning to evaporate his arms.
Back in the hall, Gigi dusted off her hands and turned back to Ryder, smirking. “Now then…” She trailed a finger along his jawline. “How about we take this somewhere more private?”
Before Ryder could even form a response, Gigi clapped her hands again—
FLASH!
In a bright burst of golden light, the two of them vanished, leaving nothing behind except the still-warm spot where Ryder’s high-tech wheelchair sat idly in the middle of the hallway.
in the hallway, headmistress Bloodgood looked at the group in front of her, her head firmly attached to her shoulders, though the sheer rage burning in her eyes suggested it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Standing before her were Spectra Vondergeist, Isi Dawndancer, Rochelle Goyle, and Catty Noir, each adorned in scandalous attire that made Bloodgood’s stomach churn with disbelief.
She could hardly believe what she was seeing.
Spectra’s outfit had been bad enough. But the others?
Far worse.
Rochelle, once the picture of elegance, now looked like she had walked straight out of a sleazy underground wrestling ring. Instead of crop tops and booty shorts like some of the other ghouls, she had opted for a black dominatrix-inspired ensemble, complete with a tiny thong that barely covered anything, a matching crop top, and knee-high leather boots—boots that Garrott had been caught licking in the middle of third period like a dog begging for scraps.
Then there was Catty.
The international superstar—the same Catty Noir who once came to Monster High in search of her true voice—was now dressed like a strip club’s main attraction.
A minuscule black thong that left nothing to the imagination. A black fishnet crop top, completely open at the chest and stomach. A set of furry cat ears atop her head, with a matching tail swinging behind her. Her heels were so dangerously high that a normal ghoul would have snapped an ankle just by standing in them.
Yet there she was, swaying her hips back and forth, completely unbothered, while her boyfriend, Pharaoh, stood behind her, eyes locked onto her barely-covered ass like he had been hypnotized.
But nothing—nothing—compared to Isi.
The proud deer spirit—who prided herself on her traditional values and ancestral wisdom—had completely abandoned all pretense of dignity.
Her outfit? Practically non-existent.
A shimmering golden loincloth barely covered the front and back, leaving the sides of her hips completely bare. Delicate golden chains wrapped around her waist and chest, connecting to a sheer, translucent veil that draped over her shoulders—but did absolutely nothing to conceal what was underneath. Gold anklets and wrist cuffs adorned her limbs, while her antlers were decorated with delicate beads that jingled softly whenever she moved.
And the worst part?
She had been caught sucking off Neightan Rot.
In the LIBRARY of all places.
Headmistress Bloodgood released a slow, exhausted sigh, pressing her fingers against her temples. Standing before her were some of Monster High’s most well-known ghouls—currently dressed like they had stumbled straight out of a scandalous music video.
Her stern, piercing gaze swept over them, her lips tightening in open disgust.
“Ladies.” Her voice was low and razor-sharp, laced with the kind of strained patience that only years of experience could cultivate. “I am only going to ask this once—what in the underworld made you think it was acceptable to dress like this—” she gestured at their boldly revealing outfits with an expression of sheer disbelief—“and publicly engage in such… carnal displays with your boyfriends?!”
Spectra casually flipped her ghostly hair over her shoulder, her translucent cheeks glowing faintly. "Headmistress, we weren’t screwing," she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "We were… bonding."
"Very enthusiastically," Catty added, adjusting her cropped top with a mischievous smirk. Her purr-like tone carried an infuriating sense of calm.
Rochelle folded her arms, her thick French accent making her words sound almost elegant. "Oui, bonding. It is important for ze couples to maintain ze closeness, non?"
Bloodgood’s head literally detached from her neck, spinning midair in sheer frustration before snapping back into place.
“This isn’t bonding!” she snapped. “This is completely inappropriate behavior! Do you even realize the kind of example you’re setting for the rest of the student body?!”
Isi let out a small, unimpressed huff, crossing her arms. “With all due respect, Headmistress, it’s not like we were hurting anyone.”
"Not hurting anyone?!” Bloodgood exclaimed, her head nearly spinning off again. “This is a school! A place of learning! Not some kind of romantic retreat!” Her glare locked onto Isi, her tone turning ice-cold. “And you should know better. You’re one of the most respectable students in this school—yet here you are, behaving like some random streetwalker, flaunting your ass and sticking your tongue out like a dog in heat!”
Isi gasped dramatically. “Excuse you—I’m a deer, not a dog!”
Catty Noir chimed in, her playful smirk widening. “Headmistress, you can’t blame us for wanting to spend time with our guys.” She flicked her tail, eyes glinting with amusement. “Besides… you’re only mad because we got caught.”
Bloodgood’s attention suddenly shifted to Catty, eyeing her outfit with obvious disdain.
“You know catty," bloodgood said, her tone filled with disappointment. "With that outfit, you remind me of some human rapper—what was her name again? Red… Sexxy or somethi-"
“DON’T COMPARE ME TO THAT JEZEBEL!!” Catty hissed, tail lashing violently.
Bloodgood blinked, taken aback, before shaking her head and resuming her tirade.
As Bloodgood continued her heated lecture, Spectra started tuning her out, her bored eyes wandering the hallway for literally anything more interesting.
That’s when she spotted them.
Further down the hall, the studio door creaked open, and two figures stepped out, tiptoeing into the dimly lit hallway.
Venus McFlytrap and Robeeca Steam.
And oh, sweet Underworld, they looked exhausted—their hair disheveled, their clothes slightly wrinkled—as if they had just spent the last hour doing… something in that very supply closet.
But what really caught Spectra’s eye?
Were their outfits.
It was crystal clear what kind of relationship dynamics they were showing off.
Both Venus and Robeeca wore matching black and green latex bodysuits, adorned with vine-like straps wrapping around their bodies.
Venus’s bodysuit was unzipped just enough to show off a confident amount of skin, her thigh-high stiletto boots giving her a commanding presence. Her fingerless gloves reached past her elbows, the material looking sleek and powerful. A vine-patterned choker completed the look, reinforcing her dominance.
Robeeca’s bodysuit, while identical in design, had clear submissive details—hers was zipped higher, making her look just a little more reserved. Unlike Venus’s boots, she wore knee-high stockings, giving her a softer appearance. And, of course, the delicate leather collar around her throat, attached to a leash that Venus was currently holding, made their dynamic abundantly clear.
"Holy hell", Spectra thought, holding back a snort. "They really wanted everyone to know, huh?"
Venus had just begun pulling Robeeca along when—
They saw Bloodgood.
Their eyes widened in pure terror before they immediately ducked back into the closet, vanishing like ghosts.
Spectra’s lips twitched.
Her first instinct was to rat them out and use the inevitable fallout as an escape route—but, well… as much as she loved a good scandal, Venus and Robeeca were still her friends.
And like hell was she gonna let Bloodgood ruin their day.
Casually, she nudged Rochelle with her elbow and tilted her head toward the closet door. The gargoyle followed her gaze, and within seconds, she got the message.
Rochelle abruptly interrupted Bloodgood’s rant with a flurry of random, rapid-fire questions:
"Madame, what exactly is ze historical significance of zis hallway’s architecture?"
"Oh! And what is your opinion on ze cultural differences in disciplinary methods?"
"Do you believe zat ze concept of love should be considered a fundamental part of education?"
"Madame, why do you never wear anyzing but zat same purple outfit? Do you own any ozzers?"
Bloodgood, momentarily caught off guard, frowned as she tried to parse through the sudden interrogation.
Before she could regain control of the conversation, Catty and Isi jumped in, too.
"Oh, Headmistress! Do you think we should have a school event dedicated to teaching the art of seduction?"
"Oh! What about a live performance showcasing the power of love?!"
"Ooh, and maybe we should create an entire fashion course revolving around tasteful romance aesthetics!"
As the distraction tactics reached full force, back in the hallway—Venus peeked her head out, her vibrant green eyes scanning for any threats.
The moment she saw Spectra, the ghostly ghoul was already frantically motioning at her.
“GO!” Spectra silently mouthed, exaggerating the motion with a playful wink.
Venus’s lips curled into a smirk.
She turned to Robeeca and gave the leash a firm tug.
Go time.
With one last glance at the still-distracted Bloodgood, the lesbian couple bolted down the hall, their soft giggles echoing behind them.
And by the time Bloodgood finally realized she had been played…
They were already long gone.
After narrowly escaping Bloodgood’s wrath, Venus and Robecca finally stopped to catch their breath in a secluded hallway. Venus leaned against the wall, a smug grin on her face as she turned to her flushed girlfriend.
“You good, babe?” Venus asked, her voice teasing.
Robecca huffed, adjusting the collar of her outfit. “I’ll be fine once my heart stops hammering like a malfunctioning gear.”
Venus chuckled, stepping closer and running a hand under Robecca’s chin. “Aww, is my little subbie getting flustered?” she purred.
Robecca’s face heated up, and she tried to look away, but Venus gently tugged at the leash still clipped around her neck. “You love it,” Venus whispered.
Robeeca bit her lip, shivering at the teasing tone. “Maybe a little…”
Venus smirked, still holding the leash attached to Robeeca’s collar. “Don't deny it. You like getting caught, don’t you?” she teased, giving the leash another playful tug.
Robeeca flushed, looking away with an embarrassed pout. “I—I do not!”
“Oh yeah?” Venus tilted her head, stepping closer, her sharp green eyes locking onto Robeeca’s. She reached out and traced a finger along the edge of the steampunk ghoul’s collar.
“You love the thrill,” Venus murmured, her voice low and teasing. “The rush of almost getting in trouble… The way I have to pull you away before someone catches us… The way I bark orders at you and how you obey them like some lovesick puppy...”
Robeeca shivered, her gears clicking rapidly in response. “I—! W-we should keep moving before someone actually catches us—”
“Oh, babe,” Venus purred, tugging the leash just enough to make Robeeca stumble slightly forward, flustering her even more. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Unfortunately, before Venus could push things further, a sudden voice cut through the air like a whip.
“YOU TWO! STOP RIGHT THERE!!”
Their heads snapped up—just in time to see Mr. Rotter standing at the other end of the hall, his cold, judgmental eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
For a brief, tense moment, nobody moved.
Then—
“RUN!!” Venus yanked the leash, and the couple took off.
“HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Rotter barked, immediately giving chase, his long coat flaring behind him as he stomped forward with purposeful strides. “You cannot escape discipline!” he barked.
Venus glanced back, clicking her tongue. “Tch—Persistent old bastard, ain’t he?”
“He does take this job seriously…” Robeeca muttered, glancing around desperately for an exit.
Venus and Robecca darted through the halls, their laughter echoing as they dodged students and swerved around corners. But Rotter was surprisingly fast, his bony legs carrying him closer and closer.
“Vee, he’s gaining on us!” Robecca yelped.
But then—Venus grinned.
“Hold up, babe—I got this.”
As they sprinted past a row of potted plants, Venus thrust out a hand, her eyes glowing a vivid green as her power surged through her veins.
Immediately, the plants stirred to life.
Vines whipped out, snaking across the floor at unnatural speed.
Before Rotter could react, the enchanted greenery lashed around his arms, legs, and torso—yanking him off his feet and hoisting him into the air!
“WHAT—?!”
With a panicked grunt, the strict professor found himself dangling upside down from the ceiling, completely restrained by Venus’s lush, living trap.
The vines swayed slightly, as if mocking him.
Venus and Robeeca skidded to a stop, watching as Rotter struggled uselessly against his new leafy prison.
“LET. ME. DOWN!!” Rotter snarled, his face reddening in sheer indignation. “You two are in so much trouble!!”
Venus just laughed, flipping her green-and-pink hair over her shoulder. “Pffft. You’re always saying that, teach.”
Then she grinned devilishly and turned to Robeeca.
“You know what, babe?” she mused. “I think this situation calls for a little celebration.”
Robeeca blinked. “Venus, what are you—”
But before she could finish Venus spun around and started twerking.
Robecca’s eyes widened in shock for all of two seconds—before Venus grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in.
“C’mon, babe,” Venus giggled mischievously. “Join me~”
Robecca hesitated, her face burning hotter than a furnace, but as Venus bounced her hips with effortless confidence, something in her short-circuited. Before she knew it, she was mirroring Venus’s movements, shaking her hips with just as much defiance. There was a mischievous glint in Robecca’s eyes, and she seemed to enjoy the cheeky display just a little more than she expected.
Rotter froze, his expression contorting between sheer rage and absolute disbelief.
“WHAT—WHAT ON EARTH—!!”
Venus threw her head back in laughter, then winked over her shoulder.
“Hope you enjoy the view, Mr. Rotter!!”
With that, the lesbian duo took off running again, leaving the flustered, furious teacher still dangling helplessly from the vines.
As they rounded the next corner, their wild giggles echoed through the halls, Venus throwing an arm around Robeeca’s flushed shoulders.
“I hate you sometimes,” Robeeca muttered, still blushing furiously.
Venus just grinned. “Oh, babe… No, you don’t.”
And with that, the two disappeared into the halls to find another spot to continue their dubious escapades
Near end of the day, the teacher’s lounge looked less like a place of respite and more like a war zone.
Chairs were overturned, coffee cups lay shattered on the floor, and the air was filled with the scent of antiseptic and exhaustion.
Bloodgood stood in the center of the wreckage, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her frustration barely contained as she surveyed the sorry state of her staff.
Around her, Monster High’s educators were in various states of disrepair—some slumped over tables, others sprawled out on couches with bandages wrapped around their limbs, and a few clutching ice packs to their bruised and swollen faces.
"This is unacceptable!" Bloodgood's voice boomed through the room, rattling what little resolve the remaining staff had left. "You’re teachers, not punching bags!"
"Oh yeah?" Mr. Where wheezed from the floor, clutching his ribs, still covered in paint. "Tell that to the students!"
Mrs. Kindergrubber let out a long, dramatic groan, throwing a hand over her face. "I cannot do zis anymore! I say we throw in ze towel before ve are all reduced to ghosts!"
"Technically half of us are already ghost," grumbled Mr. Hackington, hunched over a bubbling cauldron in the corner, frantically mixing ingredients.
"Not ze point!!"
Bloodgood pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress the headache threatening to split her skull in two. "Hackington, please tell me you’re making progress on that cure."
Hackington let out a strained sigh. "I need more time! The last batch turned one of the janitors into a potted plant!"
Across the room, a fern in a janitor’s uniform wiggled its leaves sadly.
Bloodgood exhaled sharply. "Perfect. Just perfect."
As if things couldn't get worse, a loud groan came from the hallway, and the doors creaked open. A badly beaten hall monitor stumbled in, looking like he had just crawled out of a monster truck demolition derby. His uniform was torn, one of his horns was chipped, and his eyes were glazed over with exhaustion.
"H-Headmistress…" he wheezed before collapsing face-first onto the floor.
"Oh, for the love of—!" Bloodgood strode over and nudged him with her boot. "What happened to the rest of the hall monitors?!"
The barely conscious student weakly raised a trembling hand. "M-Missing… or worse…"
A collective groan filled the lounge as the implications sank in. The students had officially wiped out the school’s disciplinary force.
Bloodgood rubbed her temples furiously. "This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare."
"That’s one way to put it," Mr. Rotter muttered, pulling leaves off his clothes.
"And how, pray tell," Bloodgood said, her voice dangerously low, "are we supposed to explain this to the Monster High Council?!"
The room fell into a heavy, defeated silence.
Nobody had an answer.
In the corner, the janitor-fern rustled ominously.
Bloodgood let out a long, tired sigh.
"We’re so, so doomed."
"You can say zat again," kindergrubber muttered.
Bloodgood let out another deep breath. “All right. Everyone, pack it up. It’s time to call it a day.”
There was a collective sigh of relief, and the staff began to stir, slowly rising to their feet, supporting each other where needed. Bloodgood watched with a grimace as the limping, wheezing procession shambled out the doors.
Just as they started gathering their things, Coach igor hesitated, scratching his chin.
"Uh… Headmistress? There’s… one more thing we should probably mention."
Bloodgood shot him a sharp glare. "What."
Mr. Where sighed, rubbing his face.
"Igor and Kindergrubber caught a bunch of students having an orgy in the locker room."
The room went dead silent.
Bloodgood stared at them, completely unblinking. "Excuse me?"
Mrs. Kindergrubber shuddered violently. "I do not vish to relive it… but… here."
She gestured vaguely, and Coach Igor groaned, running a hand down his face. "Yeah. It was real bad."
Flashback
Mr. Where, Mrs. Kindergrubber, and Coach Igor stormed into the locker room, responding to reports of ‘suspicious activity.’
The moment they pushed the doors open…
They froze in absolute horror.
There were at least a dozen students—ghouls and guys alike— entangled in various states of undress, completely lost in their heated activities.
The sound alone was enough to make their souls leave their bodies.
Igor immediately turned around.
Mr. Where let out a strangled choking noise.
Mrs. Kindergrubber’s entire face turned beet red. "AUF HÖREN!!" she shrieked, her voice shaking the walls. "ZIS IS A SCHOOL, NOT A BROTHEL!!"
One of the students—a vampire—barely even acknowledged them, lazily flicking a hand. "You can wait your turn or leave, Teach."
Igor nearly fainted.
Mr. Where’s eye twitched violently. "That’s it. I’m done. I’m so done."
"PUT ON YOUR CLOZES IMMEDIATELY!!!"
One gargoyle student, completely unbothered, simply shrugged. "C’mon, Teach. We’re just… de-stressing."
Igor gripped his temples. "By FORNICATING in the locker room?!"
"Well, yeah."
Igor saw red. "DESTRESSING?! I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO STRESS ABOUT—ALL OF YOU, OUT! OUT! NOW!"
With that, igor grabbed a bucket of ice cold water and chucked it at the students, sending them all shrieking and scrambling.
"OUT! OUT! ALL OF YOU!!" Mr. where shrieked
Within minutes, the students were dragged out—dripping wet, half-dressed, and grumbling.
Flashback end
The memory projection vanished.
Bloodgood stood in absolute, stunned silence.
She looked at Hackington. Then at Where. Then at Kindergrubber.
Then at the janitor-fern, which somehow looked just as traumatized.
She slowly, painfully exhaled.
"I. Need. A. Drink."
To be continued...
Notes:
Don't tune out just yet folks, the next chapter is coming soon
and to help you get an idea of what's to come, you might wanna start looking at a few rap videos
Chapter 5: The Twerk-a-thon
Summary:
Like ha-ha Davis once said
"TOOT THAT AZZ UP!!"
Notes:
If you love twerking, your DEFINITELY gonna love this!
The song used in this chapter is 'twerk' by cardi B
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The hallway buzzed with excitement as the ghouls lingered, chatting about the absolute chaos of the day. The boys had been herded into the auditorium for some mystery meeting, leaving the girls behind—bored, restless, and eager for something else to happen.
At the center of it all stood Frankie, glowing as the ghouls around her cheered and laughed, still riding the high from everything that had gone down.
“So, Frankie,” Clawdeen smirked, nudging her lightly with an elbow. “How’s it feel to finally join the club?”
The ghouls erupted into cheers, hands shooting into the air, fangs and claws clicking together in celebration.
Frankie’s cheeks flushed blue as she covered her face. “Y-you guys! It’s not that big a deal—”
“Oh, please,” Cleo cackled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I thought you’d be the last to take the plunge, but look at you now! Finally, a woman.”
Frankie groaned, muffling a dramatic whine into her palms as the teasing continued.
“Don’t be shy, Frankie!” Twyla giggled, leaning in with a grin. “Was it worth it?”
Frankie sighed, peeking between her fingers before breaking into a wide, electric grin.
“It was AMAZING.”
The ghouls lost it. More cheers, high-fives, and dramatic oh-my-Ra exclamations filled the hall.
“I still can’t believe they separated us from the boys,” Draculaura huffed, crossing her arms. “We’ve been with them all day, and now they suddenly need to be kept away from us?”
“That is stupid,” Abbey grunted, leaning against a locker with an irritated scowl. “I want to be with Heath.”
“Me too,” Gigi sighed, twirling a strand of hair. “I already miss Ryder.”
“I miss Billy,” Scarah added, dramatically draping herself over the lockers with a lovesick pout.
“I miss Porter,” Spectra sighed, lifting her phone and snapping a quick, woe-is-me selfie.
“Ughhh,” Operetta groaned, tilting her head back. “What’re we supposed to do now? I’m way too wired to just go home!”
That’s when Holt Hyde strutted into the hallway.
The girls immediately perked up, and Frankie’s face lit up like a full moon.
“Hey, babe!” she beamed, dashing toward him.
“Hey, hot stuff,” Holt smirked, catching her with ease, spinning her around before planting a deep, scorching kiss on her lips.
The ghouls lost their damn minds.
“Okay, okay,” Howleen snickered, waving her hands. “We get it—y’all are grossly adorable. But what’s up, Holt?”
Holt glanced around at the girls’ dead expressions. “Damn. Y’all look miserable.”
“We are,” Purrsephone groaned, slumping against her twin. “It sucks being without our guys.”
Holt stroked his chin, looking thoughtful for a moment—then, his fire-red eyes lit up.
“Don’t even trip. I got this.”
And just like that—he dipped.
The ghouls exchanged confused glances, their ears perking up at Holt’s sudden departure.
“What’s he planning?” Meowlody arched a skeptical brow, arms crossed.
“No clue,” Frankie shrugged, watching Holt disappear down the hall. “But knowing him? It’s probably something crazy.”
Minutes passed.
The hallway settled into an impatient lull—girls shifting on their feet, whispering theories about what Holt could be up to. Some wondered if he was sneaking the boys out of the auditorium, others thought he was setting up some elaborate prank.
Then suddenly—
BOOM.
The entire hallway exploded with bass, the speakers roaring to life like a beast let loose from its chains. The sound rattled through the walls, the lockers shuddering with the force of it, sending a deep, thrumming vibration straight through their bones.
Then—
"I want a slim, fine woman with some twerk with her!"
"Throw that!"
"Twerk that!"
"Shake that!"
"Bounce that!"
The ghouls froze.
A heavy beat of silence followed as every girl stared at each other, wide-eyed, waiting for someone—anyone—to explain what the hell was happening.
Cleo blinked, looking completely lost. “What… is this?”
Venus tilted her head, listening intently as the bass hit again. “Dunno,” she admitted, her foot tapping involuntarily. “…But it slaps.”
The music surged, a thick pulse of rhythm weaving into their bodies, their instincts responding before their minds could. A little sway here, a hip pop there—small, hesitant movements that they weren’t even aware they were doing.
But nobody had fully given in yet.
Until—
With zero hesitation, Operetta—decked out in her cowgirl boots and denim shorts—flung herself into the splits right there in the middle of the hallway.
Then she started twerking.
The hallway ERUPTED.
“YEEEAAAAH!!” Spectra shrieks, hovering above Operetta like a sports announcer hyping up a championship match. “GET IT, OPERETTA!!!”
The hallway descends into absolute chaos.
Girls are dropping low left and right, twerking like their lives depend on it, the walls vibrating under the sheer force of their collective energy.
Clawdeen smirks, rolling her shoulders. “Oh, it’s on now.” She struts toward a nearby stool, leans back with effortless confidence, then—BAM!—she drops into a deep squat, bouncing it up and down with pinpoint precision. Her hips move sharp and controlled, her wild mane flying as she sticks her tongue out, fully owning the moment.
Not to be outdone, Cleo watches with a wicked grin. If this is a competition, she’s not about to let anyone take her crown. With a graceful flick of her hands, she squats low, knees bent, gold jewelry jingling as she starts making her hips snap like a snake charmer working her magic. Then, with a dramatic flourish, she throws her hands back, bending at the waist and making her skirt fly, commanding all attention.
And just as the bass slams again—like she’s been waiting for this exact moment—Draculaura gets on her hands and knees. She arches her back, her short skirt flipping wildly with every sharp, controlled bounce. Over her shoulder, she grins mischievously, making sure everyone is watching.
Spectra doesn’t even hesitate. She shoves her phone into her pocket, then drops to the floor, ghostly hair whipping as she raises her ass high. One arm thrown in the air like she’s riding a bull from the afterlife, she starts twerking with a vengeance.
From a nearby table, Ghoulia, Meowlody, and Purrsephone make their entrance.
Ghoulia—following Draculaura’s lead—drops to her hands and knees, her usual moans turning into low, satisfied hums as she lets loose.
Meowlody plants her hands on her knees, making it bounce like she’s got something to prove.
Purrsephone stands tall, hands behind her head, spinning her hips in hypnotic circles, a deadly mix of grace and heat.
Venus and Robecca?
They don’t even hesitate.
The second the bass rattles the walls, they’re dropping low in sync, hands planted on their knees as they throw it back together, the perfect balance of dominant and submissive, their rhythm lethal.
And at this point—Every. Single. Ghoul—is in full-on rap video mode.
Twerking on the floor. Against the walls. Grinding in a synchronized twerk line (thanks to Howleen, Twyla, and Gigi). Some even go full acrobat with their moves.
Abbey? She flips upside-down against the lockers, legs spread wide, shaking it like she’s got something to prove.
Lagoona? She raises one leg into the air, gripping her ankle as she shakes it like the unhinged aquatic menace she is.
The hallway is unrecognizable—a blur of flipping skirts, bouncing hips, and pure, unfiltered madness.
It’s like a music video straight out of a rapper’s wildest fantasy.
And nobody—NO BODY!
Is holding back.
Except for Frankie.
She stands in the middle of it all, eyes wide, brain whirring.
She watches every movement, breaking it down like a cinematic sequence in her head. Frame by frame, analyzing every hip pop, every bounce, every perfectly executed shake.
Learning.
Calculating.
And then—She grins.
"Okay, I get it now."
And—she drops.
Hands flat on the floor, hips to the sky, her skirt flipping, her circuits overloading. She moves like she’s been doing this her entire life—body rolling, popping, throwing it back like a natural-born freak.
At first? No one notices.
Then?
Screams.
“FRANKIE!?”
The music drowns out the sound of the hallway EXPLODING.
“HOLY SHIT, SHE’S TWERKING!!”
Cleo, mid-hair flip, snaps her head around at the commotion. When she sees Frankie—her sweet, innocent, freshly twerk-baptized Frankie—going FULL RAP VIDEO MODE?
She gasps, dramatically clutching her chest, and SPRINTS.
Frankie looks up, seeing her mentor approaching. A grin spreads across her face.
"Like this, Cleo? Am I doing it right?" Frankie asks, beaming.
Cleo SCREAMS.
“YASSS, GHOUL!! SHAKE WHAT THAT MAD SCIENTIST GAVE YOU!!”
The crowd LOSES THEIR MINDS.
The ghouls erupt into cheers, forming a hype circle around Frankie, screaming, clapping, chanting her name.
“FRANKIE! FRANKIE! FRANKIE!!”
Frankie takes it all in—her circuits overheating with every scream of her name, her face lit up like a neon sign, her inner beast fully unleashed.
In that moment— Frankie was in her element.
And she OWNED it.
A FEW MINUTES EARLIER
Bloodgood slumped at her desk, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. She rubbed her temples, her mind racing as she desperately tried to conceive a plan to halt the wave of unbridled hormonal insanity that had swept through her school.
Each strategy she considered seemed to crumble under the weight of reality within seconds.
The hall monitors? Either missing or in the nurse’s office, too battered to be of any use.
The teachers? Bandaged, bruised, and utterly defeated.
The staff lounge looked like a warzone, and she didn’t even have the strength to think about how she was going to explain that to the monster council.
Hackington?
She sighed. "Still working on the cure. We're running out of options."
Suddenly, a noise echoed from outside her office. A faint clatter that pricked her ears. Bloodgood's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. She stood, her chair rolling back abruptly, and marched to the door. Yanking it open, she found nothing but the dimly lit hallway.
With a sigh of what she hoped was temporary relief, she turned back to her desk. But as she did, she noticed something amiss.
CLICK.
The door to her office was now locked. From the inside. A familiar voice drifted through the wood, sending a chill down her spine.
"Alright, let’s light this place up," the voice said, a hint of mischief in its tone.
She knew that voice, Holt Hyde.
Bloodgood's stomach dropped like a stone.
"HOLT!!" she roared, banging on the door with a force that rattled the frame. "OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE!"
Silence.
Only the sound of wires shifting, plugs connecting, and the faint, devious chuckle of a teenage DJ with no fear of authority filled the air.
"HYDE, WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING, STOP IT NOW!!" Bloodgood yelled, her voice echoing down the hallway.
Still, no response.
Then, without warning—
BOOM.
The bass hit like a sledgehammer, vibrating the very walls of the school. Music blared from the speakers, a catchy, rhythmic beat that seemed to pulse with life.
"I want a slim, fine woman with some twerk with her!"
"Throw that!"
"Twerk that!"
"Shake that!"
"Bounce that!"
The moment she heard the lyrics, Bloodgood's soul left her body.
She spun on her heel and bolted down the hall, her heart pounding in her chest.
By the time she reached the main hallway, it was already too late.
The entire corridor had transformed into something unholy.
Skirts flipped, hips popped, and girls everywhere twerked like they had lost all reason. Some danced against the walls, others on the floor, and a few even upside-down. It was pure, unfiltered, rap video madness.
Bloodgood shoved through the crowd, dodging bodies as she screamed over the music, "STOP TWERKING!!!"
No one listened. If anything, her pleas seemed to fuel their frenzy.
"THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE!!" she yelled, her voice hoarse from shouting.
A few ghouls shot her sly grins, throwing it back harder out of pure defiance. Lagoona Blue, with her webbed hands and aquatic grace, laughed as she threw one leg in the air while keeping perfect rhythm. "Loosen up, Headmistress!" she called out, her voice barely audible over the music.
"I SAID STOP THAT!"
Cleo de Nile, with her regal poise and smirk, flipped her hair as she arched her back and shook it. "Oh, come on," she taunted, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Even I’m impressed!"
Bloodgood felt her sanity slipping, her grip on control loosening with each passing second.
But nothing—nothing—shattered her soul like what she saw next.
Frankie Stein.
In the center of it all, surrounded by screaming ghouls, twerking like an absolute menace. Her bolts sparked with energy, her stitches straining against her skin as she moved with an abandon Bloodgood had never seen before.
Bloodgood froze, her heart sinking. She had tried so hard to keep Frankie from slipping into this madness—to protect her from the corruption spreading through the school. And yet, here she was, dancing like she had lost all control.
"No," Bloodgood whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself. She clenched her jaw, determination burning in her eyes. "Not Frankie. I refuse to let this school take her."
With renewed determination, she surged forward, pushing through the horde of wild, hormonal monsters. Her eyes were locked on the young ghoul, her sole focus to reach her and put an end to this chaos.
She reached out, her hand stretching towards Frankie—
SLAP!!!
The impact rocked her skull, snapping her head to the side. Bloodgood stumbled back, stunned.
Frankie barely spared her a glance, her face glowing with excitement as she continued to dance, completely unbothered.
Bloodgood raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the sting of the slap, her heart shattering. Her once respectable, well-behaved students had descended into chaos. And now, all she could do—
Was watch.
In the dimly lit auditorium, the boys sat in scattered groups, restless and impatient.
Backpacks were slumped beside chairs, notebooks abandoned, and feet tapped idly against the polished floor. A few had given up entirely—leaning back, arms folded, dozing off in their seats. Others stared blankly ahead, like prisoners awaiting parole.
Deuce, ever the picture of calm indifference, slouched in his chair, sunglasses slipping dangerously down his nose as he gazed off into nothing.
The air was thick with boredom.
It crackled like static, buzzing just beneath the surface.
Clawd let out a loud, theatrical groan, stretching his arms behind his head. "How long we gotta be in here?" he complained, his deep voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room.
From his post near the doors, Mr. Rotter—standing with the rigidity of a prison warden—didn't even blink. "As long as it takes," he answered flatly. "None of you are leaving until that bell rings. I refuse to let you all contribute to the madness outside."
Johnny rolled his eyes, flicking his pompadour back into place with a smooth, practiced motion. "Aw, c'mon, Teach," he drawled, his Southern accent dripping with amusement. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Rotter turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing behind his thick-rimmed glasses.
"The worst that could happen, Mr. Spirit," he said, his tone dark, "is that you all go out there and unleash something so inappropriate, so scandalous, that Monster High will never recover from it. Do you understand? I am keeping you all contained for your own good."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Man, this is stupid," Clawd muttered under his breath, slumping further in his seat and kicking at the chair in front of him.
A few seats down, Heath flicked his lighter on and off, watching the flickering flame dance between his fingers. He smirked, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"You think the girls are havin’ a better time than us?" Heath asked, his voice casual, eyes still reflecting the firelight.
Manny snorted, leaning back, his massive arms crossed. "Of course they are," he scoffed. "We’re in here. They’re out there doing whatever the hell they want."
Then—
BOOM.
The auditorium shook.
A low, vibrating bassline rumbled beneath their feet, slithering up the walls, creeping into their spines.
Every boy in the room perked up immediately.
Heads snapped toward the door. Ears twitched. Spines straightened.
Something was happening.
Something big.
Then—
The lyrics hit.
"I want a slim, fine woman with some twerk with her!"
"Throw that!"
"Twerk that!"
"Shake that!"
"Bounce that!"
The boys froze.
Eyes widened.
Mouths parted in silent shock.
Clawd’s nostrils flared. His ears twitched. He sniffed the air—once, twice— and then his entire body locked up.
His head turned, slowly, to face Deuce.
"Deuce," he said, voice low, urgent.
Deuce blinked lazily, adjusting his slipping sunglasses. "Yeah?"
Clawd’s grip tightened on the edge of his seat. His expression was dead serious.
"That’s estrogen," he growled.
Deuce’s entire body went rigid.
His sunglasses slid all the way down his nose.
"Oh my god," he breathed.
Johnny leaned forward, intrigued, his sharp grin widening. "That sounds like a damn good time out there," he mused, his eyes glinting with something dangerous.
Manny cracked his knuckles, standing up so fast his chair nearly flipped over. "We should check it out," he declared, already moving toward the door.
SLAM.
Mr. Rotter blocked the exit instantly, his arms stretched wide like a living barricade.
"NO ONE IS LEAVING THIS ROOM," he bellowed, his voice booming through the auditorium.
A collective groan rippled through the boys. They shifted restlessly, frustration mounting.
“Dude, come on—” Clawd started, but Rotter cut him off.
"If you boys step out there," Rotter snapped, "there will be no stopping what happens next. It will be freaky in more ways than one. Do you understand? I am trying to prevent a catastrophe of monstrous proportions—"
The boys exchanged glances.
A silent agreement passed between them.
A single, unspoken plan.
Then—
"GO, GO, GO!!"
Mr. Rotter barely had time to blink before the entire pack of testosterone-fueled chaos tackled him to the ground.
The auditorium doors burst open.
The boys stormed out like a rampaging horde, charging down the halls, eyes filled with reckless anticipation.
Holt, joining them in the hall, threw his fists in the air, his wild grin stretching from ear to ear. "LET’S GO, BABY!!" he howled, laughter ringing through the corridor.
But then—They saw it.
They all froze. Every single one of them skidded to a stop. Eyes widened. Jaws dropped.
Because before them—Was madness.
Pure, unfiltered, hormone-driven, insanity, ripped straight out of a rap video.
Girls everywhere. Bodies moving. Skirts flipping. Hips popping.
Some ghouls were on the floor, others were pressed against the walls, some were even upside-down, legs split wide like Olympic-level acrobats.
The entire female population of Monster High had descended into absolute primal chaos.
And then—Draculaura turned.
Her sharp fangs glinted under the flashing hallway lights. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
She took one slow, deliberate step forward, tilting her head, lips curling into a knowing smirk.
"What are you standing there for?" she purred, voice silky, inviting.
She ran a teasing claw along the edge of her collarbone, her lashes lowering.
"Come join us."
And that—was all it took.
In the span of a single heartbeat, the entire hallway erupted into a full-blown, Monster High-certified twerking extravaganza. The air was thick with a mix of sweat, excitement, and the pulsating rhythm of the music, as bodies moved in a frenzy of unbridled energy.
Girls were throwing it back with wild abandon, their skirts flipping and hair flying. Boys, caught in the whirlwind, were doing their best to keep up, hands gripping waists and hips, eyes wide with a mix of shock and exhilaration.
The scene was chaotic, electric, and utterly unrestrained.
Draculaura, her fangs glinting wickedly, had Clawd pinned against the wall. Her back arched against him, her skirt flipping with every fluid movement of her hips. Clawd's hands instinctively found her waist, his grip tightening as he struggled to keep up with her relentless rhythm.
"Lala, what are you—?" he started, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass.
Draculaura just laughed, a sound that was both playful and predatory. "Just go with it, wolfie," she teased, her hips rolling against him with a practiced ease that left him breathless.
Meanwhile, Cleo, ever the regal queen, had claimed Deuce as her dance partner. Her body moved against his, her golden jewelry jingling with every sinuous motion. Deuce's hands hovered over her waist, torn between hesitancy and desire, his sunglasses fogging up with every heated breath.
"Dang, Cleo," he smirked, his hands finally landing on her hips, giving her a playful squeeze. "Didn’t know you had it in you!"
Cleo shot him a knowing smirk, her eyes gleaming with amusement and challenge. "Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet," she purred, planting her hands on the floor and throwing it back with a precision that was both royal and raunchy.
Abbey was putting in WORK.
She had Heath pinned against the lockers, effortlessly twerking on his waist and chest, her powerful legs keeping her movements strong and controlled.
But the real shock?
She was letting him slap away at her muscular, yet plump butt.
Any other time—even if he was her boyfriend—he would’ve been launched into next year for even trying. One hit, and Abbey would’ve sent him into a snowstorm with one punch.
But not this time.
Right now, she was letting him go at it!!
The flame elemental was losing his damn mind. His hands moved freely, eagerly, repeatedly, smacking away at her curves like he was making up for lost time.
The sound of his palms meeting her mixed with the pounding bass, fueling the chaotic energy in the air.
"Babe, I swear, I never knew you were this kinda ghoul!" Heath said, breathless, his hands never stopping.
Abbey just smirked, biting her lip as she grinded against him, her icy touch sending a delicious contrast against his burning skin.
"You like?" she teased, her voice laced with a mix of challenge and desire.
"Hell yeah!" Heath replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.
Frankie, her body sparking with electricity, had Holt trapped against the lockers. Her fluid, unstoppable movements sent circuits flickering and buzzing like a malfunctioning power grid. Holt, usually smooth and collected, was completely overwhelmed, his hands gripping her hips as he struggled to keep up.
"Ghoul, I swear, if you keep movin’ like that, I’m takin’ you home!!" he warned, his voice thick with desire.
Frankie just winked, her voice full of static and heat. "Wouldn’t mind that," she teased, her hips never stopping their relentless rhythm.
Operetta, her movements fast and deliberate, had Johnny pinned against the railing. Her body bounced against his, her eyes locked onto his, never wavering. Johnny, ever the smooth talker, still managed to chuckle, a wicked grin stretching across his face.
"Sugar, you tryin’ to make a man lose his damn mind?" he drawled, his voice thick with Southern charm.
Operetta’s smirk deepened, her voice low and sultry. "You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Spirit," she purred, her body moving with a confidence that was both mesmerizing and dangerous.
Clawdeen, her eyes burning with mischief, had set her sights on Toralei.
She moved in close, her body pressing against Toralei’s as she twerked with purpose. Toralei’s breath hitched, her tail flicking in surprise as her claws twitched at her sides.
"You tryin’ to prove somethin’, babe?" she growled, her voice thick with challenge as her hands snaked around Clawdeen’s waist.
Clawdeen just smirked, her hips rolling against Toralei’s grip. "Nah, kitty cat," she purred, her voice laced with a mix of playfulness and desire. "Just enjoyin’ myself."
The music pounded, the bass thumping like a heartbeat as the hallway shook with the force of the dance.
At this point, there was no turning back. The entire school had descended into a madness of twerking bodies and pulsating rhythms, and all the boys could do was hold on tight and try to keep up with the wild, unrestrained energy that had consumed them all.
Hackington was drenched in sweat, his lab coat clinging to his back as he worked with a feverish intensity. His hands darted over the lab table, test tubes clinking together like discordant bells, beakers bubbling violently with multicolored liquids. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning chemicals and the tangible scent of desperation.
He had done it.
After countless hours of trial, he had finally created the prototype—the only cure for the madness that had gripped Monster High like a vice.
The moment the final drop of serum settled into the vial, glowing with an ethereal light, Hackington snatched it up with a trembling hand. He bolted for the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.
However as he entered the main hallway, his eyes bulged out of his head
The scene that unfolded before him was a chaotic symphony of unbridled insanity. Ghouls and mansters alike were throwing it back with wild abandon, their bodies moving in a frenzy of uncontrolled energy.
Skelita Calaveras, her spine arching so far backward she nearly folded in half, was a sight to behold. Her bones clicked and clacked with each fluid movement, her skull grinning wildly as she twerked with an otherworldly flexibility.
Howleen Wolf, her eyes gleaming with a feral intensity, cartwheeled mid-twerk, her body a blur of motion as she seamlessly blended acrobatics with dance.
Draculaura, literally levitating, her hips moving in zero gravity, was a spectacle of defiance against the laws of physics. Her fangs glinted in the strobe lights as she floated and gyrated, her laughter echoing through the air.
It was a nightmare come to life, a twisted carnival of unhinged debauchery. But Hackington was determined to put an end to it. He had to.
If he didn’t, Monster High’s entire staff would be out of jobs—or worse, forced to join the madness and succumb to the Hormonal chaos that had consumed the student body.
He rounded the last corner, his goal finally in sight. \
Bloodgood was at the other end of the hall, her face a mask of desperation as she vainly tried to control the chaos. Her voice was hoarse from shouting, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief.
"HEADMISTRESS!!" Hackington screamed, his voice cutting through the cacophony of music and laughter. He held the vial aloft like a beacon of hope, his eyes locked onto Bloodgood's.
"I'VE GOT THE CU-"
But then, in a split second, everything went wrong.
A girl spun, her hips slamming into Hackington with the force of a wrecking ball. His feet left the ground, and he was sent sprawling, the vial flying from his grasp like a tiny, fragile comet.
Bloodgood lunged, her hands outstretched in a desperate attempt to catch the precious cargo. Hackington, too, reached out, his fingers brushing the glass mere inches from Bloodgood's own.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze. The vial hung in the air, suspended in a moment of sheer, heart-stopping tension.
Then, with a deafening crash, it hit the floor, shattering into a million glittering shards.
The prototype spilled across the tiles, its precious contents seeping into the cracks and crevices, lost forever.
Hackington lay there, staring at the ruined cure in pure, unadulterated horror. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
"No… NO! I—I had it! I—"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" bloodgood shrieked, her voice raw with anguish.
She fell to her knees, her hands clutching at the empty air where the vial had once been.
The music roared louder, a triumphant symphony of chaos and debauchery. The party raged on, the students of Monster High oblivious to the catastrophe that had just unfolded.
And the only hope of stopping the madness, of restoring order to the school, had just been wiped out, swallowed by the relentless tide of insanity that showed no signs of abating.
Hackington and Bloodgood could do nothing but stare in horror at the shattered remnants of their failed salvation, the weight of their defeat crushing them like a physical force.
Bloodgood had reached her breaking point.
Her head throbbed with the relentless bass, her eye twitched at the sight of another student attempting to do a backflip into a split. Enough was enough.
Her gaze locked onto a heavy, ancient bust of some long-forgotten scholar sitting atop a nearby pedestal.
Without hesitation, she grabbed it, her knuckles whitening as she hoisted it over her head.
And with the fury of an administrator pushed to her absolute limit, she chucked it at the nearest speaker.
CRASH!
The music cut out instantly, the once-deafening beat replaced by the satisfying sound of shattering plastic and sparking wires. Silence—beautiful, blissful silence—fell over the room like a divine intervention.
For a moment, there was nothing but stunned disbelief. Then—
“HEY!” someone shouted.
The entire room erupted in outrage. Groans, boos, and whines filled the air, students throwing their hands up in frustration. A few even clutched at their chests like they'd just witnessed an unforgivable tragedy.
Bloodgood, breathing heavily, stood firm, completely unfazed. She dusted off her hands like she had just taken out the trash.
"I don't care," she said flatly, eyes scanning the crowd with the unyielding authority of a woman who had simply had enough.
But just as she started to revel in her small victory—
"Don’t worry, guys! I got you!"
Bloodgood's stomach dropped.
From the crowd, Spectra stepped forward, a wicked grin on her face, her phone held high.
She tapped her screen, and before Bloodgood could even process the horror unfolding before her—
The music resumed.
'Twerk-Twerk-Twerk-Twerk-Twerk-Twerk with Her !'
The room exploded with cheers. The bass boomed louder than ever, rattling the very walls of Monster High.
And then—like a lightning bolt sent from the heavens—Frankie dropped into a twerk.
The world stopped.
This wasn’t just a twerk. This was THE twerk. The kind of twerk that had EVERYONE looking
Her hips moved with such unbelievable precision, such godlike control, that even the most seasoned dancers in the room could do nothing but watch in awe.
Her circuits sparked, electricity crackling around her like she was a divine force of nature, an unstoppable storm of rhythm and movement.
Every single ghoul in the room stopped what they were doing.
No one dared to join in.
No one could.
They could only watch.
The cheers grew louder, the energy in the room reaching its absolute peak as Frankie kept going, bending the very laws of physics with every movement.
And then—The beat dropped.
For a fraction of a second, the music cut out.
Bloodgood exhaled in relief. Maybe, just maybe, it was finally over.
But then—
BOOM.
'TWERK-TWERK-TWERK-TWERK-TWERK-TWERK WITH HER!'
The beat slammed back in, louder than ever.
And Frankie went FERAL.
It was insane. It was otherworldly. It was the single greatest display of twerking Monster High had ever witnessed.
Students were screaming, some were crying, others simply collapsed to their knees in unworthiness.
Clawdeen covered her mouth in shock, Lagoona’s eyes glistened with tears, and Cleo—Cleo de Nile herself—Bowed.
This wasn’t just a moment.
This was history.
And then—at long last—the song ended.
Silence fell once more, the weight of what had just occurred sinking into the very bones of everyone present.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
They had just witnessed the impossible.
And then the room erupted into cheers.
Everyone began to high-five and pat each other on the back, as if they had just witnessed history in the making.
Frankie stood at the center of it all, panting heavily, a satisfied grin on her face as she basked in the admiration of her peers. She didn't need to say a thing. She’d made her point loud and clear.
Years ago, she thought she’d never do stuff like this—never be the kind of girl she was now.
But yet, here she was.
Leading the charge.
Making the teachers groan.
Making her friends cheer.
She couldn't be more proud of herself.
"Hey, Frankie!"
She turned to see Jackson walking up to her, having shifted back into his regular form after the music stopped.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.
"Nice dance!"
Frankie beamed at the compliment.
"Aw, thanks, babe."
Meanwhile, Bloodgood looked like she was about to explode.
This behavior. This indecency. It was going to cost her everything.
And the students?
They didn’t give a damn that their actions were putting her career on the line.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to shout.
She wanted to throw out detention slips like they were candy.
But in the end, she knew she couldn’t.
The students weren’t in control of themselves.
It was the gas.
But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to handle.
The halls of Monster High were eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony that had echoed through them just moments before.
Students staggered out of the building, their bodies drenched in sweat, chests heaving with exhaustion as if they had just run a marathon. The air was thick with the scent of spent energy and the lingering echoes of frenzied laughter.
Clawd Wolf leaned against the wall, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His fur was matted with sweat, and his eyes held a glint of both fatigue and satisfaction. "Damn," he muttered, looking around at his equally exhausted peers. "That was one hell of a workout."
Deuce Gorgon, his sunglasses askew, nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he huffed, adjusting his shades with a weary grin. "We gotta do this again sometime. Maybe make it a regular thing."
Frankie, her bolts sparking with residual energy, chimed in with a mischievous grin. "This Friday at the dance?" she suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Abbey stretched, rolling her broad shoulders with a satisfied groan. "Da," she agreed, her voice still tinged with the remnants of her adrenaline rush. "But next time, I want glow-in-the-dark paint. If we are going crazy, we do it right."
Holt's eyes lit up at the suggestion, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Ohhhh, that'd be sick," he enthused. "We could get neon lights, too. Make the whole dance a rave."
Draculaura, still bouncing slightly on her feet, clapped her hands together excitedly. "And confetti!" she added, her fangs glinting in the dim light. "A huge confetti drop at the end!"
Operetta, wiping the sweat from her brow with a delicate handkerchief, smirked thoughtfully. "I say we get a live band," she drawled, her Southern accent lending a musical lilt to her words. "A lil' extra twang to keep things real interestin'."
Toralei Stripe, her tail flicking lazily behind her, grinned with a hint of mischief. "I’ll bring the fog machines," she purred. "Give it some real drama."
Clawdeen Wolf, her arms crossed over her chest as she caught her breath, looked around at the group with a determined expression. "So we all agree then?" she asked, her voice steady despite her fatigue. "Same time, this Friday, we go even harder?"
A beat of silence hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. Then, as if on cue, the group responded in unison.
"Bet."
And just like that, they dispersed, their footsteps echoing down the empty halls as they made their way home, no questions asked, no further discussion needed. The pact was sealed, and the promise of another wild, unforgettable night hung in the air like a tantalizing secret.
Back in the ruined hallway, Headmistress Bloodgood stood in the center of the chaos, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her fingers gripped her riding crop with a white-knuckled intensity, the leather creaking under the pressure.
Across from her, Mr. Rotter stood, his face pale and sweat beading on his brow.
The two locked eyes, the silence between them thick and oppressive.
Then, in the calmest, most deathly serious voice possible, Bloodgood spoke.
"Rotter."
The single word hung in the air like a guillotine, heavy with unspoken threat. Mr. Rotter swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
"Y-Yes, ma’am?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bloodgood took a slow, deep breath, her eyes never leaving Rotter's face.
And then, with a quiet intensity that belied the storm raging within her, she issued her command.
"Fix. That. Damn. SPEAKER!!!"
Monster High was in absolute shambles. The once pristine halls, a proud symbol of monstrous education, now bore the scars of a supernatural bacchanalia gone horribly awry.
The walls were scuffed and cracked, marred by the impacts of flailing limbs and grinding bodies.
The lockers were bent out of shape, their metal frames twisted and dented from the force of passionate encounters.
The air was thick with a pungent mix of sweat, hormones, and the lingering musk of unbridled teenage lust. The scent was so potent it was almost visible, a haze of debauchery that clung to every surface.
The twerk parade had ended, but its damage remained, a testament to the wild, uncontrolled energy that had swept through the school like a tidal wave.
The teachers, those who had tried to intervene, were injured and battered. The nurses were working overtime, their infirmary filled with the groans and winces of the afflicted. They tended to dislocated joints, muscle cramps, and even a tail sprain, their hands moving with practiced efficiency as they tried to patch up the remnants of the chaos.
The hall monitors, once a stalwart force of order, had mostly quit. Their uniforms lay discarded in the halls, trampled and forgotten amidst the detritus of the party.
Hackington, the school's brilliant but beleaguered scientist, was still locked in his lab, frantically working on a new serum. The clinking of test tubes and the hum of machinery were the only sounds echoing from his sanctuary, a desperate symphony of last-ditch efforts.
And Headmistress Bloodgood?
She was out of options.
She paced her office, her body moving restlessly while her head murmured to itself on her desk, a grotesque sight that would have sent shivers down the spines of her students if they could see it. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her riding crop tapping anxiously against her thigh.
"Nothing's working," she muttered to herself, her voice a low growl of frustration. She had tried everything. She had threatened detention, promised extra homework, yelled, scolded, and even resorted to cockblocking in a desperate attempt to get them to sit down and behave.
But nothing had worked. Her students were too far gone, lost in a frenzy of hormones and uncontrolled desires.
She collapsed into her chair, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. Her eyes drifted to the shelf behind her desk, where a collection of confiscated normie films sat, stacked neatly from over the years. The titles were familiar, their spines worn from repeated viewings.
She walked up to the shelf and picked up some of the boxes, analyzing their titles
Halloween.
Friday the 13th.
And A Nightmare on Elm Street.
A frown crept onto her face as she scanned the titles, her mind churning with an idea that was as dark as it was desperate.
These movies had always fascinated her, not because of their cheap scares or practical effects, but because of their message. She knew the trope well.
Sex. Signals. Death.
Every single time, the movies followed the same moral code. The moment some normie kissed their boyfriend too long, snuck off to a bedroom, or stripped down for a “midnight swim”
They were dead.
The formula was simple, brutal, and effective.
Bloodgood's fingers tapped on her riding crop as she mulled over the idea, her eyes narrowing in thought. She closed her eyes, letting the fantasy unfold in her mind like a twisted, vivid dream.
Draculaura screamed, her tiny fangs bared in a rictus of terror.
She had just watched Clawd get ripped apart in front of her, his body slashed open, claws twitching in the moonlight. His fur was matted with blood, his eyes glassy and lifeless.
She turned and ran, her tiny legs carrying her as fast as they could through the dark woods.
But then, her heel caught a twig.
SNAP.
She tripped, falling flat on her face. Before she could even push herself up, a machete plunged straight through her back. She shrieked, once, a high-pitched sound of pure agony.
Then, silence. Her body went limp, her eyes glazing over as the life drained out of her.
Deuce and Cleo lay tangled in sheets, their bodies still glistening from their “extracurricular activities.”
Cleo smirked, her golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Well, that was fun." She purred, running a hand down Deuce’s chest.
Deuce chuckled, adjusting his shades. “Yeah? You’re welcome.”
THUNK.
The sound was so sudden, so jarring, that Deuce barely had time to turn his head. Before the blade speared through his chest, his sunglasses flying off as his body convulsed.
Cleo’s mouth opened in shock, her scream cut off as the same blade drove through her stomach, pinning them both to the bed. Their bodies twitched, a grotesque dance of death, before finally stilling.
Abbey stepped into her dark dorm room, smiling to herself.
"Heath, I am back," she purred, kicking off her boots. She climbed onto the bed, expecting warm hands to wrap around her.
But something was off. Too still. Too quiet.
"Heath?"
She reached out, pulling the covers back. And then, the killer lunged from the darkness, blade glinting.
Abbey barely had time to gasp before steel pierced her chest. Her blood splattered against the headboard, a vivid spray of red against the white sheets.
Her eyes widened in shock, then dimmed, her last breath escaping in a soft sigh.
Bloodgood snapped out of her fantasy, her eyes flying open. She stared at her reflection in the window, her grip on her riding crop tightening. A dangerous smirk curled her lips as she whispered to herself
"Maybe this school does need its own slasher."
She lifted her head off the desk, placing it back on her neck with a soft click. Her eyes gleamed with a newfound determination, a dark and twisted plan forming in her mind. She leaned back in her chair, her voice a low, ominous whisper.
"After all, you know what normies say... 'Sex kills.'"
CRACK.
A thunderbolt split the sky, a stark, dramatic punctuation to her words.
The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within, a symphony of chaos and destruction that seemed to echo her dark thoughts. She stood, her silhouette framed against the window, a figure of authority and menace.
And with that, she knew what she had to do. The school needed order, and she would bring it, no matter the cost.
Even if it meant scaring the students to death.
To be continued...
Notes:
For Cleo and Deuce's scene, I took inspiration from Jeff and Sandra's death scene from Friday the 13th part II.
As for Abbey, I took inspiration from Vickie's death scene in the same film.
Anyways, will Bloodgood's slasher make a difference in a school filled with monsters?
Find out in the next part!
Chapter 6: The Slasher Experiment
Summary:
Bloodgood's slasher makes it's presence known.
And a few students come forth, baring some unexpected news.
Notes:
Since it's a common trope for slashers to mainly attack people having sex, here's my take
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning, the students of Monster High arrived with their usual energy crackling in the air, a palpable buzz of excitement and anticipation.
While the ghouls had ditched their scandalous outfits from the previous day's debauchery, their hormone-fueled enthusiasm remained unchecked. The lingering effects of the gas still coursed through their veins, imbuing them with a bold confidence that bordered on recklessness.
They strutted through the hallways, their hips swaying, their laughter echoing off the lockers.
Completely oblivious to the storm that was about to descend upon them.
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit sanctum of the headmistress's office, Bloodgood stood at her window, her gaze fixed on the schoolyard below. Her expression was serious, calculating, her eyes narrowed in thought as she watched the students mill about, their carefree attitudes grating on her already frayed nerves.
She knew what she was about to do was extreme—
But these students needed a wake-up call.
They needed to understand that their actions had consequences.
And what better way to teach them than by invoking a classic horror trope?
A small, knowing smirk curled at the corner of her lips just as the door to her office silently swung open. A figure stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an almost tangible aura of menace.
Draped in a tattered black cloak, a menacing machete glinting in the dim light, the slasher stood motionless at the entrance, his eyes locked onto Bloodgood.
He was tall, his frame broad and imposing, the very embodiment of intimidation.
His mask, smooth and expressionless, concealed his face, while the slow, deliberate thud of his boots against the tiled floor sent an eerie rhythm through the room.
He was unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with, exactly what a slasher should be.
Bloodgood turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes appraising him with a cool detachment. "Glad you could make it," she said, her voice steady and calm. "For a second, I thought you'd chicken out."
The slasher said nothing. He merely tilted his head slightly, the gesture subtle but unsettling, a silent acknowledgment of her words.
Bloodgood raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening. "You understand the assignment, don’t you?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of warning.
The slasher nodded, a slow, deliberate movement that spoke volumes of his understanding and acceptance of the task at hand.
"Good," Bloodgood said, a note of satisfaction in her voice.
She stepped closer to him, her hands reaching out to make a few small adjustments to his cloak, straightening it out, her touch lingering for a moment before she stepped back.
"Remember, no real harm," she instructed, her voice firm and unyielding. "I want them scared back to their senses, not turned into a pile of corpses and body parts. Understood?"
The slasher nodded again, his silence speaking louder than any words could.
Bloodgood's smirk widened slightly, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. "Perfect," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now go—find your first victim."
Without another word, the slasher turned and crept out of her office, his figure melting into the shadows like a phantom. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Bloodgood alone in the dimly lit room, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.
She exhaled slowly, allowing herself a small, satisfied smile as she turned back to the window, her eyes scanning the schoolyard below.
"Let’s see how brave they really are now."
Just as Bloodgood was about to return to her work, a sharp, insistent ringing cut through the silence of her office.
Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she turned toward her desk, her eyes narrowing at the glowing screen of her phone. The caller ID displayed a name that sent a flicker of concern across her face:
'Nurse’s Office'.
The nurses rarely called unless it was something urgent and given the current state of affairs at Monster High, Bloodgood couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension.
What could possibly be happening now?
With a sigh, she reached for the phone and pressed the answer button, her voice crisp and authoritative as she spoke.
"Headmistress Bloodgood speaking."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for Bloodgood's unease to deepen.
Then, a voice came through, steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension.
"Headmistress, this is Nurse Hatchetson."
Bloodgood's grip on the phone tightened slightly, her senses on high alert. "What is it?" she demanded, her voice sharp and to the point.
The line was silent for a few seconds, the pause heavy with unspoken words. Bloodgood could feel her heart rate increasing, her mind racing with possibilities.
Then, finally, the nurse's voice came through again, this time quieter, more subdued.
"Please come down to the nurse’s office. There’s… something important you need to see."
Bloodgood didn't hesitate. She didn't ask questions. She simply ended the call and strode out of her office, her steps brisk and purposeful.
The nurse's office was on the other side of the school, and with students still wandering the halls, chatting, kissing and laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing around them, it took her a few minutes to navigate through the crowd.
As she walked, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. The students, still riding the high of their hormone-fueled antics, seemed to move in slow motion around her, their laughter and carefree attitudes grating on her already frayed nerves.
She quickened her pace, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor, her expression a mask of determination.
By the time she arrived at the nurse's office, she found Nurse Hatchetson already waiting outside, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression grave. The nurse's usually warm and welcoming demeanor was notably absent, replaced by a look of deep concern that sent a chill down Bloodgood's spine.
Something was definitely wrong.
“So, what’s the issue?” Bloodgood asked, her tone brisk yet laced with a hint of curiosity.
Nurse Hatchetson didn’t answer right away. Instead, she simply gestured for Bloodgood to follow and turned on her heel, leading the headmistress deeper into the medical wing.
Bloodgood’s frown deepened as she followed in silence, her heels clicking sharply against the sterile, tiled floor. Something about the nurse’s behavior felt… off. There was no urgency in her movements, no explanation given—just a quiet, deliberate walk through the dimly lit halls.
Her unease grew with every step, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach. The usual bustle of the nurse’s office was notably absent, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to echo her own mounting apprehension. She glanced at the closed doors they passed, half-expecting one to burst open with a medical emergency, but each one remained stubbornly shut.
Finally, the nurse led her into an empty examination room. Bloodgood hesitated at the threshold, her eyes scanning the unoccupied space with a mixture of confusion and trepidation. This wasn’t what she had expected.
There was no injured student,
no medical emergency—
just an empty room, the examination table bare and the counters clear of any equipment.
The moment she stepped inside, the nurse wordlessly shut the door behind them, the soft click of the latch sending a jolt of alarm through Bloodgood.
She turned to face the nurse, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the other woman’s unreadable expression.
“What is this?” Bloodgood stammered, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes darted between the nurse and the empty room. “What’s going on?”
Still, the nurse said nothing. Instead, she simply lifted a hand and pointed—toward a glowing computer screen perched on a nearby desk.
Bloodgood’s gaze followed.
And then—
Her stomach dropped.
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, her heart pounding so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.
On the screen, two sonograms were displayed side by side, their grainy black-and-white images stark against the bright backlight.
And in each one—
a tiny, unmistakable form curled within a womb.
Bloodgood felt her entire world tilt on its axis. Her head spun, a strange, suffocating weight settling on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
The nurse didn’t speak.
She didn’t have to.
The images on the screen said everything.
Bloodgood turned back to her, her face now deathly serious, pale as a ghost.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low. Sharp. Unyielding.
“Who?”
The nurse didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand once more and pointed toward another door at the far end of the room.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the examination room, her steps echoing down the hallway as she made her way toward the door the nurse had indicated.
She reached the door, her hand trembling slightly as she grasped the handle and pushed it open.
The room was nearly identical to the previous one—an examination room, sterile and quiet. But this one was not empty. Two figures sat perched on the examination beds, their postures relaxed and at ease.
Operetta and Scarah Screams, chatting casually, as if nothing were amiss.
Bloodgood felt something snap inside her as she slammed the door shut behind her with a loud crack, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.
The two ghosts jolted slightly, their heads turning lazily to face her, blinking in mild surprise as if she had just interrupted a casual tea party.
Bloodgood’s chest heaved, her eyes sharp and piercing as she scanned them both.
"Please tell me what I just saw wasn't true?!?" she demanded, her voice a mix of strained authority and desperate denial.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Operetta grinned, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and excitement.
"Johnny an’ I are finna have a little one!" she declared, her voice thick with her Southern twang.
The way she said it—so casual, so carefree—made Bloodgood’s stomach churn.
There was no hesitation, no fear, not even a hint of doubt in her tone. She sounded like she had just won a raffle, her excitement bubbling over like a pot left too long on the stove.
Bloodgood’s breath hitched as she turned to Scarah. The banshee sat on the other bed, a dreamy smile playing on her lips, her fingers idly twirling a strand of jet-black hair.
She looked dazed, like someone floating in a hazy, blissful high, her eyes glazed over with a distant, far-off look.
Bloodgood’s gut twisted as she waited for Scarah to speak.
Finally, the banshee exhaled a soft, lazy sigh, a slow grin stretching across her lips. "Ain’t it just somethin’?" she murmured, her Irish lilt carrying an almost sleepy, drunken warmth.
"Billy an’ I are expectin’ too."
Bloodgood’s entire world spun.
Her legs nearly gave out beneath her, and she grabbed the nearest counter to steady herself, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. This can’t be happening, she thought, her mind racing in a futile attempt to process the revelation.
She swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. "You’re joking," she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.
Please, gods, let them be joking!!!
"Nope!" they chirped, swinging their legs over the sides of the beds.
Bloodgood’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together as she fought to maintain her composure.
She wanted to scream.
to rage against the unfairness of it all.
She wanted to march into the halls, find Johnny Spirit, and personally drag his Elvis Presley looking ass back to prison for another hundred years.
But she couldn’t. Because as much as she despised that delinquent spirit, she knew one thing:
she didn’t want to separate Operetta from her boyfriend.
And worse than that, she didn’t want their child to grow up without a father.
That realization hit her like a sledgehammer to the skull. She had spent centuries keeping this school in order, handling vampire feuds, werewolf brawls, zombie uprisings—
but teen pregnancies? Two of them?
This was uncharted territory, a challenge unlike any she had ever faced.
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped. "how… how can you be so calm about this?" she stammered, her voice laced with disbelief.
Scarah tilted her head, her blank eyes dreamy. "Why wouldn’t I be? This feels like a dream come true," she replied, her voice carrying a serene, almost ethereal quality.
Bloodgood’s head spun. "Do you have any idea what this means? You’re teenagers! How are you going to handle this?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch as she struggled to comprehend their nonchalance.
"Handle what?" Operetta asked, tilting her head in genuine confusion. "I feel fine, sugah. Better than fine, actually."
"Yeah," Scarah agreed, her eyes glazing over slightly. "It’s like... the best feelin’ ever."
Bloodgood stared at them in horror. It wasn’t just their words—it was the way they carried themselves, as if they were floating on some sort of euphoric cloud.
Their reactions were so far removed from the gravity of the situation that it was almost surreal.
"This gas is messing with your heads," Bloodgood muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. She had seen the effects of the gas firsthand, the way it had sent the entire school into a frenzy of uncontrolled hormones and reckless behavior.
But this—
this was something else entirely.
This was a level of detachment that bordered on delusional.
Bloodgood squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing a deep breath. "Keep it together," she told herself sternly. Finally, she opened her eyes again, her voice tight and controlled as she spoke.
"Alright. You’re both pregnant. Fantastic." Her fingers dug into the counter, her grip so tight it was a wonder the Formica didn’t crack beneath her touch. "But," she continued, her tone sharp as a blade, "you are both going back to class. And I better not hear about either of you engaging in any more… activities for the rest of the day. Understood?"
The two ghosts exchanged a slow, knowing grin, their eyes gleaming with shared amusement. "Gotcha, Headmistress," Operetta said, sliding off the bed with a casual grace. "No funny business. Least not ‘til after school."
"Or somewhere ya can’t find us," Scarah added with a cheeky wink, her voice lilting with mischief.
Bloodgood’s eye twitched, her grip on the counter tightening until her knuckles turned white.
With one final, seething glare, she jerked a thumb toward the door. "Out. Now."
Still smiling, still glowing with that infuriating, carefree excitement, the two of them practically skipped out of the room, their giggles echoing down the hallway like the tinkling of bells.
Bloodgood waited until they were out of sight, then collapsed into the nearest chair, her hands trembling as she buried her face in them.
Oh. My. Gods.
The realization slammed into her like a runaway truck, the weight of it crushing her like a physical force.
The Monster High Council was going to have her head when they found out about this.
Horny and now Pregnant students?
This wasn’t just a scandal—this was a supernatural disaster waiting to happen.
And the worst part?
This wasn’t even the biggest problem she had to deal with today.
Not by a long shot.
The hallway was dim, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of lights that cast long, dancing shadows across the worn floors.
The air was thick with a sense of intimacy and secrecy, the distant hum of the school's usual bustle notably absent.
In this quiet, secluded corner of Monster High, two figures lay entwined on the floor, their bodies pressed close, oblivious to the world around them.
Gil and Lagoona were lost in each other's embrace, their breaths mingling as they shared a moment of stolen passion. Lagoona's fingers traced along Gil's gills, her touch feather-light, eliciting a shiver that rippled through his body. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over hers before capturing them in a deep, hungry kiss. Lagoona let out a soft moan against his mouth, her fingers slipping into his hair, the cool fins a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin.
Their breathing grew heavier, the moment thick with a palpable electricity, a charged atmosphere that seemed to hum with the intensity of their connection.
Gil's hands trailed down Lagoona's back, pulling her closer until there was barely any space left between them. Their hearts pounded in sync, a shared rhythm that echoed the depth of their feelings for each other.
But neither of them noticed the figure lurking in the shadows, a dark shape that crept closer with each passing second.
Gil shifted slightly, his lips trailing down Lagoona's neck, his voice a low murmur against her skin.
"Babe, did you hear something?" he asked, his tone distracted, his focus still firmly on the girl in his arms.
Lagoona was about to shake her head, ready to pull him back down into their shared embrace.
but then she saw it—
a flicker of movement in the reflection of a nearby locker.
Her smirk returned, a dangerous glint sparking in her ocean-blue eyes as she rose gracefully from the floor, her hands beginning to glow with a faint, ethereal light.
"Stay here, love," she murmured, her voice a soft purr that belied the deadly intent behind her words.
From the shadows, the slasher lunged, his blade slicing through the air as he closed the distance between them.
But Lagoona was ready, her reflexes honed by years of swimming through treacherous waters and navigating the hidden currents of the Great Scarrier Reef.
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a powerful wave of water, conjuring it from thin air as if drawing it from some unseen reservoir.
The wave crashed into the slasher with the force of a tsunami, sending him careening backwards. He slammed into a row of lockers with a thunderous BANG, the metal crumpling beneath the impact.
Groaning, he collapsed to the ground, his cloak drenched and clinging to his body like a second skin, his mask askew and revealing a glimpse of the face hidden beneath.
Gil sat up, blinking in surprise before a wide grin spread across his face. He climbed to his feet, wrapping an arm around Lagoona's waist and pulling her close, his eyes shining with pride and admiration.
"Nice one, babe," he said, his voice warm with approval.
Lagoona turned back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a playful smirk. "Heh. What, you thought I’d let some creep crash our moment?" she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.
Gil chuckled, his arm tightening around her waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. "Guess I shouldn’t underestimate my girl, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver of delight down Lagoona's spine.
"Damn right."
Together, hand in hand, they strolled down the hallway, their giggles and whispered endearments echoing through the dimly lit corridor as if nothing had happened.
The slasher watched them go, still slumped against the lockers, his body aching from the force of Lagoona's magical onslaught. Soaked, humiliated, and completely ignored, he could do nothing but nurse his wounds and plot his next move, his pride stinging from the unexpected defeat.
The shower room was filled with the sound of running water, steam curling in the air like ghostly tendrils, creating a humid, intimate atmosphere. The scent of soap and the faint, underlying musk of desire hung heavy in the air, clinging to the damp tiles and fogged mirrors.
Cleo was pressed against the cool tiled wall, her lithe body wrapped around Deuce like a vine. Her arms were looped around his neck, her legs locked tightly around his waist, pulling him flush against her.
Their lips moved together in a deep, feverish kiss, her golden nails tracing the back of his head, skimming over his writhing snakes with a delicate, teasing touch.
Deuce held her close, his hands gripping her thighs, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he pulled her against him. The heat between them was palpable, their bodies slick with sweat and steam, their breaths mingling in ragged gasps.
For a minute, nothing else existed—just the warmth of their entwined bodies, the feel of each other's skin, the soft gasps and sighs that filled the air between fevered kisses.
Finally, Deuce pulled back, breathing hard.
“I’ll be right back, babe,” he murmured, pressing one last lingering kiss to her lips before carefully setting her down.
Cleo pouted. “Don’t keep me waiting, my love.”
Deuce smirked and slipped out, leaving her alone in the steamy shower room.
Still wrapped in the warmth of their moment, she turned toward the showerhead, letting the hot water cascade down her body, rivulets tracing the curves of her form like a lover's caress. She reached for a nearby bottle of body wash, pouring a generous amount into her palm before beginning to lather it over her arms, her movements slow and sensual.
"Mmm… might as well freshen up a little while I wait," she murmured to herself, her eyes fluttering closed as she ran her soapy hands over her skin, her touch lingering on the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
As she rinsed the soap from her body, she heard the soft swish of the shower curtain being pulled back behind her.
A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips, her eyes remaining closed as she leaned into the spray of water, her voice a playful, sultry purr.
"Back already, my serpent? Couldn’t stand being away from your queen?"
Silence.
Cleo raised an eyebrow, her smirk wavering as she rinsed the last of the soap from her skin. "Deuce?"
No reply.
Something felt… off.
The air suddenly felt colder, the steam seeming to dissipate around her as a creeping sense of unease slithered down her spine like an icy finger.
Slowly, she turned—
And screamed.
The slasher loomed before her, silent and unmoving, his hulking form blocking the dim light filtering through the frosted glass windows. His mask reflected the harsh glow of the shower room lights, the smooth, expressionless surface concealing whatever malice lurked beneath.
His gloved hand reached out, fingers splayed, inching toward her with a chilling deliberation.
But before he could make contact—
"CLEO!"
The slasher barely had time to react before Deuce stormed back into the shower room, his eyes flashing with a deadly and familiar glow.
In an instant, the slasher's body stiffened, his outstretched hand turning a sickly gray, the color spreading rapidly like a grotesque stain. His legs locked into place, his entire form hardening, cracking, until he was nothing more than a lifeless stone statue, frozen mid-attack.
Cleo stumbled back, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, her hand pressed to her heaving chest. Her eyes were wide with shock and fear, her body trembling from the sudden, terrifying intrusion.
Deuce rushed to her side, his hands gripping her shoulders, his touch firm and steadying. "Are you okay?" he demanded, his voice sharp with worry, his eyes searching her face for any sign of injury or distress.
Cleo nodded, her breath slowly evening out as she regained her composure, her eyes never leaving the petrified figure of the slasher.
"That—that filth was about to touch me!" she huffed, her voice laced with indignation and residual fear.
Deuce glanced at the frozen intruder, his lips curling into a scowl of disgust and contempt. "Yeah, well… not anymore," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
He turned back to Cleo, his expression softening as he took her hand in his, his grip warm and reassuring. "C’mon, let’s go. I am not leaving you alone again."
Cleo didn’t argue. She let him lead her out of the shower room, her hand tucked securely in his, her body still pressed close to his side as if seeking the comfort and protection of his presence.
As they disappeared down the hallway, she stole one last glare at the frozen slasher, her eyes narrowing in a silent, venomous promise before she turned away, leaving the petrified figure behind in the swirling steam.
Venus McFlytrap and Robecca Steam had managed to slip through the halls unnoticed, their hearts pounding with the thrill of their secret escape.
They had found a quiet, secluded hallway, the dim lighting casting long, dancing shadows across the worn floors, the air thick with the scent of old books and faded perfumes.
Venus smirked as she turned to Robecca, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and desire.
She reached out, her hand connecting with Robecca's butt in a playful, teasing slap, the sound echoing softly in the quiet hallway.
"You’re lookin’ cute all flustered, baby," she purred, her voice a low, sultry growl as she stroked Robecca's cheek, her fingers tracing the soft curve of her jaw.
Robecca's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink as she leaned into Venus's touch, her eyes following the other girl's every movement with a hungry intensity.
"You know I love when you take charge, Venus," she murmured, her voice soft and breathy, her gears whirring faintly beneath her skin as her body responded to Venus's dominant touch.
Just as Venus leaned in to capture Robecca's lips in a heated kiss, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.
Her gaze darted to the floor, where a tall, looming shadow stretched along the tiles, a chilling harbinger of the figure creeping up behind them.
Her eyes widened in alarm, her body tensing as she abruptly pulled back from Robecca.
"Ve, what's wr-"
"Babe, run!"
Robecca didn't hesitate. The two took off down the hallway, their feet pounding against the worn floors as they sprinted as fast as they could, their breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps.
Behind them, the slasher pursued them silently, his blade glinting wickedly under the dim lights, the steady, rhythmic thud of his boots against the tiles a chilling echo of their own frantic footsteps.
Venus glanced over her shoulder, her heart pounding in her chest as she saw the slasher gaining on them, his tall, imposing figure growing closer with each passing second.
She growled under her breath, a low, feral sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down Robecca's spine.
"Oh, you picked the wrong ghouls to mess with," she snarled, her eyes narrowing in determination.
Skidding to a stop, she whipped around to face their pursuer, her hands thrusting forward as she summoned her powers.
Vines erupted from the floor and walls, thick and twisted, their green tendrils writhing like serpents as they lunged at the slasher.
The plants wrapped around his ankles, yanking him backward with a force that sent him crashing to the ground.
The vines continued to twist and tighten, lifting him into the air until he dangled upside down from the ceiling, his body thrashing and flailing as he struggled against the unyielding bonds.
Venus and Robecca exchanged a wicked grin, their eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and mischief as they turned to face their trapped pursuer.
Venus arched a brow at her girlfriend. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Robecca smirked, her gears whirring faintly as she leaned closer. “Oh, absolutely.”
Without missing a beat, Venus strutted forward, her hips swaying with a bold, confident rhythm as she approached the dangling slasher. She smirked, her eyes locked onto his as she gave him a taunting, defiant twerk, her butt moving with a sensual, provocative grace that was both hilarious and infuriating.
Robecca, bolder then ever, joined in, her hips shaking in perfect rhythm beside her girlfriend, their combined movements a cheeky, triumphant dance that rubbed salt in the wound of their helpless, humiliated pursuer.
There was something hilariously defiant about twerking at a masked killer—like rubbing salt in the wound after completely outplaying him.
After their little performance, Venus blew him a mocking kiss. “Hope you enjoy the view, loser!” she taunted, her voice a low, sultry growl.
Grabbing Robecca’s hand, she yanked her into a sprint, their laughter echoing through the halls as they disappeared around the corner—
Leaving the slasher dangling, helpless and humiliated.
Once again, Heath and Abbey were completely lost in each other.
Just like yesterday, Abbey had lifted Heath off the ground with ease, holding him up as if he weighed nothing. His legs swung helplessly in the air, his feet dangling, and his arms clung tightly around her shoulders.
And, once again, his face was absolutely smothered in kiss marks.
Abbey pressed her lips to his again, her cool touch sending an icy tingle down his burning-hot skin. Heath felt like his brain had turned to mush. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore.
but honestly? Who needed air when his entire existence had been reduced to the sensation of Abbey’s lips on his?
"Y’know," Heath mumbled in between kisses, his voice coming out dazed and dreamy, "I could get used to this."
Abbey smirked, tilting her head slightly as she trailed more kisses along his cheek. "You already are used to this," she teased, her thick accent making his heart race even faster.
"True, true," Heath murmured, his fingers lazily running through her white hair. "But can you blame me? My girlfriend's the strongest, coolest, and hottest ghoul on campus."
Abbey raised an amused eyebrow. "Hottest?" she repeated, clearly entertained.
"Figuratively speaking," Heath said quickly before flashing his signature cocky grin. "Because literally? I got that title locked down."
Abbey rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she tightened her grip on him and pulled him into another deep kiss.
This was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Until—
BANG!
The door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.
Heath barely had time to register the noise before he saw a tall, shadowy figure standing in the doorway.
The slasher had arrived, his eerie, featureless mask staring at them in complete silence.
For a moment, no one moved. Abbey’s grip on Heath’s back became iron-tight, her muscles instinctively tensing as she prepared to drop him and deal with the intruder. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You have five seconds to turn around and leave," she warned, her voice cold enough to freeze an ocean.
The slasher took a step forward.
"Wrong answer."
Before Abbey could react, Heath exploded into flames.
"OH HELL NO!" Heath shouted, his entire body igniting in a furious inferno. In one swift motion, he threw out his hands and blasted the slasher with a massive surge of fire.
The masked figure barely had time to react before he was engulfed in flames and sent flying backward out the door, crashing into the hallway wall with a loud thud.
Smoke curled in the air as Heath slammed the door shut behind him.
For a second, he just stood there, breathing hard, his heart pounding from the sudden burst of adrenaline.
"Well, that was—" He began to say
but then he looked down.
His eyes widened in horror.
"Oh, come on!"
His clothes were completely gone. The flames had burned everything away—leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxers that were barely holding on.
Abbey blinked at him, then slowly tilted her head. "Hmm."
Heath gulped. "Uh… babe? You're kinda staring."
Abbey gave him a slow, predatory smirk.
"Um, where were we?" Heath chuckled nervously, attempting to keep things lighthearted.
Abbey didn’t bother answering. Instead, she tackled him straight onto the couch, pressing her lips against his with so much force that he swore the heat from her kiss could rival his flames.
He barely had time to think before he melted into her touch again, his hands running over her back, her fingers tangled in his hair.
At this point, Heath was pretty sure the world could be ending outside and he still wouldn't care.
As long as Abbey kept kissing him like this…
Nothing else mattered.
Hackington paced back and forth, his fingers pressed against his temples as he tried to think of a solution.
Rotter sat across from him, arms crossed, looking equally exhausted.
“So… the cure is completely gone?” Rotter asked, already dreading the answer.
Hackington let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes, Rotter. The only vial of it was destroyed.”
Rotter groaned, running a hand down his face. “And making another one?”
“Would take time—weeks at best, months if we factor in the rare ingredients.” Hackington threw his hands up. “Time that we do not have.”
Rotter exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Okay… okay. What if we just wait this out? The gas has to wear off eventually, right?”
Hackington turned to glare at him. “And what happens in the meantime? We let the students continue behaving like wild animals while we sit around hoping it’ll magically go away?” His voice grew more exasperated. “We are one slip-up away from the entire world finding out about this! It’s already a miracle that none of the parents have pieced things together yet. But the longer this goes on, the greater the risk! One student says too much, one parent asks too many questions, and suddenly we have reporters, the Monster Council, and every damn authority breathing down our necks!”
Rotter rubbed his temples, grimacing. “Okay… yeah, fair point. But we have to consider something. Is there any way to reverse this faster?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Hackington muttered, rubbing his forehead. “If I had more time, maybe I could—”
“—We don’t have time,” Rotter cut in. He leaned forward. “Alright, what about magic? Maybe some sorcery is all we need to fix this mess.”
Hackington sighed. “That would require a magic user strong enough to undo the effects of the gas.”
“Well… what about Casta Fierce?”
Hackington let out a bitter chuckle. “Oh, you mean Casta Fierce? The same one who tried to cure herself and ended up turning into a full-blown harlot instead?”
Rotter frowned. “...What?”
Hackington pinched the bridge of his nose. “Her spell backfired. Instead of curing herself, she’s now running around the school, using her magic to seduce random men.”
Rotter blinked. “...Like, seducing them how?”
“Like Poison Ivy,” Hackington said flatly. “But worse. These poor bastards are brainwashed into thinking she’s their one and only love. They would fight to the death for her.”
Rotter’s jaw dropped. “...You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I wish I was,” Hackington muttered. “Going anywhere near her is suicide. Her loyal followers would rip us apart before we could even get close. And if we somehow reached her? She would likely want something from us in exchange, and I don’t even want to know what.”
Rotter rubbed his temples. “So… that’s a no on Casta.”
“A hard no.”
Silence filled the room for a moment before Rotter cautiously spoke up again. “Okay… what about Gigi? She’s a genie. She could just wish all of this away.”
Hackington shot him an incredulous look. “Oh yes, brilliant idea, Rotter. And did you not see her yesterday? She was strutting around in that belly dancer outfit, looking just as caught up in all this madness as everyone else.”
Rotter winced. “...Fair point.”
“Forcing her by threatening her friend Howleen or her wheelchair-bound boyfriend Ryder would just result in an angry genie wiping us from existence.” Hackington crossed his arms. “And we have no idea where her sister Whisp is.”
Rotter sighed, slumping back in his seat. “Okay, so that’s a no on Gigi, a no on Casta, and brewing a new cure takes too long. That leaves us with…”
Hackington narrowed his eyes. “Nothing.”
Rotter hesitated, then leaned forward. “What about outside help? Maybe we could contact someone from the Monster Council—”
Hackington shot him a glare. “Are you insane? The moment word gets out about what’s happening here, we won’t just be dealing with the council—the entire monster community would hear about it. And do you have any idea what kind of scandal that would cause?”
Rotter exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”
Hackington crossed his arms, his expression grim. “If we don’t find a solution soon, this school might never recover.”
Throughout the day, the slasher became nothing but a joke to the students of Monster High.
Every time he tried to sneak up on someone, hoping to catch them off guard, his attempts were met with disaster—at his own expense.
when he tried to ambush Frankie while she was in the middle of getting her hair pulled and cheeks clapped by Jackson. He barely took a step toward them before an accidental surge of electricity zapped him so hard that he was sent flying backward, limbs twitching as sparks crackled off his body.
Undeterred, he set his sights on Iris and Manny, hoping to catch the couple off guard. But the second he got close, Manny absentmindedly stretched his arm while talking to Iris—and ended up backhanding the slasher so hard that he was sent crashing through the wall like a cartoon character. The minotaur didn’t even notice what he had done until Iris pointed it out, giggling.
Next, he tried his luck with Gigi and Ryder, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But before he could make his move, Ryder—who was currently blazing through the hallways at Mach speed in his wheelchair with Gigi clinging to him for dear life—ended up ramming straight into him. The impact sent the slasher tumbling down the hallway like a ragdoll, landing in a heap just as Ryder and Gigi zoomed past, completely unaware that he had even been there.
Frustrated, he made one last attempt—targeting Clawd and Draculaura while she was lovingly wrapped in his arms, passionately making out with him like they were in the climax of a romance movie.
As he crept closer, Draculaura suddenly tilted her head, her vampire senses tingling. She smirked against Clawd’s lips. "Someone's watching us, woof," she whispered playfully.
Clawd cracked his neck, turned around, and kicked the slasher so hard he was launched down the hallway like a football, slamming into a vending machine with a metallic clang.
And if that wasn’t enough, Manny—who happened to be passing by—dropped his entire body weight into a vicious stomp on the slasher’s back, embedding him into the floor. The minotaur scoffed and delivered one final stiff kick to his head for good measure before continuing on his way like nothing had happened.
By the end of the day, the slasher was tired and pissed off
He had been brought to this school to help restore order—to put the students back in their place and scare them into behaving.
Instead, they played him like a damn fiddle.
Every single one of them had treated him like a joke, toying with him like he was some sort of amusement. His every attempt to be menacing had been met with laughter, humiliation, and outright brutal beatdowns.
As he lay there, face-first in the floor, his entire body aching from the endless punishment he had suffered, one single thought ran through his mind.
"I should have never taken Bloodgood up on her offer."
Hackington exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as he leaned forward over his desk. His patience was wearing dangerously thin. “Alright, Rotter… we’re running out of viable options. As much as I despise even considering this, we may have no choice but to seek out Casta Fierce.”
Rotter looked at him like he had just suggested setting themselves on fire. “Are you serious? You just told me she’s been running around school like some kind of spellcasting temptress, brainwashing students into her personal fan club! How exactly do you think a rational conversation with her is going to go?”
Hackington shot him an exasperated look. “Do you have a better plan?”
Rotter opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn it…”
Hackington stood, grabbing his coat. “Exactly. Now let’s go before I start reconsidering my entire career.”
Rotter let out a long groan but reluctantly followed. “I hate this plan.”
The moment they stepped inside, Hackington and Rotter immediately stopped in their tracks.
The gymnasium had been completely transformed. Gone were the basketball hoops and bleachers—this was no longer a place for exercise and athleticism. This was a kingdom.
And at the heart of it all sat Queen Casta Fierce.
Dozens of male students—none of whom Hackington or Rotter recognized—were under her complete and utter control.
Some were kneeling before her throne, fanning her with massive palm leaves, their expressions blank and obedient. Others were feeding her an assortment of exotic fruits, each offering held up as if presenting treasures to a goddess.
Two unfortunate souls were pressed against the floor, licking her feet, their gazes filled with nothing but unwavering devotion.
The rest?
Some were dancing in a trance-like rhythm, swaying hypnotically, their movements graceful yet unsettling. Others were engaged in brutal fistfights, throwing wild punches, tackling each other to the ground, and grappling with reckless desperation—all in the hopes of earning her favor.
And then, there were the two that truly made Hackington and Rotter pause.
One boy had been transformed into her chair—his face pressed beneath her as she casually sat on his head, his hands bound behind his back, his knees digging into the gym floor.
Another poor soul was positioned between her legs, licking away at her pussy like it was a tasty treat.
Casta let out a pleased sigh, her fingers running through his hair as she hummed to herself.
She looked utterly radiant—yet terrifying.
Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, her lips curled into an expression of pure satisfaction. She swirled a goblet of deep red liquid in her hand, her golden eyes gleaming as she watched her subjects fight for her amusement.
Hackington and Rotter exchanged a very concerned glance.
Hackington leaned slightly toward Rotter and whispered, “I regret this decision already.”
Rotter muttered back, “I told you this was a terrible idea.”
Before they could rethink their next move, Casta’s eyes lazily drifted toward them.
Her lips curled into a slow, amused smirk. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t Monster High’s last remaining rational men… or at least, what’s left of them.” She took a leisurely sip from her goblet before tilting her head. “Tell me… what brings you two into my domain?”
Hackington straightened his back, clearing his throat. “Casta, we need your help reversing the effects of the gas.”
Casta raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”
Rotter scowled. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe because your not acting like yourself?”
Casta let out a sultry chuckle, resting her chin on her hand. “Am I, though?” She gestured around the room. “Because from where I’m sitting, things seem perfectly fine.”
She reached down, running her fingers gently through one of her enthralled servant’s hair. “I finally have everything I deserve. Loyal admirers, constant devotion, absolute worship.” She sighed, stretching luxuriously. “Why on earth would I ever want to go back to how things were?”
Hackington gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his voice even. “Because this isn’t you, Casta. You’re under the effects of the gas, just like everyone else.”
Casta playfully rolled her goblet between her fingers, looking unimpressed. “And that’s supposed to convince me?”
Rotter crossed his arms. “What about when this wears off? You think all of these guys are just gonna forget that you turned them into your personal fan club?”
For the first time, Casta’s smirk faltered slightly—but she quickly masked it with another chuckle. “You’re adorable if you think that matters.”
She leaned forward, her golden eyes glinting mischievously. “But… I might be willing to help.”
Hackington and Rotter exchanged wary glances before Hackington hesitantly asked, “And… what’s the catch?”
Casta’s smirk widened as she leaned back, elegantly crossing her legs.
“One of you sleeps with me.”
The room went dead silent.
Hackington and Rotter both recoiled slightly, their faces contorting in sheer horror.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” Hackington spat without hesitation.
Rotter’s face twisted in disgust. “Yeah, hard pass.”
Casta feigned a pout. “Aww, don’t be like that~” She let out a breathy giggle. “I wouldn’t mind taking both of you, if that makes it easier.”
“NO.” They both snapped in unison.
Casta sighed dramatically, swirling her drink. “Well, then, I guess you’ll just have to figure out your little problem on your own.”
Hackington clenched his jaw. “You do realize that if this keeps up, the Monster Council is going to find out—”
“Oh, please.” Casta rolled her eyes. “Like I care about them.”
Rotter groaned. “Are you seriously fine with this? Turning the school into your own personal harem?”
Casta smirked. “I mean… yeah.”
Rotter scoffed. “What, you think this is gonna last forever? News flash, it won’t.” He jabbed a finger toward her. “And what are you gonna do when it’s all over, huh? When everyone wakes up and realizes what you did? You think they’re just gonna laugh it off?”
Casta’s expression darkened slightly. “Careful, Rotter.”
“No, really, what’s your plan? Hope they forget you turned them into your personal footstools? Or maybe you think they’ll be cool with the fact that you—”
“ENOUGH.”
Casta’s voice BOOMED like a shockwave through the gym.
Immediately, every single one of her brainwashed followers froze.
The fighters halted mid-swing. The dancers stopped moving. The servants holding fans and food turned their heads in eerie unison.
All of them slowly turned toward Rotter.
Casta’s eyes gleamed dangerously as she stood from her throne, snapping her fingers.
“Escort them out of my domain.”
A low, inhuman growl rippled through the air as her thralls began advancing.
Rotter’s eyes widened. “Oh… crap.”
Hackington grabbed his arm. “RUN.”
The two bolted as the horde rushed after them.
“THIS WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!” Rotter shouted, narrowly dodging a flying chair.
“NO KIDDING!” Hackington shot back, practically diving through the exit.
They darted through the hallways, barely staying ahead of the mob, before frantically ducking into a janitor’s closet. Hackington slammed the door behind them, bracing it with his back.
Panting, he glared at Rotter—
and slapped him upside the head.
“OW! What the hell was that for?!” Rotter hissed.
“FOR RUNNING YA BLOODY MOUTH.” Hackington scowled. “We almost DIED.”
Rotter winced, rubbing his head—until suddenly, his eyes lit up.
“Wait…” He turned to Hackington, a slow grin creeping onto his face.
Hackington narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Rotter smirked.
“I think I might have something that can help us.”
The Slasher was DONE.
This entire day had been nothing but a complete and utter humiliation.
When Headmistress Bloodgood called him in, she made it seem like Monster High had simply lost control, that the students had become reckless delinquents in desperate need of discipline.
He had believed her, envisioning a school overrun with mischief, a place that just needed a little fear and authority to bring everything back in order.
He thought he’d be able to scare these students straight.
Instead—he had been turned into a joke.
Not once,
not twice,
but all damn day.
He had been laughed at, mocked, manhandled, and tossed around like a plaything.
He was supposed to be the boogeyman, a symbol of fear and discipline.
But these monsters?
They weren’t afraid of him. Not even a little.
And now? He looked the part of a man who had been utterly defeated.
His costume—once a terrifying suit designed to inspire dread—was now ripped, tattered, and barely holding together. His mask, once a featureless, ominous void that sent chills down spines, was now cracked, exposing half of his angry, exhausted, thoroughly irritated face.
He should have hung up the damn phone when Bloodgood called him.
Should have never stepped foot in this school.
But no. He was here. And now? He had nothing to show for it but bruises, torn clothes, and a reputation in shambles.
Fuming, he stomped through the halls, his boots echoing against the cold floors. He didn’t know where he was going—his body was moving on autopilot, driven by a mix of frustration and resentment.
Eventually, he found himself outside the Creepateria. Maybe, just maybe, some students were still behaving like normal, civilized beings.
He stepped inside—and immediately regretted it.
The scene before him was just as chaotic and obscene as the rest of the day. There was no order, no sense of shame, no attempt to hide anything. He felt like he had just walked into the den of depravity itself.
In the far corner, Clawd and Draculaura were locked in a heated embrace, her petite body pressed flush against his as they made out, completely lost in their own world.
Nearby, Frankie and Jackson were entangled, her stitches glowing faintly as they ran their hands over each other, Jackson’s fingers digging into her waist as she moaned into his mouth.
At another table, Slo-Mo and Ghoulia were practically riding each other, their moans barely muffled as they clung to one another.
Deuce and Cleo were groping, kissing, pulling each other closer, her nails raking down his back as his hands explored her curves.
Gil and Lagoona were laid out on a table, their lips fused together in a violent kiss so deep it was like they were breathing each other in like hungry lions.
And standing off to the side, Spectra had her camera out, filming everything.
Not in a weird, voyeuristic way—no, she was nodding approvingly, as if she were documenting a beautiful moment rather than absolute depravity.
To anyone else, it might have looked passionate, affectionate, maybe even sweet.
To him? It was revolting.
This school was supposed to be a place of education. These kids were supposed to be the future of the monster world. And here they were—acting like lust-driven animals who couldn’t control themselves for even a second.
But what truly made his blood boil, what made his hands tighten into fists, his jaw clench, and his already-battered mask crack even further, was the sight in the farthest corner of the Creepateria.
Heath and Abbey.
They weren’t just making out.
They weren’t just touching.
Heath was on his knees, his hands gripping Abbey’s thick, muscular thighs. His face was buried between them, eating away at her clit with a fervor that was both shocking and repulsive.
And Abbey? Her breath came out in hot, heavy gasps, her usual icy demeanor completely melted away as she trembled under his touch. One of her massive hands was threaded through Heath’s hair, gripping him possessively as he worked.
Her purrs of pleasure rumbled in the air, her frost-covered lips parting as she moaned his name, the sounds of their pleasure echoing across the Creepateria.
Loud. Shameless. Unapologetic. And worst of all? Nobody cared.
The Slasher’s eye twitched. This was beyond disgusting. It was repulsive. It was horrendous.
Yes, they were under the influence of an aphrodisiac.
But was it really that hard to keep their hormones in check?
Heath wiped his mouth, licking his lips as he pulled away from Abbey, his face flushed, his hair a mess, and his cocky grin still plastered across his face.
And that’s when he saw him—the Slasher, standing there, battered, exhausted, and seething with a rage that was barely contained beneath his cracked and tattered mask.
Heath burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent Creepateria. "Yo! What are you still doin’ here, man?" he cackled, adjusting his pants slightly before pointing at the so-called menace of Monster High. "Didn’t we clown on you enough already?"
The rest of the Creepateria took notice, and just like that, the entire cafeteria erupted. Laughter filled the air, along with a chorus of mockery and jokes flying from every direction.
"Dude, I thought you left hours ago!"
"Crystal Lake is that way, bud!"
"Who let this guy in? Bloodgood must be desperate."
"Scariest thing about you is that haircut, my guy!"
Even Spectra, who was usually more capable of controlling her laughter, was giggling behind her hand, filming the scene as the Slasher’s blood boiled.
The laughter and jeers were like fuel to the fire of his rage, each taunt stoking the flames higher and higher.
Then, Heath, still riding his high, just had to take it further. He shook his head, leaning against Abbey with a smirk.
"Man, I almost feel bad for you… ALMOST." He stretched his arms behind his head, his grin widening. "Y’know what, Slashy? Maybe if you got some, you wouldn’t be such a tight ass."
The cafeteria exploded with laughter, the sound echoing off the walls as students howled, some even falling out of their chairs from how hard they were laughing. Even Abbey laughed, shaking her head as she patted Heath’s chest, her usual icy demeanor melting away in the face of his bravado.
But the Slasher saw RED.
Something inside him snapped.
Faster than anyone could process, his blade flashed, a silver arc cutting through the air with a deadly precision.
SLASH!
A deep gash tore through Heath’s arm, sending him flying backward into a table with a loud crash.
The laughter immediately stopped, replaced by a split second of silence—just the sound of Heath’s pained scream ringing through the cafeteria.
Before anyone could react, the Slasher grabbed Scarah by the arm and flung her into a concession stand.
A sickening thud echoed as she hit the metal surface, knocking over trays and spilling food everywhere. She let out a strangled gasp, crumpling to the ground, her arms wrapping around her stomach as she shook violently.
"SCARAH!" Billy’s voice cracked as he rushed toward her, his face a mask of horror and concern.
But the Slasher wasn’t done. Manny barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his face.
The impact was brutal, sending the massive minotaur staggering backward. He spun, his eyes rolling back as he hit the floor with a thunderous crash, out cold. Iris shrieked, scrambling to his side, shaking him desperately as she called his name over and over again.
And then, Jackson stepped up, his face pale but determined. "That’s ENOUGH—"
WHAM!
The Slasher’s backhand sent Jackson flying. His body hit the wall with a sickening crack, and he slid to the ground, slumped and unmoving, blood trickling from his nose.
The room froze, students staring in horror as they processed what had just happened.
Manny was unconscious, his chest barely moving.
Jackson was slumped against the wall, not moving, blood dripping onto his shirt.
Scarah was on the ground, clutching her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face.
And Heath? He was screaming, loud and pained, his body trembling violently as he clutched his shoulder, his fingers drenched in blood.
Abbey was already at his side, her usually fierce, unshakable face now filled with pure fear.
"Let me see," she urged, her voice surprisingly soft as she tried to pry his hand away. Heath refused, shaking, crying, in too much pain to even think straight.
"Heath." Her voice hardened—firm, but still gentle.
His breath hitched, and slowly, reluctantly, he moved his hand away.
The moment Abbey saw the wound, her stomach dropped.
A massive, deep, open gash stretched across his shoulder, blood pouring out like a waterfall, staining his clothes and pooling onto the floor beneath him.
The cafeteria erupted into chaos.
Deuce and Frankie were at Jackson’s side, Frankie aggressively shaking him, sparks flying from her stitches, her voice breaking as she screamed his name.
Iris was practically sobbing, shaking Manny, whispering his name over and over again.
The ghosts—Johnny, Operetta, Spectra, Twyla—all rushed to Scarah, Billy nearly hyperventilating as he gently cradled her trembling form.
But all the Slasher could do was stand there, breathing heavy, fists clenched, as the realization sank in.
He had just fucked up.'
Big time.
The scene before him was a complete nightmare.
Just moments ago, the cafeteria had been filled with laughter and mockery.
Now?
Screams. Blood. Unconscious bodies. The raw, suffocating weight of pain.
The Slasher stood frozen, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. His wide, unblinking eyes darted across the wreckage he had created. His trembling hands were still clenched into fists, his heart hammering against his ribs.
And then, for the first time since he had stepped foot into Monster High—
He was afraid.
Heath was sprawled on the floor, his fingers slick with crimson, pressing desperately against the gaping wound in his shoulder. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth creaked. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths as fresh blood poured through his fingers, pooling beneath him like a growing stain.
So much blood.
His eyes darted up to Abbey, his breath hitching. His body trembled violently.
“A-Abbey,” he rasped, voice weak, strained. “I—It won’t stop. T-There’s too much—”
“Shh,” Abbey whispered, but her own voice shook. She pressed both hands over his, trying to stem the endless bleeding. Her usual icy composure was cracked, barely holding together.
“Just keep breathing, Firecracker,” she murmured. “You are strong. You will be okay.”
But Heath wasn’t okay. He was pale. Too pale.
And Abbey had never been more terrified in her life.
Nearby, Jackson was slumped against the wall, motionless.
Frankie was in front of him, her stitches sparking violently. Her hands trembled as she grabbed his face.
“Jackson!” she screamed, aggressively shaking him. “Wake up!”
Nothing.
Her stomach twisted. Her fingers dug into his skin. “J-Jackson, wake up! Please!”
Still nothing.
She choked on a sob, her eyes wide, her voice cracking. “D-Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare do this to me!”
Across the room, Manny lay sprawled on the floor, his massive frame unnaturally still. His nose was twisted, bleeding, lips slightly parted. His chest rose and fell just barely.
Iris knelt beside him, gripping his huge hand in her own trembling fingers.
“Manny?” Her voice was fragile, choked with tears. She shook his arm, her voice rising in panic.
“Manny, please, say something—”
No response.
Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred.
“Manny?” she whispered. Her voice broke.
Scarah was curled up on the floor, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, her breathing ragged, her lips trembling. But she made no sound. No screams. No cries.
Just silent, agonizing sobs.
Billy was crouched beside her, his whole body shaking. His fingers brushed her pale, sweat-drenched face, his eyes frantic.
“Scarah, are you okay? Can you—can you breathe? Can you move? Talk to me!” His voice was borderline hysterical.
Scarah opened her mouth but could barely choke out a sound.
Billy’s hands shook violently. His voice barely held back his fear.
“Hey, buddy,” Porter said, placing a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but you gotta step back so she ca—”
“She’s pregnant.”
Silence.
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
And then—
Operetta clenched her fists. Her voice was venom.
“Oh, that son of a bitch.”
The tension in the room shifted.
A second ago, it had been filled with laughter.
Now?
Nothing but fury.
Abbey moved first.
Her hands trembled. Her breath came in sharp, heavy pants.
Her emotions had never been this intense before. She was always protective of Heath, always cared for him, even before they started dating.
But now?
Now, it was primal.
Her ice-cold knuckles cracked. Her voice was low, venomous.
“You… hurt my Heath.”
The Slasher swallowed. He took a step back. Abbey stepped forward.
“You hurt him. You cut him open. You made him bleed. And now…”
She exhaled sharply.
Her breath came out in an icy mist.
The Slasher felt it from a mile away.
“You. Will. Pay.”
Frankie stood next.
Her usually bright, energetic eyes were dark. Jackson was still unconscious in her arms. Still not moving.
Still not waking up.
Her stitches flared, blue sparks snapping through her body.
“You. Hurt. MY. Jackson.” Her fingers twitched, electricity building.
“I’m so—”
“You think you can just—hurt him?! You think you can just—” She clenched her jaw, shaking with rage. “I swear, I’m gonna fry you alive!”
The ghosts weren’t far behind.
Johnny cracked his knuckles, his translucent form flickering. Operetta’s scarred lips curled into a snarl. Spectra hovered above Scarah, her usual calm shattered.
Billy?
Billy was visibly shaking.
Not with fear.
Not with panic.
With rage.
His hands twitched. His breath was ragged.
His voice came out in a low growl.
“You. Hit. My. Girlfriend.”
The Slasher took another step back. His stomach twisted. His fingers twitched.
His breath caught in his throat.
“P-Please, I—”
WHAM!
Abbey hit him first.
Her fist collided with his face so hard that he heard his nose crack.
The world tilted—his vision blurred—and then he hit the ground.
“GET HIS ASS!” Deuce roared.
And then—they swarmed.
Fists. Claws. Supernatural abilities.
All rained down in a storm of pure, unrelenting fury.
“YOU WANNA HURT SOMEBODY, HUH?!” Clawd snarled, slamming his foot into his ribs.
The Slasher shrieked. But the onslaught continued.
“You like hitting girls?!” Operetta growled, punching him so hard his head smacked against the floor.
Johnny phased through his legs, grabbed his ankle, and twisted.
The Slasher let out a horrible scream as something popped.
But they didn’t stop.
“HOW DOES IT FEEL, HUH?!” Frankie shrieked, sending bolts of electricity surging through his body.
Billy went invisible. And in an instant—The Slasher felt a blade sink into his leg.
His own scream nearly drowned out the furious roars of the students.
And then—
"ENOUGH!"
A deafening BOOM echoed through the halls.
Everyone’s heads snapped up.
Bloodgood.
Her expression was horrified.
Her Slasher—her supposed unstoppable monster—
Was on the ground, barely breathing.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Bloodgood bellowed, her voice echoing through the wrecked cafeteria. Her face was twisted with disbelief and fury.
“First, you’re having sex, and now you’re beating someone half to death?! WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I ORDER YOU TO CEASE THIS BEHAVIOR AT ONCE!”
The students paused—just for a second.
Then—
WHAM!
Abbey drove her fist into the Slasher’s face again, sending a fresh spray of blood across the floor.
Frankie’s boot came down on his ribs with a sickening crunch.
Billy’s knife sank into his shoulder, twisting violently.
Bloodgood’s eyes widened. “EXCUSE ME! I SAID—”
“Shut up, old lady!” Clawd snarled, not even sparing her a glance.
Bloodgood gasped.
They weren’t listening.
They didn’t care.
The Slasher coughed up blood, his whole body trembling violently. He could barely even process the pain anymore—just flashes of it, blinding, suffocating, unrelenting.
He had to get out.
NOW!
With the last of his strength, he scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through his veins.
He bolted.
Out the cafeteria doors. Down the hall. Out of Monster High.
He didn’t care where he was going—he just had to run.
The students watched him flee, but they weren’t done yet.
A half-eaten tray of food sailed through the air, smacking against the back of his head.
A shoe followed.
Then a metal tray.
Then—everything.
Food. Trash. Anything they could throw was hurled in the slashers direction as he fled the school
Cleo stepped forward, standing at the entrance. She watched him with piercing golden eyes, her arms crossed, radiating authority.
She tilted her head, sneering.
“Run, little man,” she purred. “Run as fast as you can.”
The Slasher didn’t dare look back.
Cleo’s sneer deepened. Her burning gaze followed him until he disappeared into the night.
“But don’t you EVER think about coming back!!!”
Then, with a sharp, disgusted scoff, she raised a perfectly manicured hand—
SLAM!
The doors slammed shut with a resounding BOOM.
As the echo of Cleo’s words faded, the students finally snapped out of it.
Their breathing was still ragged. Their hands were still shaking. Their eyes still burned with unfiltered rage.
But then—
A low, pain-filled groan.
All eyes turned.
Their friends were still hurt. Still bleeding. Still struggling to move.
Abbey immediately dropped to her knees, grabbing Heath’s face with gentle but firm hands, ignoring the blood staining her fingers.
“Heath?” Her voice was soft, urgent—almost desperate. “You still with me, fire boy?”
Heath let out a weak chuckle, his eyelids fluttering. “Y-Yeah… kinda hard to check out when you’re… shaking me like a maraca…”
Abbey exhaled sharply, a mixture of relief and frustration flickering across her face.
Then—her eyes landed on his shoulder.
The deep, gaping slash across his skin.
The blood pouring out.
Her stomach twisted.
Too much blood.
Way too much.
“Oh, my poor flame…” she whispered, pressing a cold hand against the wound, her frost slowing the bleeding. “I knew you would get hurt. You are always throwing yourself into stupid danger.”
Heath gave her a weak grin. “What can I say… I gotta keep you on your toes…”
Abbey huffed. She wiped the sweat off his forehead, her touch surprisingly soft. “You are reckless. You do not think. You get yourself in trouble and make me worry.”
Heath’s smirk faltered slightly. “…Sorry?”
Abbey clicked her tongue. “No, no sorries. Just let me take care of you.”
She brushed a hand through his messy hair, then without warning, she scooped him up into her arms with ease, holding him like he weighed nothing.
Heath blinked. “Oooooh, strong ghoul, I like.”
Abbey sighed, but let out a small smirk. “Hush. Save strength.”
Meanwhile, Frankie was still crouched in front of Jackson, her fingers trembling.
“Jack?” Her voice was small. Shaky. “Come on, babe, you gotta wake up…”
No response.
She bit her lip. She pressed her forehead against his, practically begging.
“Jackson, please…”
Then—
A strangled groan.
Jackson jerked violently. His body twitched, his back arching as a sharp cry tore from his throat.
Frankie’s heart stopped.
“JACKSON?!”
Jackson’s fingers dug into the floor as his entire body writhed, his breath coming out in short, painful gasps.
“Hurts—hurts so bad—”
“I know baby, just stay with me” frankie said soothingly.
Frankie clutched him, her hands shaking, her stitches sparking violently with panic.
"I SWEAR TO CHRIST IF THAT ASSHOLE COMES BACK, IMA FRY HIM TO DEATH!”
Her voice was no longer soft. No longer shaky.
It was furious.
The others glanced at each other but said nothing.
They all knew.
If that slasher decided to return.
Frankie would make them regret it.
Iris was still frantically shaking Manny.
“Manny, come on, wake up, wake up—wake up!”
For a moment there was silence and then—
A deep, pained groan.
Manny’s massive hand twitched in hers.
Iris sucked in a sharp breath.
“Manny?!”
His eyes fluttered open.
Then—
“Ugh… what hit me? A brick wall?” He grumbled as he stirred awake
Iris laughed through her tears. “No, just some asshole—but I will happily go back and finish the job!”
Manny chuckled weakly. “You always did like to fight for my honor…”
“Damn right.”
And Scarah…
Scarah was curled up, trembling. Tears streamed down her face.
Billy hovered over her, his hands shaking violently.
“Scarah?” His voice was fragile. “Can you move? Can you—can you feel the baby?”
Scarah hiccupped.
Her breath hitched.
She pressed both hands to her stomach, her entire body going still.
A long, agonizing silence.
Then—
Her face crumpled.
A broken sob tore from her lips as she nodded.
“Baby’s fine,” she whispered, her voice choked. “Baby’s fine… baby’s fine…”
Billy crushed her against his chest. His breath was ragged. His heart pounded. “Thank fucking god…” he whispered.
Then, his grip tightened. His eyes were wild with protective fury as he glared into space.
“I swear on my fucking soul—if ANYONE touches her again—”
His voice shook.
“I will kill them.”
Nobody doubted him.
Johnny and Operetta exhaled sharply, glancing at each other, their own hands drifting to her stomach.
If that slasher had chosen to attack her instead—
If he had struck a little bit harder—
Johnny swallowed hard. “That could’ve been you.”
Operetta squeezed his hand. “I know, darlin’.”
They didn’t say anything else. But the relief in their eyes was undeniable.
The students all nodded in agreement.
No more time to waste. They needed to move.
Johnny, Operetta, Spectra, and Twyla all gently helped Scarah to her feet.
Clawd and Deuce slung Manny’s arms over their shoulders, helping him walk.
Frankie and others supported Jackson.
Abbey, still filled with ice-cold rage, adjusted Heath in her arms, holding him closer.
She glanced down at him, eyes softening. “You comfortable?”
Heath smirked weakly. “You know, if you wanted to carry me around like a princess, you could’ve just said so.”
Abbey rolled her eyes but held him a little tighter. “Just rest, Heath. I’ve got you.”
As they all started moving toward the nurse’s office, Bloodgood finally found her voice.
“I… I’m so sorry—”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The entire group snapped. Their voices roared in unison, filled with pure, raw venom.
Bloodgood flinched violently.
Frankie’s eyes glowed with fury as she whipped around.
“You don’t get to talk.”
Bloodgood swallowed thickly.
She had fucked up.
Her actions just turned the whole student body against her.
And the gas had not only made them horny, it made them violent too.
If the monster council saw any of this, they would surely shut her down without hesitation.
The aftermath of the attack left a heavy weight in the air.
The nurse’s office was packed—wounded monsters laid out on cots, bandages wrapped around fresh wounds, the lingering scent of antiseptic stinging their noses.
Abbey sat at Heath’s bedside, gripping his hand tightly.
Her usually icy demeanor had cracked, her expression tight with worry. Her blue eyes shimmered, threatening to spill tears she refused to shed.
“You are idiot,” she muttered. Her voice was thick.
Heath smirked weakly. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
Abbey squeezed his hand harder.
Frankie sat beside Jackson, fingers brushing his bruised knuckles. Her stitches sparked erratically, small currents of electricity crackling along her skin.
Jackson had already fallen asleep, exhausted and heavily bandaged.
She exhaled sharply.
“I thought I lost you,” she whispered.
Her fingers clenched into the bedsheets.
Iris sat beside Manny, rubbing his arm gently. She was quiet, but her eyes told a different story.
Manny hated being injured. Hated looking weak.
But all Iris could think about was the moment he went down, how hard he hit the floor, how he groaned in pain.
She chewed her lip.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she held his hand tighter.
Across the room, the ghouls stood in tense silence.
Lagoona paced. Cleo’s arms were crossed, her golden eyes seething with fury. Spectra hovered near the ceiling, her ghostly aura crackling with agitation. Ghoulia muttered something under her breath—probably a series of curses in zombie language.
But the one who looked the most shaken was Scarah.
She was silent, gripping her stomach protectively.
The realization hit all at once.
The slasher attacked a pregnant woman.
A pregnant woman.
Lagoona whirled around, teeth clenched.
“He’s lucky we didn’t kill him,” she spat.
Cleo scoffed. “Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Frankie exhaled sharply, rubbing her arms. “He hurt Jackson. He hurt all of them. He—he hurt Scarah. He could’ve—”
She stopped herself.
Could’ve killed her baby.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Abbey’s fists tightened.
"Coward. Attacking people who were not even fighting him. I should have ripped his head off."
Gigi’s usually calm expression darkened.
“I hope he’s suffering right now,” she murmured, voice uncharacteristically cold.
Catty flicked her tail, agitation clear.
"We should have done worse to him."
Their emotions swirled, boiling under the surface. Anger. Frustration. Adrenaline.
And then—
A subtle change in the air.
The gas.
While today's events had overided it a little, hadn’t been completely cleared out.
It clung to their skin, sank into their veins, messing with their heads.
And emotions ran higher.
Frankie’s hands twitched.
Abbey’s breathing grew heavier.
Lagoona rubbed at her shoulders, trying to shake off the sudden heat creeping up her spine.
It wasn’t just anger anymore.
It was something else.
Something more-
Primal.
Cleo’s gaze flickered over to Deuce, sitting in the other room, chatting with friends
Her fingers brushed the golden chains draped over her body. Her lips curled slightly.
A thought crept into her mind.
And by the looks of it, she wasn’t the only one thinking it.
Frankie exhaled slowly, eyes dark with unspoken emotion.
Abbey’s fingers trailed along Heath’s wrist, lingering.
Iris bit her lip, shifting closer to Manny.
Draculaura was the first to speak it out loud. Her voice was silky smooth.
“I think we all need a little… relief.”
Cleo smirked, arms loosening at her sides. “You know what? You’re right.”
Lagoona stretched, rolling her shoulders.
“Mmm… They went through a lot today.” She grinned. “We should take care of them.”
Abbey cracked her knuckles. “Oh. We will.”
The tension in the room shifted.
The ghouls exchanged glances.
Understanding.
Agreement.
And a single, shared thought.
Tonight, wouldn’t end without satisfying their men.
The halls of Monster High echoed with a symphony of unbridled passion, the air thick with a mix of hormones and the lingering scent of the day's chaos.
Despite the insanity that had unfolded, life at Monster High continued as if nothing had happened. Heath, Jackson, Manny, and Scarah had their injuries patched up, their wounds stitched and bandaged,
and the rest of the school? They went right back to fucking each other's brains out.
Every room, every hallway, every empty classroom—moans and grunts echoed through the halls as students gave in to their primal urges.
The slasher was gone, and with nothing to stop them, guys across the school had zero hesitation bending their girlfriends over desks, lockers, and even against the walls, going at it right in front of everyone.
The teachers didn’t dare intervene, deciding to wait and let things calm down.
That is if they ever did.
As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, a group of guys found themselves lingering in the hallway. Clawd, Deuce, Jackson, Manny, Heath, Slo-Mo, Gil, Finnegan, Porter, Seth, and Ryder all stood together, checking in on their injured friends.
"Alright, how’s everyone holding up?" Clawd asked, leaning against a locker, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes scanned the group, taking in the bandages and the lingering signs of their recent altercation.
Heath adjusted his position, a smirk playing on his lips despite the pain he was clearly in. "I’ll live," he muttered. "Getting my shoulder sliced open isn’t gonna stop me anytime soon."
Gil raised an eyebrow, his expression concerned. "Dude, you almost bled out," he pointed out. "You sure you’re good?"
Heath’s smirk widened, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Takes more than that to take me down, bro," he replied, his voice laced with a mix of bravado and genuine resilience.
Jackson exhaled sharply, wincing as he shifted his weight. "I feel like I got stomped on… and not in a fun way," he admitted, his voice tight with pain.
Deuce snorted, his expression blunt and to the point. "You look like shit," he said
Jackson rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Gee, thanks," he muttered sarcastically.
Ryder glanced at Jackson’s still-bandaged torso, his expression serious. "No, seriously, bro, how bad is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Jackson hesitated, "…Bad,"
That single word spoke volumes, and the group fell silent, the weight of his injuries hanging heavy in the air.
Manny sighed, rolling his shoulders as he tried to work out the kinks in his muscles.
"I can’t believe I got taken down that bad," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and disbelief. He flexed his fingers, wincing as pain shot up his arm. "My pride’s hurt worse than my body."
Seth mumbled, his eyes scanning the group as he assessed their injuries. "Man, the three of you got your asses kicked," he said, his voice laced with a mix of sympathy and disbelief. "I mean, I know that guy was weird, but damn."
Ryder nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, no kidding," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That slasher dude was fucking crazy."
Deuce cracked his knuckles, his expression determined. "Yep, and that’s why I’m glad we threw his ass outta here," he said, his voice laced with a mix of satisfaction and relief. "Nobody’s pulling that horror movie bullshit on us again."
Before anyone could reply, Finnegan frowned, his brows furrowing as he looked around the group.
"…Hey, has anyone seen the ghouls?"
The group fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.
Then—
Clawd’s ears twitched, his expression turning serious. "Wait. Shit. You’re right," he realized, his voice laced with a mix of concern and disbelief. "I haven’t seen Draculaura since her and the other ghouls took scarah to the nurse."
Jackson nodded in agreement, his expression sobering. "Frankie either," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Heath’s smirk disappeared, his expression turning serious. "Abbey was with me at the nurse’s office, but… she never said where she was going after that," he admitted, his voice laced with a mix of concern and confusion.
Manny frowned, his expression turning serious. "Iris wouldn’t just disappear without telling me," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of concern and disbelief.
Porter narrowed his eyes, his expression turning serious. "Spectra’s not answering my messages," he admitted, his voice laced with a mix of concern and frustration.
Slo-Mo grunted, his expression turning serious. Even without words, they could all tell what he was thinking.
Where the hell were their ghouls?
And why hadn’t they come looking for them?
They had been hysterical over their injuries, yet now, they were nowhere to be seen.
The longer the silence stretched, the more uneasy they felt. The air was thick with tension, the weight of their concerns hanging heavy in the air.
Then—
A pale hand emerged from around the corner, slow and deliberate, curling a single finger in a beckoning motion.
"Who the hell?" Clawd muttered, his brows furrowing in confusion as he tried to make sense of the situation.
Draculaura stepped out of the darkness, her lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Follow me," she said, her voice laced with a mix of mystery and anticipation.
The group exchanged confused glances, their minds racing with questions and uncertainty.
"…Where the hell have you been?" Clawd asked, his brow furrowed in a mix of concern and frustration.
Draculaura only tilted her head, her fanged grin glinting in the dim light. "You’ll see," she replied, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and secrecy.
And with that, she turned and disappeared into an empty classroom, leaving the guys to follow in curious anticipation.
The guys hesitated for a moment, their minds racing with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Then, slowly, they stepped inside the classroom, their eyes widening in shock and awe as they took in the sight before them.
Standing before them were Cleo, Frankie, Iris, Abbey, Ghoulia, Lagoona, Gigi, Catty, and Spectra.
But they weren’t dressed in their usual outfits.
No, they were dressed in something else entirely—dominatrix-inspired outfits that were tight, form-fitting, and commanding.
Their outfits weren’t just revealing; they were designed to control, to dominate, and to demand submission.
Cleo stood front and center, her golden eyes sharp and knowing, her arms crossed over her perfectly cinched waist. Her black and gold ensemble hugged her curves like a second skin, accented with shimmering chains that swayed as she stepped forward. Her golden headress gleamed under the dim lights, and her lips curled in amusement as she took in the guys’ stunned expressions.
"Well?" she purred, tapping a sharp, manicured nail against her leg. "What are you all waiting for? We’re not going to satisfy ourselves."
A moment of absolute, stunned silence hung heavy in the air. Then—
"Well, damn," Heath whistled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to recover from the shock. His eyes trailed up Abbey’s body, taking in the way her dark blue corset hugged her waist and the way the lace accentuated her toned thighs. "Uh… is this a fever dream? Because if so, I don’t wanna wake up."
Abbey smirked and stepped forward, pressing an icy-cold finger against his throat. "Good," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear.
"Because I do not plan on letting you escape."
Heath swallowed hard, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and anticipation.
Lagoona chuckled, stepping in front of Gil with a playful sway to her hips. Her sheer, dark, aqua-colored bodysuit shimmered against her teal skin, and she trailed a finger slowly down his chest. "Don’t just stand there, love," she murmured, her Australian accent dipping lower. "We went through all this effort for you."
Gil opened his mouth to speak, but Lagoona’s fingers gently hooked under his chin, tilting his face up.
"Shhh," she whispered, a devious glint flickering in her sea-green eyes. "No talking."
Porter arched an eyebrow at Spectra, crossing his arms in a mix of curiosity and defiance. "I knew you had a wild side, babe, but this?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and admiration.
Spectra only grinned, floating closer to him, her translucent fabric shifting like mist around her. "Oh, you have no idea," she replied, trailing cold fingers along his jawline, her lips hovering just inches from his.
Porter exhaled sharply, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and excitement.
Jackson, still slightly out of it from earlier, blinked rapidly, his eyes darting between Frankie’s toned legs and the dangerously high slit in her outfit.
"I—uh—wow—"
Frankie stepped forward, pressing a single finger to his lips and silencing him. "Less talking, more reacting, Sparky," she murmured, a small shock zapping against his skin.
Jackson shuddered, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and anticipation.
And just like that—
the ghouls made their move.
Cleo stalked toward Deuce, her eyes flashing as she placed a single hand on his chest.
"Kneel," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Deuce’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and submission. Slowly, he sank to his knees, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation.
Frankie’s stitches sparked as she shoved Jackson against the wall, pressing their bodies flush against each other. "You scared the hell out of me today, Jack," she murmured, her fingers trailing over his bruises. "And now… I’m going to remind you why you don’t get to leave me."
Jackson’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and excitement.
Abbey was just as ruthless, gripping Heath’s chin and forcing his gaze to meet hers. "You are still hurt," she murmured, her tone soft yet dangerous. Then, her knee pressed between his legs, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. "Yet you still look at me like that?"
Heath groaned, his eyes widening in a mix of pain and pleasure. "I'm sorry m.....mommy!" he whimpered
Iris toyed with the hem of her sheer lace top, watching as Manny’s entire face turned red. "What’s wrong, babe?" she cooed, tilting her head in a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Too much for you?"
Manny gulped, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and excitement.
Catty ran a single clawed finger down Seth’s chest, smirking as he visibly tensed. "Mmm… so much tension," she murmured, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and anticipation. "Guess we’ll have to do something about that."
Seth sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and excitement.
The air was thick with tension, anticipation, and absolute, undeniable dominance.
The ghouls had taken control, and the guys were more than willing to submit to their demands.
Bloodgood’s heels echoed through the empty halls. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
She had been patrolling for hours, sweeping through the school, ensuring that the chaos hadn’t gotten worse.
Her guilt sat heavy on her shoulders.
She had hired the slasher.
She had brought that thing into the school.
And for what?
To scare them?
To force order where there was none?
Bloodgood exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
She hadn’t anticipated how far things would spiral. How quickly things would dissolve into madness.
But still…
Even now, even after everything, the problem remained.
This school was drowning in hormones.
Bloodgood’s fingers tightened around the riding crop she held at her side. She had to put a stop to this.
One way or another.
Then as she turned a corner, she heard it—
A sound.
A hushed giggle. A muffled moan. A sharp gasp. A low, sultry laugh.
Bloodgood stilled. Her eyes narrowed. Her grip tightened.
Without hesitation, she stormed toward the source.
Her pulse pounded.
Her jaw locked.
And as she reached the door—
She threw it open.
The room was thick with tension.
Soft gasps, low moans, teasing whispers—the sounds of pleasure filled the space.
The ghouls remained in control, their hands exploring, their lips teasing, their movements slow and deliberate. Their partners were completely at their mercy.
But no one heard the sound.
Footsteps.
and then-
SLAM!
The door flew open.
Everyone froze; their eyes widened.
Bloodgood stood at the entrance in silence, the sight before her was nothing short of scandalous, as she took it all in
Bodies pressed together. Fingers tangled in hair. Lips trailing over exposed skin. Some half-dressed. Lips locked. Hands roaming.
Heat. Sweat. Tension.
And not a single ounce of shame.
Her entire face drained of color.
A moment of stunned silence.
Then—
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS DECENT AND GOOD IS GOING ON HERE?!”
The room jolted at the sheer force of her voice.
But the ghouls?
They barely even flinched.
Smirks remained, arms still wrapped around their lovers.
And Bloodgood?
She was seething.
She lost it.
“THIS IS A SCHOOL, NOT A STRIP CLUB!” Her voice boomed.
Still, the ghouls didn’t even flinch.
They held their partners firmly, confidently, unbothered by her outrage.
But Bloodgood was far from finished.
“You are TEENAGERS, NOT ADULTS!” she bellowed, her nostrils flaring. “Do you have ANY idea what you’re doing?! You’re acting like a bunch of HARLOTS!”
Silence.
No one said a word
but then, Cleo raised an unimpressed brow, clearly annoyed
“Are you done?”
Bloodgood’s eye twitched.
Her fury snapped.
“NO, I AM NOT DONE!”
She whirled around, pacing furiously, hands clenched.
“Do you have ANY IDEA how DISAPPOINTED I am?!” she raged. “I thought you were better than this! I thought you had self-control! But NO! Here you are, acting like you have NO shame, throwing yourselves at each other like WILD ANIMALS!”
Her breath came fast, sharp, angry.
She turned on them, eyes blazing.
“Do you even THINK about the consequences of your actions? Do you WANT to be teen mothers?! Do you WANT to throw away your futures for momentary pleasure?! Because that’s exactly what you’re setting yourselves up for!”
She scanned their faces, searching for even a hint of remorse.
But she found none.
Her glare sharpened.
“And do NOT think for a SECOND that your parents wouldn’t be ashamed if they saw you like this!”
Silence.
A thick, suffocating silence.
This only made bloodgood seethe even more, but just as she was about to continue her rant—
"Shut the fuck up.”
Not just one voice.
All of them.
Every single ghoul and guy, speaking in perfect unison, eyes locked onto hers, cold and unyielding.
Bloodgood’s mouth snapped shut. Her hands clenched into fists. Her entire body trembled.
With barely contained rage— She yanked the door shut so hard the walls shook.
SLAM!
A beat of silence.
For a moment, you could almost here a pin drop
but then—
Cleo dusted off her hands.
“Well. Now that that’s over with…”
The ghouls turned back to their partners, smirking.
“Where were we?”
and with that, the fun continued
Bloodgood stormed out of the room, her face twisted in fury, fists clenched so tight her knuckles went white.
She needed air. She needed sanity. She needed—
Then she saw them.
Clawdeen and Toralei.
Pressed against a row of lockers.
Hands tangled in each other’s hair.
Lips locked in a heated kiss.
Bloodgood’s eye twitched violently.
“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—”
She marched toward them, rage boiling over.
“Clawdeen! Toralei! This is COMPLETELY inappropriate! Do you two have ANY—”
Before she could even finish—
They both broke the kiss just long enough to glare at her.
And in perfect unison, they snapped—
“WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?! WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING HERE!!”
Then, just like that, they went right back to kissing.
Bloodgood shook with pure, unfiltered rage.
Her nails dug into her palms. Her breath came fast and sharp.
Then, without another word—
She whirled around and stormed off.
Straight to her office, Furious, Defeated, and completely, utterly done.
Bloodgood stormed into her office, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the windows.
Her breathing was ragged. Her hands shook.
And then, she broke.
A sharp sob tore from her throat as she collapsed into her chair, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting.
She knew. She knew it wasn’t their fault.
The gas. That damn gas. It had taken hold of every single student in this school, turning them from respectable young men and women who had big opportunities ahead of them, to sexual deviants who couldn't control their hormones
But knowing that didn’t change the reality.
If they didn’t get this under control, she was done.
Not just her—Monster High was done.
The only true sanctuary for monsters everywhere—gone.
Sure, many other school were excepting of monsters, but monster high was the only place that excepted everyone, regardless of race or background
How many people had fought for this place? How many monsters had struggled, had sacrificed, just to build a school where young monsters could learn without fear, without hiding?
Generations of headmasters, faculty, students—all of their efforts, their battles, their triumphs—would be erased in an instant.
The Council wouldn’t care.
They wouldn’t listen.
They would take one look at this mess and shut Monster High down for good.
She could already picture the disgust on their faces.
The horrified gasps.
The stern, final decree—
"This school is no longer fit to operate."
Bloodgood’s body shook with silent cries.
There was no cure.
No way to fix this in time.
No hope.
She slowly lifted her head, her gaze unfocused, blurred with tears. Her eyes landed on the far wall—
On a photograph.
A centuries-old image, sepia-toned and slightly faded.
The very first class of Monster High.
Smiling students stood in front of the grand, newly built school, dressed in old-fashioned attire.
And in the center of them all, standing tall with pride, was the first headmaster.
He had given everything to build this place.
And now, she was about to let it crumble.
…NO.
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
No. She refused.
If there was no cure, then she would have to fix this another way.
If it meant separating every single couple in this school by sheer force, then so be it.
It was sad. It was cruel. Young love was a beautiful thing.
But she was not losing her job.
And she was not losing Monster High.
She grabbed the phone off her desk, jaw clenched, fire blazing in her eyes as she barked out—
“This is Headmistress Bloodgood. Bring in the BIG GUNS!”
In the dimly lit laboratory deep beneath Monster High, Hackington adjusted his glasses, peering at the glowing vial in his hands.
Behind him, Rotter watched anxiously, arms crossed.
“Well?” Rotter asked. “Did it work?”
Hackington carefully swirled the liquid, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod—
“It’s stable.”
Rotter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So it’s a cure?”
Hackington hesitated, before speaking. “Not exactly.”
Rotter’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
Hackington turned, placing the vial in a secured case. “It’s only temporary.”
Rotter grimaced. “How temporary?”
Hackington sighed, rubbing his temple. “Long enought that the council won't suspect a thing, so long as we keep the students away from any inappropriate sources.”
Rotter clenched his jaw.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
“…It’ll have to do.”
To be continued....
Notes:
Uh Oh, Bloodgood's lost her marbles!
Will Hackington's temporary cure save the school?
And who are these 'big guns' that Bloodgood is referring too?
Chapter 7: Lockdown (Part 1)
Summary:
With the council's arrival imminent, Bloodgood takes drastic measures
Notes:
This chapter is bound to either piss you off or make more interested
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The doors of Monster High swung open, and once again, a wave of hormonal chaos flooded the halls.
After three straight days of unhinged debauchery, the students were more than ready to pick up where they left off, filling the corridors with flirtatious teasing, heated whispers, and the occasional moan.
Everywhere you looked, someone was flirting with their partner, pulling them aside for a steamy make-out session, or whispering filthy promises into their lover’s ear.
"Laura, I could just eat you up, like you were a cupcake," Clawd growled, his voice thick with desire as he wrapped his arms tightly around his girlfriend.
Draculaura let out a playful giggle, flashing her sharp fangs in amusement. "Then get on your knees and start, puppy~" she teased, licking her lips.
Some students rolled their eyes, but nobody actually complained.
After all, they were just as bad.
Across the hall, Gigi leaned into Ryder’s side, tracing her fingers along his chest.
"We should skip class and go make out in the broom closet," she suggested.
Ryder smirked, pulling her closer. "Or we could just do it right here. Who cares?"
"Good point," she giggled, biting her lip.
At this point, nobody had any shame left.
They didn’t care who was watching.
Didn’t care who overheard.
They were so obsessed with each other, so desperately hungry for one another, that going even two seconds without flirting or making suggestive remarks seemed impossible.
"PORTER!" Spectra’s voice boomed down the hallway, echoing through the chaos.
Her boyfriend turned, a knowing smirk already forming. "Spectra!"
She phased through a group of students, floating toward him with a sultry grin.
"Meet me in the locker room." Her voice was a purr as she trailed her fingers down his chest. "I'll make sure no one follows us."
She winked, leaning in so close their lips were almost touching. "You know what we're gonna do once we're alone."
Porter chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Can’t wait."
Meanwhile, Cleo slinked up beside Deuce, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.
"Don't forget about our ‘hangout’ spot today."
Deuce smirked, turning his head slightly. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
She grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his neck before sauntering off, leaving him watching her with a heated gaze.
Even the more reserved couples weren’t immune to the madness.
Frankie and Jackson strolled through the hall, hand in hand, laughing as they talked about their plans for the day.
But as they walked, Jackson suddenly paused, his brows furrowing.
"Hey, Frankie, hold still for a sec."
"Huh?" Frankie tilted her head in confusion.
Jackson reached up, gently adjusting her crooked collar.
"Your collar was messed up," he murmured, focused on his task. "Just fixing it."
Frankie beamed, eyes gleaming with affection. "Thanks, babe."
Then, without warning, her smile shifted into something devilish.
"Wanna rip it off me later?"
Jackson froze.
His entire face turned red, his brain short-circuiting at the unexpected suggestion.
Frankie laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction.
Jackson, after a second of flustered silence, finally grinned. "I'll remember that!"
Frankie giggled, swinging their hands playfully as they continued walking.
At this point, the students had fully embraced their new freedom.
Three days ago, they had been terrified, panicked, and confused.
Now?
They felt liberated.
The stress of weeks of testing, deadlines, and responsibilities had been washed away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of pleasure-seeking rebellion.
And honestly?
They couldn’t care less how much it infuriated Bloodgood and the teachers.
But just as groups began slipping away to indulge in their scandalous misdeeds, a voice boomed through the newly repaired speakers.
"ATTENTION, STUDENTS OF MONSTER HIGH."
A collective groan swept through the hallways.
"PLEASE BE AWARE THAT TODAY IS THE MONSTER COUNCIL'S INSPECTION. ALL STUDENTS MUST REPORT TO THE CREEPATERIA FOR A MANDATORY HEALTH CHECK."
For a moment, silence.
Then—
"Ugh, seriously?"
"NOW?!"
"Are they kidding?!"
"What’s one little inspection?" someone muttered. "We’ll be back to making out in no time."
The students reluctantly began making their way toward the cafeteria, grumbling the entire way.
But unknown to them…
Today would NOT go as planned.
The students poured into the Creepateria, eager to get the health check over with so they could get back to their usual activities.
Most of them weren’t even paying attention—just another pointless inspection before they could resume their shameless behavior.
But the moment they stepped inside…
They all froze.
Mouths dropped open.
Eyes widened in disbelief.
Every. Single. Table.
Covered in food.
And not just any food—the best of the best.
Piles of fresh, glistening fruit stacked high like treasures.
Platters of golden, cheesy pizza still steaming from the oven.
Trays of cupcakes adorned with swirls of frosting and shimmering sprinkles.
Containers of ice cream in every flavor imaginable, their surfaces smooth and untouched.
Towering cakes, roasted meats, exotic delicacies from every monster culture—more than anyone could have dreamed of.
The air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of sweets and spices, an intoxicating mix that made their stomachs growl on instinct.
At the center of it all stood Headmistress Bloodgood, her hands clasped together, a bright smile on her face.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" she said with a cheerful laugh. "Dig in! You'll need your strength for when the council arrives!"
For a brief moment, the students just stared—as if waiting for the catch.
But then, someone made the first move.
And just like that—Chaos.
They swarmed the tables like a pack of wild animals, their hunger overpowering everything else.
Within seconds, hands were grabbing, plates were filling, and mouths were stuffing with food as though they hadn’t eaten in days.
Even those who already ate that morning weren’t about to pass up this opportunity.
"Oh my ghoul, this is amazing!"
"Is this real steak?!"
"I don't even care if it is—I'm eating it!"
It was carnage—a battle of clashing forks and snatching hands, of students trying to get the biggest slice or the last cupcake before it disappeared.
Laughter and satisfied hums filled the room as everyone indulged in the unexpected feast.
Meanwhile, Bloodgood's expression slowly shifted.
Her once bright, welcoming smile faded into something more serious as she turned and made her way toward a lone, empty table at the back of the cafeteria.
Sitting there, typing away at his laptop, was Mr. Hackington
Bloodgood leaned in, her voice low. "Is it working?"
He didn’t even look up, his fingers still flying across the keyboard. "Yep. The cure is taking effect just as predicted."
He turned the laptop slightly so Bloodgood could see the monitoring software, tracking the subtle changes in the students’ brain activity.
"At this rate, they’ll be back to their normal selves in just a few minutes."
Bloodgood let out a long, relieved sigh. "Good."
She glanced around the room, watching as students still stuffed their faces, their conversations subtly beginning to shift.
The once constant talks of intercourse and shameless flirting had started to fade.
Instead, students were chattering about lessons and after-school plans that didn’t involve sneaking off to dark corners.
The air of pure, unchecked lust had begun to dissipate, replaced with the familiar energy of normal high school students.
Bloodgood couldn’t help but smile. After days of madness, the school was finally sane again.
Sure, it wouldn't last forever, but it would last long enough.
Long enough that the Monster Council wouldn’t suspect a thing.
But even as Bloodgood watched the students laughing and eating, it wasn’t enough.
The cure was working, yes—but not fast enough.
And worse, some students were still not in the right state of mind.
For this to work, for the Monster Council’s visit to go flawlessly, she needed to be absolutely sure there wouldn’t be any slip-ups.
And that meant making a difficult choice.
She knew it was drastic. She knew it was wrong.
But it had to be done.
A concerned voice pulled her from her thoughts.
"Headmistress, are you sure you want to do this?"
Bloodgood turned to see Hackington watching her with furrowed brows, his hands still poised over his laptop.
"The cure is working just fine," he continued, his voice quiet yet firm. "There's no need to do this."
Bloodgood let out a long, heavy sigh.
"I know," she admitted, rubbing her temples. "But this inspection must be perfect. And with the state some of them are still in… they could completely destroy any chance we have at saving the school."
Hackington hesitated before responding. "I understand that," he said carefully. "But don’t you think what you're planning is… a bit much?"
Bloodgood’s lips pressed into a thin line. "If I give them free rein, this school will collapse into chaos within seconds. I don't want that to happen. Not when I'm so close to saving it."
There was a long silence between them.
The weight of what she was about to do hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Hackington's fingers tapped anxiously against the table. "You know you're not exactly giving them a choice in this."
Bloodgood’s eyes darkened.
"This is temporary," she insisted. "Just for the duration of the council’s visit. Once they’re gone, I’ll release them."
Hackington's hands clenched into fists. "But they’ll remember what you did to them, love."
Bloodgood stiffened.
Guilt pricked at her heart, but she quickly buried it.
She didn’t want to do this.
But she had no other option.
Hackington exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're treating them like prisoners."
That was it. That was the breaking point.
Bloodgood’s patience snapped like a whip.
Her eyes locked onto him, sharp and unwavering. "Do you have a better option?"
Silence.
Hackington opened his mouth—then closed it.
He had nothing.
Bloodgood straightened, adjusting her riding crop with precision. "Exactly. Now, get the cells ready and tell the guards to take their positions."
Hackington clenched his jaw but gave a reluctant nod.
"Understood."
With that, Bloodgood turned on her heel and walked away.
But as she moved through the room, passing students laughing, chatting, completely unaware of what was about to happen—
The weight in her chest grew heavier.
This was wrong.
She knew it.
But for the future of Monster High…
It had to be done.
The hallways of Monster High were as lively as ever, with students chatting, laughing, and making their way to class.
Frankie Stein walked beside Jackson Jekyll, their hands brushing every so often as they talked.
It wasn’t anything flirty—at least, not like before.
Something felt different, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Still, she didn’t dwell on it.
"So, did you finish the project for Mad Science?" Jackson asked, adjusting his glasses.
"Almost!" Frankie said with a grin. "I just need to add a few finishing touches. I was thinking of using an energy surge to—"
"Frankie Stein, please report to Headmistress Bloodgood’s office immediately!"
Frankie blinked as the intercom crackled to life, cutting her off mid-sentence.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Uh… what was that about?"
Frankie shrugged. "No idea."
She glanced around and realized something…
Cleo, Heath and a few—all of them had been called to the office earlier.
And none of them had come back.
That was kinda weird, right?
She shook the thought away. It’s probably nothing.
Turning back to Jackson, she gave him a reassuring smile. "Guess I’ll see you later?"
Jackson nodded, smiling back. "Yeah. Let me know what happens."
And with that, Frankie headed off.
The moment Frankie stepped inside Bloodgood’s office, the atmosphere felt… Off.
The room was dimly lit, the usual warm glow replaced by something colder.
Bloodgood stood near her desk, hands folded neatly behind her back.
Her expression was unreadable.
Frankie hesitated before stepping forward. "Uh, you wanted to see me?"
Bloodgood nodded. "Yes. Please, sit."
Frankie did as she was told, but the unease in her gut grew.
Bloodgood didn’t waste any time.
"Over the past few days, you and your friends have been engaging in some rather… inappropriate behavior."
Frankie stiffened.
A pang of guilt crept in, but she didn’t apologize.
She just stayed quiet.
Bloodgood continued, her voice calm but firm.
"Do you recall twerking in the hallway on Tuesday? With the rest of the girls?"
Frankie winced. "Uh… maybe?"
"Do you recall slapping me when I tried to put a stop to it?"
Frankie definitely remembered that.
And she had zero excuse.
"I… wasn't myself," she admitted, shifting uncomfortably.
Bloodgood nodded slightly. "No, you weren’t. None of you were."
There was a pause.
Frankie felt her stomach twist.
Something about the way Bloodgood was talking, the way she was building up to something…
Where was she going with this?
Bloodgood exhaled slowly, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say next.
"Frankie, I understand you were under the influence of something beyond your control."
She walked around the desk, standing closer now.
"And I know that deep down, you are a good student. A good friend. A good… person."
Frankie felt herself tense up. "Okay…?"
Bloodgood’s eyes darkened.
"But for the future of this school, and to ensure that Jackson and Holt remain on their best behavior… this is something I must do."
Frankie’s pulse spiked.
"Wait—what do you mean?"
Without a word, Bloodgood snapped her fingers.
Before Frankie could even turn her head, large arms wrapped around her, locking her in place.
Armed guards emerged from the shadows like wraiths, moving in silent unison, closing in.
Frankie’s eyes widened.
"Wha—LET ME GO!" She shrieked in horror
She tried to scream—
But a cloth was slammed over her mouth.
She thrashed, electricity crackling at her fingertips, but the chlorophyll-soaked rag was already working its way through her system.
Her limbs weakened.
Her vision blurred.
Her breath hitched as the world spun around her.
And just before everything faded to black, she heard Bloodgood’s voice—
Soft. Regretful. Final.
"I'm truly sorry, Frankie. I hope one day, you'll understand."
And then, there was nothing—
But darkness.
The halls of Monster High buzzed with the usual chatter as students made their way to class, their minds still somewhat clouded from the "cure" hidden in the food. Conversations had returned to normal—or at least as normal as things could get in a school full of monsters.
Jackson glanced down at his phone as he walked, a small frown on his face.
Frankie should’ve texted him by now. She had said she’d see him later, but that was a while ago. He considered sending her a message but shook his head.
Maybe Bloodgood just needed to talk to her for a bit longer?
He figured he’d catch up with her after class.
Abbey adjusted her backpack, her eyes briefly scanning the halls.
“Where Heath?” she muttered to herself.
It was odd—he was usually by her side in the mornings, cracking some dumb joke or challenging her to a race to class.
But today, nothing.
Abbey felt an odd twinge in her chest, but she quickly brushed it off.
He’s probably just running late.
Deuce leaned against the lockers, arms crossed as he waited for Cleo.
She always had a habit of making an entrance, but this was pushing it.
He had already sent a couple of texts with no response. That wasn’t like her.
Normally, she’d have at least given him a dramatic “I’m busy, don’t bother me” message. He sighed, adjusting his shades.
“Where you at, Cleo…?” He muttered to himself.
The bell rang, and the students turned their attention to the front of the class. The thought of their missing friends lingered in the back of their minds for only a moment longer before they all shrugged it off.
None of them had any idea that their friends weren’t just late or skipping class.
They were locked away beneath their feet.
And they weren't coming back anytime soon.
Frankie’s eyes fluttered open to total darkness.
Her head ached. Her limbs felt heavy. The cold, hard floor beneath her didn’t help.
She groaned, pushing herself up slowly. Her fingers grazed rough stone, and as her vision adjusted, she realized she was in a cell.
Panic set in.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing off the walls.
No response.
Her breathing quickened. No, no, no.
She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the bars, electricity crackling at her fingertips. Without thinking, she reversed her polarity, switching her bolts to their opposite charges. Normally, this would amplify her electric output tenfold—more than enough to fry these bars and bust out.
She pressed her hands against the metal and let the current flow.
Nothing.
Her heart pounded. What the volt!?
She gritted her teeth and tried again, pushing more energy through her circuits. Sparks danced along the bars, but they remained intact. After a few more attempts, frustration bubbled up inside her, and she slammed her fists against the metal.
"Come on!" she hissed.
A voice cut through the silence. "Frankie, is that you!?"
Frankie turned quickly, her stomach twisting at the sound of someone else.
Across the dimly lit room, in another cell, Cleo de Nile sat against the wall, arms crossed. Her golden cuffs and jewelry were missing, and Egyptian runes glowed faintly along the walls of her cage.
Frankie exhaled, a mix of relief and dread. "Cleo! What’s going on? Where are we!?"
Cleo scowled, but there was fear behind her usual sharp gaze. "I don’t know! I went to Bloodgood’s office, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in this… this—" She gestured to the walls of her cell, the glowing symbols casting eerie shadows. "They took my amulets, and I can’t use my powers! The runes— they’re suppressing my magic!"
Frankie’s stomach dropped. They did the same to me.
Before she could respond, a loud BANG echoed through the room.
Frankie flinched and turned toward the sound.
Cleo sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, Ra. Here we go."
Another BANG. Then another.
"HEATH!?" Frankie called out, her pulse racing.
"YEAH, IT’S ME!" Heath’s voice rang out, wild with panic. "I’M GONNA BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND IF THEY DON’T LET US OUT!"
More voices rose in the darkness.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?" Ryder’s voice was sharp, almost frantic.
"This—this is insane!" Toralei yowled, her claws scraping uselessly against her bars. "Bloodgood’s lost her damn mind!"
"Where are we!?" Gil’s voice cracked with worry.
One by one, Frankie realized she wasn’t alone.
Ryder. Toralei. Porter. Venus. Meowlody. Purrsephone. Operetta. Scarah Screams. Gory. Amanita.
All of them were locked in separate cells, just like her.
Frankie’s heart pounded as voices overlapped, growing more frantic.
"SOMEBODY GET US OUT OF HERE!"
"LET US GO!"
"THEY CAN’T DO THIS!"
The door creaked open.
A chilling silence fell over the room.
And then—
Headmistress Bloodgood stepped inside.
The moment they saw her, the panic erupted again.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?" Heath roared.
"LET US OUT, RIGHT NOW!" Cleo shrieked, her voice shaking.
"YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO US!" Toralei spat, baring her teeth.
"THIS ISN’T RIGHT!" Scarah cried out, her usual calm completely gone.
Bloodgood remained unshaken. She simply raised a hand. "Enough."
Her voice was calm, but cold.
And somehow, it silenced them.
Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.
Bloodgood folded her hands behind her back. "I understand that you are all confused. You feel wronged. But I assure you—"
"ASSURE US OF WHAT!?" Ryder snapped, his voice full of barely contained rage. "YOU DRUGGED US AND THREW US IN A DUNGEON!"
Bloodgood didn’t react.
"As you may have noticed," she continued evenly, "the student body is no longer behaving erratically. I have released a temporary cure to suppress the effects of the gas and restore order."
The room froze.
Frankie’s breath caught. "Wait… temporary?"
Bloodgood nodded. "Yes. It is not a permanent solution, but it is enough to keep the students composed while the Monster Council visits. However…" She let her gaze sweep over them. "You are all too great of a risk."
"Risk of what!?" Toralei hissed, gripping the bars.
Bloodgood’s expression darkened. "Risk of undoing everything."
Her gaze landed on Frankie first.
"You are here because Jackson cannot think straight when you’re around. Ever since the gas took effect, he has been completely obsessed with you. If you were walking around, no amount of the temporary cure would stop him from acting like a love-struck fool."
Frankie’s stomach dropped. "That’s—! That’s not fair!"
Bloodgood moved to Heath. "You are here because Abbey has been… uncharacteristically affectionate. If you were near her, I fear she would override the cure entirely."
Heath’s breath hitched. "But… Abbey… No—no, she wouldn’t—!"
To Cleo: "You are here because you are loud, dramatic, and prone to arguments. That cannot happen in front of the council."
Cleo’s golden eyes widened. "Wait—NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I CAN’T STAY IN HERE!"
She yanked at the bars, her breathing quick and shallow.
Bloodgood continued down the line.
Operetta and Scarah, because they were pregnant. Monster High couldn’t afford to look irresponsible.
Ryder, because he was reckless.
Gory, Amanita, Meowlody, and Purrsephone, because of their history of bad behavior.
Porter, because he didn’t respect authority.
Gil, because Bloodgood feared he and Lagoona would make the swim team look unprofessional.
Venus… because her dynamic with Robecca was too risky.
The students were livid.
"THIS IS INSANE!"
"YOU’RE LOCKING US UP OVER IMAGE!?"
"PLEASE, LET US GO!"
“SOMEBODY GET A TEACHER!”
Frankie gripped the bars. "You can’t do this! You can’t keep us here like prisoners!"
“Bloodgood, please—!” Scarah begged, hands pressed to her stomach with tears welling in her eyes.
Bloodgood’s expression softened. "I do not do this lightly, Frankie. But this school—its future—depends on the council’s approval. If they see anything out of order, Monster High could suffer the consequences."
Scarah tried to scream, but the sound rebounded and slammed back into her, sending her stumbling with a sharp cry.
Bloodgood didn’t even flinch. "I would advise against that. You could injure yourself. And your child."
Scarah’s breath shook.
Bloodgood turned to leave.
"For the future of Monster High," she said softly. "I hope one day, you’ll understand."
With that, she exited, closing the door behind her.
The room fell into silence.
Outside, she turned to her guards. “Ensure that no one gets in or out.”
They saluted in response.
Bloodgood took a deep breath and walked away.
The Monster Council would be arriving soon.
Everything had to be perfect.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood at the grand entrance of Monster High, hands folded neatly in front of her as she awaited the arrival of the Monster Council. Her expression was calm, composed—even as the events of the past hour replayed in her mind.
What she had done was drastic, but necessary. For the good of the school. For its future.
soon, a sleek, dark car pulled up to the front steps, its headlights cutting through the lingering morning fog.
The vehicle rolled to a stop, and the doors opened, one by one, as the council members stepped out.
There were six in total, each carrying an air of authority. Some had kind eyes and offered polite smiles, while others looked stern and unreadable.
But none were as imposing as the leader—a tall vampire with piercing crimson eyes and an aura that demanded respect.
Bloodgood straightened her posture and put on her warmest smile.
“Welcome, esteemed members of the Monster Council. It is an honor to have you here at Monster High.”
The vampire stepped forward first, extending a gloved hand. “Headmistress Bloodgood. It is good to see you again.”
Bloodgood shook his hand firmly, her smile unwavering. “And you as well, Count Lazarus."
Lazarus nodded before his expression turned serious once more, his gaze scanning the school’s exterior as if already assessing it.
One by one, Bloodgood greeted each member, exchanging pleasantries and firm handshakes. Once the formalities were out of the way, she clasped her hands together and gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we begin the tour? I am eager to show you the progress Monster High has made since your last visit.”
As the group began ascending the steps, one of the council members, a tall, reptilian creature with gleaming golden scales, cleared his throat.
“Before we proceed, Headmistress, I must address something we have heard.”
Bloodgood tilted her head slightly. “Oh? What would that be?”
The reptilian councilor’s yellow eyes narrowed slightly. “There have been… troubling rumors about scandalous behavior running rampant among the students. I do hope there is no truth to such claims.”
Bloodgood’s smile didn’t falter, though she felt a twinge of unease deep in her core. “Rumors, I’m afraid, have a way of getting out of hand. I assure you, Monster High remains a place of discipline and excellence. Whatever you may have heard is greatly exaggerated.”
Lazarus studied her for a moment before giving a curt nod. “We will see for ourselves, then.”
“Of course.” Bloodgood turned and gestured toward the doors. “Come, let me show you what Monster High truly is.”
The council followed her inside, stepping into the grand halls of the school. The moment they entered, their gazes swept over the bustling students, taking in the wide range of monsters interacting with one another.
A female councilor, a ghostly figure draped in flowing silver robes, let out a pleased hum.
“The diversity here is truly remarkable,” she remarked.
Bloodgood gave a small, knowing chuckle. “Guilty as charged.”
The group moved forward, preparing to visit the classrooms and inspect the curriculum.
For the first time in over a week, Bloodgood felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Perhaps this would work after all.
Perhaps, by the end of the day, Monster High would have the council’s full approval, securing its future for years to come.
But just as that thought settled, another followed close behind.
How long would it be before someone started asking questions?
Before someone noticed the missing students?
Bloodgood kept her expression neutral as they walked,
but deep down, she knew—
It was only a matter of time.
The cold stone floor offered no comfort.
Frankie sat with her back against the bars, staring at her lifeless hands. She flexed her fingers, hoping to spark something—anything—but the insulated cells held firm. Her bolts didn’t even land a mark.
She swallowed hard, lifting her head to glance around the dimly lit room. The others were just as miserable.
A low, miserable meow came from the far side of the dungeon.
Toralei sat curled up with her arms wrapped around herself, ears flat against her head. Meowlody and Purrsephone sat beside her, their tails twitching anxiously. The three of them had barely spoken since Bloodgood left, but the silence wasn’t comforting—it was thick with pain.
Toralei’s claws raked weakly against the bars. “This isn’t right,” she whispered.
No one disagreed.
Frankie turned to Cleo, who had been pacing ever since she woke up. The mummy’s breathing was uneven, her golden eyes wide with barely-contained panic.
“This is a nightmare. An actual nightmare!” Cleo snapped, kicking the stone wall in frustration. “Do you understand what this means?! I’m missing everything! I should be with Deuce right now, making sure he doesn’t embarrass me in front of the council! Instead, I’m locked in here like a common criminal!”
She yanked at the bars, her fingers trembling. “I swear to Ra, when I get out of here—”
“If we get out of here,” Heath muttered darkly.
That shut Cleo up.
Across the room, a weak cough broke the silence.
Frankie turned and felt her stomach twist.
Gil was slumped against the back wall of his cell, his gills fluttering erratically.
His skin looked dry—too dry.
Ryder wasn’t faring much better. He was sprawled on the floor of his own cell, breathing heavily. Without his wheelchair, he was helpless, only able to drag himself closer to the bars.
“This—” Ryder wheezed, his voice hoarse. “This is inhumane.” His fingers twitched against the stone. “I can barely move—”
Venus knelt beside the bars, worry creasing her brow. “Gil, Ryder, how bad is it?”
Gil groaned, his head lolling to the side. “I’ve… been better.” His voice was weak. “Feels like I’m… drying out.”
Frankie’s circuits churned with helpless frustration.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered. “They’re hurting you guys.”
“Like Bloodgood cares,” Ryder spat, his voice sharp despite his exhaustion. “We’re an inconvenience. That’s all we are to her.”
Another meow.
Frankie looked toward Toralei, Meowlody, and Purrsephone again.
The three of them were huddled together, quiet but restless. Their ears twitched every time a footstep echoed from outside the door, only to flatten again when it wasn’t the person they were waiting for.
Toralei suddenly let out a sharp, frustrated growl, raking her claws down her arm. “I hate this. I hate not knowing.” Her tail flicked violently. “Clawdeen doesn’t even know I’m down here! What if she thinks I just ditched her!?”
Meowlody wrapped her arms around herself. “Romulus…” she whispered.
Purrsephone echoed her, voice hollow. “I just… wanna see him.”
Operetta and Scarah weren’t much better.
Operetta had been gripping the bars so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. She hadn’t moved in minutes, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Frankie hesitated before whispering, “Operetta…?”
Operetta inhaled sharply and exhaled through her nose.
“Johnny doesn’t even know where I am,” she muttered, her accent thick with frustration. “He’s probably lookin’ for me right now, and I can’t—” Her voice broke, and she shut her eyes tightly.
Scarah sat beside her, hands cradling her stomach.
She hadn’t spoken much since Bloodgood left
“I just…” Scarah finally murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanna see Billy.”
Frankie’s chest tightened.
All of them wanted the same thing.
Cleo let out a sharp breath and clenched her fists. “We have to get out of here.”
“No kidding,” Ryder muttered weakly.
Cleo turned toward the door. “There has to be a way.”
Silence hung over them.
No one had an answer.
The review had gone surprisingly well.
As Bloodgood led the council through the school, there wasn’t a single scandalous event in sight.
For once, the students were actually well-behaved—no flirting, no sneaking off, no making out, nothing.
It seemed her plan to suppress the hormone-driven chaos had worked after all.
Sure, a student or two occasionally displayed some risqué forms of affection, but her “big guns” were quick to step in and separate them before anything got out of hand.
It was as if the stars had aligned, whispering, Today is going to be YOUR day!
And she couldn’t be happier.
But as the review continued, so did the paranoia.
The swim team had left a remarkable impression on the council, with each student demonstrating incredible prowess and skill. One of the councilors had even been reminded of their younger years on the team. That nostalgia, combined with the students’ good behavior, landed them an A+.
However, just as they were about to leave for the next class, Bloodgood felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned to see Lagoona, her expression laced with worry.
“Can I help you, Lagoona?” Bloodgood asked, keeping her tone gracious.
“Have you seen Gil?” Lagoona asked, her concern evident. “Him and Ryder haven’t been back since they went to your office. He hasn’t responded to any of me texts!”
Bloodgood’s stomach dropped for a moment, but she quickly composed herself.
“Um, he’s…” she faltered, searching for the right words. “He’s sick. He went to the infirmary—didn’t want to get anyone else ill, you know, just to play it safe.”
Lagoona’s expression fell. “Oh… I was worried something might’ve happened to him.” She fiddled with her hands, her voice soft. “We didn't get to talk much this morning… I miss spending time with him… I wish I could visit.”
Bloodgood felt a pang of guilt, but she had to keep up the charade.
“I’m sure the two of you will have plenty of time together soon,” she assured her. “Now, why don’t we proceed to the next class?”
Lagoona hesitated but eventually nodded. Bloodgood moved forward, pushing the guilt aside. This is for the greater good. They won’t be trapped for long.
The review continued, and Bloodgood did everything in her power to make it flawless.
But it kept happening.
During a tour of Home Ick, Jackson approached her, concern written all over his face.
“Headmistress, have you seen Frankie?” he asked. “I haven’t heard from her all morning.”
Bloodgood gave him a practiced smile. “Oh, she’s helping some students in the catacombs.”
That seemed to satisfy him—for now—but she could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.
Later, during gym, Abbey stormed up to her, demanding, “Where is Heath?”
Bloodgood rattled off excuse after excuse, but Abbey didn’t believe a single word of it.
Thankfully, one of her “big guns” stepped in, escorting Abbey back to her assigned group before she could make a scene. Bloodgood let out a quiet sigh of relief, but her paranoia was creeping higher and higher.
And it didn’t stop.
Throughout the tour, more students—Frankie’s friends, Heath’s friends, random students she didn’t even expect—kept coming up to her, questioning her about the missing ghouls and guys.
Each time, she had a different excuse.
“Oh, she’s sick.”
“Oh, he’s helping a teacher.”
“She went to visit a family member.”
And so on.
Some bought her lies. Others looked doubtful. A few outright called her a liar. But whenever things threatened to escalate, her enforcers stepped in, shutting down the conversation before it could spread.
But there was one student in particular who wouldn’t be silenced so easily.
During a conversation with the council about the school’s lunch options, Bloodgood was interrupted by an eerie yet familiar voice.
“Bloodgood.”
She turned around, and there stood Spectra, her usual air of mystery replaced by a grim seriousness. For someone who was always so casual, this shift was unsettling.
“Oh, Spectra!” Bloodgood greeted, forcing a smile. “How can I help you?”
Spectra wasted no time.
“Where. Is. Porter?”
The way she said it sent a chill through Bloodgood. She had never seen Spectra this serious—it frightened her. But she quickly regained her composure. She just had to keep the lie going a little longer.
“Um, he’s painting a mural for the school outside!” she answered quickly.
Spectra raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air. “Because I checked every corner outside the school, and I didn’t find him.”
Bloodgood’s stomach twisted. The council was right behind her—she could not let this escalate.
“Oh, he must have taken a break!” she said hurriedly. “I’m sure he’s there if you take another look!”
Spectra’s eyes narrowed. “I checked every corner of this school. Five. Times. In. A. Row.” She crossed her arms, her voice turning ice-cold. “He’s nowhere on this campus. Now where. Is. He?”
Bloodgood forced herself to stay calm, but inside, she was panicking.
She could feel the council’s eyes on her, their suspicions growing with every passing second.
She couldn’t afford to crack—not now.
Steeling herself, she shifted her tone to one of authority.
“Spectra Vondergeist,” Bloodgood said firmly, her voice sharp enough to silence a horde of monsters. “I assure you that Porter is safe where he is and that you will see him at the end of the day. Now, please return to your class and focus on your studies.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, the council hesitating before following her.
One of the members, a sea monster, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… what was that about?”
“Oh, you know how ghosts her age are,” Bloodgood said quickly, brushing it off. Anything to keep them from questioning further.
The ghost councilor narrowed her eyes but said nothing, continuing the tour.
Back with Spectra, her expression was unreadable.
But deep down, she was angry.
She knew Porter had been at school today. She knew he had been called to Bloodgood’s office before he could meet her in the locker room.
Yet instead of the truth, Bloodgood had lied to her face.
She had thought she had silenced the ghost girl.
But instead, she had only reignited the fire.
Bloodgood was hiding something.
Bloodgood was holding Porter captive.
And Spectra was going to find out where.
A cold presence swept through the office as Spectra phased in, her form ghostly yet filled with unwavering determination. She wasn’t here to waste time. She was here for the truth.
Her sharp eyes scanned the room, searching for anything remotely suspicious. She had been in Bloodgood’s office countless times—usually to receive details about upcoming events—and she knew its layout by heart.
You could blindfold her, and she would still know her way around.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Bloodgood was meticulous about keeping things she didn’t want seen hidden. But as Spectra floated across the room, something caught her attention—a small paper peeking out from one of Bloodgood’s drawers.
Bingo.
Without hesitation, she yanked the drawer open and snatched the paper. Unfolding it, her eyes narrowed.
Just as she expected.
The document was titled: “Potential Problem Students.”
Beneath it was a chilling excerpt, explaining that due to the effects of the gas—and the behavior of certain students—they posed a “significant risk” to Monster High’s reputation.
To preserve that reputation, these students would be locked up until the council’s visit was over.
Bloodgood had written multiple excuses to justify her actions, even including reassurances that they would all be released once the council left.
Spectra’s breath hitched.
She had seen kidnappings in Monster High before—hell, she had been a victim of one when she returned to Haunted High.
But never in her afterlife did she expect Bloodgood of all people to do something like this.
Heart pounding, she flipped the page, scanning the list of names.
Frankie Stein
Cleo de Nile
Heath Burns
Gillington Webber
Finnegan Wake
Toralei Stripe
Venus McFlytrap
Meowlody
Purrsephone
Operetta
Scarah Screams
Gory Fangtell
Amanita Nightshade
But it was the last name that truly made her blood run cold.
Porter Geiss
Spectra’s entire body tensed. Her fingers clenched the paper so tightly it nearly ripped.
She knew it! She knew that bitch had done something to her man!
Everything suddenly clicked.
Porter wasn’t off painting a mural.
Porter wasn’t taking a break.
Porter wasn’t anywhere outside.
Porter was trapped in Bloodgood’s dungeon.
It all made sense. The disappearances. The missed calls. Bloodgood acting weird.
She had been covering all of this up just to kiss the council’s ass!
Fury ignited in Spectra’s chest like never before.
She frantically searched the office, desperate for a sign—anything—that could tell her where this prison was. A lever. A suspiciously placed book. A hidden switch.
Was it in the school?
Was it somewhere else entirely?
Just as she was starting to lose hope, her eyes landed on something wrapped in string, sitting on the edge of a shelf.
Blueprints.
Spectra ripped them from the shelf and unfolded them, scanning for anything unfamiliar. Her gaze flicked over the school’s layout—until she found it.
Her heart nearly stopped.
There, in the schematics for Bloodgood’s office, was a hidden room.
A small chamber built directly beneath the office.
It wasn’t large—but it was more than big enough to hold a dozen or more people.
A wicked grin spread across Spectra’s face.
“Found ya.”
She tossed the blueprints aside and took a deep breath.
Then, without a second thought, she let her body relax—slowly phasing downward, sinking into the floor beneath her feet.
Disappearing completely.
The room was a nightmare.
Cold, dimly lit, suffocating.
The once-lively group of students was now reduced to shaking, exhausted, and broken versions of themselves.
Scarah and Operetta were having full-blown breakdowns. Scarah’s usual calm demeanor had shattered—her wails echoing through the room. Operetta clutched her head, muttering frantically, like she was trying to convince herself this wasn’t real.
Cleo was no better.
She was desperately clawing at the bars of her cell, her perfectly done makeup running down her face in black and blue streaks. Her breath was ragged, her voice raw from screaming.
“LET ME OUT!” she shrieked, slamming her fists against the cell. “You can’t do this to me! You CAN’T!”
Toralei, Meowlody, and Purrsephone were huddled together, ears flattened, eyes red from crying. Even Toralei—the fiery troublemaker—was shaken to her core.
And then there was Gil and Ryder.
The two fish monsters were barely hanging on. Their skin looked dry, cracked—like they were withering away. They were breathing shallowly, barely able to sit upright.
They all looked like shit.
Heath sat against the cold wall, knees drawn to his chest. He was trying to hold it together, but his usual fire—his confidence, his humor—was long gone. Frankie sat beside him, rubbing slow circles into his back.
“Just hang in there, Heath.” She whispered, trying to keep him motivated—to keep herself motivated. “We’re gonna get out of this. Someone’s gonna—”
She stopped.
Her breath hitched as she looked up.
A figure was phasing through the ceiling.
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Spectra.
“Spectra!!” Frankie gasped, scrambling to her feet.
The moment Spectra’s eyes landed on her, she rushed to her cell, hands pressed against the glass. “Frankie! Oh my ghoul, are you okay?!”
Frankie nodded frantically, tears welling in her eyes. “We—we’re alive, but it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.”
Spectra’s gaze swept the room. Cell after cell, she saw her friends broken, starving, barely holding on.
And then—
Her eyes landed on Porter.
Spectra froze.
Porter was slumped against the wall, exhausted, pale, weak—but when he looked up and met her gaze, his eyes widened.
“Spectra...”
She choked back a sob and rushed to his cell.
But the moment she reached for him—
She hit solid glass.
Her fingers trembled against the invisible barrier, just inches away from his. Porter lifted his shaking hand, pressing it against hers through the glass.
They couldn’t touch.
A sharp, painful lump formed in Spectra’s throat. This wasn’t fair.
“What happened?” Her voice wavered as she turned to the others. “How the hell did this happen?!”
Amanita stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes filled with rage. “That bitch,” she growled, “Bloodgood locked us in here because she thought we’d ‘damage the school’s image.’”
Spectra’s breath caught. “What?!”
“She poisoned us!” Cleo screeched, hysteria breaking through her voice. “She poisoned the food!”
Spectra’s stomach twisted. What the hell was she talking about?
Heath let out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “She’s talking about the temporary cure.”
Spectra turned to him, brow furrowing. “Wait—you mean that’s why everyone went from acting totally normal to suddenly feeling like saints?”
Toralei let out a bitter, broken laugh from her cell. “Ding, ding, ding!” she said, voice hoarse. “That cure made everyone stop acting wild. We’ve been locked in here since this morning, and the guards have barely given us any food or water.”
Spectra gritted her teeth.
Then, Gory slowly lifted a shaking hand and pointed to Gil and Ryder.
Everyone turned.
Spectra felt her stomach drop.
Both fish monsters were on the verge of shriveling up and dying. Their skin was cracked, their eyes sunken, their gills barely moving.
“Shit.” Spectra breathed.
She clenched her fists. This was beyond cruel.
She had to get them out, Now.
But then—
Footsteps.
Everyone went still.
Porter’s eyes widened in alarm. “The guards!” he hissed.
Spectra spun toward him.
“Listen to me,” he said urgently, voice rushed and low. “There’s a secret door behind Locker 99 in the main hallway. It’ll lead you straight to the door of this room. One of the guards has the key card. Get that card, and we’re home free.”
Spectra nodded without hesitation.
“I’ll get you out.” She looked at him, voice dropping. “And when we get home—”
Her lips curled into a wicked grin.
“You’re fucking me till the sun rises.”
Porter turned red.
Even in the middle of a crisis. Even half-starved, locked in a cage, and exhausted beyond belief. He blushed.
Spectra smirked and phased upward, disappearing through the ceiling—just as the guards walked in.
Spectra reappeared in Bloodgood's office.
But she was not the same.
Her eyes glowed.
Bright, fiery pink.
Not with lust.
Not with confusion.
With RAGE.
The cafeteria was bustling, but something felt off.
Draculaura tapped her fingers on the table, glancing around. “Do any of you feel like... the vibe has changed?” she asked, voice hushed.
Abbey sighed, poking at her food with a frown. “I do not care about ‘vibe.’ I care about Heath. I have not seen him all day.”
Clawdeen rolled her eyes, leaning back. “Oh, please. He’s probably off doing something stupid. You know Heath.”
Abbey’s grip on her fork tightened. “He would not disappear for this long,” she muttered, her usually cool tone sharper than usual.
That got everyone's attention.
Lagoona frowned. “Now that you mention it… I haven’t seen Gil since this morning.”
Clawdeen’s ears twitched. “I haven’t heard from Toralei all day either.”
Ghoulia adjusted her glasses and pulled out her tablet, tapping quickly. "Robecca said Venus hasn’t shown up either."
The table fell silent.
One missing person? Weird.
Half their friend group missing?
Something was wrong.
Before anyone could say anything else, Jackson rushed up to them.
“Guys, have any of you seen Frankie?” he asked, looking worried.
The ghouls exchanged glances.
“…No,” Draculaura said hesitantly. “Not since this morning.”
“Same,” Abbey confirmed.
Jackson’s jaw clenched.
Then—
“Cleo’s missing too.”
They turned to see Deuce approaching. His usual laid-back demeanor was gone—he looked tense.
“I haven’t seen her all day.” His voice tightened. “She wouldn’t just disappear without telling me.”
Realization dawned on them.
Frankie, Cleo, Heath, Gil, Toralei, Venus—all gone.
Draculaura’s stomach twisted. “Where’s the last place any of them were seen?”
“Bloodgood’s office,” Deuce muttered.
Everyone froze.
“Something’s not right,” Lagoona muttered.
Draculaura’s mind raced. What was going on?
And then—
Spectra phased through the wall.
“Follow me.”
The urgency in her voice froze them.
“Spectra?” Draculaura asked, stepping forward. “What’s—”
“Now.”
She didn’t wait. She turned and floated away.
Confused but instinctively knowing this was serious, the group followed her outside.
They huddled together in the shadows of the building.
“Spectra, what the hell is going on?” Clawdeen demanded.
Spectra took a deep breath.
And then—
She told them everything.
Silence.
A long, deadly silence.
Then—
CRACK.
Abbey’s fingers had curled into a fist so tightly that the ground beneath her started to freeze. Her breath came out in a low, visible mist.
Jackson was stone-faced, fists clenched.
Then, in a flash of fire—Holt stood in his place.
“…That bitch,” Clawdeen growled, her claws sliding out.
Lagoona’s teeth clenched. “She locked them up like prisoners?!”
Deuce’s snake-hair hissed wildly. His sunglasses could barely contain his rage.
Hearing the way Spectra had described their lovers—locked in cells, starving, crying, breaking down—made their blood boil
Their anger overpowered the supposed “cure” in their system.
Their horniness reignited.
But their rage?
It skyrocketed.
They were pissed.
Beyond pissed.
This wasn’t just about their bodies anymore.
This was personal.
Spectra crossed her arms. “Porter told me about a secret door behind Locker 99 in the main hallway. It leads to where they’re being held. One of the guards has the key card. If we get it, they’re free.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But I can’t do this alone. The school is crawling with guards.”
She looked at them. “I need your help.”
No hesitation.
“We’re in.” Abbey’s voice was low and cold.
“Same,” Deuce growled.
Lagoona nodded firmly.
Clawdeen cracked her knuckles. “You already know the answer to that.”
"But how are we gonna distract all of the guards?" Draclaura asked
Jackson—or rather, Holt—grinned.
“You need a distraction?”
Red flames flared around him.
“Leave it to me.”
Spectra smirked.
The pieces have been set.
Their lovers were waiting for them.
And Bloodgood?
She was going to pay.
To be continued....
Notes:
Part 2 coming soon!
Will the ghouls be able to free their partners?
How will the council react to the chaos?
Tune in next time to find out!
Chapter 8: The Great Escape (part 2)
Summary:
Bloodgood messed up
And the students are gonna make her pay!
Notes:
Okay, not a few hours, maybe most of the day
Hopefully this will satisfy y'all for the'' next week.
Also the song in this chapter is here (https://youtu.be/7ZwC7C7kEv4?si=mNbv6HvgUNyWPcIY)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bloodgood sat at the long table reserved for the staff and council members, positioned at the far end of the cafeteria. A plate of untouched food sat before her, but she had no appetite. Not when she could feel the weight of her own growing dread.
Her grip on the edge of the table was tight, her nails digging into the wood beneath her gloves.
The atmosphere in the cafeteria was wrong.
The students were acting… different.
They still weren’t as wild as they had been before the temporary cure was distributed, but the shift was obvious.
They were agitated.
Restless.
Eyes darting toward the doors.
Whispering amongst themselves.
She had noticed it before, but now it was getting worse.
Something had changed.
The guards had reported to her just moments ago.
They heard voices in the holding cells. Someone had been speaking to the prisoners.
But when they checked?
Nothing.
Her mind immediately jumped to one name.
Spectra Vondergeist.
That damn ghost.
Bloodgood clenched her fists.
She knew Spectra hadn’t bought her lie earlier. She had tried to play it off, given her excuses, but she had seen the look in that girl’s eyes.
She knew something was up.
And if Spectra knew…
It was only a matter of time before the others found out.
Her eyes flicked to the large clock hanging in the cafeteria.
Two more hours.
Two hours until the council finished their evaluation and left the school.
She needed to keep things under control for just two more hours.
But the way the students were acting now…
The way they kept glancing at each other, their bodies tense as if waiting for something…
It made her uneasy.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Headmistress?”
Bloodgood snapped out of her thoughts as one of the council members beside her leaned in, lowering his voice.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his gaze sharp and analytical.
Bloodgood forced her most professional smile.
“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Everything is under control.”
The council member studied her for a moment longer before nodding, returning his attention to his meal.
Bloodgood barely held in a sigh.
She wasn’t okay.
She was praying.
Praying that her guards could keep the students preoccupied.
Praying that they could contain this situation just a little longer.
Praying that the final bell would ring before everything came crashing down.
In the dimly lit back corner of the school, hidden away from prying eyes, the rescue team huddled together. Shadows clung to the walls as the tension in the air crackled like static electricity.
Spectra, the mastermind, stood at the center, arms crossed, her fiery pink-glowing eyes sweeping over the assembled group.
Draculaura, Clawdeen, Abbey, Lagoona, Ghoulia, and Deuce were there, along with Jackson—who was already beginning to shift into Holt.
They were pissed.
“All right,” Spectra said, voice firm and commanding. “Here’s how we’re doing this. We need to move fast, precise, and loud. The second Bloodgood realizes what’s happening, she’s gonna send the rest of her goons after us. We can’t let her get that chance."
Everyone nodded, their faces set with determination.
Spectra turned to Draculaura.
“Step one. Distraction.”
Draculaura grinned, her fangs glinting. “Leave it to me.”
Clawdeen raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning?”
Draculaura’s grin turned devilish.
“Something bold.”
Clawdeen narrowed her eyes. “How bold?”
Draculaura giggled. “Let’s just say… I know exactly how to get those guards' attention.”
Abbey smirked. “You are going to cause trouble?”
Draculaura shrugged. “That’s the whole point.”
Spectra nodded approvingly. “Good. That’ll clear the area around Bloodgood’s office. Which brings us to step two.”
She turned to Holt, who had fully replaced Jackson by now.
His eyes blazed a fiery red, and a cocky smirk stretched across his face. “Finally, something fun.”
“You’re gonna sneak into Bloodgood’s office and mess with the school’s speaker system.”
Holt cracked his knuckles. “Oh, don’t worry. I got just the song.”
“Remember mate, it's gotta be something dirty” Lagoona reminded him.
Holt scoffed. “Relax, I was born for this.”
Deuce looked concerned. “Won’t Bloodgood just shut it off?”
Holt grinned. “Not if I fry the controls.”
Spectra nodded. “That should be enough to make the cure useless. If it works, we’ll have every guard too distracted to notice what we’re doing next.”
“Step three,” Clawdeen cut in, rolling up her sleeves. “Breaking them out.”
Everyone’s expressions turned deadly serious.
Spectra pointed to the ground. “Locker 99. That tunnel leads to the back entrance of the prison room. The guards outside are a problem, but the ones inside are the real threat.”
“We’ll take them out,” Abbey stated, her voice like a frozen dagger.
Ghoulia grunted in agreement.
Clawdeen popped her knuckles. “I call dibs on the biggest one.”
Deuce’s snakes hissed as he cracked his neck. “Anyone in my way is getting stoned.”
Lagoona clenched her fists. “And we get Gil and Ryder out first.”
They all nodded. No argument there.
Spectra’s gaze hardened. “Once everyone is free, we go all in.”
Step four. Make it a scene.
“Bloodgood thinks she can lock us up and get away with it?” Spectra’s voice rose with intensity. “Nah. We show her exactly what happens when you try to cage monsters.”
Everyone exchanged grins.
This was about more than just the gas now.
This was personal.
Draculaura clapped her hands together. “All right, ghouls and mansters. Let’s do this!”
The group broke apart, each one heading to their assigned task.
The chaos was about to begin.
STEP ONE: DISTRACTION
Clawd was barely paying attention as he scrolled through his phone, making his way toward the bathroom. The whole day had been off—like someone had turned down the dial on everything that made being a monster exciting.
He didn’t feel lazy exactly, but he wasn’t as amped up as he usually was. Even his usual wolfish confidence felt… muted.
Then Draculaura strutted into his path.
She walked with purpose, her fangs peeking from behind her lips as she tilted her head at him. The way she moved was calculated, her hips swaying just enough to catch his eye.
“Hey, Clawd,” she purred, stepping into his space.
Clawd blinked. “Uh… hey?”
Draculaura pouted, twirling a strand of her silky black hair around her finger. “You haven’t come to see me all day,” she said, voice low and sweet. “I was starting to think my big strong wolf was avoiding me.”
Clawd scratched the back of his head. “Nah, just been, y’know… chillin’.”
Draculaura’s pink eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh?” She stepped even closer, placing a delicate clawed hand against his chest. “You’re telling me… you weren’t thinking about me? At all?”
Something itched at the back of Clawd’s mind. His instincts whispered that something about this situation should have riled him up.
But it didn’t.
Not yet.
Draculaura’s finger traced a slow line down his shirt.
She sighed dramatically, fluttering her lashes. “And here I was, waiting all day for you. Thinking about your arms around me… your hands all over me…”
She bit her plump bottom lip and gazed up at him innocently.
Nothing.
Clawd just stared, confused. “Uh, you feelin’ okay?”
Draculaura smirked. Fine. You wanna play dumb? I’ll take it up a notch.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered,
"I’ve been such a bad girl, Clawd.”
His entire body stiffened.
Something deep inside him snarled to life.
Draculaura pulled back just enough to look at him, her hand sliding up to cup his face. “And you know what happens to bad girls, right?”
Clawd’s breathing hitched.
Something was happening.
His chest tightened, his pulse pounded. The muted sensations from earlier?
Gone.
Burned away.
Like a match dropped onto gasoline.
His body flooded with heat, with want. His hands shot up, gripping Draculaura’s waist, and before she could utter another taunting word—
SLAM.
Draculaura gasped as she found herself pinned against the wall.
Clawd’s golden eyes flashed pink for a single second, his pupils blown wide. His fangs gleamed as he loomed over her, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk.
"Oh, you’re gonna get punished, all right.”
Draculaura shivered.
And then his mouth was on hers.
It was hungry, demanding—all teeth and heat. Draculaura’s arms immediately wound around his neck, pulling him closer.
His hands? Rough. Possessive.
She moaned into the kiss, letting herself melt against him. Finally.
She’d missed this.
So lost in their moment, neither of them noticed the guard approaching.
“What the HELL do you two think you’re doing?!”
The guard’s shriek barely cut through the haze of desire drowning Clawd’s senses.
The pink glow in his eyes faded, replaced with something wilder.
But when the guard stormed forward, looking ready to yank them apart—
They ran.
Draculaura grabbed Clawd’s hand, giggling as they tore down the hall, their laughter echoing behind them.
“STOP THEM!” another guard yelled.
Boots pounded against the floor as the guards gave chase.
Behind a corner, Holt Hyde lounged against a locker, watching the chaos unfold with an impish grin.
He cracked his knuckles. “And that’s my cue.”
Step one?
Complete
STEP 2: HIJACK
With the halls empty and the guards chasing Clawd and Draculaura, Holt slipped into Bloodgood’s office with ease.
The place was immaculate, as always. Every book lined up perfectly, every document placed with military precision. But none of that mattered to him.
His eyes locked onto the school’s speaker system.
Holt grinned. "Let’s get to work."
He dropped his backpack onto the floor, pulling out his laptop and cables. Bloodgood had gotten the system repaired after the last twerk party—he’d expected that. That’s why he came prepared.
Wires snapped into place.
His fingers flew over the keyboard.
Almost there…
The security was tougher, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He bypassed the firewalls, patched through the external ports, and rewrote the system’s output settings.
Just one last wire, and—
“Holt, WAIT!”
Holt’s head snapped up.
Standing in the doorway, looking panicked, was Mr. Rotter.
Holt blinked. “Dude, you scared the hell outta me. What are you—”
“STOP!” Rotter rushed forward, hands raised as if approaching a wild animal. His usual cynical, half-dead expression was gone—replaced by genuine fear.
Holt’s eyes narrowed. “The hell’s your problem?”
Rotter gestured wildly at the speaker system. “You can’t play that music, Holt! You don’t get it! If you do this—if you make everyone go back to being horny maniacs—the council will shut Monster High down!”
Holt froze.
Rotter seized the moment.
“Yes, you’ll get your little party. Yes, you’ll get to ‘stick it’ to Bloodgood. But after today? There won’t be a Monster High left!”
Holt’s jaw clenched.
Rotter’s voice softened. “Look, I get it. You wanna save your friends. You wanna make things right. But just wait. Two more hours. The council will leave, the students will be released, and then you and Frankie can make out until the sun explodes. Just… be patient.”
For the first time, Holt hesitated.
His fingers hovered over the final wire.
His eyes lowered.
Then he let out a low chuckle.
“…You ever hear about when I got arrested?”
Rotter blinked, thrown off. “What?”
Holt didn’t look at him. “Back when the whole normie prank crap happened. You remember that?”
Rotter’s brow furrowed. “…Yeah?”
Holt finally turned his head, his face darkening.
“They threw me in jail for something I didn’t even do. There was evidence that I was innocent, but the sheriff didn’t care. He was gonna execute me—just to make the normies happy.”
Rotter’s breath hitched.
Holt took a step forward.
“And what did Bloodgood do?” His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Rotter swallowed.
“…Nothing,” Holt whispered. “She left me there. Left me to suffer. Left me to die.”
Rotter opened his mouth—but no words came out.
Holt smirked, bitterly. “You know who actually risked her life to bring me home?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“Frankie.”
His fingers tightened around the wire.
“So, here’s my response to your little ‘patience’ speech.”
He jammed the final cord into place.
The speakers roared to life.
At first, it was just bass. A low, steady thump.
Rotter’s eyes widened. “No… No, no, no—”
Then the lyrics kicked in.
“TWERK, TWERK, TWERK, TWERK, TWERK THAT AZZ!!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Rotter screamed.
He lunged for the laptop—
WHAM.
Holt’s fist collided with Rotter’s face.
Rotter’s head snapped back, and he collapsed onto the floor, out cold.
Holt cracked his knuckles. “Should’ve stayed in your lane, Teach.”
He pulled out his phone and fired off a text to Spectra.
"Music’s up. Go for it."
Then, he closed his eyes, tilting his head toward the ceiling.
His posture relaxed. His wild, cocky grin softened into something… gentler. The fire in his hair flickered, slowing from a roaring blaze to a steady, warm glow. His expression—once sharp and mischievous—grew… content.
And when he spoke—
It wasn’t just Holt.
It was Jackson, too.
“We’re coming, Frankie.”
Their voice was steady, filled with warmth. Not rushed, not desperate—just sure.
Like they’d been waiting for this moment forever.
Like they could already see her smile.
Like no amount of time apart could ever change how they felt about her.
Holt and Jackson—together, for the first time in what felt like years—
Finally heading home.
Phase two
Complete.
In one of Monster High’s classrooms, the atmosphere was...off.
It wasn’t that class was any different than usual—Rochelle was taking notes with perfect posture, Neighthan was zoning out, half-listening to the teacher, and Robecca was absentmindedly tapping her fingers on her desk.
But something felt wrong.
A strange, nagging emptiness.
Like they had forgotten something important but couldn’t quite place what it was.
Neighthan’s friends—Avea, Bonita, and Sirena—shared uncertain glances. Even they felt it. Like an itch under their skin.
Then, it happened.
The first few beats of a faint, muffled song drifted through the halls.
It was nothing but gibberish at first, a jumble of unintelligible lyrics. Just background noise.
But Robecca heard it.
Something in her snapped.
Her eyes flashed pink.
A tidal wave of memories came crashing down on her—
A familiar image of a green and pink haired girl flashed in her mind.
Venus.
Their second day under the gas. The way Venus had a collar around her neck, dragging her along like a pet on a leash. The command in her voice as she made her crawl on all fours. The moans, the gasps, the sheer pleasure as she obeyed, as she submitted.
Her entire body shuddered.
Across the room, Iris gasped sharply, gripping her desk as her eye glowed pink.
More memories flooded in.
Manny. Cornering her in the bathroom. The way he towered over her, his hands pinning her against the wall. The way she willingly let him. The heat of his breath, the strength of his grip, the pure hunger in his eyes.
She trembled, her entire body burning up as she clenched her thighs together, but it was useless.
All around them, the pink glow spread.
Neighthan’s head snapped up, his pupils dilating as flashes of Isi beneath him, panting, moaning his name filled his mind.
Rochelle’s wings twitched, her face heating up as she remembered every single sinful thing she did with Garrott.
One by one, every student in the school was overtaken.
The fog that had muffled their thoughts for the past day was gone.
The desire was back.
And then, the lyrics became clear.
"TWERK, TWERK, TWERK, TWERK, TWERK THAT AZZ!!"
And Monster High E X P L O D E D.
Every single classroom descended into chaos.
Desks were shoved aside, chairs were kicked over, books were flung into the air.
Students rose to their feet, grinding, twerking, dancing— hormones surging like an unstoppable wave.
Robecca jumped up, propping one foot on her desk.
Her hips snapped back, her metal joints clicking as she started throwing it back with unnatural precision.
Her skirt bounced with every movement, the entire class hollering as she arched her back and kept shaking.
Manny had barely turned his head before Iris dropped to her hands and knees in front of him.
And then she started twerking on his waist.
Manny’s eyes widened in shock, his massive hands instinctively gripping her hips.
But shock faded fast.
A slow, devilish grin spread across his face as he slapped her ass—
hard.
SMACK!
Iris moaned softly, pushing back against him even harder.
The classroom was pure madness.
Students poured into the halls, their bodies grinding against one another, their eyes glowing pink.
Monster High was back in party mode.
The second Draculaura and Clawd saw the wave of dancing bodies, they grinned at each other.
Draculaura bent down, planting her hands on her knees.
Her hips snapped back, her fangs gleaming as she threw it back like a pro.
Clawd hyped her up, spinning into a breakdance before getting right behind her and grinding to the beat.
Ghoulia, catching sight of Draculaura, immediately joined in.
Now it was Draculaura and Ghoulia—side by side—both throwing ass like their lives depended on it.
The crowd went wild.
Neighthan was still stunned, barely able to process what was happening—until Isi strutted up to him.
Without a word, she spun around and started twerking against his waist.
Neighthan froze.
His entire brain short-circuited.
But the students around him weren’t having it.
“Yo, Neighthan, get in there!!”
“Quit standing around, bro!”
“Grind back!!”
Neighthan, eyes still wide, finally caved—his hands tentatively landing on Isi’s waist as he started moving with her.
Isi giggled, pushing back even harder.
His soul nearly left his body.
The remaining guards stormed the hallways, barking orders.
"Enough of this!"
"Return to your classes!"
"Cease this behavior at once!"
Yeah. That didn’t work.
One guard tried to grab a student—only to get decked in the face.
Another tried to push through the crowd—only to get body-checked into a locker.
A third reached for his radio—but a student straight-up climbed onto his back, wailing on him until he collapsed.
The guards didn’t stand a chance.
STEP 3: JAIL BREAK
With the school in utter chaos, guards were scrambling to contain the mess. Students were dancing on tables, grinding against walls, twerking on chairs— all while the guards desperately tried to pry them apart. But every time they got close, a tail would whip them away, a clawed hand would shove them aside, or a spell would send them stumbling backward.
They never saw the real threat slip away.
Moving quickly, Deuce led the group to locker 99. With one sharp yank, he ripped the metal door clean off, tossing it aside like it was made of paper.
They filed in, moving swiftly through the dark tunnels, the echoes of the madness above fading behind them.
Then—they reached the prison.
The guards stationed there immediately tensed. “Halt!” one of them barked, raising a weapon.
"Stop right there!" another one of them shouted.
Deuce didn’t stop.
His snakes hissed, eyes glowing neon green as a pulse of energy blasted from his gaze—and just like that, the fight began.
The others rushed in, fists flying, powers surging.
Guards surged forward, but the students weren’t about to hold back.
Clawdeen leaped at one, digging her claws into his armor and ripping him down to the ground.
Abbey grabbed another by the collar and hoisted him up effortlessly, slamming him into the wall with enough force to rattle the entire room.
Lagoona’s water surged forward, wrapping around another guard’s legs and yanking him off his feet.
Deuce ducked under a swing and delivered a solid punch, KO’ing another.
Within minutes, every single guard was down, groaning in pain.
Spectra grabbed a keycard off one of them and tossed it to Abbey.
"Now we just need to get this door open." Spectra said
"Leave that to me!"
WHAM!
Abbey kicked the door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges.
For a moment, the imprisoned students just stared in confusion.
Then, pure chaos erupted.
Cages were thrown open, and students rushed out, grabbing their friends, their lovers—whoever they could find.
Clawdeen barely had a second to react before she was tackled to the ground.
Toralei, Meowlody, and Purrsephone pounced on her, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“You absolute legend,” Toralei breathed, burying her face in Clawdeen’s shoulder. “You actually did it.”
Meowlody squeezed her tightly. “You really came for us.”
Clawdeen huffed out a laugh, pulling them both closer. “Of course, I did. I’d never leave you guys behind.”
Toralei pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, something soft and genuine flickering in her expression before she pressed a kiss to Clawdeen’s lips. “I love you.”
Clawdeen smiled into the kiss. “Love you too, babe.”
Abbey, meanwhile, had no hesitation. The moment she saw Heath, she scooped him up in a bear hug, holding him so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe.
“I did not like you being gone,” she muttered, voice thick with emotion.
Heath, for once, didn’t crack a joke. He just wrapped his arms around her, grinning. “Missed you too, babe.”
Porter barely had a chance to register what was happening before Spectra yanked open his cage.
He grinned the moment he saw her.
“You came for me?”
Spectra smirked. “Of course, you idiot.”
Porter didn’t waste a second—he grabbed her by the waist and floated up, spinning her into a slow, weightless kiss.
The biggest reunion of all was Cleo and Deuce.
The moment Cleo saw him, she ran straight into his arms.
No yelling. No snark. No “Took you long enough.”
Just pure, raw emotion.
She buried her face into his chest, shoulders shaking.
Deuce just held her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I got you,” he murmured. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Cleo just clung to him, tears soaking into his shirt.
Frankie, however, wasn’t smiling.
She looked around, searching. But she didn’t see Jackson. Or Holt.
Her stomach dropped.
Before she could spiral, Spectra placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“They’re waiting for you upstairs.”
Frankie’s expression immediately brightened.
But the saddest reunion of all belonged to Lagoona and Gil.
Lagoona rushed past everyone, her heart pounding as she dropped to her knees in front of Gil’s cell.
He looked lifeless.
Her breath hitched. “Gil?” she whispered, reaching for him.
Nothing.
She gripped his hand, desperate. “Come on, love, wake up. Please.”
Still nothing.
Tears welled in her eyes, her grip tightening. Just as a sob was about to break past her lips—
A hand squeezed hers.
Lagoona gasped.
Gil stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Lagoona…?”
She let out a breathless laugh, half sobbing, half relieved.
"You scared the hell outta me, fish-face," she whispered, pressing a shaking kiss to his forehead.
Gil chuckled weakly, nuzzling into her touch. “Sorry, babe.”
Lagoona helped him up, then lifted her hands. A wave of cool water gathered in her palms, and she pressed it to his lips.
Gil drank greedily, his strength returning.
She did the same for Ryder, who let out a deep, satisfied exhale.
Once everyone was free, Spectra floated up, crossing her arms with a sly grin.
“I’m glad we got you guys out,” she said. “But now?”
She tilted her head, eyes glowing.
“It’s time to get back at Bloodgood.”
The students exchanged glances— then, like a wave, excitement surged through them.
The bad girls all grinned in unison.
Cleo wiped away her tears, her lips curling into a devilish grin.
Heath cracked his knuckles, fire flickering at his fingertips.
Toralei’s tail flicked, claws glinting in the dim light.
Deuce’s snakes hissed, already anticipating chaos.
They weren’t just getting revenge.
They were about to throw the wildest party of their lives.
Bloodgood was so screwed.
Phase Three:
Complete.
STEP 4: PARTY TIME
The halls of Monster High were a riot of bodies and music, the air thick with heat, sweat, and pure, unfiltered chaos. The walls vibrated from the heavy bass, and the pink glow in everyone's eyes burned brighter than ever.
And just when it seemed like the party couldn't get any wilder…
Locker 99 Bursts Open
From within, the remaining students who had been trapped inside and the people who had gone to free them stumbled into the hallway, disoriented but quickly catching on.
Their eyes glowed pink within seconds.
And then?
They jumped in.
The dance floor erupted even more as the new arrivals melded into the madness.
Cleo flicked her hair back, her golden jewelry jingling as she strutted forward.
Clawdeen grinned, cracking her knuckles.
Abbey nodded approvingly, stepping in line.
Without hesitation, the three of them joined Draculaura and Ghoulia.
Now?
All five ghouls were in perfect sync, moving like a well-rehearsed team, throwing ass like their lives depended on it.
Cleo’s hips rolled with hypnotic precision, her royal confidence making every movement feel like a command.
Clawdeen, ever the powerhouse, slammed her hands on her knees and threw it back with wild abandon.
Abbey, despite her usual stoic nature, swayed with effortless cool, her icy glow making her stand out among the flashing lights.
Draculaura and Ghoulia, already in their rhythm, just grinned and matched their energy.
The crowd lost their minds.
And then—
Lagoona rushed forward.
But before she joined, she turned to Gil, who was sitting on the sidelines.
Though he was rehydrated, the exhaustion still clung to him.
Lagoona kneeled beside him, brushing his cheek with her webbed hand.
“You good, love?” she asked softly.
Gil chuckled. “Go dance. I’ll be here.”
Lagoona leaned in, kissing him gently on the cheek.
“I’ll check on ya later,” she promised.
Then, she stood up—and dived into the twerk squad.
Six ghouls, one synchronized dance squad.
Monster High had never seen anything like it.
Frankie wasn’t thinking about the dance.
The moment she spotted Holt, she sprinted across the hall, pushing past students until she threw herself into his arms.
Holt caught her instantly, his hands gripping her tight.
Neither of them spoke—they just held each other, breathing heavily, overwhelmed with relief.
“Damn, Sparky,” Holt muttered, resting his forehead against hers. “Thought I lost you for real this time.”
Frankie smiled, tears brimming in her mismatched eyes. “Not a chance.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
They grinned at each other—then immediately jumped into the dance.
Frankie’s movements were all uncoordinated but energetic, while Holt lost himself in the music, his fire flaring with every move.
A few feet away, Operetta and Scarah weren’t caught up in the madness.
Because the moment they spotted Johnny and Invisi-Billy?
They broke.
Johnny barely had time to react before Operetta slammed into him, her arms wrapped around his neck, shaking.
Invisi-Billy didn’t even hesitate, grabbing Scarah and pulling her into a tight embrace.
Tears flowed freely.
“I thought you were gone,” Johnny whispered, gripping Operetta’s waist like she’d disappear if he let go.
“I ain't goin anywhere,” she whispered back.
Johnny barely had time to react before Operetta slammed into him, her arms wrapped around his neck, shaking.
Invisi-Billy didn’t even hesitate, grabbing Scarah and pulling her into a tight embrace.
Tears flowed freely.
Scarah just buried her face into Billy’s chest, gripping his jacket.
They didn’t need to dance. They just needed each other.
Gigi had been moving to the beat, feeling the music—
Until her eyes locked onto Ryder.
And then?
She immediately stopped dancing.
With a gasp, she sprinted toward him, her heart pounding, her mind screaming, he’s okay, he’s okay—
She didn’t hesitate—she grabbed him, pulled him out of his wheelchair, and into a crushing hug.
Ryder wrapped his arms around her tightly, sighing in relief.
But before he could even say a word—
Gigi yanked his face toward hers and crushed her lips against his.
Ryder’s eyes widened, then shut as he melted into the kiss.
“Damn,” he murmured when she pulled back for air.
Gigi’s eyes were burning with desire.
“Fuck the dance, I need your tongue in my mouth, right. now.”
And they were back at it.
Meanwhile—Toralei, Meowlody, Purrsephone, Gory, Amanita, Perri and Pearl Serpentine, and Kala Me’ri had all formed a line.
The baddest, most rebellious girls in school.
And then?
They bent over, hands on each other’s asses—
And started twerking in perfect synchronization.
The crowd went insane.
Even the wildest dancers had to stop and watch.
None more than Romulus, who was losing his mind.
“OH MY GOD!” he howled, gripping his head. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!”
Cheers, screams, and applause filled the air.
They owned the dance floor now.
Robecca had been lost in the music, moving to the beat.
Until a hand grabbed her.
And slammed her against the wall.
She gasped, her eyes darting up—
And then she froze.
Venus.
A wicked smirk played on Venus’ lips as she leaned in close, her breath warm against Robecca’s cheek.
“Missed me, gears?”
Robecca’s heart pounded.
And then—she smiled.
But not a normal smile.
It was a smile of submission.
Of relief.
Like a pet seeing its master return home.
Without hesitation, she grabbed Venus’ face and kissed her.
She melted into her mouth, letting Venus take control instantly.
Venus chuckled, her grip on Robecca tightening. “Good girl.”
Spectra, with a mischievous glint in her eye, began to twerk on Porter’s lap, her movements fluid and confident.
Porter's face lit up with a wide, almost manic grin, clearly enjoying the unexpected attention and the thrill of the moment.
Meanwhile, Heath, Clawd, Deuce, and the rest of the boys were completely lost in the music, their bodies moving with an intensity that suggested they were dancing for their very lives. Sweat glistened on their foreheads as they jumped, spun, and grooved to the pulsating beat, each one determined to outdo the other in their wild abandon.
All around them, students were caught up in the frenzy of the dance. Couples were locked in passionate embraces, their lips meeting in heated kisses that spoke of pent-up desires finally being unleashed.
Others were grinding against each other, their bodies moving in perfect sync to the rhythm of the music, lost in the sheer joy of physical connection.
The air was electric with excitement as everyone partied like there was no tomorrow, savoring every moment of their rebellion.
The entire scene was a testament to their collective defiance against Bloodgood, a celebration of their freedom and their refusal to be constrained by rules and expectations.
The energy in the room was palpable, a heady mix of adrenaline, excitement, and the sheer thrill of breaking free.
It was perfect.
Until—
"CEASE!"
A booming voice shattered the air.
Everything froze.
The music cut out instantly.
And then, every single student turned their heads to the entrance of the hallway.
Standing there—tall, imposing, furious—
Was Lazarus, the leader of the Monster Council.
And he did not look happy.
The teacher’s lounge was a haven of praise and admiration.
Bloodgood sat at the center of the room, her posture relaxed, her smile modest but satisfied.
The Monster Council surrounded her, their elegant robes draped over their monstrous forms, their expressions filled with approval and pride.
One of them, an older vampire with piercing crimson eyes, lifted his goblet of enchanted wine.
“To Headmistress Bloodgood,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with authority. “Your leadership has done wonders for this school. Never before has Monster High been so… respectable.”
A chorus of nods and murmurs of agreement followed.
“Yes, indeed,” a mummy councilwoman added, adjusting her golden headdress. “The discipline you have instilled is commendable. These students will grow into fine young monsters, pillars of the supernatural community.”
A werewolf elder leaned forward, his yellow eyes gleaming. “No more chaos. No more embarrassing scandals.” He let out a satisfied sigh. “If only all schools were as well-maintained as Monster High.”
Bloodgood soaked it all in.
Her plan with Hackington had worked.
No unruliness.
No defiance.
No unnecessary displays of... filth.
Just proper young monsters, prepared for their futures.
She felt proud.
Proud that she had crafted a school worthy of praise.
Proud that her career was shining brighter than ever.
She lifted her teacup and took a slow sip, savoring the moment.
And then—The Music Starts.
Her cup stopped inches from her lips.
Her breath hitched.
A deep, throbbing bass rumbled through the walls.
Laughter. Cheers. Moans.
Bloodgood’s body turned to stone.
Her hands went cold.
The voices of the council members faded into a distant hum.
The world around her vanished.
No…
She couldn’t even swallow.
Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a death knell.
The realization hit her like a silver stake to the chest.
Spectra had done it.
She reawakened the aphrodisiacs control over the students.
And not just before Bloodgood could stop her—
Before the council had left.
They couldn’t wait just a few more hours?!
Her hands trembled.
Her entire career—her reputation—her authority—
Gone.
The Monster Council continued chatting among themselves, unaware of her horror.
Then—
Lazarus's brow furrowed. “What’s that noise?”
Bloodgood snapped back to reality.
She forced herself to stand. “Nothing. Please, wait here. I’ll handle it.”
The leader’s piercing eyes locked onto hers. “I think I should see it for myself.”
Her stomach dropped.
Bloodgood stepped forward, shaking her head. “No, no, that’s not necessary. It’s just—”
But the vampire had already turned toward the door, the other council members following suit.
Bloodgood’s panic surged.
She moved in front of him, placing a firm hand on his chest. “Please. Just stay here. I will have this resolved in moments.”
He looked down at her hand.
Then up at her.
“…Move.”
His tone was cold. Final. Absolute.
Bloodgood felt the last remnants of control slipping away.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped aside.
The doors to the lounge creaked open.
The council stepped into the hallway—
And saw it.
The hallway was a living, breathing creature of debauchery.
The smell of sweat, heat, and raging hormones saturated the air.
Bodies moved in ways that defied decency.
Everywhere they looked—
Students grinding, making out, tossing clothes.
Girls twerking on their boyfriends—or on each other.
Guys pulling ghouls into their laps.
Shoes, jackets, and torn fabric littering the floor.
The walls trembling from the sheer force of the bass.
The council stood frozen.
Their faces twisted into horror and disgust.
Bloodgood felt her soul leave her body.
Lazarus jaw dropped.
His crimson eyes swept across the scene.
He saw Clawdeen and Cleo leading a synchronized twerk squad.
He saw Venus pinning Robecca against the wall, tongues deep in each other’s mouths.
He saw Gigi straddling Ryder, their hands lost in each other’s hair.
He saw Meowlody, Purrsephone, and Toralei, locked together in one sultry, sin-filled dance.
He saw Heath literally engulfed in flames while Abbey grinded against him.
He saw Gil lying exhausted against the wall while Lagoona threw ass against him.
He saw Spectra shaking her hips on Porter’s lap while laughing maniacally.
He saw Valentine—shirtless—holding Spelldon's face as they drunkenly made out.
Everywhere he looked—
It was a scene straight out of a forbidden monster novel.
His face darkened. His fists clenched.
And then—He roared.
“CEASE!!!”
The sound shook the halls.
The music cut. The students froze mid-motion. Eyes snapped toward the entrance.
And there—
The council stood.
Their faces a mixture of rage, disgust, and disbelief.
Bloodgood’s breath came in short gasps.
This was it.
This was the moment everything crumbled.
She felt her knees tremble.
She could already tell what Lazarus was thinking.
"What have you done to this school?"
Bloodgood couldn’t breathe.
Meanwhile in the Laboratory, The doors burst open and Hackington sprinted toward the scene, eyes wild with realization.
He had to fix this.
He had to stop the council before they took Monster High away.
Before it was too late.
Lazarus stared down at the student body of Monster High, his eyes filled with disappointment, disgust, and shame as he took in the scene before him.
"What has this school become?"
No one answered. They had nothing to say.
"This is the so-called 'peace' you promised to uphold!?" he demanded, turning to Bloodgood, his voice dripping with disdain. The other council members nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring his disapproval. "You expect me to believe that this is the same school that once taught legends like Victor Frankenstein and Hexiciah Steam?"
Frankie and Robecca shuddered at the mention of their relatives.
Bloodgood tried to speak, her voice barely a whisper. "Lazarus, I—"
"When I attended Monster High as a student back in 1973, it was the greatest school I had ever laid my eyes on!" His voice rose with nostalgia, but there was no warmth in it—only sorrow. "It had spirit! It had heart! It was a place that even a cursed creature like myself could call home!"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the debaucherous display before him. His expression twisted further in disgust.
"But this? This is NOT the school I remember. Just LOOK at you all!" He gestured wildly at the students, who now avoided his piercing stare. "Gross public displays of affection! Making out on the floor! Underwear and pants strewn across the hallway! Women shamelessly shaking their—" He grimaced, almost unable to say it. "I thought only HUMANS performed that sinful dance!"
"It’s called twe—"
"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT'S CALLED!" Lazarus roared, his voice shaking the very walls. He took a deep breath, his fists clenched so tightly that his claws dug into his palms. "You might as well walk around with a massive billboard that says, 'Hey, look at me! I’m wild, loose, and so desperate for sex that even the serpent within me can’t contain itself! I'm for sale on the auction block! I’m a slut!'"
"Hey! That’s not fair!" Spectra snapped, her voice sharp with defiance. Some students murmured in agreement.
"NO! What’s not fair is that this once-beautiful school has been turned into a den of sin and debauchery!" Lazarus stomped his foot like a furious child, his frustration boiling over. "And I suppose there's MORE I need to know about, isn't there?"
One of the council members stepped forward. "Actually, sir… there is."
Lazarus turned to her, eyes narrowed. "And what might THAT be?"
She pointed at Scarah and Operetta, who were now clutching Johnny and Billy protectively. "I heard extra heartbeats coming from those girls’ bodies. Both of them… are pregnant."
A stunned silence fell over the crowd.
Scarah and Operetta’s eyes widened in shock. Their secret, exposed.
Lazarus’s head snapped toward them, his piercing gaze drilling into their very souls.
"Is that true?"
Neither girl spoke, frozen in fear.
"ANSWER ME!"
"Yes!" they both blurted out at once.
Gasps erupted from the student body. While their close friends and the ghouls had known, the rest of the school had been in the dark. The revelation sent ripples of shock through the crowd.
Bloodgood, now fully aware of the catastrophe unfolding, desperately tried to regain control.
"Sir, please, let me explain—"
"SILENCE!" Lazarus boomed, making Bloodgood stiffen. "Do you have ANY idea how many incidents I have tolerated when I should have fired you ON THE SPOT?!"
Bloodgood was too stunned to respond.
"I put up with the genie attack. I put up with the haunted high kidnappings. I EVEN PUT UP WITH THE FUCKING KRAKEN ATTACK!" He raised a clawed finger for each offense. "But THIS?! This is beyond comprehension! I will not hear any more excuses or explanations!"
"Sir, please—"
"This school has fallen into ruin!" Lazarus seethed, his fury spilling over. "It has become a breeding ground for wayward children! A haven for those with NO sense of morality or decency! You have not only failed ME, Bloodgood, but you have failed the very legacy of what this school was meant to be!"
He straightened his collar, his next words final.
"Effective immediately, Monster High is to be shut down until further notice!" His voice echoed like a death knell over the assembled students. Gasps of horror spread like wildfire. "Bloodgood, you are hereby stripped of your title as Headmistress and permanently barred from ever teaching again!"
His glare then turned to the students.
"AS FOR YOU!" He jabbed a clawed finger at the crowd. "You are ALL expelled! Every last one of you! You will be barred from attending ANY monster institution in New Salem! If, and ONLY if, you prove that you can control yourselves, you may be allowed back—BUT under strict supervisi—
"WAIT!!!"
Everyone turned as Hackington sprinted up, clutching a stack of papers.
"And WHO are you?" Lazarus shouted.
"Mr. Hackington, the mad science teacher and Monster High's custodian," Hackington said, taking a bow. "I know this situation looks bad, but I can assure you—this isn’t the fault of the students or Bloodgood!"
"Oh, really?" Lazarus raised an eyebrow.
"Yes!"
"THEN WHOSE IS IT?" Lazarus threw his hands in the air.
Hackington took a deep breath, scanning the students as if searching for a scapegoat. But when his eyes landed on Bloodgood, her face streaked with tears, he let out a sigh.
He turned back to Lazarus.
"It’s mine."
The council members exchanged skeptical glances.
"Explain yourself," Lazarus demanded, his tone now laced with confusion.
"On Friday, September 27th of this year, I accidentally released a chemical compound onto the student body during an auditorium assembly."
Lazarus narrowed his eyes. "And just what the hell was in that compound to make everyone act like this?"
Hackington hesitated before answering.
"An aphrodisiac."
The council gasped.
One student raised an eyebrow. "So that’s why we’ve all been so horny? I just thought we finally decided to let loose."
Lazarus shot the student a disgusted glare before turning back to Hackington. "And why, exactly, was there an aphrodisiac on campus?!"
"It was intended for sexual education classes," Hackington explained. "I was developing a formula to boost student morale and help them focus more in class. However, I tripped and fell during the process, and the impact caused some of the aphrodisiac to spill into the cauldron. By the time I realized it, it was already too late."
"And how exactly were the students exposed?" another councilor asked.
"An accidental chemical release during an assembly," Hackington said as he handed Lazarus a stack of notes. "These documents explain everything."
Lazarus snatched the notes and began reading, the other council members peering over his shoulder. Their expressions shifted from shock to horror to sheer disbelief.
"This… this is…" Lazarus struggled to find the words.
"I understand that this is both confusing and concerning," Hackington said. "But let me be clear—these students are some of the brightest, most compassionate, and extraordinary young monsters I have ever had the privilege of teaching. They are humble, full of heart, and though they may get into mischief from time to time, their actions have inspired change within the community. I believe they will grow up to do great things."
Lazarus remained silent, his expression unreadable.
"And I promise you this," Hackington continued, his voice turning serious. "If you shut down Monster High and fire Bloodgood, they will have something to say about it."
Lazarus turned to the student body, who had shifted from panic and concern to visible fury. If looks could kill, the entire council would have been vaporized on the spot.
The air became tense as every student glared daggers at the council.
Sensing the hostility, the council members instinctively stepped back.
Lazarus, now uneasy, cleared his throat. "U-um," he stammered, struggling to regain composure before finally sighing. "Very well. We will wait until the effects of the gas wear off, and once that happens, we will conduct a second review. But know this—if this school falls out of line again, there will be no second chances."
Before Hackington or Bloodgood could respond, a bolt of lightning shot through the air. Lazarus barely ducked in time as it whizzed past him. His head snapped toward the source—Frankie, her eyes crackling with electricity, her hand still outstretched.
And she wasn’t alone.
Across the room, students took battle stances. Some charged up their powers, others grabbed whatever they could use as weapons, and the rest posed, ready to fight.
It was as if they were silently declaring:
"Try and take our school. See what happens."
Lazarus and the other councilors gulped, realizing they were severely outmatched.
"Hackington," one of the councilors asked shakily, "how long until the gas wears off?"
"It’ll take about four more weeks collectively," Hackington replied.
"Very well!" Lazarus said, his tone now panicked. "We will reschedule our visit for November!"
And with that, he and the council turned on their heels and rushed out of the school.
The students watched as the council members scrambled into their car, peeling out of the parking lot in record time.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, the cheers erupted.
The students roared in triumph, celebrating the fact that their home had been saved.
Bloodgood let out a deep, relieved sigh, the weight on her shoulders finally lifting. She turned to Hackington, gratitude shining in her eyes.
"I don’t know how to thank you, Hackington," she said, wiping away the last of her tears.
"Ah, think nothing of it, love!" Hackington replied with a grin. "No way I was letting those stuffy old bats tear this place down. I made this mess—it’s only right I clean it up."
Bloodgood chuckled, shaking her head. "Still, taking responsibility like that... It means a lot. You may have just saved us all."
"Let’s not start celebrating too soon," Hackington said, adjusting his apron. "We’ve still got four weeks to get through."
Bloodgood nodded before turning to the still-cheering students, raising her voice to get their attention.
"All right, everyone! I know you’re all excited that the council is gone, but let’s not get carried away!" she called out. "We still have a long road ahead, and I expect everyone to keep their impulses under control for the next four weeks."
The cheering died instantly.
The laughter faded.
Every student turned to glare at her, expressions darkening.
Bloodgood suddenly felt a chill run down her spine.
The heavy silence hung over the hallway like a storm cloud, the air thick with tension. Bloodgood, still reeling from the sudden shift in the students’ mood, barely had time to react when Frankie stepped forward.
Her bright blue eyes, usually filled with warmth and excitement, now burned with something much colder.
"Or you'll what?" Frankie said, voice dripping with bitterness. "You gonna throw us in jail cells again?"
The words hit Bloodgood like a bolt of lightning.
Her face paled instantly.
She had completely forgotten.
The memories came rushing back like a flood, overwhelming her senses—Frankie’s panicked, tear-streaked face as she banged on the cell bars, pleading to be let out. Cleo, curled in the corner, her usual haughty demeanor shattered as she quietly sobbed into her hands. Heath, raging against the cell walls, his fire burning hotter than it ever had before, his fury barely masking the sheer betrayal in his eyes.
She had locked them up.
Her own students.
The ones who trusted her.
And she hadn’t just locked them up—she had left them there.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Confused whispers. Suspicious glances. Not everyone knew about what had happened.
But then Spectra floated forward, her ghostly form passing effortlessly through the bodies gathered in the hall. She crossed her arms, her translucent eyes locked onto Bloodgood with sharp accusation.
"Oh, you don’t wanna talk about that, do you, Headmistress?" Spectra said, her voice carrying over the murmurs, making sure everyone heard her. "Well, let’s fill in the blanks, shall we?"
The crowd fell silent as Spectra turned to address the students, her tone laced with disgust.
"She didn’t just panic—she locked Frankie, Cleo, Heath, and a couple of others—including my boyfriend—in cells beneath the school. And not just any cells—cells that were designed to counter their abilties."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That’s right. She built them to make sure no one could escape. And you know what else? She barely gave them food or water. She left them there, like criminals, because she was so desperate to kiss the council’s ass."
A stunned silence filled the hallway. Then came the final blow.
"And let’s not forget—" Spectra’s voice darkened, her usually mischievous smirk replaced by a hard, furious glare. "Gil and Ryder almost died in there."
That was it.
The moment the words left her mouth, the entire hallway exploded.
Shouts, screams, curses—chaos erupted like an earthquake shaking the foundations of the school.
Students yelled over one another, their anger raw and unchecked. Bloodgood could barely make out individual voices, but she heard every bit of fury laced in their words.
"You locked them up?!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"How could you do this to us?!"
The uproar grew louder, echoing through the halls like a violent storm.
Johnny had to be physically restrained by his friends, his tetth bared, his usually laid-back demeanor gone. His blue eyes burned with unfiltered rage.
"You locked up Operetta when she was pregnant?! Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to her?!" He shrieked.
Abbey, always the picture of self-control, had her fists clenched so tightly that ice cracked beneath her feet. If not for Heath grabbing onto her arm, she might have lunged at Bloodgood herself.
The "bad girls" of the school—Toralei and her crew, Gory, Meowlody, Purrsephone—were the loudest of the bunch, spewing every curse word imaginable, their sharp words cutting deeper than any claw ever could.
"You two-faced, bootlicking, pathetic excuse of a headmistress!" Gory snarled, fangs bared.
"Hope it was worth it, you council-worshipping, traitorous hag!" Toralei hissed, her claws flexing like she wanted to sink them into Bloodgood’s skin.
"You make me sick!" Purrsephone spat, her tail lashing behind her in fury.
"You're a monster! A real one!" Amanita added, voice laced with venom.
Bloodgood barely had time to react before another voice rang out—one filled with raw, unrestrained emotion.
"You treated us like animals!"
Cleo.
She was shaking, held tightly in Deuce’s arms, her usually composed face streaked with tears once more.
"You left us in the dark, like we were nothing! Like we didn’t matter!" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I begged! I begged you to let us out! And you—you just walked away! You ignored us like we were beneath you!"
Her body trembled as she buried her face into Deuce’s chest, unable to hold back the flood of emotions any longer.
Frankie had an arm around her, rubbing her back comfortingly. Spectra floated beside them, her hands balled into fists. Clawdeen, Draculaura, Lagoona—all of them were there, consoling her, standing beside her, their own eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.
The sight of it shattered whatever composure Bloodgood had left.
Even the students who weren’t locked up were furious—many were yelling in disbelief, others glaring in cold silence, their trust in Bloodgood crumbling to dust.
Bloodgood felt her heart hammering against her chest. She had prepared for backlash, for resistance—
but this? This was beyond anything she could have imagined.
This wasn’t just anger.
This was pain.
She had hurt them. Deeply.
And there was no coming back from that.
She had lost them.
Completely.
"ENOUGH!"
Her voice thundered through the hall like the crack of a whip, amplified by her magic.
The students fell silent. Not because they wanted to, but because the sheer force of her voice commanded it.
Bloodgood took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet their gazes. "I know what I did was terrible," she said, her voice unwavering. "And I know no amount of explaining will undo it. But you need to understand something—"
She scanned the crowd, eyes hard, but filled with something softer beneath the surface. Regret. Guilt.
"I was desperate. The council was breathing down our necks, and I thought I could contain the situation before it got worse. I thought if I acted quickly, I could keep this school open and keep you all safe. But I see now… I was wrong."
Silence.
But not forgiveness.
She could see it in their eyes—they weren’t ready to let this go. Some of them never would.
One by one, the students began to turn away. Some left with their friends, whispering furiously to one another. Others walked off with their partners, shaking their heads in disbelief. A few lingered, their gazes filled with betrayal, before finally leaving.
Eventually, the hallway was nearly empty.
Bloodgood exhaled shakily, her hands trembling at her sides.
Hackington, who had been silent through the entire exchange, stepped up beside her. "Well," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "That could’ve gone worse."
Bloodgood gave him a tired, humorless laugh. "No, Hackington," she whispered, staring down the empty hall. "It really couldn’t have."
The school day had come to a close, and the halls of Monster High were silent once more—at least, on the surface.
The students had all gone home, their horniness seemingly reinvigorated rather than suppressed, making the day’s efforts feel utterly pointless.
Now, gathered in Hackington’s dimly lit office, the teachers sat around a large, cluttered table, looking just as exhausted and stressed as one would expect after the absolute catastrophe that had unfolded.
Bloodgood sat at the head of the table, arms crossed tightly, her expression unreadable.
Rotter, however, had no problem showing how pissed he was—mostly because he was currently nursing the bruise Holt had left on his jaw from earlier.
A large ice pack was pressed against the side of his face, and every so often, he shot Bloodgood a glare that practically screamed, "This is your fault."
"Alright," Kindergrubber said, breaking the silence, rubbing her temples as if this entire meeting was giving her a headache. "Can we all just agree zat today's plan was absolute dogshit?"
"Agreed," practically every teacher in the room responded in unison.
"Bloodgood," Mr. Where said, leaning forward, "I’ve seen some bad ideas before, but this one? This one takes the damn cake."
"You’ve officially made the students worse than before!" Mr. Rotter gnashed his teeth, his claws digging into the table. "They’re not just horny anymore—now they’re pissed off AND horny!"
Igor, the coach, sighed, running a hand down his wrinkled face. "I had three students pass out today from sheer arousal, and another two tried to sneak into locker room to—" He shuddered. "Let’s just say I will be filing an official complaint."
Bloodgood inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Alright, alright. I get it. I screwed up."
"Understatement of the damn century," Rotter muttered bitterly.
The room fell into a tense silence.
Finally, Bloodgood straightened, turning to Hackington. "You mentioned earlier that you had new findings," she said. "What exactly did you mean by that?"
Hackington, who had been oddly quiet up until now, slowly leaned forward, his expression serious. "After I explained the effects of the temporary cure to all of you earlier, I received a ping from my lab. And… it’s bad."
That immediately caught everyone’s attention.
"Bad how?" Bloodgood asked cautiously.
Hackington exhaled, straightening his glasses before gesturing to the board behind him. He tapped a chalk stick against it, writing down two key words:
The Gas
The Cure
"First," he began, "let’s go over what we already know. The aphrodisiac-infused compound that infected the student body essentially turned them into a bunch of feral, horny animals."
"Go on." Rotter said
"The gas works by hijacking the brain’s limbic system, specifically targeting the hypothalamus, which regulates emotions, sexual desire, and impulse control." Hackington said, all while listing the effects on the board. "It floods the brain with an overwhelming surge of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, creating an uncontrollable state of arousal while simultaneously lowering inhibitions and rational thinking. This leads to an animalistic, instinct-driven mindset where the affected individuals prioritize pleasure above all else."
"We noticed," Mr. Where muttered dryly.
"Now, the temporary cure," Hackington continued, "was designed to suppress that effect for a limited time, essentially putting their hormones on ice."
"The temporary cure acted as a neurological suppressant, essentially putting the affected hormones into a dormant state by overloading the brain’s receptors with a specialized inhibitor." Hackington said while in the midst of writing. "This caused an artificial state of emotional neutrality, suppressing the user’s dopamine and serotonin production, making them temporarily immune to the gas’s effects."
Igor frowned. "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything? The cure worked, didn’t it?"
Hackington snorted. "Oh, it worked alright. It worked too well."
The tension in the room thickened.
Bloodgood narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"
Hackington inhaled sharply. "I’m saying that because the cure suppressed their hormones for so long, the moment it got overridden out of their systems, it actually boosted the gas’s effect on them."
Silence.
Then Rotter frowned. "Wait, what do you mean by boosted?"
Hackington gave them all a grim look. "You know how in some adult comics, they have characters say things like ‘My mind is melting!’ or ‘My mind’s gone blank!’?"
A slow, creeping horror began to spread across the teachers' faces.
"That’s what’s happening right now."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Bloodgood, her voice eerily calm, asked, "Hackington… are you telling me that the temporary cure we gave them has now caused the gas to become ten times stronger?"
Hackington nodded grimly. "Yes. And because of what you did today, the violent surge in emotion you caused is making them not just hornier, but also far more aggressive and emotional than before."
Igor let out a sharp breath. "Okay… So on a scale from one to ten, how bad is this going to get?"
Hackington stared at them for a long, heavy moment.
Then, with a dead-serious expression, he replied:
"How about ‘this school is about to become real-life Pornhub?’"
The entire room went still.
Every teacher. Every single one of them.
They all knew what that website was.
They had caught students watching it before.
They had seen the kind of degeneracy it contained.
And the realization that their school—their school—was about to become that was enough to send them spiraling into full-blown panic.
"OH MY GOD!!!"
The room exploded into chaos.
Kindergrubber immediately stood up, throwing her hands in the air. "Nope! Nope! I am NOT dealing with zhis!"
"You know how many damn students I’ve caught watching that site?!?" Igor screeched. "TOO MANY! AND NOW THEY’RE GOING TO BECOME IT?!?!"
"I REFUSE!" Mr. Where slammed his hands on the table. "I. AM. OUT!"
Rotter, still holding an ice pack to his bruised jaw, just shook his head in pure disbelief. "Bloodgood, I have put up with a lot in this job, but I draw the line at working in a damn porno school."
Hackington sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is why I drink."
By now, several teachers had already begun preparing to quit on the spot.
"SIT. BACK. DOWN!" Bloodgood snapped.
Everyone quickly and quietly sat back down without hesitation.
Bloodgood exhaled, gripping the table. "Listen, I am NOT happy about this either, but we need to stay together and manage this! If we let the school completely spiral out of control, things will only get worse!"
Igor snorted. "Worse?! Worse than MONSTER HIGH turning into the biggest adult film in history?! I THINK NOT!"
"It’s only for four weeks," Bloodgood argued, though even she winced at how weak that sounded.
Hackington sighed heavily. "Let’s just… try to contain this the best we can." He shook his head. "All we can hope for now is that we manage to keep information about this from getting out."
Bloodgood pinched the bridge of her nose. "Four weeks."
Hackington nodded. "Four weeks. That’s all."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Then Rotter let out a tired groan. "What could possibly go wrong in four weeks?"
Nobody dared to answer.
Because deep down, they all knew.
Everything.
As the day came to a close, Bloodgood slumped into her office chair, exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. With a weary sigh, she opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured herself a generous glass. She swirled the amber liquid, staring out the window at the glowing orange sky.
The events of the day replayed in her mind like a bad dream—one she couldn’t wake up from.
“Four more weeks,” she muttered, taking a long sip. “Four more weeks of this madness.”
She had dealt with many things in her lifetime—wars, monsters, assassins, invasions, genies, ghosts, rival schools.
But never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined dealing with this.
A school full of horny, uncontrollable monsters?
It sounded like a bad soap opera.
And now, thanks to Hackington’s latest revelation, things weren’t just bad. They were about to get ten times worse.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of what the students might do next.
Would they start openly going at it in the hallways? Transform the classrooms into dens of debauchery? Make the graveyard their personal love nest?
And to make it worse…
They hated her now.
Her actions today—locking up students, treating them like prisoners—had completely shattered their trust. Before, they had seen her as a strict but fair headmistress. Now? Now she was nothing more than a nagging old woman who punished them for having fun and tore their loved ones away to appease the masses.
Even when the gas eventually wore off, their resentment would remain.
And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, when something caught her eye.
The calendar.
Her gaze landed on the bold red circle around a date.
October 31st.
Her heart sank.
Halloween.
Of course. Of course this had to happen now.
She wasn’t particularly fond of the holiday.
Too many incidents.
Too much chaos.
Too. Much. Violence.
Sure, Frankie and her friends had made peace with the students of New Salem High, but every year brought new blood. New rivalries. A bigger thirst for mayhem.
And now, the entire student body was under the influence of a gas that not only turned them into walking hormones but also made them aggressive.
The last time they partied, security guards left with bruises and broken bones, some limping, others needing to be carried out.
If they were that violent toward the guards…
What the hell would they do to the normies?
The thought made her stomach churn.
She could already hear the screams as her students stormed the town, ready to tear reckless teens apart for daring to vandalize their school.
Would they drag them into the shadows, forcing them to experience the same torment they had? Would they make them pay in ways the normies could never have imagined?
Bloodgood shut her eyes and sighed, tilting her glass back as she downed another shot of whiskey.
“This month,” she muttered, staring into the night sky, “is going to be the wildest one yet.”
To be continued.....
Notes:
If you thought these last few chapters were crazy?
Then OH BOY ARE YOU IN FOR A RIDE!
This was just the tip of the iceberg.
And things are going to get wilder from here!
Chapter 9: The Calm Before The Storm
Summary:
With the council no longer breathing down her neck, Bloodgood tries to do damage control.
Easier said than done.
Notes:
This isn't meant to be a sex based chapter, but I did write something to satisfy y'all temporarily.
Hope y'all enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
From an outsider's perspective, it seemed like a typical school day.
Classes were in session, teachers stood at the front of their rooms delivering lectures, and students sat at their desks, taking notes, answering questions, and flipping through textbooks. Everything appeared to be in order, with no signs of misbehavior or disruption.
However, the reality was far from normal.
After the tumultuous events of the Thursday, Monster High had reverted to its chaotic state, reminiscent of the days before the attempted cure.
The antidote had worn off, and the students, denied their desires the day before, had decided to make up for lost time. However, instead of catching up on assignments or turning in missing work, they chose to spend the day indulging in the 'dates' and 'activities' they had planned.
While classes seemed to continue as usual, a closer inspection revealed a different story.
Students were engaged in a variety of non-school-related activities, hidden beneath a thin veneer of normalcy. Some exchanged racy notes, others flirted openly, making inappropriate comments, and couples sat next to each other, using jackets to conceal actions they didn't want others to see.
In the hallways, the situation was even more blatant. Every dark and abandoned corner of the school had become a hotspot for students to engage in their scandalous activities, much like they had done before the chaos that was Thursday.
The air was filled with the sounds of gentle moans and passionate screams as students indulged in their desires, the pent-up energy from the previous day finally finding release.
The scent of musk and the aroma of lovemaking permeated the halls, a testament to the unbridled passion that had taken over the school.
The teachers, though disgusted, did nothing to intervene. After witnessing the brutal assaults on the guards by the students, they decided that trying to stop the chaos would not be worth the risk of broken bones.
Instead, they sat back, watching as girls screamed in pleasure while their boyfriends pounded them on desks, a sight that would have been unimaginable under normal circumstances.
Moans echoed through the halls, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air, and the school was thick with the scent of musk and the aroma of lovemaking.
However, despite the hormonal chaos that had taken over her school, there was one person who had zero intentions of backing down.
Headmistress Bloodgood strode through the halls of Monster High, a ruler in one hand and a megaphone in the other. Her sharp eyes scanned every corridor, every shadowy corner, searching for any signs of misconduct.
So far, nothing.
With a weary sigh, she stopped to lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch her breath. But the brief pause only gave her mind time to wander—back to yesterday.
The lock-ups.
The prison break.
The riots.
She had done everything she could to appease the Monster Council, sacrificing her own moral compass in the process. And while she had managed to keep her position as headmistress…
She had lost control of the school.
The moment the students arrived this morning, the shift was undeniable. They glared at her with pure venom, their anger radiating through the halls like a living thing. No one had attacked her—yet—but the tension was thick enough to suffocate.
Now, she found herself pacing aimlessly, trying to salvage what little authority she had left. Maybe, just maybe, if she could talk sense into them, things could return to some semblance of normal.
But with how wild and hormone-driven they were, that was easier said than done.
As she stood lost in thought, voices echoed down the hallway, snapping her back to reality.
"Come on, baby, just a little lick."
"Venus, we’re in the middle of the hallway! What if someone sees us?"
"Then maybe they’ll get a free show."
"That’s not funny!"
"It wasn’t a joke. You don’t wanna disappoint your girlfriend, do you?"
Bloodgood’s ears twitched. She knew those voices well—Venus and Robecca.
Carefully, she crept toward the sound, peering around the corner just enough to see without being seen.
Venus had Robecca pinned against the wall, hands on either side, caging her in. A smirk played on Venus’s lips, her eyes glinting with mischief. Robecca, meanwhile, looked torn between nervousness and anticipation.
"I don’t know about this!" Robecca stammered, glancing around. "Someone could be watching!"
"Relax, baby, no one's gonna catch us," Venus purred, leaning in. "Besides, I really want you to taste me."
Robecca’s eyes widened. "Taste you?! Right here?!"
Venus grinned. "Of course, right here. We didn’t get to have much fun yesterday, so why not make up for it now?"
"Um, I don—"
"Shh, relax," Venus cooed, reaching for the doorknob. "This’ll only take a minute."
With that, she pushed the door open and pulled Robecca inside, slamming it shut behind them.
Bloodgood let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her temples.
"Jesus Christ… these kids are animals."
Robecca yelped as she hit the ground with a thud, the hard wooden floor offering no comfort.
Before she could get up, she felt something lush wrap around her neck and pull—hard.
She looked down and saw a vine coiled tightly around her throat.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she glanced up to see Venus sitting on a crate, legs spread open, her pants discarded. Venus held the other end of the vine like a leash, a massive grin plastered across her face.
"Now be a good little robot and come please your master!" Venus commanded, her voice laced with a mix of dominance and amusement.
Robecca hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking between the vine around her neck and Venus's expectant gaze. But the firm yet gentle tone in Venus's voice left no room for argument. She complied, walking on her hands and knees towards the crate where Venus stood.
As she approached, Robecca could see the glint of excitement in Venus's eyes. She hesitated briefly, unsure of whether to continue, but Venus wasn't in the mood to wait.
"Now!" Venus urged, her tone firm but encouraging.
Not wanting to face her girlfriend's wrath, Robecca quickly got to work. She slowly stuck out her tongue and began trailing it along Venus's clit. The taste was sweet, like a mixture of honey and strawberry, and Robecca found herself enjoying the sensation.
Venus let out a moan, her head tilting back as she savored the pleasure. Robecca might have been a bit of a novice, but she knew exactly how to lick pussy.
She trailed her tongue along specific spots for maximum satisfaction, her movements becoming more confident with each passing second.
Venus placed both her hands on the back of Robecca's head, gently but firmly guiding her in the rhythm she wanted. The more she got into it, the more forceful she became, using Robecca's head to dictate the speed and rhythm. Robecca, who was originally hesitant, was now thoroughly licking away at Venus's clit, like a dog presented with a tasty treat.
As Robecca continued, Venus could feel herself slowly reaching her climax. She gripped Robecca's head tighter, urging her on with more fervor. The thought of taking Robecca home and all the dirty things she planned to do to her flashed through her mind.
She could already hear the moans, the screams, and the dirty names as she played with Robecca like she was her toy.
However, before Venus could dwell any longer on her fantasies, the door swung open, revealing Headmistress Bloodgood.
The sudden intrusion startled both of them, and Robecca quickly pulled away, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. Venus, on the other hand, looked up with a scowl, her eyes narrowing.
But to their surprise, Bloodgood didn’t look mad. She wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t shouting—there was no sharp "DETENTION!" or a disappointed "I expected better from you."
She simply let out a small sigh.
"Both of you, get your clothes on and step outside." With that, she closed the door and stepped out.
Venus groaned, rolling her eyes. As much as she wanted to get back to getting her pussy licked, she wasn’t about to give Bloodgood a reason to step back inside.
"We’ll finish this later," she muttered, unfastening the leash around Robecca’s neck.
Bloodgood sat patiently outside the door, arms crossed, waiting as the two ghouls eventually strolled out. Robecca looked shy and embarrassed, her eyes barely meeting Bloodgood’s. Venus, on the other hand, looked downright pissed, her expression tight with irritation.
As soon as they were both in front of her, Bloodgood stood up, clearing her throat.
"Venus, head back to class," she said firmly. "I need to speak with Robecca alone."
Venus immediately scoffed. "Yeah, that’s not happening."
Bloodgood raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Venus said, crossing her arms. "If you think I’m just gonna leave my girlfriend alone with you after everything you pulled yesterday, you’re out of your damn mind."
"This isn’t up for debate," Bloodgood said, her patience already thinning. "This is between me and Robecca."
"The hell it is," Venus snapped. "If you’ve got something to say, you can say it to both of us."
The two locked eyes, tension crackling between them. Bloodgood stood her ground, unshaken, while Venus looked ready to fight her right then and there.
Before things could escalate, Robecca gently placed a hand on Venus’s arm.
"Venus," she said softly, "it’s okay. I’ll be fine."
Venus turned to her, frustration still clear in her eyes. "Babe—"
"Please," Robecca urged, giving her a reassuring smile. "Just go."
Venus clenched her jaw, clearly unhappy, but after a moment of hesitation, she sighed and stepped back. "Fine," she muttered.
She turned away but made sure to throw one last scowl at Bloodgood before walking off. Even as she disappeared down the hall, she kept glancing back, her glare unwavering until she was finally out of sight.
Once Venus was gone, Bloodgood let out a breath and turned to Robecca.
"Walk with me," she said simply, before starting down the hall.
Without a word, Robecca followed.
Bloodgood walked in silence, Robecca beside her, the clicking of the robot ghoul’s metal joints echoing through the quiet hallway.
The headmistress took a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. "Robecca," she began, "I need you to listen to me. Really listen. What you and Venus were doing—it has to stop."
Robecca scoffed. "Oh, does it now?" she said, arms crossed. "And why’s that, Headmistress? Because it makes you uncomfortable?"
Bloodgood stopped walking and turned to face her. "No. Because this isn’t you."
Robecca barked out a bitter laugh. "Oh, please. Don’t pretend you know me. You don’t. If you did, you’d know that I’m finally being myself for once. I’m not holding back. I’m not keeping up some perfect, polished act for everyone else’s benefit. I’m finally—"
She waved her arms in exasperation, searching for the words. "I’m finally free."
Bloodgood sighed, rubbing her temples. "Robecca, this isn’t freedom. This is reckless, uncontrolled behavior—"
"You call it reckless," Robecca snapped, "I call it living."
Bloodgood kept her expression neutral, but her grip on her ruler tightened. "And what happens when you regret it later?"
"Regret it?" Robecca laughed humorlessly. "Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. You think I regret what I did with Venus? What I’m still doing with Venus?" She stepped closer, her mechanical eyes glowing slightly as she glared up at the headmistress. "You think I regret being with the one person who’s made me feel something real for the first time in forever?"
Bloodgood sighed. "Robecca, this relationship—your… dynamic—it doesn’t look good. Not to the Monster Council, not to the staff, not to anyone. That’s why I—"
"Locked Venus up?" Robecca snapped. "Yeah. I know."
Her voice was cold now, all the playfulness from earlier gone. "You threw her in that prison like she was some criminal. Like she was dangerous. And for what? Because you thought she couldn’t control herself?"
Bloodgood hesitated. "I—"
"You thought she’d do something terrible yesterday, didn’t you?" Robecca pressed. "That’s why you locked her up."
Bloodgood straightened her posture. "Yes," she admitted. "I did."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Robecca’s metal hand shot forward and slapped Bloodgood across the face, the impact ringing out through the hallway.
Bloodgood staggered slightly, blinking in shock. The sting burned worse than she expected—after all, Robecca wasn’t just any ghoul. She was made of metal.
"Don’t you ever," Robecca said, her voice low and sharp, "talk about Venus like that again."
Bloodgood rubbed her cheek, letting out a slow breath before speaking again. "I understand you’re angry—"
"Oh, do you?" Robecca shot back. "Do you really? Because I don’t think you do. Venus isn’t some out-of-control monster, and you had no right to lock her up. And now you wanna stand here and lecture me about my behavior like you’re some saint?" She let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no. Not happening."
Bloodgood’s patience was wearing thin, but she refused to let the conversation spiral into another argument. Instead, she took a different approach.
She looked Robecca in the eye and asked, "What would your father think if he were here?"
For the first time, Robecca froze.
Her expression faltered for just a second, her arms dropping slightly from their defensive stance.
Bloodgood saw the hesitation and pressed further. "Would he be proud of this?"
Robecca was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she relaxed.
And then, she smirked.
"If my father was here," she said, "he’d be proud of me." She lifted her chin, defiant. "And if he wasn’t? Fuck him."
Bloodgood’s eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the sheer conviction in Robecca’s voice.
"I spent so long trying to be perfect," Robecca continued. "Trying to act the way everyone expected me to. Pure, prim, proper. The perfect little automaton daughter. You wanna know what that got me?" She gestured wildly.
"Nothing. Nothing but stress, pressure, and the constant fear of disappointing people. But Venus?" Her expression softened slightly. "Venus showed me how to actually live. She showed me how to have fun. More fun than I’ve had in a year."
Bloodgood exhaled slowly. "Robecca… this isn’t fun. It’s not real freedom. You’re letting something else control you—"
But Robecca wasn’t listening anymore.
She just shook her head, scoffing. "You really don’t get it, do you?"
Bloodgood opened her mouth to say something else, but she could already see the conversation was over.
Robecca turned on her heel. "I’m done here."
"Robecca—"
But Robecca was already walking away.
Bloodgood watched her go, the weight of failure settling over her shoulders. She had tried. She really had. But in the end, her words had fallen on deaf ears.
And as she stood there, rubbing the sore spot on her cheek, she wondered just how much worse things were going to get.
Bloodgood walked through the halls, her cheek still aching from Robecca’s slap. The sting wasn’t just physical—Robecca’s words had left a mark too. But she pushed it aside. There were still students to check on.
She adjusted her hat and continued patrolling, hoping, praying that she wouldn’t have to deal with more of the same defiance.
That hope was short-lived.
Up ahead, she spotted two familiar figures sneaking toward an abandoned classroom. Clawdeen and Toralei.
Bloodgood narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you."
The two ghouls froze mid-step. Then, with a simultaneous groan, they turned to face her.
Toralei crossed her arms. "Oh, great. Just what we needed," she muttered.
Clawdeen sighed, rubbing her temples. "Look, Bloodgood, can’t you just let this one go?"
Bloodgood wasn’t about to let anything go. She stepped forward, her posture firm. "You both need to understand how reckless you’re being. This behavior, this… lack of restraint—it’s dangerous. You’re not thinking clearly."
Toralei let out a sharp laugh, her tail flicking behind her. "Ohhh, so now you care about what we think? Funny, didn’t seem like it yesterday when you turned this place into a damn prison."
Bloodgood’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That’s not what I was doing."
Toralei scoffed. "Yeah? Could’ve fooled me."
Bloodgood ignored her and turned to Clawdeen, looking her in the eye. "Clawdeen," she said carefully, "if you truly care about your girlfriend, then you’d discourage her from this kind of behavior. You’d want what’s best for her, wouldn’t you?"
Clawdeen’s expression darkened.
"Oh, so that’s what this is?" she snapped, stepping forward. "You wanna talk to me about what’s best for her? You wanna talk to me about care?!" Her voice was rising, her claws flexing. "You’ve been a naggy, uptight bitch this entire week! Locking my girlfriend and my friends in a damn cell like animals—"
"I wasn’t doing that to—"
"I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU WERE DOING IT FOR!" Clawdeen roared, her voice echoing through the halls.
Bloodgood flinched, but Clawdeen wasn’t done.
"Do you have ANY idea how traumatizing that was for them? Do you have ANY idea how much we had to comfort them after your little stunt?"
Before Bloodgood could respond, Clawdeen’s eyes flashed with rage.
The air was heavy with sorrow. The living room, usually lively and warm, felt cold, suffocating.
Cleo sat curled up on the couch, her makeup running down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably. The mighty Cleo de Nile, reduced to a crying mess.
Frankie paced back and forth, hands clenched into fists, their stitches sparking wildly with unstable electricity. Every few minutes, they’d pick up an object—a pillow, a book, anything—and throw it against the wall with a furious yell. "HOW COULD SHE DO THIS?! HOW COULD SHE JUST LOCK US UP LIKE THAT?! DOES SHE THINK WE’RE ANIMALS?!"
Lagoona sat next to Cleo, her usually calm demeanor shattered as she seethed with anger. Gigi sat beside her, arms crossed, her eyes dark with fury. They both fumed, their anger focused entirely on one person.
"That bloody nightmare almost got Gil and Ryder killed!" Lagoona hissed, her fists shaking.
Gigi nodded, her nails digging into her arms. "And for what? To impress some crusty old council?!"
Across the room, Meowlody and Purrsephone sat in the corner, their ears flattened, their tails wrapped tightly around themselves. But it wasn’t just them. Toralei was huddled between them, unusually silent, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The three of them sat in a small pile, holding each other, their usual sharp tongues nowhere to be found.
And then there was Abbey.
Abbey, who stood near the door, breathing heavily, her breath fogging up the air. Abbey, who clenched her fists so tightly that frost formed over her knuckles. Abbey, who was so utterly, bone-chillingly furious that even Clawdeen and others had to step in.
"She hurt Heath," Abbey growled, her thick accent dripping with venom. "She hurt Heath, and I will KILL her for it."
Clawdeen, Draculaura, and Ghoulia had to physically hold her back, digging their claws into the yeti’s arms to stop her from storming out the door and marching straight back to Monster High to freeze Bloodgood to death.
It took everything in Clawdeen and the others to keep the group together, to keep everyone from breaking down completely.
Clawdeen’s breathing was heavy as she finished recalling that horrible night. She glared at Bloodgood with pure, unfiltered rage.
"You don’t get to explain your reasoning," she growled. "You don’t get to justify what you did. And you sure as hell don’t get to expect everyone to bow down to you after what you did yesterday."
Bloodgood opened her mouth, her brain scrambling for a response, but she found nothing. What could she say? What could she say that would make anything better?
She knew Clawdeen was furious. And with the way the werewolf was flexing her claws, she wasn’t entirely sure Clawdeen wouldn’t punch her right then and there.
So, instead of risking another slap—or worse—Bloodgood exhaled sharply and grumbled, "Just… head back to class."
Clawdeen scoffed, shaking her head before grabbing Toralei’s hand and walking away.
Bloodgood let out a quiet sigh of relief.
But then Toralei stopped.
The werecat turned back, looking at Bloodgood over her shoulder.
And with a smirk, she lifted her hand.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion…
She flipped her off.
Bloodgood’s shoulders tensed as Toralei walked off, laughing under her breath.
And as the two ghouls disappeared down the hall, Bloodgood stood there, the weight of her guilt pressing down harder than ever.
Bloodgood continued to roam the halls, her nerves frayed from the encounters she had already endured. Every conversation seemed to be the same—defiance, arrogance, an utter refusal to listen.
Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she turned a corner, only to spot a lone figure leaning against the lockers, tapping away on her I-Coffin.
Ghoulia Yelps.
Bloodgood exhaled a sigh of relief. Finally, someone reasonable.
She approached the zombie with measured steps, keeping her posture firm yet relaxed. "Ghoulia," she greeted, standing before her. "A word, if you don’t mind."
No response.
Ghoulia didn’t even glance up from her phone, her fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Bloodgood frowned. "Ghoulia," she repeated, trying again. "I know you're usually more level-headed than your friends. I need someone rational right now, someone who can see what's happening around them and understand the severity of it."
Still nothing.
Bloodgood furrowed her brows. "Ghoulia?"
No reaction.
The zombie remained fixated on her phone, her thumbs moving faster than Bloodgood had ever seen. It was almost unsettling how quickly she was typing.
Bloodgood clenched her jaw. "Ghoulia, I need your attention—this is important!"
Silence.
She narrowed her eyes, feeling her patience run thin.
"GHOULIA!"
Nothing.
Ghoulia continued typing, not even acknowledging her presence.
Bloodgood’s eye twitched. She had been dismissed by Robecca. She had been screamed at by Clawdeen. She had nearly been punched over this madness. And now she was being completely ignored?
No. She wasn’t going to be ignored.
Before she could think twice, Bloodgood reached forward and snatched the I-Coffin right out of Ghoulia’s hands.
"Enough!" she snapped, holding the phone aloft. "I have been patient! I have been reasonable! But you students are out of control! What could possibly be so important that you can’t even acknowledge when someone is speaking to you?!"
She turned the screen toward herself, expecting to see Ghoulia’s usual text exchanges—perhaps something about homework or an online debate about monster literature.
What she saw instead made her freeze.
Bloodgood’s breath hitched.
Her face drained of color.
Her grip on the phone nearly slipped.
Right there, displayed in the text thread, was an explicit, vividly detailed exchange between Ghoulia and her boyfriend, Slo-Mo.
Her eyes darted over the messages in stunned horror.
Ghoulia: I need u to pick me up, hold me in the air, and use that big, dumb monster cock to ravage my insides until I can’t walk. 😘💦💀
Slo-Mo: Ghoulia, babe, are you serious right now? I’m hanging out with friends. 😳
Ghoulia: I’m serious as a heart attack. I need you to come over after school, throw me on my bed, and absolutely wreck me. 😘🔥
Slo-Mo: Ghoulie, we talked about this… You sure you wanna do all that? 😵💫
Ghoulia: I’m positive. Don’t act all shy now—I know you liked what we did in the locker room on Tuesday. You said next time, you’d go even harder remember? 😏🔥
Slo-Mo: I mean… yeah, I did say that, but damn, Ghoulia… You’re really Tryna make me lose my mind today, huh? 🤯
Ghoulia: Oh, I want you to lose your mind, baby. I want you to lose all that sweet, dumb restraint and rail me like a zombie gone feral. And I don’t want you stopping until I can’t even form a sentence. 😘💋
Slo-Mo: Shit… Okay, okay, after school, your place. But if we do this, don’t expect me to hold back. 😏
Ghoulia: That’s exactly what I’m hoping for. I’m expecting you at my house after school. Don’t keep me waiting, babe. 😘🔥 😘🔥💦
Bloodgood’s stomach churned.
She felt her eye twitch as she reread the messages, her fingers gripping the phone so tightly she feared she might crush it.
Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Ghoulia, who was watching her with a completely neutral expression.
The zombie just… shrugged.
SHRUGGED!
Bloodgood’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She was utterly, completely speechless.
Ghoulia reached out expectantly, wiggling her fingers as if to say, "Can I have my phone back, please?"
Bloodgood, still shell-shocked, wordlessly handed the I-Coffin back to her.
Ghoulia took it, nodded in appreciation, and immediately resumed typing—probably sending more of her… depraved messages to Slo-Mo.
Bloodgood pressed her lips together, inhaled sharply, and placed a hand on her forehead. "Just… head to class, Ghoulia," she muttered, her voice weak.
Ghoulia, unfazed, simply gave a lazy wave and strolled off, still texting.
Bloodgood remained standing there, staring blankly at the empty hallway ahead of her.
This was beyond out of control.
This was something else.
The aphrodisiac had turned Ghoulia into a mega freak.
Bloodgood straightened her coat and took a deep breath. She had been screamed at, insulted, and utterly humiliated today, but she wasn't going to let that deter her. There was still hope—still a chance to reason with someone.
She set her sights on Abbey and Heath.
Abbey had always been one of the more level-headed students. She was blunt, yes, but she had a strong moral compass and a firm sense of right and wrong. Heath, for all his immaturity, was a surprisingly decent guy when it came to things that truly mattered.
Maybe, just maybe, they could be the bridge between her and the rest of the students.
Bloodgood steeled herself and set off.
A few minutes later…
Bloodgood lay on the cold, hard floor, groaning as she clutched her bleeding nose.
The impact had been hard. Her vision blurred for a moment, her ears ringing as she tried to process what just happened.
Above her, Abbey still looked ready to kill her, her fists clenched at her sides, her breath heavy with barely contained rage. She was only being held back because Heath had wrapped his arms around her from behind, keeping her restrained as she fought against him.
Her icy blue skin was flushed with fury, and her eyes burned like frozen fire.
"Abbey, babe—babe, stop! Just—chill! Chill!" Heath pleaded, struggling to keep her from lunging forward again. "You already decked her once, and I really don’t wanna have to explain to anyone why you turned the headmistress into an ice sculpture!"
Abbey snarled in frustration but didn't try to break free again.
Bloodgood groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as she gingerly touched her nose. When she pulled her hand away, she saw crimson smeared across her fingertips.
Great. Just great.
It had all started so well.
The conversation had been civil at first, if a bit tense. Bloodgood had tried to reach out, had tried to connect with Abbey, reminding her that she had personally taken her in when she first arrived at Monster High, that she cared about her.
For a moment, Abbey had seemed willing to listen.
Then, Bloodgood had said something stupid.
She wasn’t even sure what, exactly, had triggered the outburst—whether it was her attempt to justify the previous day's punishments, her insistence that she was only trying to do what was best, or maybe some offhanded comment about Heath that came out completely wrong.
Whatever it was, Abbey’s eyes had darkened, her body had gone rigid, and then—
WHAM.
One solid punch to the face, and down Bloodgood went.
Now, here they were.
Abbey inhaled sharply through her nose, then exhaled, clearly trying to cool her temper. She cast one last scathing look at Bloodgood before shaking her head and stepping back.
"Not worth it," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Bloodgood tried to regain some sense of authority, pushing herself to her feet despite the throbbing pain in her face. "Abbey, I—"
Abbey snorted and shot her a glare. "Save breath, Bloodgood. Words mean nothing after actions you make."
With that, she turned on her heel and strode away, her heavy boots clunking against the tile floor.
Heath gave Bloodgood a long look, his expression unreadable.
Then, in a calm, quiet voice, he said, "You deserve it."
Bloodgood’s breath caught.
She didn’t get a chance to respond.
Heath turned and followed after Abbey, leaving Bloodgood standing alone in the hallway—nursing her bleeding nose and feeling smaller than ever.
Bloodgood stormed down the halls, her patience thinner than ever, her cheek still throbbing from Robeeca's slap, and her nose aching from Abbey’s punch. Her uniform was slightly disheveled, and she could feel the dried blood crusting under her nostrils, but she barely cared.
Everywhere she turned, more students were indulging in their debauchery—making out against lockers, disappearing into empty classrooms, whispering filthy things to each other without a care in the world.
She snarled under her breath, resisting the urge to start slamming heads together.
Then she saw them.
Cleo and Deuce—practically devouring each other against a wall.
Deuce had Cleo pinned between him and the stone, one hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her jaw. Cleo clung to him, her manicured nails digging into his shoulders as she moaned against his lips.
Bloodgood snapped.
"ENOUGH!!!"
Her voice boomed through the hallway, rattling the lockers.
Cleo and Deuce jerked apart, startled. Cleo’s lipstick was smeared, her hair slightly tousled, while Deuce blinked rapidly like he was shaking off a trance.
“What in the name of all things sacred do you think you’re doing!?” Bloodgood roared, her fists clenched. “This is a school, not a brothel!”
Cleo wiped the back of her hand across her lips, looking more annoyed than embarrassed. "Ugh, how dare you interrupt us?!"
“Seriously, what is your problem today?” Deuce muttered, adjusting his jacket.
“My problem—” Bloodgood’s eye twitched, her voice dripping with venom. “—is that none of you seem to have an ounce of self-control!”
Cleo rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Like you've never been young before."
Bloodgood's nostrils flared. "Young is one thing. Acting like a pack of wild animals is another!"
Cleo scoffed. "Spare me the lecture, Headmistress. I can do whatever I want. And frankly, I’ve had about enough of your sanctimonious attitude."
That was it. That was the last straw.
Bloodgood’s lip curled, and her words came out like a whip crack:
“Maybe if you weren’t such a spoiled brat who couldn’t stop herself from spreading her legs, you wouldn’t have gotten locked up in the first place.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Cleo’s eyes went wide.
Deuce froze beside her.
Then Cleo’s expression darkened—her jaw tightening, her entire body going rigid as her nostrils flared in absolute rage.
“What,” she said, her voice a deadly whisper, “did you just say to me?”
Deuce’s hands curled into fists. "The hell is wrong with you!?" he snapped, stepping forward. “You think you can talk to her like that!?”
Bloodgood knew she’d crossed a line. But she was too tired, too angry to care.
“Oh, forgive me,” she sneered. “Am I supposed to bow to you, Cleo? Treat you like royalty? Maybe if you had an ounce of self-restraint, you and the others wouldn't have gotten locked up in the first place!”
Cleo let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, slowly, she stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with icy malice.
“You listen to me, and you listen well,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “If you ever—and I mean ever—do something like that again, I will personally see to it that your reputation is ruined.”
Bloodgood stiffened.
“My father has connections,” Cleo continued, her smirk turning cruel. “And I could have your entire life destroyed in. a. heartbeat.”
She held her gaze for a long, heavy moment before turning on her heel and striding away, her golden jewelry jingling softly with every step.
Deuce lingered, staring at Bloodgood with barely restrained fury.
“You won’t have to worry about her dad,” he said coldly.
Bloodgood met his gaze, trying to maintain her authority, but the look in his eyes made her pause.
Then—slowly—Deuce reached up and pulled his shades down just enough for her to see his glowing green serpentine eyes.
"I’ll stonewall your ass myself," he warned.
The message was crystal clear.
Then, without another word, he slid his glasses back up, turned, and walked off after Cleo, leaving Bloodgood seething—but also, deep down, feeling something disturbingly close to unease.
Bloodgood sat on the front steps of Monster High, staring out at the courtyard with a hollow expression. She had come outside to clear her head, but the fresh air did little to ease the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.
She had lost them.
All of them.
Everywhere she looked, she could see the consequences of her actions. Groups of students shot her glares as they passed, whispering behind her back. Others didn't even acknowledge her presence, as if she were already dead to them. It was like a wound had been carved between her and the student body—one that wouldn't heal anytime soon.
She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought she was protecting them.
Instead, she had only driven them further away.
Her grip tightened on the edge of the steps, her jaw clenching. She refused to believe this was beyond saving. There had to be someone she could still reach—someone who hadn’t completely succumbed to this madness.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her.
Frankie Stein.
She was sitting on a bench near the courtyard, idly scrolling through her iCoffin, seemingly lost in thought. Bloodgood’s eyes narrowed slightly as memories flooded back—when all this chaos first started, Frankie had been one of the only ones acting normal.
Then Cleo had dragged her into that damn seminar.
And just like that, she had become just as crazed as the rest of them.
Bloodgood felt something desperate stir in her chest.
This was her chance.
She stood up, steeling herself, and made her way over to Frankie.
The moment Frankie saw her approaching, she immediately started to stand.
"I don't wanna hear it," she muttered, already turning to leave.
"Wait!" Bloodgood pleaded. "Please, just—just sit down for a moment."
Frankie hesitated.
She was still angry—Bloodgood could see it in her eyes. But after a long moment, she sighed and reluctantly sat back down.
Bloodgood wasted no time.
"Frankie, please—you have to see that something is wrong here," she said, her voice raw with frustration. "You weren't like this before. You were one of the only students who wasn't affected. Don't you see what Cleo did to you?"
Frankie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Cleo didn't do anything to me. She just helped me. If anything, I should be thanking her."
Bloodgood’s heart sank.
"You don't believe that," she said, shaking her head. "You wouldn't have needed help if she hadn’t dragged you into that seminar in the first place! You were fine before, Frankie. You were thinking clearly."
Frankie let out a short, bitter laugh. "Clearly? Oh, you mean like you? The woman who thought it was a great idea to lock me up in a cell like some criminal?"
Bloodgood flinched.
"You separated me from my friends. From Jackson AND Holt," Frankie continued, her voice growing sharper. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? I was scared, alone, and pissed off. And for what? Because I wasn't acting the way you wanted me to?"
Bloodgood opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Frankie shook her head. "Unbelievable."
Bloodgood gritted her teeth, her fingers curling into fists. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but she knew—deep down—that Frankie was right.
She had gone too far.
But she couldn't back down now.
"Frankie, please," she said, softer this time. "I know you're angry. And I know I messed up. But I need you to promise me one thing."
Frankie narrowed her eyes. "What?"
Bloodgood took a deep breath.
"When this is all over, really talk to Jackson and Holt about your relationship," she said firmly. "Make sure his—or their—feelings are genuine. Make sure this is what you truly want."
Frankie stared at her for a long moment.
Then, finally, she sighed. "...Fine. I promise."
Relief flooded through Bloodgood's chest.
But it didn't last long.
"That doesn't mean we're cool right now," Frankie added sharply. "Because we’re not."
Bloodgood's expression fell slightly.
Frankie stood up, stuffing her iCoffin into her pocket. "I'll talk to Jackson. But you? You need to stay the HELL out of my life."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Bloodgood alone on the steps once more.
Bloodgood exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.
One step forward, ten steps back.
Bloodgood massaged her temples as she stepped into the teachers' lounge. The talks she had all day had left her drained, and she needed a moment to gather herself before facing the rest of the school.
The sight before her was grim.
Rotter was slumped in a chair, glasses askew, rubbing his forehead as though trying to physically push out the headache forming there. Coach Igor sat on the couch, staring blankly into space like a man who had seen horrors beyond comprehension. Miss Kindergrubber was gripping a half-empty cup of coffee so tightly it looked like it might shatter in her hand.
And then there was Mr. Where.
He sat stiffly at the round table, a barely-touched plate of food in front of him. His face was pale, his usually calm expression completely gone. He was muttering something under his breath, but Bloodgood could only make out scattered words.
“…never should have taken this job… literature… not this…”
Bloodgood took a cautious step inside. “I assume the day didn’t go well?”
That seemed to snap them out of their daze.
Rotter let out a harsh laugh. “Headmistress, I think this was the worst day of my entire career.”
Bloodgood sighed. “What happened?”
Coach Igor grunted. “Had to break up a foursome behind the bleachers during gym class.”
Bloodgood blinked. “…A what?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Miss Kindergrubber huffed, downing the rest of her coffee in one gulp. “Two students decided my classroom was ze perfect place to… how do they say it? ‘Live out zheir forbidden love.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, her normally pristine apron slightly ruffled. “One of Zehm called me a tyrant of desire.”
Bloodgood raised an eyebrow. “Did you throw them out?”
“Oh no, I threw Zehm out,” Kindergrubber confirmed, her voice cold. “They won’t be trying zhat again anytime soon.”
Mr. Verizhe made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “I—I teach poetry. I am supposed to introduce young minds to the wonders of classic literature. Not—” He shuddered, gripping his temples. “Not walk in on two students acting out Romeo and Juliet with full body contact on my desk.”
Bloodgood cringed. “At least they were being romantic?”
Verizhe shot her a look.
She sighed. “Alright, this is worse than I thought.”
Rotter shook his head. “Worse? Headmistress, we’ve reached rock bottom. Every time we think it can’t possibly get any worse, the students prove us wrong.”
Bloodgood didn’t argue.
Because she knew they were right.
And if something wasn’t done soon, the school would descend into complete madness.
She took a deep breath. “I need to check on Hackington.”
Coach Igor scoffed. “If anyone has it worse than us, it’s that guy.”
Bloodgood muttered, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
And with that, she left the lounge, heading straight for the lab.
Bloodgood stood in front of the heavy steel doors of Hackington’s lab, knocking sharply.
“Hackington! It’s Bloodgood—open up.”
No answer.
She knocked again, harder this time. “I know you’re in there.”
Still nothing.
Frustrated, she pulled out her keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
The mess inside made her stomach drop.
Papers were everywhere, lab equipment was in complete disarray, and the entire whiteboard was covered in frantic notes and formulas. A half-empty pot of coffee sat abandoned on a nearby table, next to what looked like a stack of completely untouched food containers.
And at the center of the chaos, hunched over a microscope, was Hackington.
His usually somewhat-groomed appearance was in ruins. His mask was tattered, his apron wrinkled, and his glasses perched askew on his nose. He hadn’t even noticed her come in.
Bloodgood frowned. “Have you slept?”
No response.
She stepped closer. “Hackington—”
“I don’t have time to sleep.” His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours.
Bloodgood exhaled. “The students are getting worse. Whatever’s in that gas, it’s making them more unstable by the day.”
Hackington didn’t react. He just scribbled something onto a notepad, eyes locked onto his microscope.
Bloodgood narrowed her eyes. “You do have a cure coming, right?”
That made him stop.
Slowly, he lifted his head, fixing her with a tired glare.
“Do you think I’m not trying?” His voice was quiet but strained.
Bloodgood frowned. “I’m just saying—”
“NO.” Hackington slammed his hands onto the table, making the beakers rattle. “DO YOU THINK I’M NOT TRYING?!”
Bloodgood stepped back, startled.
Hackington was shaking.
“This isn’t some—some school science project, Bloodgood!” he snapped. “This isn’t a test, or an experiment I can afford to mess up! This is the only thing standing between us and total societal collapse!” His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “Every second that goes by, this school slips further into madness, and if I don’t fix my mistake soon, there won’t be anything left to fix!”
The lab went silent.
Hackington took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing his temples. “…I didn’t mean to yell.”
Bloodgood hesitated before nodding. “No, I—I get it. You’re under a lot of pressure. I just…” She sighed. “I’m worried. About the students, about the school—and about you.”
Hackington let out a hollow chuckle. “I appreciate the concern, but what I really need is time. And every second I spend talking is a second I could be using to save this damn school.”
Bloodgood studied him carefully before finally conceding. “…Alright. I’ll back off.” She gestured toward the untouched food on the table. “But eat something, Hackington. And get at least an hour of sleep before you collapse on the floor.”
Hackington didn’t respond, already turning back to his work.
Bloodgood watched him for a moment longer before sighing and quietly exiting the lab.
She wanted to feel reassured.
But instead, she felt like a countdown had just started.
And she had no idea how much time was left.
Eventually, the final bell for the day rang, signaling the end of classes. The halls filled with the sounds of lockers slamming, excited chatter, and hurried footsteps as students gathered their things and made their way toward the exit.
Bloodgood stood near the entrance, arms crossed as she watched them leave. Her expression remained neutral, but each glare, each hushed whisper, each pointed look of betrayal and resentment struck her like a physical blow.
She had never felt so alienated from her own students before.
This was supposed to be her school—her home—and yet, for the first time, it felt like she was an outsider looking in.
But amidst the cold stares and bitter glances, something else caught her attention.
Snippets of conversations drifted past her, spoken in hushed yet excited tones.
“I can’t wait for tonight! You bringing the glow paint?”
“Bro, I swear, this is gonna be legendary.”
“You think they’ll dim the lights this year? I hope so.”
“We’re going ALL OUT tonight.”
“They have no idea what’s coming.”
Bloodgood’s brows furrowed.
This was different from the usual gossip and flirtatious murmurs she had been hearing all week. These weren’t just hormone-fueled ramblings—there was a distinct anticipation in their voices. A purpose.
What the hell are they talking about?
Then, one sentence cut through the noise like a dagger:
“This dance is going to be legendary.”
Bloodgood blinked.
Dance?
Her mind reeled. What dance?
Monster High hadn’t scheduled any parties—at least, not since the last catastrophic school event.
Normally, when some giant creature or villain attacked the school, the students would band together, defeat the threat, and then throw a massive party to celebrate their victory. That was just the way things worked.
But this week, there hadn’t been any monsters to fight—just the students themselves, consumed by the madness the gas had unleashed.
So what were they so excited about?
She mulled over this as the final students exited, her mind racing to connect the dots. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put her finger on what was—
“Something wrong, Headmistress?”
Bloodgood snapped out of her thoughts, turning to see Mr. Rotter approaching, looking beyond exhausted. His tie was slightly loosened, his normally sharp suit had wrinkles, and the bags under his eyes were deep enough to hold a conversation.
Days of dealing with sex-crazed students had worn him down.
She exhaled sharply. “Mr. Rotter, do you know anything about a dance?”
Rotter raised an eyebrow. “Headmistress… it’s Friday.”
Bloodgood stared at him.
“Okay… and?” she asked slowly.
Rotter gave her a long, flat look.
“…Tonight is the night of the Monster Mash Dance.”
Silence.
Bloodgood’s blood turned to ice.
Her eyes widened so much it looked like they were about to pop out of her skull.
She had completely forgotten.
With everything that had happened over the past week—the gas, the hysteria, the absolute loss of control—she hadn’t even thought about the fact that this was happening tonight.
And now, thousands of students from across the globe were gathering for the event, all about to witness her students acting like wild animals.
Because the thing about the Monster Mash Dance was…
It wasn’t just for Monster High students.
It was an event for monsters all across the globe.
Creatures from every major monster academy—Haunted High, Himalayan High, West Valley High, Granite City High and many more—would all be attending this event tonight.
Which meant thousands of students.
Thousands of witnesses.
Were all about to see just how badly she had lost control of her school.
And just how crazy her students had become.
Bloodgood felt a pit open in her stomach.
“Oh shit,” she muttered under her breath, barely noticing Mr. Rotter’s startled expression.
Her hands clenched into fists.
“We’re in trouble.”
To be continued....
Notes:
The next chapter is going to be INSANE!
With how long the next part might be, I might split it over 2 or 3 chapters.
So stay tuned folks!
Chapter 10: The Monster Mash Dance (part 1)
Summary:
At the prestigious Monster Mash, Bloodgood struggles to maintain order, forcing students to behave despite the gas’s hold over them.
But beneath the prim and proper surface, a rebellion brews.
Chapter Text
A few hours had passed since the chaos at Monster High, and now, the scene had shifted entirely.
The Grand Crypt stood at the heart of the monster world—a colossal, gothic palace with obsidian spires reaching into the stormy sky. Ethereal blue flames lined the pathways leading to the entrance, flickering without heat, casting ghostly shadows over the massive iron and bone gates. The palace had been around for centuries, serving as the ultimate venue for high-profile monster events, from royal coronations to political summits and, on nights like this, legendary celebrations.
And tonight, it was hosting the Monster Mash.
The massive courtyard outside the crypt was alive with activity as students arrived in every possible way imaginable.
A sleek black hearse pulled up, its wheels screeching as a group of vampire students from Smogsnort’s Vampyr Academy stepped out, dressed in dark velvet suits and glistening silver gowns, their movements eerily smooth as they adjusted their capes.
From the sky, flocks of harpies, gargoyles, and bat-winged creatures descended gracefully, landing with perfect poise before folding their wings against their backs.
A giant whirlpool opened up in the center of the courtyard as students from Himalayan High arrived by boat, stepping onto solid ground as their ice-sculpted gondola melted into mist behind them.
Portals ripped open in the air as students from Haunted High phased in and out of existence, their spectral bodies shifting between corporeal and transparent.
Towering stone creatures from Granite City High stepped out of horse-drawn carriages made of petrified wood, their massive feet shaking the ground slightly with every step.
No matter how they arrived, one thing was clear—this was not just another school dance. This was a global event.
But right now, we shift focus to the students of Monster High.
A sleek, dark-purple carriage with gilded edges rolled up to the entrance, pulled by two massive skeletal horses with burning blue eyes. As the carriage came to a halt, the door swung open, and one by one, the students of Monster High stepped out in their finest attire.
Every single one of them was dressed to impress—their outfits tailored to reflect both their monstrous heritage and their unique personalities.
Frankie, ever the electrifying ghoul, wore a stunning modernized take on the Bride of Frankenstein’s dress. The gown was stitched together with sleek white fabric, lined with jagged blue lightning patterns that sparked faintly in the dim light. Her hair had been styled into thicker white streaks, and silver bolt earrings hung from her ears.
Clawd and Draculaura followed close behind, their outfits contrasting yet complimentary—Draculaura in a Dark, flowing, Victorian Era styled, blood-red ball gown with bat-like lace frills, while Clawd sported a teal, tailored suit with gold embroidery that emphasized his wolfish nature.
Abbey strutted forward, her firey-red dress flickering with a magical shimmer, her outfit reminiscent of a flame princess, complete with a crystal tiara that glowed like enchanted ice. And right beside her, Heath rocked a tuxedo covered in sharp, icy textures, the deep blue fabric patterned with frosty flames.
Cleo and Deuce made a statement together, stepping out in coordinated Egyptian royalty attire. Cleo’s flowing golden gown trailed behind her like liquid light, adorned with blue gemstones that gleamed under the crypt’s eerie glow and a large tiara that shined bright like a diamond. Deuce, standing tall beside her, wore a dark-green suit with gold serpentine embroidery, his usual shades replaced with ornate, gem-encrusted eyewear fit for a pharaoh’s court.
Jackson, looking sharp as ever, rocked a yin-yang, two-face styled tuxedo, one side pristine white with black accents, the other black with electric blue highlights, reflecting the duality of his existence. His bow tie flickered slightly, shifting colors in response to his emotions.
Gil, stepping out with Lagoona on his arm, wore a sleek seaweed-textured tuxedo, the fabric subtly moving as if it were alive, shifting between shades of deep blue and shimmering teal. Lagoona herself dazzled in a pearlescent mermaid-cut dress, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders.
Not every outfit was a perfect fit, though.
Spectra hovered slightly off the ground, her gothic-inspired dress flowing around her in wisps of purple mist. However, the massive, exaggerated shoulder pads on her outfit were causing… issues. Porter, standing beside her, smirked as he adjusted one.
“I look ridiculous,” she muttered.
“No, no,” Porter smirked, tilting his head. “You look like a damn queen, babe.” he murmured, running a hand along her waist.
Spectra grinned, letting her fingers dance up his arm. “Mmm, and you look like you’re about to break a few rules tonight.”
Kiyomi, standing next to them, rolled her eyes playfully. “You two are insufferable.”
Meanwhile, at the back of the group, Operetta and Scarah were making some last-minute adjustments to their dresses.
They had both needed to alter their outfits at the last second to hide their pregnancies, choosing flowing designs that didn’t hug their forms too tightly. Operetta’s gown was a deep crimson with musical note embroidery, while Scarah opted for a shimmering emerald dress, her hair pulled into a regal updo.
Despite the rush-job modifications, they still looked stunning.
As the students mingled outside the Grand Crypt, the compliments turned downright sinful.
“Damn, Frankie, you look good enough to conduct,” Jackson muttered, his eyes lingering on her.
Clawdeen whistled low, her gaze flicking over Draculaura. “Lala, you wear that dress any tighter, and Clawd’s gonna be howling all night.”
Abbey smirked, gripping Heath’s tie and yanking him close. “You better be careful, fire boy. You look so good, I might melt your tux right off.”
Cleo slid a sultry hand down Deuce’s arm, letting her nails drag just slightly. “Mmm, looking like a full-course meal, deucey.”
Deuce chuckled, his smirk turning wicked. “Oh, you’re one to talk.”
Laughter echoed through the air as the students soaked in each other’s presence, the air thick with unspoken tension.
But beneath the surface, something was… off.
Some students were carrying… odd items.
Lagoona discreetly tucked a remote into the folds of her dress. A few of the other ghouls were handing small, canned buckets to Gigi, who, with a flick of her wrist, sent them spiraling into her pocket dimension for safekeeping.
Glowsticks, strange trinkets, and even small, hidden vials—they weren’t overtly suspicious, but there was an unspoken agreement among them.
And then, there were the marks.
Despite being fully dressed, subtle, almost unnoticeable stains of weird, glowing colors marred the exposed parts of their skin—soft pinks, blues, purples…
Too faint to draw immediate suspicion, but there was no denying that something was there.
And yet, nobody spoke of it.
Instead, as they ascended the grand staircase into the lavish ballroom, the only thing on their lips was excitement.
“Tonight’s gonna be wild,” Clawdeen grinned, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
Frankie smirked. “Oh, you have no idea.”
The doors to the Grand Crypt’s legendary ballroom creaked open.
The Monster Mash had begun.
The ballroom could only be described as something out of a dark, gothic fairytale. Its ceiling soared high above them, a seemingly endless stretch of stone ribbing that disappeared into the darkness.
Glowing luminescent orbs floated above the dance floor, bathing the room in soft, ethereal blue light. At the far end, an open-floor stage stood grandly, surrounded by a ring of circular tables, each decorated with elaborate monster-themed centerpieces—skulls, candelabras dripping with eerie green wax, and cobweb-like lace.
The students gazed in wide-eyed amazement at the scenery, and the Monster High students in particular could feel the electric anticipation in the air. Knowing that tonight would be a wild ride.
But before anyone could get onto the dance floor, Headmistress Bloodgood made her way onto the stage, tapping the mic to grab everyone’s attention.
“Welcome, monsters from all across the world, to this year’s Monster Mash dance,” Bloodgood announced with enthusiasm, her eyes scanning the sea of students, many of them her own. “I’m sure all of you are excited for tonight’s events?”
A massive cheer erupted, confirming her assumption. But before the excitement could build any further, she lifted a hand, signaling for silence.
“Before we begin, however,” she continued, her tone shifting to a more authoritative one, “there are a few ground rules that need to be established due to some… ‘events’ that have been happening lately.”
A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd, while the Monster High students—especially the ghouls and their boyfriends—narrowed their eyes.
“For starters, there will be NO inappropriate music,” Bloodgood stated firmly. “I know some of you suggested songs that may seem normal, but upon closer inspection, they contained rather… suggestive lyrics.”
Groans echoed through the crowd. Some of the students begrudgingly admitted that was fair.
In the back of Jackson’s mind, Holt smacked his lips, annoyed.
“Second,” Bloodgood continued, “there will be no inappropriate forms of dance allowed.” Her sharp gaze scanned certain students in the audience. “That means no grinding, no overly sensual dancing, and most importantly—NO twerking.”
Some students raised their eyebrows at that. Sure, they got a little crazy on the dance floor, but twerking? Wasn’t that more of a human thing?
The Monster High students, however, were glaring absolute daggers at Bloodgood.
She could feel their rage radiating off them, but she stood her ground.
“And last but not least,” she went on, her tone shifting to something more explanatory, “we ask students to refrain from excessive PDA. I know some of you want to make this a special night for your partner, but we need to keep the party appropriate and respectful for everyone.”
Scattered sighs and boos filled the room, but no one openly protested.
“Failure to follow these rules,” Bloodgood stated, her voice regaining its strict edge, “will result in the security guards you see stationed around the ballroom escorting you out and permanently banning you from this cathedral. So if you wish to stay for the party, you will follow. The. Rules.”
The students from other schools were mildly annoyed but didn’t see the big deal. It was still a party—what harm could a few rules do?
“Alright, now that we have that settled,” Bloodgood said, her sternness replaced with a warm smile, “let’s have a good time tonight. And remember—you’re monsters! Have fun!”
The students erupted into cheers as the music kicked in.
As Bloodgood watched over the crowd from the side of the stage, arms crossed in what she thought was a position of authority, she suddenly felt a presence beside her.
A deep voice cut through the music, laced with irritation.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Bloodgood didn’t even flinch at the bluntness of the question. Without even turning her head, she immediately recognized that annoyed, gravelly voice.
Mr. Rotter.
The gaunt, sunken-eyed teacher stood with his arms folded, his usual unimpressed scowl even more irritated than usual.
Bloodgood sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m doing what I should have done days ago—keeping the students in line.”
Rotter let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Keeping them in line? You really think this is going to work? Trying to suppress their urges is only going to make them worse! We both know that. Hell, Hackington himself warned us about it!”
He motioned towards the Monster High students, all of whom were practically vibrating in frustration.
“You see them over there? They look two seconds away from losing their damn minds, Bloodgood. And after everything you pulled yesterday, you think this is a good idea?”
Bloodgood’s jaw tightened at the mention of yesterday.
The riot. The fight with the guards. The Council almost shutting them down because of what had happened.
She clenched her fists. “The students already made me look like a fool in front of the Monster Council. I am NOT about to let them do the same in front of students and principals from all across the world.”
Rotter scoffed. “And how exactly do you think this is gonna go? You honestly believe that after everything this week, after everything they’ve done, that they’re just gonna sit there like good little monsters? You think they’re just gonna let this slide?”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice but making it even sharper. “Have you not been paying attention to how this week has gone? Every time you’ve tried to stop them, they’ve rebelled. Every time you’ve pushed back, they’ve pushed ten times harder.”
Bloodgood didn’t waver. “Not this time.”
Rotter narrowed his eyes. “And why’s that?”
A smirk tugged at the corners of Bloodgood’s lips. “Because this time, there are hundreds of security guards stationed around the ballroom.”
She gestured subtly towards the edges of the room, where dozens of guards stood at attention, their expressions cold and unreadable. “These guards are trained for this. They’re equipped with everything needed to handle this situation. And with the other precautions I’ve taken, there is zero chance that the students will start acting wild.”
Rotter raised an eyebrow. “You mean the same guards that got their asses kicked by a bunch of horny, feral teenage monsters?”
Bloodgood’s smirk faltered for just a second, but she recovered quickly. “That won’t happen again. These guards are better trained, better prepared, and there are far more of them. I have every possible scenario accounted for.”
Rotter stared at her, his disbelief obvious. “And what, exactly, is your plan? What’s the end goal here? You think you can just… force them to behave? That you can just make them ignore the gas and dance like normal students?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t stop this. That’s not how this works. You know that’s not how this works.”
Bloodgood folded her arms again. “They’re just going to have to learn to dance without doing something as… as ridiculous as twerking.”
Rotter’s expression was completely deadpan. “You do realize that telling them not to do something is just going to make them want to do it more, right?”
Bloodgood gave a sharp sigh. “I don’t care. This is a formal event, and I will not have my school looking like a circus act in front of the entire monster world.”
Rotter exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Fine.” He turned on his heel, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “You go ahead and think you won, Bloodgood. But I’m telling you—this isn’t a victory. This is a bomb, and all you’ve done is set the fuse.”
Bloodgood didn’t respond, merely watching as Rotter walked away, his shoulders tense with frustration.
For a moment, she felt confident.
But she knew, deep down, that Rotter was right.
She just had to hope that the boys could keep it in their pants for one night. That the girls could keep their… 'sexy sides' under wraps until the party was over.
But that was a big ask.
The guards stood ready at the entrances and exit points of the dance, watching the writhing mass of students like hawks. They had heard all the stories about what had happened to their fellow officers the night before—some of their own were still in the hospital. They weren’t about to let Monster High humiliate them again.
Not tonight.
They kept their patrol tight, scanning for the slightest hint of indecency, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. Then, suddenly, their radios crackled to life.
"All units to the theatre room on the 3rd floor, we’ve got a code red!"
The urgency in the voice sent a chill through them.
It was their commanding officer.
At first, they hesitated. They knew the students would take advantage of their absence. They could already imagine the chaos that would erupt the moment they left their posts.
But then… an unease settled over them.
What if this was serious?
What if something bad had happened?
Visions of catastrophe filled their minds—fire, collapse, injured students bleeding beneath rubble. Their duty was to maintain order, but they had sworn to protect as well. They couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
Without another thought, the guards abandoned their positions and bolted for the front entrance, heading straight for the source of the danger.
From the shadows, Operetta watched them go, a satisfied smirk playing at her lips. She pulled out a small device and lifted it to her lips, whispering something into it.
She let out a small chuckle before resting a hand on her stomach, feeling the faint rhythm of a second heartbeat.
“Can’t wait to tell ya all about this in the future, darlin’,” she whispered.
Meanwhile, the guards sprinted through the halls, their heavy boots pounding against the floor. The sense of urgency only grew as they approached the theater room. Their commanding officer was already there, frantically waving his arms.
“What’s the situation, boss?” one of them asked, barely catching his breath.
“The theater collapsed.” The officer’s voice was sharp with panic. “Some kids snuck in during the dance. All of them are trapped.”
A werewolf guard stepped forward and pressed his ear against the door. For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then—screams.
Faint, but unmistakable.
The wolf turned back, his ears flattened. “We’ve got about six kids in there. We need to move fast—the room could collapse any second, and it’s right above the ballroom!”
“Bring out the battering ram!” one of the guards shouted.
“NO!” the leader snapped. “Too much force could cause more damage. Fire boy, get over here!”
One of the elemental guards stepped up, igniting a small flame at his fingertips. Within seconds, the lock was melted away, and they burst into the room.
Chaos met them. Students lay sprawled across the floor, pinned beneath broken beams and shattered set pieces.
“Hang on! We’re gonna get you out of here!” another guard shouted, moving to help.
But then—
Everything shifted.
The devastation melted away. The broken stage was suddenly whole again. The lights, once shattered, gleamed as if they had never been touched. The trapped students? Gone.
The guards froze, their minds struggling to process what had just happened.
“What…?” one of them whispered.
Then, a sharp clatter echoed through the room.
Their magical amulets—charms Bloodgood had provided for protection—ripped free from their uniforms, as if yanked by an invisible force.
“Hey, what th—”
"Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti!"
A blinding green light engulfed the room. The guards barely had time to turn before their commanding officer raised a hand, unleashing a pulse of magic.
In an instant, their bodies shrunk, their voices contorting into frantic squeaks and yelps.
Where once stood battle-hardened guards, now sat a collection of tiny, helpless animals.
The officer let out a low chuckle as his eyes glowed with a familar green hue.
She pulled out a walkie-talkie, his lips curling into a smirk.
He whispers a command inside and he places it back into his pocket.
He glanced down at the panicked creatures at his feet, watching as a particularly scrappy hamster tried to charge at him in vain.
“You’ll all turn back in a few hours… maybe.”
With a satisfied hum, he turned on her heel, exiting the room and locking the door behind him.
As he strolled down the hallway, he paused by a supply closet and leaned in close.
“See you after the party,” he cooed.
Inside, a furious little chihuahua yapped and clawed at the door.
The 'Head Officer' merely laughed and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Bloodgood made her way toward the back of the ballroom, where the other teachers and principals were gathered. They were engaged in quiet conversation, sipping refreshments, and keeping a careful but casual eye on the students. The atmosphere here was far removed from the chaotic energy of the dance floor—it was orderly, composed… controlled.
Just the way she needed it to stay.
As she took a seat, she let out a slow breath, smoothing down her jacket.
"Headmistress Bloodgood," a low, hollow voice spoke beside her.
She turned to see Principal Revenant of Haunted High regarding her with his usual vacant stare, his translucent form flickering slightly in the dim lighting. Though his face barely showed emotion, there was a hint of concern in his tone.
"You seem… troubled," he observed.
Bloodgood forced a small smile, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just… dealing with a few rowdy students.”
Revenant nodded slowly. “That is to be expected at an event such as this. Young monsters are full of energy… it is only natural that they wish to let it out.”
Bloodgood exhaled through her nose. “Yes… but not like this.”
Revenant raised an eyebrow, but she press for more info.
She reached for a cup of tea on the table before her, taking a careful sip.
As the warm liquid soothed her nerves, her eyes drifted across the room—until they landed on a particular figure.
Mr. Rotter.
He was standing in the corner, arms crossed, a cold, unforgiving glare locked onto her. His sharp, skeletal features were set in pure disdain, and she immediately knew what he was thinking.
That damn line…
"This is a bomb, and all you’ve done is set the fuse.”
The memory made her spine stiffen, but she pushed it aside.
No.
She wasn’t wrong.
She had to do this.
The students had already proven that they couldn’t be trusted to act appropriately under the influence of that damn gas. If she let them run wild, if she allowed them to give in to their urges, then the entire school’s reputation would be tarnished beyond repair.
She had done everything in her power to keep them under control. And so far, it had worked.
No inappropriate dancing.
No public indecency.
No scandals.
Monster High was not going to be made a mockery of tonight.
She lowered her gaze and checked her watch.
8:30 PM.
Two hours and thirty minutes.
That’s all she had to get through.
If she could hold the line for just that long, the dance would end, everyone would leave, and her school’s reputation would remain intact.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
She had to trust that the guards and staff would continue doing their jobs. If they remained vigilant, if they kept blocking any attempts at indecency, then the students would have to behave.
…But still.
The way a few students looked at her.
The venom in their voices.
They weren’t just annoyed. They were seething.
Bloodgood knew frustration when she saw it, and frustration, when left unchecked, had a tendency to boil over.
It was only a matter of time.
Her grip on the cup tightened further.
"Let’s just get through this night."
She could only hope that whatever was brewing…
Wouldn’t explode before the clock ran out.
In a dimly lit corner of the gala, Clawd, Deuce, Gil, and Manny leaned against the wall, arms crossed as the flashing lights of the dance floor reflected in their sour expressions. Their once hyped and eager attitudes had been replaced with nothing but irritation and resentment.
“Man, this party fucking blows,” Clawd grumbled, resting his head on his fist as he leaned against the wall. “I was ready to have the night of my life, but because Bloodgood still has a damn stick up her ass, we can’t do anything.”
“Tell me about it,” Deuce muttered, adjusting his suit. “I spent the whole day getting ready to do all kinds of crazy things with Cleo. Now I’m just standing here ‘cause Bloodgood wants to throw her weight around.”
“Yeah!” Gil chimed in, throwing up his hands. “I came here to smash Lagoona, not sit around doing nothing!”
Before anyone could add more, a familiar, unwelcome voice cut through their conversation.
“Well, well, well.”
The boys turned, their eyes narrowing as they spotted Bronco and his group of gargoyle teammates swaggering toward them.
“If it isn’t Monster High,” Bronco sneered, his arms crossed. “With how much you guys love to party, I figured you’d be on the dance floor by now.”
Clawd turned to glare at him. “What the hell do you want, Bronco?”
“Damn,” Gary snickered beside his friend. “It’s only been an hour, and y’all are already gettin’ all pissy.”
“Coming from the assholes whose cheating put half of us in the hospital?” Gil snapped. “I’d say it’s fair.”
Bronco smirked. “Hey, it’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.”
“Oh, your ass got caught, alright,” Deuce shot back, jabbing a finger into Bronco’s chest. “You’re lucky we didn’t tell the ref or the organizers to kick you and your whole damn school out of the tournament. Especially for what y’all did to Robecca.”
Bronco’s smug grin faltered, shifting into a scowl. He cracked his knuckles. “Well, if you’re looking for a fight…”
Before anyone could move, another voice cut in—this one cool and unmistakably French.
“Ah, la même stupidité, encore et encore…”
The boys turned just as Rochelle strolled up to them, wearing a flowing stone-textured gown. Her gaze locked onto Bronco.
Bronco smirked. “Oh, hey, Rochelle! Came to watch us—”
WHAM
In the blink of an eye, Rochelle’s knee rocketed up, slamming into Bronco’s groin with pinpoint precision. The massive gargoyle crumpled instantly, letting out a strangled wheeze as he hit the floor, clutching himself in agony.
Rochelle leaned down, her voice low and venomous.
“Ferme ta gueule… et comporte-toi.” (Shut your mouth… and behave.)
Without another glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, not even sparing him a second thought as she made her way back to her table.
Bronco writhed on the floor, his teammates staring after Rochelle in shock before turning to glare at her retreating form.
“Don’t let us catch your ass after the party!” Gary shouted.
Deuce snickered. “Yeah, great idea. Maybe you’ll get your asses kicked twice in one night.”
Gil nodded, smirking. “Yeah, what Deuce said.”
The gargoyles grumbled before grabbing Bronco and helping him off the floor.
The three boys chuckled, shaking their heads as they turned back to watch the party.
Heath shifted uncomfortably as he stood beside Abbey, his hand resting awkwardly at his side while her towering, broad-shouldered friends from Himalayan High sized him up. The Yetis—each one nearly as massive as Abbey, if not more so—stared him down with unreadable expressions. Their piercing blue eyes flicked between him and Abbey, as if trying to figure out what she saw in him.
One of them, a particularly burly male with thick, icicle-like hair, crossed his arms. “So, this little one is boyfriend of Abbey?”
Heath immediately straightened his posture. “Uh, yeah. That’s me! Heath Burns, boyfriend of Abbey Bominable.” He grinned, trying to play it cool, but the intense gazes of the Yetis made his confidence waver.
A female Yeti, her long frosted braids swaying as she leaned forward, narrowed her eyes. “You are... small.”
Another one chuckled, elbowing Abbey playfully. “Abbey, you pick boyfriend you can lift overhead. Smart. Easier to carry him home.”
Abbey smirked. “He is light. If he falls in snow, I do not waste time digging him out. Just pick him up and shake.”
The Yetis burst into laughter, while Heath let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Haha, yeah, that’s funny… except you’ve actually done that before.”
“Da,” Abbey said, deadpan.
One of the Yetis finally nodded approvingly. “Hm. At least he is fire elemental. Good contrast. Like hot cocoa and snow.”
Another one smirked. “Or like steam when ice hits flame.”
The Yetis muttered among themselves, throwing out comments, debating if Heath was worthy or not. The teasing made him fidget, but it wasn’t just that.
They had noticed it too—both Heath and Abbey were restless. Hasty.
The way Abbey’s fingers drummed against his shoulder. The way Heath’s knee bounced slightly. The way their breathing was just a little too controlled, as if they were suppressing something.
Then, as if to confirm their suspicions, Abbey’s hand drifted down Heath’s back… and grabbed something.
Heath’s entire body went rigid. His eyes went wide, and he side-eyed Abbey, silently screaming “Really!?” at her.
Abbey just smirked, not even bothering to look at him.
The Yetis noticed.
But they didn’t say a word.
Meanwhile, in a hallway on one of the upper floors, the doors swung open as Slo-mo and Ghoulia stepped out.
Ghoulia, in a red-low cut dress with zombie themed, accessories, let out a victorious groan, only for it to turn into a startled squeak as Slo-Mo suddenly scooped her up into his arms, holding her in a firm bridal carry.
"Now that we don’t have to worry about being watched..." he rumbled, flashing her a slow, knowing grin.
Ghoulia squirmed in his grasp. "But what about the dance?" she groaned, pouting.
"You can dance later," Slo-Mo replied, his grin widening. "Right now, you’re gonna dance on my dick."
Ghoulia let out a dramatic groan of protest, but the laughter in her eyes betrayed her excitement.
Still carrying her effortlessly, Slo-Mo strode out of the room, her playful squeals echoing down the hall.
As they neared a nearby room, Ghoulia pulled out a walkie-talkie, groaning something unintelligible into it before tossing it aside.
Slo-Mo kicked the door open to reveal a small, dimly lit bedroom. Without hesitation, he carried her inside, the door swinging shut behind them.
Moments later, the rhythmic creaking of the bed filled the air.
Meanwhile, back in the room they had left from, a lone gargoyle was laid out on the floor, unconscious.
Across the gala, Jinafire—dressed in a green and golden, low cut dress with Japanese accessories, sat among the Shibooya girls, casually engaged in conversation, her elegant tail curling and uncurling as she spoke. The other girls—each dressed in beautiful silk dresses and ornate accessories—nodded along, adding their own remarks in smooth, graceful Japanese.
But something was… off.
Every so often, Jinafire’s golden eyes would flick away from the conversation and lock onto something—or rather, someone.
Heath.
Her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary, her slit pupils dilating ever so slightly. The conversation continued around her, but her attention remained divided, her expression unreadable.
Then, as one of the girls spoke, one of them saw it.
The slight parting of her lips. The slow, deliberate flick of her tongue over her bottom lip.
The Shibooya girls exchanged glances.
They noticed the way Jinafire’s usually composed demeanor seemed… strained. The way her tail twitched when Heath laughed. The way her claws flexed slightly when she saw Abbey grab him.
They noticed it all.
What they didn’t know—what no one knew—was that the gas had completely twisted something inside her.
Where once there was mild amusement toward Heath, now burned a full-blown, obsessive fixation. A mad kind of love, the kind that simmered beneath the surface, waiting—craving—for the right moment to be set free.
She wasn’t acting on it.
Not yet.
But soon…
At a random table, Spectra, Porter, and Kiyomi sat with a group of students from Haunted High, catching up on old times. Among them were Vandala Doubloons and River Styxx, both eager to hear about life at Monster High.
"So, what be it like, joinin’ Monster High?" Vandala asked, tipping her hat back as she lounged in her seat. "Ye scallywags enjoyin’ life on land, or do ye miss the ghostly halls o’ Haunted High?"
Kiyomi smiled, her ethereal hands resting in her lap. "Oh, I love it. Everyone’s been so nice, and it’s exciting to be around so many different kinds of monsters. It’s way more lively than Haunted High, that’s for sure!"
Porter, on the other hand, shrugged. "Eh. It’s mid."
Vandala and River both raised a brow. "Mid?" River repeated.
"I mean, it’s cool, I guess," Porter said, leaning back. "Way too many rules, though. And they get mad when I paint on the walls. But at least I get more chances to work on my art, so there’s that."
Vandala let out a hearty laugh. "Har har! Same old Porter. Still paintin’ up a storm, I see!"
They all chuckled before the conversation shifted to another topic—one that had left a lasting impact on Haunted High.
"So," Kiyomi began, folding her arms, "what exactly happened after all that drama with Principal Revenant?"
The table fell silent for a moment.
"Oh, you mean the part where she kidnapped me, dragged me back to Haunted High like a prisoner, and tried to brainwash me into thinking I belonged there?" Spectra said dryly. "Or the part where she stole your dad’s yacht and used it to attack my friends?"
River winced. "Yeah… Dad was not happy about that."
"That be an understatement," Vandala said, shaking her head. "The Grim Reaper was furious, aye. When he found out that scallywag Revenant used his ship without permission? Nearly sent the whole school down to Davy Jones' locker, he did!"
River nodded. "And it wasn’t just him. A ton of parents pulled their kids out of Haunted High. Some even tried to sue the school. Spectra’s family almost did."
"Not ‘almost,’" Spectra corrected. "They did try to sue. But, you know, ghost courts move at a snail’s pace, so who knows when that’ll go through."
Porter smirked. "At least Revenant finally got what she deserved."
"Aye," Vandala agreed. "She be under a much tighter watch now, that’s for sure."
River nodded. "Yeah, and she’s actually changed a lot. She’s way more lenient now—like, actually listening to students instead of treating them like prisoners."
As they talked, though, something felt off.
River and Vandala both started to notice it.
Spectra, Porter, and Kiyomi were acting… restless.
Spectra’s fingers tapped rapidly on the table. Porter’s leg bounced up and down. Kiyomi kept shifting in her seat, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly.
"Uh… ye alright, mates?" Vandala finally asked.
"Yeah," River agreed, tilting her head. "You three look kinda… jittery."
"We’re fine," Spectra said quickly.
"Totally fine," Porter added, nodding way too fast.
Kiyomi forced a smile. "Nothing’s wrong! Haha! Why would you think that?"
But it was clear something was wrong.
And then, without warning—
Spectra’s gloved hand slid under the table and grabbed something.
Porter’s entire face went red. His breath hitched. His eyes widened.
"EEP!"
He slapped a hand over his mouth.
River and Vandala blinked.
Spectra, completely unbothered, just continued sipping her ecto-cooler as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, Kiyomi let out a small, shaky sigh, shifting in her seat again—grinding just a little against the chair.
Vandala squinted. "Are ye sure ye be alright—?"
"We’re fine!" Spectra said again, voice slightly too high-pitched.
Porter looked like he was seconds away from combusting.
River exchanged a look with Vandala.
Something was definitely going on here…
Bloodgood stood near the edge of the ballroom, arms crossed as she observed her students. Since the guards had left, she had expected the worst—absolute chaos, students taking full advantage of the lack of supervision.
But what she was seeing was… the opposite.
In the past hour, the Monster High students, once agitated and rebellious, had gradually shifted their behavior. Some of them had gone from standing off to the side, arms crossed, visibly annoyed by the dance, to actually engaging with the non-Monster High students on the dance floor.
She watched as Manny clapped along to the beat while some gargoyle students from Centaur Track hyped him up. Gigi and Ryder swayed together in sync, laughing as they twirled through the crowd. Even Cleo—who had been among the most furious at her just hours ago—was chatting with a group of students from Pharaoh High, smirking as she basked in their admiration.
The sight filled Bloodgood with a sense of satisfaction.
Finally.
Maybe her words had finally gotten to them. Maybe they had realized she was right—that this was an opportunity to rebuild Monster High’s reputation rather than tear it further down. Maybe Rotter’s warning had been nothing more than paranoia.
For the first time that night, she allowed herself to exhale, her tense shoulders loosening ever so slightly. She had won.
Then, she heard it.
A roar.
Low and guttural at first, but quickly rising into something monstrous—unnatural.
It sounded ancient. Something primal and filled with rage.
It sent a chill down her spine.
Yet as her eyes darted across the dance floor, scanning the crowd, no one else seemed to notice. The music still played. Laughter still filled the air. The students remained oblivious.
Was she the only one who heard that?
She didn't have time to question it. Without hesitation, she turned sharply on her heel and marched toward the faculty section, where the other principals and headmasters were gathered.
Principal Revenant, his translucent form flickering slightly under the ballroom lights, raised a brow at her approach. "Bloodgood? You look pale—even for you."
Headmistress Vitriola, adjusting the large brooch on her velvet gown, peered at her over the rim of her glasses. "Is something wrong?"
Scary Murphy, still nursing a glass of something that smelled suspiciously like swamp water, grunted. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And not the friendly kind."
Bloodgood straightened her posture, her voice firm but urgent. "I heard something. A roar."
The group exchanged glances.
"A roar?" Revenant asked, frowning. "From where?"
Bloodgood shook her head. "I don’t know. But it sounded close. Too close."
None of them looked convinced.
"I didn’t hear anything," Vitriola said, adjusting her glasses.
"Neither did I," Revenant added.
Murphy took another sip of her drink. "You're sure it wasn't just some student showing off? Lotta shifters and creatures here tonight. Could’ve been someone flexin’ their pipes."
Bloodgood’s jaw tightened. "This wasn’t a student. This was something else."
The skepticism in their eyes lingered, but they also knew Bloodgood was not the type to panic over nothing. If she said she heard something, they had to take it seriously.
Revenant sighed, glancing at the others. "We’ll check it out."
Vitriola nodded. "We should split up. Cover more ground."
"Agreed," Bloodgood said. She turned back toward the ballroom. "The students need to be watched carefully while we’re gone. The teachers will keep an eye on them."
With that, the group dispersed, each heading in different directions to investigate the source of the sound.
Bloodgood took one last glance at the dance floor before stepping out.
She had no idea that was exactly what they had been waiting for.
Across the ballroom, a pair of sharp blue eyes watched Bloodgood leave.
Astranova smirked, her arms crossed as she floated slightly above the dance floor.
"Looks like it worked," she mused.
Beside her, Scarah Screams smirked as well, brushing a lock of her white hair over her shoulder. "Told ya I was good at this sorta thing."
Astranova chuckled. "I’ll admit, your powers are impressive. Bloodgood never would’ve fallen for my mental tricks alone, but with your help…" She gestured toward the ballroom exit where Bloodgood had disappeared. "She’s out of the way."
Scarah shrugged, looking pleased with herself. "A psychic tag team’ll do that."
Before Astranova could reply, a slight shimmer in the air caught their attention.
A floating silver amulet drifted toward them, pulsing faintly with magical energy.
Scarah glanced at it before looking toward a seemingly empty space nearby. "Billy, that you?"
With a flicker, Invisi-Billy appeared, dropping his invisibility as he held the amulet up between two fingers. He grinned. "Took a while, but I got it."
Astranova’s smirk widened. "And she didn’t even notice?"
Billy shook his head. "She was too busy being smug about her ‘victory.’ Gave me the perfect opening." He twirled the amulet between his fingers. "Without this, she’s way more susceptible to mind tricks. So whatever you did to make her hear that roar? It’ll stick."
Scarah folded her arms. "Good. She’ll be so focused on findin’ somethin’ that ain’t even there, she won’t see what’s really happenin’ until it’s too late."
Astranova chuckled. "Excellent."
She reached out, taking the amulet from Billy’s hand. The moment her fingers closed around it, the magical energy inside pulsed, as if reacting to her presence.
She grinned.
"Now, we wait."
Flashback (a few hours earlier)
As the night continued and the dance floor filled with students from all across the world, the Monster High students remained standing, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the stage.
They weren’t even trying to hide their annoyance.
Sure, the students from other schools were having a good time, but for them? This night was already tainted.
They had spent days looking forward to this event, planning how they were going to go all out, and now Bloodgood had gone and sucked the life out of it. No wild dancing? No PDA? No twerking?
What the hell kind of party was this?!
It didn’t help that every now and then, a teacher or a security guard would shoot them a warning glance, clearly expecting them to act out at any moment.
They weren’t wrong.
Toralei’s group of bad girls—including Meowlody, Purrsephone, Amanita, Gory, Kala, Pearl, Perri, and Wydowna—had reached their breaking points. With boredom and irritation setting in, they stormed the dance floor and started twerking, drawing whistles, cheers, and laughter—especially from their Monster High classmates.
Unfortunately, their fun was short-lived.
Within moments, a group of 15 guards stormed onto the dance floor. Without hesitation, they grabbed the girls by their arms and dragged them away from the event. The sight left Toralei, Romulus, and Bram fuming as they watched their friends and lovers get escorted out like criminals.
Some couples attempted to push back by making out in the corners, but a teacher would quickly step in, forcing them apart.
It was as if no one wanted them to have any fun.
With no other choice, they just ate and chatted, trying to pass the time.
At a far-off table near one of the exits, the ghouls and a few others stood together, sipping bottles of punch as they watched students from other schools dance the night away.
On the surface, they looked mildly annoyed—like they were just observing the party with disinterest. But underneath those calm, sharp glares? They were absolutely seething.
The entire Tuesday night had been spent meticulously planning, gathering the necessary supplies, and preparing for the wildest night of their lives. But thanks to Bloodgood’s pathetic desperation to save face, all of their planning had gone straight to hell.
Any student who so much as thought about getting a little freaky was immediately shut down—either kicked out by security or scolded by some overzealous teacher. It was ridiculous. They couldn’t so much as breathe the wrong way without some authority figure stepping in to ruin the fun.
And frankly? They were pissed.
“Oh, come on!” Draculaura whined, stomping her foot like a bratty child who just got told no at a toy store. “I waaaant to parrrrty! This is torture!”
"Ugh, same!" Cleo growled, slamming her fist against the table in frustration. “I spent hours getting ready for this?! I was supposed to steal the show—not get stuck over here rotting!”
“I dunno how much longer I can take this, mate,” Lagoona groaned, tossing her head back dramatically. “I came here ready to let loose, and I swear, if I gotta sit here any longer, I might actually lose it.”
"First, she bans PDA, then she yanks us apart like we’re some kinda problem!" Venus grumbled, flipping her vines over her shoulder. "Mother Nature herself wouldn't put up with this kinda oppression!"
“This is absolute bullshit,” Clawdeen muttered, arms crossed as she shot a glare toward the teachers patrolling the dance floor. “Bloodgood needs to back off.”
“She really does,” Draculaura huffed. “This night is supposed to be ours. We earned this.”
Operetta then interjected. "Can ya believe she actually scolded us for bein’ pregnant?" Operetta huffed, shaking her head. "Like, what? Should we have just waited till her precious little crisis was over?"
"Aye, as if we planned this to mess with her schedule," Scarah added bitterly. "I swear, she acts like she’s the only one with problems!"
Frankie, who looked just as frustrated, groaned. “We can’t do anything, though! If Bloodgood sees even one of us so much as drop it low, her little army of fun police will have us dragged out of here kicking and screaming.”
"You saw what she did to Toralei's friends! They got booted just for grinding a little too close to each other!" Robeeca exclaimed
"Right?!" Lagoona exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "They weren’t even doing anything crazy, just dancing the way any other normal student would at a party, and Bloodgood was on ‘em like a bloody hawk!"
"Ugh! That woman had the audacity to confiscate my amulets!" Cleo fumed, crossing her arms. "Do you know how rare those are? Centuries of royal enchantments—gone, because she thinks I'm ‘wielding too much influence’! I am literally a queen!"
Ghoulia let out a long, frustrated groan before snapping, "Bloodgood actually separated me and Slo-Mo just for hugging! HUGGING! I swear, if she had her way, we’d all be livin’ in separate tombs."
"It’s almost impressive how quickly she can ruin a perfectly good time," Robecca muttered, arms crossed. "Like, clockwork precision—click! Joy destroyed!"
"I tell ya, that woman’s got a control problem the size of a hydra’s backside," Avea grumbled, kicking a loose pebble.
"She’s acting like she can just force us all to behave," Bonita scoffed, her wings fluttering in agitation. "Like, has she met Monster High students? We thrive on chaos!"
"She’s taking this way too far," Venus grumbled. "Like, okay, we get it—she wants the school to look good, but this? This is overkill. We can’t even breathe without her thinkin’ we’re up to somethin’."
"Maybe it’s ‘cause we are up to something," Cleo smirked.
Draculaura groaned, flopping dramatically onto the table. "But we can't even do anything! I wanna dance! I wanna go wild! I wanna—"
"—get kicked out before the night’s even started?" Ghoulia cut in, raising a brow.
Draculaura huffed, crossing her arms. "I mean… at this point, it might be worth it."
"Honestly? I’m starting to agree," Lagoona muttered.
Clawdeen sighed, rubbing her temples. "Ugh, I don’t know how much longer I can take this. If we don't do something soon, I'm gonna lose my damn mind."
Sirena sighed dramatically, tossing her hair back. "Honestly? I’d rather swim into a whirlpool than hear another one of her ‘strict conduct’ speeches."
As the ghouls continued venting their frustration, none of them noticed the imposing figure making her way toward them.
Bloodgood.
She approached the ghouls with a look of exasperation, her arms crossed as she scanned their moody, frustrated expressions.
"Why aren’t any of you dancing?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine confusion. “You’re all acting like you’re being tortured! Can’t you just enjoy a normal dance like everyone else?”
The ghouls didn’t hesitate.
"Because you’re ruining it for us!" Frankie snapped, throwing up her hands.
"This dance is supposed to be fun!" Clawdeen growled. “We came here to party, not to stand around watching everyone else have a good time while we get babysat!”
"Yeah, this sucks," Draculaura huffed, placing her hands on her hips. "I thought this was supposed to be Monster Mash, not Monster Bore."
Bloodgood groaned, rubbing her temples. "C’mon! You can enjoy yourselves without dancing inappropriately!”
"NO, WE CAN’T!!"
The collective boom of their voices echoed through the area, making Bloodgood actually flinch as a shiver ran down her spine. She had expected pushback, sure, but not like that.
Draculaura stepped forward, her fangs bared as she jabbed a finger at Bloodgood. "I came here to shake my ass!”
Lagoona crossed her arms. "I came here to get my bloody pussy wet!”
And Cleo, smirking but absolutely fuming, stepped up beside them. "I came here to get my cherry busted!”
The ghouls all nodded in agreement, their expressions filled with frustration and defiance.
"But we can’t do any of that,” Venus continued, her eyes burning with anger, “because YOU won’t let us! You’ve been an annoying bitch this entire week, and now you’re ruining something we've all been looking forward too!”
Bloodgood’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Excuse me?!"
“You heard her,” Clawdeen growled. "You've been up our asses all week with your stupid rules, actin' like we’re a bunch of little kids instead of teenagers who know how to have fun!"
“This is a school dance, not a damn nightclub!” Bloodgood shot back. “Back in my day, we didn’t need all this… inappropriate nonsense to have a good time! You can still dance without grinding on each other!”
The ghouls' collective response was instant.
"NEWS FLASH, BITCH—IT'S NOT THE 1800s ANYMORE!!"
Bloodgood clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from losing her temper. She turned to Draculaura, hoping to at least appeal to her.
"Draculaura, you’re 1800 years old—you of all monsters should know how to party without all these ridiculous, overly sexual dance routines."
Draculaura stared at her for a solid second before coldly replying:
"Go fuck yourself."
Bloodgood let out a sharp breath through her nose, her patience rapidly deteriorating. She knew the gas made them stubborn, but this was ridiculous.
“Look, I’m trying to be reasonable here,” she said, her tone lowering. “I get that you all wanted something… different from this dance. But rules exist for a reason."
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How about this? If you just behave tonight, I’ll let you go crazy for the rest of next week. You can have all the fun you want.”
The ghouls all looked at each other—then simultaneously rolled their eyes.
"Yeah, no," Cleo scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”
"Like we’d ever trust that," Clawdeen sneered.
Draculaura smirked. “And even if you were telling the truth… we don’t want to wait till next week. We want to have fun right now.”
At this point, Bloodgood lost her patience.
"Fine!" she snapped. "You want the truth? I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I am not letting you little brats make me look like a fool in front of the entire monster world! So if you’re so desperate to shake your asses, go right ahead. You know exactly what will happen if you try it."
Her eyes narrowed. “So unless you want to get banned, I suggest you start behaving.”
With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving the ghouls standing there, absolutely fuming.
Cleo clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms, her golden eyes burning with unbridled fury.
"I swear to Ra, I want to rip that woman in half.”
The rest of the ghouls muttered similar curses under their breath, their frustration reaching its absolute peak.
One thing was certain.
This was war.
But as the ghouls continued to grumble under their breath, throwing venomous insults at Bloodgood and muttering about how they wanted to rip her apart, a sudden shift in the atmosphere made them pause.
A soft, otherworldly glow shimmered near the dance floor entrance. The bass of the music seemed to bend around it, as if reality itself was making way for something divine.
And then, she stepped forward.
Astranova.
She was radiant—not just in the literal sense of her cosmic glow, but in the way she carried herself. Her dress, a masterpiece of deep purples and swirling galaxies, hugged her curves in all the right places, flowing like a nebula in motion. Silver stardust trailed behind her like a celestial cape. Her heels looked like they were forged from the very stars themselves.
The ghouls stared.
Mouths parted.
Eyes widened.
The entire dance floor might as well have stopped existing, because at that moment, there was only her.
“Oh… my… Ra…” Cleo whispered, absolutely mesmerized.
Lagoona let out a low whistle. “Crikey… you look like a goddess!”
“Where the hell have you been?!” Clawdeen blurted out, finally breaking out of her trance. "You vanished after Monday! We thought the gas got so bad you straight-up ascended or some shit!"
Frankie nodded, still gaping. "Yeah, you basically became a ghost story! No one's seen you in days!"
Astranova smirked, her ethereal eyes shimmering like distant planets. “I’ve been watching,” she said cryptically, placing a hand on her hip. “Observing from the shadows, gathering information, planning my next move… waiting for the right moment.”
“Well, damn,” Draculaura said, crossing her arms. “I respect the drama.”
Venus tilted her head, still staring at Astranova’s dress. “You have to tell me where you got that outfit.”
Astranova chuckled, giving a playful twirl. “Oh, this? I made it.”
Of course she did.
"But enough about me," Astranova continued, her voice lowering slightly. "I came to tell you that you won’t have to wait much longer.”
The ghouls leaned in.
"Wait for what?" Clawdeen asked.
Astranova’s smirk widened. “To fuck up Bloodgood’s whole operation.”
A wave of excitement rippled through the group.
"Wait, seriously?!" Frankie’s eyes lit up. "You actually have a plan?"
Astranova nodded, but before she could answer, she caught sight of a nearby security guard keeping a very close watch on them. She didn’t react outwardly, but she knew they were being watched.
So, with the most casual movement, she reached into the folds of her dress, retrieved a small, sleek object, and discreetly pressed it into Frankie’s palm.
Then, leaning in so close that her breath tickled Frankie’s ear, she whispered something to her.
Frankie didn’t ask questions. She just nodded, slipping the walkie-talkie into her sleeve and giving Astranova a look of understanding. “I got it.”
With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, her mind already racing with possibilities.
Astranova straightened and looked at the rest of the ghouls.
"As for you all," she said, lowering her voice, "Here's what I need you to do."
The ghouls all leaned in as Astranova explained her plan. Once she was done, they immediately groaned in protest.
"Ugh, do we have to?!" Clawdeen whined.
"Yes," Astranova said firmly. “Bloodgood can’t suspect anything. I know it’ll suck, but I promise—the wait will be worth it.”
There was something in her tone—something sure, something powerful.
That was enough for them.
One by one, the ghouls nodded, their frustration shifting into eager anticipation.
With a final, knowing smile, Astranova turned, her cosmic aura flickering as she disappeared into the crowd.
The ghouls exchanged glances.
It was game time.
End of Flashback.
The night was eerily still.
A heavy fog clung to the forest just beyond the school grounds, its mist curling around the gnarled trees like ghostly fingers. The air smelled of damp earth and old wood, and the only sounds were the distant hum of the dance and the rhythmic clopping of hooves against the dirt path.
Headmistress Bloodgood led the way atop Frightmare, her skeletal steed moving cautiously through the darkness. The other principals fanned out behind her, each scanning the trees with suspicion, their lanterns casting long, dancing shadows.
Nothing.
No movement. No signs of life. Not even the usual chirping of crickets or rustling of leaves in the wind. The forest had gone silent.
Too silent.
"This is a waste of time," Scary Murphy grumbled, adjusting her cloak as she trailed behind Bloodgood. "We've been out here for twenty minutes, and there's nothin’."
Headmaster Vitriola huffed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Agreed. If there was something out here, we would have seen it by now."
Bloodgood didn't respond right away. She was too busy listening.
She knew what she heard. That roar—it had been guttural, unnatural, filled with rage. It had meant something. She wasn’t the type to imagine things, and she wasn’t about to let these other headmasters treat her like a fool.
“There’s something here,” she insisted, scanning the darkness between the trees. “Just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not watching us.”
Vitriola let out a sharp, annoyed breath. “Or perhaps your paranoia has gotten the better of you.”
"You heard nothin’, we found nothin’," Murphy added, gesturing at the empty woods around them. "Far as I’m concerned, the only thing hauntin’ this place is your nerves."
Bloodgood clenched her jaw. "If there’s even the slightest chance something is hiding out here, waiting for the right moment to strike, we can’t ignore it. I’m not willing to risk the safety of the students just because you’re all too impatient to do your due diligence."
Principal Revenant—who had been floating a few feet above the ground, her ghostly form dim in the fog—sighed. "Fine. One sweep of the forest. And when we find nothing, we go back, and you admit you were wrong."
Bloodgood said nothing, only giving a stiff nod before kicking Frightmare forward.
The search was slow and methodical.
The principals fanned out through the trees, moving carefully, checking every shadow, every rustling branch. But no matter how deep they went, the result was the same.
Nothing.
No tracks. No signs of movement. Not even a broken twig.
One by one, they regrouped at a clearing, irritation clear on their faces.
“Well,” Vitriola snapped, tapping his foot against the dirt, “we’ve officially wasted our time. Congratulations, Bloodgood. You’ve successfully made a fool of yourself.”
Scary Murphy spat onto the ground. “Knew this was dumb. Dragged us all the way out here for nothin’ but a bunch of trees.”
Bloodgood’s grip on Frightmare’s reins tightened. “I heard something.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Vitriola shot back.
"Nor did I," Revenant said, arms crossed.
Murphy snorted. “Yeah? Maybe that’s ‘cause there wasn’t anything to hear.”
Bloodgood shook her head. No. They weren’t listening. They didn’t understand. She could still feel something in the air—a weight pressing down on her shoulders, an unnatural stillness that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
“We shouldn’t be out here,” she murmured, eyes darting to the shadows. “We need to—”
WHAM
The sharp sound of a body hitting the ground.
Everyone turned.
Vitriola was on the ground, motionless.
For a moment, there was stunned silence.
Then—panic.
“What the hell?!” Murphy growled, rushing forward.
Revenant knelt down, her ghostly hand hovering over his neck. “He’s alive. Just… unconscious.”
Bloodgood’s heart pounded. “Something’s here.”
WHAM
Revenant collapsed.
One second she had been standing—eyes flicking toward the trees—and the next, she was on the ground, unmoving.
The principals scattered, backing up, their eyes darting wildly around them.
Murphy unsheathed a rusted blade from her belt, her muscles tense. “Who’s out there?!” she barked, turning in every direction. “Show yerself, you coward!”
No response.
Only the sound of the wind moving through the trees.
And then—
WHAM
Murphy was down.
Bloodgood’s breath hitched. No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal.
She turned sharply to Frightmare—only to freeze.
The skeletal steed stood stiff, trembling, his glowing eyes flickering weakly. His legs buckled beneath him, and with a pained whimper, he collapsed.
"Frightmare!"
Bloodgood ran towards her, landing beside her on her knees. Her hands roamed over her body, searching for wounds, for something—anything—to explain what had happened. But there was nothing visible. Just her labored breathing, her eyes dimming like a flame about to go out.
Then—
A sound behind her.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from behind.
A suffocating presence loomed over her, sending a cold shiver down her spine.
Bloodgood’s fingers twitched. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to turn around. To run.
But before she could react—
Everything went black.
The bass of the music pulsed through the ballroom, neon lights flashing in rhythm as students laughed, danced, and enjoyed themselves. Catty Noir and Pharaoh stood near the refreshment table, casually chatting over the music, oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.
"You ever think about performing at one of these events?" Pharaoh asked, sipping his drink.
Catty smirked. "Maybe, but I'd hate to steal the spotlight too much. Besides, sometimes it’s fun to just kick back and enjoy the night."
Then, her phone vibrated.
She glanced down, eyes scanning the message. Her breath hitched slightly. Pharaoh noticed.
"Everything okay?"
Catty hesitated. Then, with a sudden shift in demeanor, she locked eyes with him, determination flaring in her gaze.
"Kiss me."
Pharaoh blinked. "Uh—what?"
Before he could fully process the request, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in. Their lips crashed together in a heated kiss, one that quickly evolved into something deeper. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands instinctively resting on her waist.
The music faded into the background. The world around them disappeared.
At least, until—
"Ahem!"
A stern voice snapped them out of their trance. A teacher, face contorted in anger, stormed toward them. "Separate immediately!"
Catty’s eyes darted to Pharaoh. In a split-second decision, she seized his hand.
"Run."
Before the teacher could react, the two bolted across the ballroom, dodging between dancing students.
"HEY!"
The teachers gave chase.
Catty and Pharaoh weaved through the crowd, knocking over a table of punch bowls in the process. The sticky liquid splattered across the floor, tripping up one of the teachers. The others pressed on, their shouts ringing out over the music.
They burst through the ballroom doors, racing down the hall. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as they took sharp turns, their footsteps echoing against the marble floor.
"They’re gaining on us!" Pharaoh warned.
"Then run faster!"
They cut through a corridor, narrowly avoiding a janitor’s cart. The teachers weren’t far behind, their frustration mounting.
Then—
A dead end.
Catty and Pharaoh skidded to a stop, panting. They spun around.
The teachers stood at the other end of the hallway, their expressions victorious.
"End of the line," Mr. Rotter sneered. "You’re coming with us. You will be removed from this event."
Then—
The ground shifted.
A loud crack echoed through the hallway.
And suddenly, the floor beneath the teachers vanished.
With startled yelps and cries, the entire group plummeted into the darkness below. A loud thud followed, accompanied by groans of pain.
For a moment, there was only stunned silence.
Then—
A chorus of confused voices:
"What the hell?!"
"Where are we?!"
"Who did this?!"
The teachers scrambled to their feet, glancing around. They had fallen into a dimly lit pit, its walls smooth and high. There was no immediate way out.
Above them, silhouetted against the hallway lights, stood a group of figures.
Catty and Pharaoh.
And alongside them—Casta, Operetta, Scarah, Johnny, and Astranova.
The teachers' eyes widened.
"You," Rotter hissed. "What is the meaning of this?!"
Astranova stepped forward, her glowing eyes staring down at the trapped authority figures. A smirk tugged at her lips.
"It means we just won," she said.
Rotter’s face darkened. "Explain. Now."
Astranova crossed her arms. "Well, since you're all going to be down there for a while, I suppose I can give you a little insight into how we pulled this off."
The teachers listened, furious but unable to do anything.
Astranova began.
"We knew Bloodgood was serious about enforcing the rules. After she threw out Toralei's crew, we realized she wasn't bluffing. If we wanted a real dance, we had to get rid of the people stopping us from having fun."
She glanced at Casta, who smirked.
"So, we started with the guards," Casta said, flipping her hair. "I transformed into their leader and told them that something urgent was happening in the theater room. They followed me in without question."
"To really get em movin," Operetta added, "I used my voice to enhance their feelin's, makin’ ‘em think they really needed to help whoever was in trouble."
"And then once they were all inside," Casta grinned, "I turned them into harmless little animals."
Rotter’s eye twitched. "So that's why their missing?!"
"Bingo!" Casta winked.
"Of course," Astranova continued, "we couldn’t have evidence of what we were doing. That’s where Ghoulia came in. She disabled the security cameras. So, there’s no footage of any of this."
The realization dawned on the teachers. No footage meant no proof.
Rotter clenched his fists. "What about Bloodgood?"
"That was the tricky part," Astranova admitted. "We needed Bloodgood gone, but we couldn’t just attack her outright. We also didn't want her catching onto the plan."
"So Nova and and I went around to various students," Casta explained, "Asking them to pretend to be happy and enjoy the party, so that she wouldn't suspect anything."
This revealation shocked the teachers, they thought the students had finally learned to behave.
"Once she was distracted enough," Astranova said with a grin,"that’s where me and Scarah came in."
Scarah chuckled. "Psychic lure. We made her think she heard somethin’ dangerous outside. Made her sure she needed to check it out."
"So," Astranova continued, "she took the other principals and left the building. And then…"
She smirked.
"Johnny knocked them all out with baseball bats."
The teachers gawked at Johnny, who was leaning against the wall, casually tossing a bat in his hand. He grinned. "They went down like sacks of potatoes."
"With the guards and Bloodgood out of the way," Astranova said, "the only thing left was you."
She gestured to Catty. "So, we sent a little text and asked her to cause a scene. The moment you started chasing her, we knew exactly where you’d go."
Catty grinned. "And you fell for it. Literally."
Rotter's jaw clenched. "You manipulative little—"
Before he could finish, Astranova smirked and cut him off.
"Oh, and in case you’re wondering how we got past those amulets Bloodgood and the guards were wearing," she said, tilting her head, "Billy took hers off while she was distracted and Casta removed the guard's amulets before turning them into animals."
The teachers' eyes widened in shock.
Astranova clapped her hands together. "And now, with all the authority figures taken care of… there’s nothing stopping us from dancing the night away."
She turned to the others. "Let’s go, everyone. We’ve got a real party to attend."
The group walked away, leaving the screaming, furious teachers trapped in the pit.
Meanwhile, back on the dance floor, the atmosphere had begun to shift. The students of Monster High had gone from dancing along to the beat to standing still, as if waiting for something. A strange tension filled the air, thick with anticipation.
Students from other schools looked around in confusion, whispering among themselves. Some turned toward the stage, others glanced toward the exits. Where were their teachers? Why had the headmasters suddenly vanished?
In a quieter corner of the ballroom, Frankie and Jackson sat together, chatting away, completely unaware of the growing unease.
"You know, for all the drama tonight, I think this dance turned out okay," Jackson mused, stirring the drink in his hand. "No major disasters—well, no new ones, at least."
Frankie giggled. "Don't jinx it, babe. You know how Monster High works."
Before Jackson could respond, a faint ringing noise came from Frankie's pocket. She blinked and quickly pulled out a walkie-talkie, turning the dial to hear the transmission.
Jackson's brow furrowed. "Uh… Frankie? Where did you get that?"
Frankie held up a finger, signaling him to wait. She pressed the device to her ear, nodding along as muffled voices crackled through. Her expression shifted slightly—excitement flickering behind her glowing mismatched eyes.
After a few moments, she clicked it off and tucked it away. She turned to Jackson with a mischievous glint in her gaze.
"Babe, can you do me a favor?"
Jackson, still confused, nodded slowly. "Sure… what do you need?"
"Can you turn into Holt for a sec? I need to see him real quick."
Jackson frowned. "But we've barely talked the whole night! Can't it wait?"
Frankie smirked and leaned closer, resting a hand on his arm. "It won’t be for long," she promised, lowering her voice. "And later… we can make up for lost time."
Jackson's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. His cheeks flushed, and he swallowed. "You promise?"
Frankie leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering against his skin, "I promise."
Jackson sighed but couldn't fight the small smile tugging at his lips. "Fine."
Frankie grinned. "Awesome!"
She took a step back as Jackson rolled his shoulders, preparing himself. A flicker of fire ignited in his eyes before bursting outward, engulfing his entire form. Gasps rippled through the students nearby as the flames died down, revealing Holt Hyde in all his fiery glory.
"AW YEEEEAAAAHHHHH!" Holt whooped, throwing his arms up and pumping his fists. His flames crackled wildly as he grinned at Frankie. "Go time?"
She gave him a single, confident nod.
Wasting no time, Holt turned on his heel and sprinted through the crowd, weaving between stunned students. He made a beeline for the DJ booth, where the current DJ was still mixing tracks.
Holt hopped onto the stage and threw an arm around the DJ’s shoulders. "Hey, buddy! You've had a good run tonight, but I’ll take it from here!"
The DJ blinked, looking startled. "I—I don't know, man. Headmistress Bloodgood gave me strict orders to—"
Holt sighed and casually pointed toward the side of the dance floor. A group of Monster High’s biggest, bulkiest students—including Manny, Abbey, and a few others—were making their way toward the stage, cracking their knuckles.
"I don’t think they’d agree, pal," Holt said, his voice now dangerously smooth.
The DJ gulped. Without another word, he quickly grabbed his things and bolted out of the ballroom, not willing to risk ending his night in a hospital bed.
Holt chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, let’s turn this snoozefest into a real party."
He slid into the DJ’s seat, fingers flying over the laptop keys. Normally, hacking into a playlist would take a minute, but since the guy had left it open… well, this was almost too easy.
With a final click, he selected a song.
The once-elegant melody that had been filling the ballroom abruptly cut out, plunging the room into a brief silence. Then, a deep, seductive bassline kicked in, pulsing through the speakers.
"Yeah, uh-huh, so seductive."
Gasps echoed throughout the room. Students from other schools froze in shock, eyes widening at the provocative lyrics.
Meanwhile, the Monster High students erupted into wild cheers. Smirks, grins, and devious expressions spread across their faces.
The plan had worked.
The teachers were gone.
The cameras were disabled.
Bloodgood was out cold.
There was no one left to stop them.
It was time to get freaky.
To be continued....
Notes:
Stay tuned for part 2!
Chapter 11: The Monster Mash Dance (part 2)
Summary:
With Bloodgood gone, the guards handled, and the teachers trapped.
The students. Let. LOOSE!!!
Notes:
This took a long ass time to write, so I hope you enjoy.
I hope the sex scenes are also entertaining, had to use a few editors to fully flesh it out.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was like a light switch flipped.
The moment the music changed; a ripple of excitement surged through the students of Monster High. It started subtly—a few heads turning toward the speakers, a few hushed giggles slipping past painted lips.
But then the first few notes of the song truly hit, and just like that, the entire ballroom transformed.
"Yeah, uh-huh, so seductive."
The reaction was immediate. Gasps erupted from the students of the other schools, their expressions ranging from confused too outright horrified.
Meanwhile, the Monster High students?
Oh, they knew exactly what time it was.
"Ladies," Clawd rumbled, cracking his neck as he turned to face the nearest group of ghouls. "Shall we?"
Draculaura giggled, already swaying her hips in time with the sultry beat. "Oh, dear, you already know the answer to that."
All at once, the boys and girls of Monster High turned to each other with knowing smirks, eyes glinting with mischief.
And then, they started singing.
"I'll take you to the candy shop..."
It began playfully, ghouls strutting up to their partners, voices harmonizing as they leaned in close, teasingly mouthing the words.
"I'll let you lick the lollipop..."
The boys weren’t about to be outdone. Clawd, Deuce, Slo-Mo, Manny, Heath, and the rest of them joined in, voices deep and smooth as they stepped forward, closing the distance between them and the girls.
"Go 'head girl, don't you stop..."
Lagoona twirled a curl around her finger, giving Gil a sultry smile. "You singing to me, love?"
Gil, normally flustered by her boldness, smirked right back. "Who else, babe?"
Frankie grabbed Jackson—well, Holt now—by the collar of his jacket, pulling him close, eyes gleaming. "You better be able to back up all that energy you're putting out."
Holt grinned devilishly. "Oh, trust me, babe, I got stamina for days."
At first, it was just the singing. Just harmless fun.
Then the touching started.
A slow grind of hips here. A teasing brush of hands there.
Toralei flicked her tail playfully as she slid up to Clawdeen, her claws tracing over her arm. "Sing it to me, Wolfie," she purred.
Clawdeen arched a brow, smirking. "Oh, you want a solo performance, huh?"
Toralei grinned. "You know I love the spotlight."
On the other side of the ballroom, Iris was draped over Manny’s broad chest, peering up at him through her lashes. "Mmm, big guy, you sure you're not taking this song too seriously?"
Manny just chuckled, his hands resting firmly on her waist as he pulled her closer. "I dunno, babe. You seem to be enjoying it."
The song continued, and with each verse, the dancing got bolder.
The girls twisted their bodies, arms wrapped around their partners’ necks, teasing touches ghosting over arms, chests, and backs.
The guys, emboldened by the energy in the room, let their hands drift lower, fingers gripping hips, pulling bodies closer.
By the second chorus, they weren’t just singing anymore—they were fully caught up in the moment.
And the students from the other schools?
They were terrified.
"What the hell is happening?!" one boy from Pharoah High whispered, gripping his friend’s shoulder.
"I—I don't know," his friend stammered, eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal. "I think we walked into some kind of weird, cult mating ritual."
A girl from Haunted High clutched her pearls (literally). "Where are the teachers?!"
That was the million-dollar question. The chaperones were gone. Headmistress Bloodgood? Nowhere to be seen. Even the security staff had mysteriously disappeared.
All that remained was a ballroom full of scandalously dancing monsters, and a DJ with flames licking at his body as he controlled the chaos.
The song carried on, growing even more intense.
By the final chorus, the Monster High students were completely lost in the moment. Bodies pressed close, hands gripping hips, teasing fingers trailing down spines. The air was thick with tension, a haze of heat and mischief settling over the dance floor.
Then—finally—
The song ended.
A heavy silence followed, the only sound being the lingering bass fading into the walls.
The students of Monster High—many of whom were now tangled up in each other’s arms—blinked, catching their breath, still slightly dazed from the rush.
The students from other schools?
They were just starting to find their voices.
"What the actual—"
Holt slammed his hand down on the DJ booth, cutting off any and all questions before they could start.
"Don’t worry, folks!" he hollered, his grin manic. "There’s more where that came from!"
And before anyone could protest, he slammed a new track into the speakers.
"You a bad bitch, get your ass up, stand up, bend over. Stop being so lame, hoe, throw sum"
The heavy bass of "Bounce" by Big Boogie and GloRilla exploded through the ballroom.
And just like that—
The madness TRULY began.
"BOUNCE THAT ASS!"
In an instant, the entire ballroom exploded into chaos.
The ghouls wasted no time, tearing away the restrictive parts of their outfits with deliberate, seductive precision—making sure the boys saw every detail.
Cleo, ever the queen, pulled a small pocketknife from her sash. With a few precise slices, she cut away the layers of fabric that confined her movements.
She made sure to lock eyes with Deuce as she tossed the discarded pieces aside, her every motion a challenge.
Deuce tried—tried—to look away, but his sunglasses did nothing to hide the way his gaze flickered back to steal a glance.
With a final dramatic gesture, Cleo ripped off the luxurious Egyptian tiara her father had insisted she wear and tossed it carelessly to the floor.
Draculaura flashed her claws and went to work, slicing strategic slits into her victorian gown to maximize flexibility. She loosened her high collar, letting her delicate neck breathe—and giving Clawd an unobstructed view. His ears twitched, his pupils dilated.
Frankie, with zero hesitation, tore open the stitches holding parts of her dress together—not enough to make the whole thing fall apart, but just enough to expose her legs to the world. From the DJ booth, Holt’s face lit up bright red.
Abbey didn’t even pause to think. She ripped off the hem of her dress in one strong pull, freeing her powerful legs from their confinement. Then, with a smirk, she plucked the tiara off her head and hurled it at one of the yetis standing frozen in shock.
"Hold that for me."
The yeti caught it but didn’t even respond—too stunned by the display in front of him.
Meanwhile, Heath—who had already been struggling to keep his cool—felt drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he stared at Abbey’s muscular thighs.
The rest of the girls followed suit.
Lagoona, much like Abbey, tore away the bottom of her dress for maximum leg movement, flicking her damp curls over her shoulder.
Clawdeen sliced off the restrictive parts of her custom-made wolf-themed gown, rolling her shoulders to stretch.
Toralei didn't even hesitate—she yanked off the lower half of her gown, kicking it away to free her legs.
Spectra removed her shoulder pads, though she chose to keep her elegant armwear on.
Operetta slid the front of her gown down just enough to expose the intricate lace of her bra, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
Scarah pulled out the pin keeping her hair in an elegant updo, letting it tumble freely over her shoulders.
On the other side of the dance floor, Venus and Robecca, who had been absentmindedly playing with each other’s hair, turned to each other with grins. Without a word, they reached for their dresses and ripped off any restricting accessories, holding each other close as they did so.
Within minutes, fabric, jewelry, and hems lay scattered across the floor—a battlefield of discarded elegance.
The students from the other schools looked horrified. The Monster High boys?
They were entranced.
And as the last shred of restrictive clothing hit the ground—
It began.
Frankie, with a mischievous smirk, steps forward onto the dance floor. She slaps her hands on her thighs, rolls her shoulders, and then slams her hips back with such force that it feels like the ground beneath her might crack open.
The impact is so powerful that it sends a shockwave through the entire dance floor, making the crowd gasp in awe.
BOOM.
The reverberation from her movement echoes through the room, and a chorus of "OHHHHH!!!" erupts from the spectators, their voices bouncing off the walls and amplifying the excitement.
But Frankie isn't finished yet.
She plants her hands firmly on her knees, bending low, her body moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Her hips snap back with each motion, every bounce calculated and deliberate. This isn't just a dance; it's a masterclass in movement, a science experiment in rhythm and control.
She twists slightly to the side, changing directions with her hips, her skirt flipping up with each powerful thrust. The crowd is going wild, their cheers and screams filling the air. Frankie has proven, beyond any doubt, that she is the master of this dance.
And then, as if on cue, the floodgates open.
Clawdeen is the first to join in, her golden eyes flashing with determination as she struts forward. She leans back onto a nearby stool, balancing with an effortless confidence that commands attention.
Then, with a sudden drop, she squats low, her hips moving in slow, dangerous circles before snapping back with a force that makes Holt stutter in disbelief.
But Clawdeen isn't done yet. With a smirk, she flips onto her hands, her back arching into a flawless handstand. She shakes her hips with the same ferocity, as if she has something to prove, her movements fluid and precise.
Meanwhile, Draculaura has already climbed onto a chair. She spins once, her skirt flaring dramatically, before executing a perfect split in mid-air.
She lands hard, immediately bouncing back up, her hands in the air and her fangs flashing in a wicked grin as she owns the moment completely.
Toralei, who has been waiting for her turn, slinks forward with her tail flicking and eyes gleaming. She explodes into motion, her hips snapping with each aggressive bounce, looking like she's trying to crack the floor beneath her.
She throws her head back, running a hand through her wild mane, before launching into a full spin. At the end of the spin, she drops low, her claws dragging across the floor as she throws her hips back with dangerous precision.
Some of the boys in the crowd can't help but physically embrace themselves, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the performance.
Cleo steps up next, her golden jewelry flashing as she spins. Her hips bounce with a hypnotic rhythm, her movements so sharp and perfect that it almost seems unfair to the others.
Spectra and Scarah lock eyes and nod in unison. Then, they hit the floor together.
Spectra throws one leg in the air, her back arching as she bounces with supernatural precision.
Scarah, on the other hand, flips upside-down against the wall, shaking her hips as if she's summoning the dead.
And then, in a breathtaking moment, every single Monster High ghoul joins in.
Venus and Robecca move in perfect synchronization, as if they had rehearsed this routine a thousand times. Venus leads with raw power, while Robecca follows with clockwork precision.
Lagoona doesn't waste any time. She hits the splits immediately, no warm-up, no hesitation.
She drops all the way down, legs spread wide, her balance flawless. And then, she starts bouncing, one hand on the floor for support, the other reaching up as she rolls her hips with unhinged precision. Her movements are so smooth and perfect that it looks like she's dancing underwater.
Abbey steps forward slowly, taking her time. She tilts her head, her snow-white hair cascading down her shoulders, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.
Then, she drops it hard, slamming her hips down on the floor with a force that sends a shockwave through the room.
She throws her head back, letting out a long, guttural howl as she bounces with the ferocity of a blizzard. Each hit of her hips is like an explosion, powerful and deliberate. Her hair swirls around her with wild speed, her muscles rippling beneath her skin as she owns the dance floor. Her skirt flips up just enough to send Heath into a full-on brain malfunction. His jaw drops, his soul leaves his body, and his entire life choices are suddenly in question.
Operetta, with her boots planted firmly on the ground and hands on her knees, bounces with one hand against the wall and the other in her hair, as if she's riding a bull straight into the afterlife.
Johnny cheered her on from the sidelines. As much as he worried for her—considering her pregnancy—he wasn't gonna stop her from having fun. As long she played it safe.
The rest of the ghouls fall in like dominos, flipping, grinding, and throwing it back in perfect chaos. The dance floor explodes into pure, unfiltered madness. Skirts fly, neon paint smears, hair whips, and bodies move with reckless, animalistic energy. The room is alive with the raw, unbridled power of their dance, a testament to their unity and skill.
The Monster High boys are losing their minds.
"HOLY SHIT!" Holt yells from the DJ booth, gripping his headphones like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Heath is literally shaking Clawd’s shoulder. “DO YOU SEE THIS?!”
Clawd, wide-eyed, can only nod slowly, jaw slack.
Gil, usually unbothered by most things, lets out a low, stunned gasp, gripping his chair like it’s about to take off.
Deuce—who had been making a valiant effort not to react—is gripping his sunglasses so tightly his knuckles turn white. His snakes are hissing wildly. His scaly skin is heating up.
Manny? His arms are crossed, muscles tense, cheeks red as hell.
And the students from other schools?
Pure shock.
River and Vandala are staring, brows furrowed in confusion.
The Shibooya yokai exchange students are whispering amongst themselves, tails flicking with uncertainty.
The cheerleaders of Smogsnort’s Vampyr Academy? They’re grinning wickedly, already pulling out their phones.
“This is gonna ruin them,” one vampiress whispers, angling her camera toward Draculaura, who is still on her hands and knees, absolutely letting loose.
“We need close-ups, get Cleo in there too,” another says, zooming in on Cleo, whose gold-trimmed hips are snapping in time with the beat.
But then—
Something shifts.
Slowly. Subtly.
A strange haze settles over the other students.
A flicker in their eyes.
Like something is clouding their minds.
'You're all mine now.'
In an instant, the students from the other monster schools froze, their bodies stiffening as if caught in an invisible web. Their eyes flickered, a brief pink glow flashing through them before it fully took hold.
The girls from Vampyr Academy stood rigid, their eyes wide, their phones slipping from their fingers and clattering to the floor, forgotten. The smug grins vanished, replaced by something else entirely—something hungry.
And just like that—the resistance shattered.
With a collective shudder, the foreign students melted into the chaos.
Boys from Don Quixote High and Pharoah high—previously judging Monster High’s madness from the sidelines—were now in the thick of it, pressing up against the nearest bodies, rolling their hips, grinding against the wild rhythm as if they’d been possessed. Their reluctance evaporated like mist in the sun, replaced by the intoxicating pulse of the music, the scent of sweat and supernatural arousal thick in the air.
Giggling wickedly, the Vampyr Academy girls completely forgot what they were doing, their phones slipping from limp hands, crashing onto the floor without a second thought.
Their initial disgust? Vanished.
Instead, one of them grabbed a nearby chair, threw her leg up on it, and started bouncing her hips in slow, hypnotic circles. Another dropped low, her skirt riding up as she twerked against the air, fangs flashing as she licked her lips.
One by one, their group followed suit, moving in perfect sync, their bodies swaying in a sensual, fevered rhythm, hips snapping in hypnotic unison. They were gone now—fully consumed by the gas.
And they weren’t alone.
The rest of the visiting students fell into the chaos.
The Himalayan high students—formerly poised and full of contempt—were now grinding against the female yetis, lost in the primal energy. What had once been arrogance had melted into shameless, frenzied dancing.
Some of the boys, previously too stiff and awkward, loosened up immediately, their inhibitions crushed under the weight of the beat.
Granite City gargoyles, known for their aggressive, competitive nature, were now locked in with Monster High’s boys, hands gripping hips, bodies swaying in tandem.
And the girls?
It was twerk city.
The Vampyr Academy girls were in their own world, any thoughts of blackmailing Draculaura and Cleo dissipating instantly. They didn’t even remember why they had their phones out—because the second they saw the others twerking, their hips just moved on their own.
One second, they were whispering about Draculaura’s downfall. The next?
They were part of the show.
A wall of fangs and curves, bent over, bouncing in perfect time with the bass. Their fangs flashed in the neon glow as they threw their heads back, hands on their knees, letting out delighted moans in time with every bounce.
From across the dance floor, Vandala and River finally caved.
The moment Spectra turned, met their gazes, and crooked her fingers in invitation, both ghost were done for.
Vandala and River joined the madness.
Vandala strutted over, swinging her hips, making her movements more hypnotic. She leaned forward, gripping Spectra’s shoulders, before effortlessly sinking into the wild twerk, grinding against her with reckless abandon.
River wasn’t far behind—her translucent body flickered and twisted through the chaos, her weightless form allowing her to move in ways that shouldn’t be possible. She joined Kiyomi and the other Monster High ghosts, throwing her hair forward as she arched her back and worked it with supernatural perfection.
Now?
The whole party had completely lost control.
Cameras were long forgotten, dropped to the floor and trampled beneath stomping feet.
The once-judgmental students of Smogsnort’s Vampyr Academy had melted into the mess of gyrating, bouncing bodies.
Twerking on chairs. On the floor. Against the walls. On each other. In a tornado of unrelenting heat and motion.
It wasn’t just Monster High anymore.
It was everyone.
The party had been stolen by something else.
Something in the air.
Something too strong to fight.
As the visiting students fully gave in—bodies rolling, grinding, and losing themselves to the infectious rhythm—the Monster High ghouls exchanged knowing smirks.
This was only the beginning.
“Let’s turn this up a notch.”
Gigi raised her hands, her green eyes glowing as the paint buckets she had been given earlier floated into the air. With a flick of her wrist, they soared toward Abbey, who caught them effortlessly.
Abbey grinned. “Hope you like mess.”
With a sharp twist, she hurled the buckets toward Spectra, who zipped through the air, catching them with ease.
Then, with a delighted cackle, Spectra spun high above the dance floor—twirling like a ghostly cyclone—before tipping the buckets over.
SPLASH!
Neon paint rained down like liquid stardust.
Bright blues, toxic greens, hot pinks, electric oranges—it splattered across the writhing bodies below, staining their clothes, their skin, their hair. Monster High’s students were already covered in glowing paint from earlier, but now?
Now, the entire student body from every school glowed under the pulsing black lights.
The Belfry Prep vampires, once regal in their pristine suits and corsets, were now drenched in splashes of neon green and purple, their fangs flashing under the glow.
The Cresent Moon High werewolves, already shirtless from their wild dancing, howled in delight as streaks of pink and blue ran down their fur, dripping off their abs as they continued to grind against their partners.
Even the girls from Smogshorts Vampyr Academy—who had once stood back with judgmental glares—were now dripping in neon, their outfits ruined, but they didn’t care. They arched their backs, tossing their heads back, fangs gleaming, as they twerked together in a synchronized, sinful display.
The once elegant, refined event had officially gone off the deep end.
And the ghouls weren’t done.
“Be right back, Wolfie!” Toralei purred, detaching herself from Clawdeen with a playful flick of her tail.
Clawdeen’s golden eyes narrowed, lips curling in amusement. “Don’t keep me waiting, Kitty.”
Toralei blew her a kiss before disappearing into the shadows.
She weaved through the chaotic mess of neon-drenched, sweat-slicked bodies, slipping past dancing students, grinding couples, and ghouls bent over furniture, completely lost in the music.
Her destination?
The ventilation room.
Once inside, she pulled out a small device, plugging it into the system with a wicked grin.
Back in the dance hall—
HISS.
Hidden smoke machines roared to life.
Thick, swirling clouds of mist began to creep across the dance floor, rising from the cracks between the dancers' feet, curling around their writhing bodies, making the room look even more chaotic. The once-grand ballroom was now drenched in neon, flooded with rolling smoke, and pulsing like a beast with a heartbeat of bass.
And then—POOF!
Students pulled out tiny vials, popping the tops—releasing clouds of glitter into the air.
The fine, shimmering dust exploded under the neon lights, swirling in the smoke, sticking to skin, hair, lips, and clothes like magic. The dance floor transformed into a twisted, shimmering dreamscape—a rave dripping in glow-in-the-dark sin.
From an elegant gala…
To a full-blown, 18+ monster rave.
Students grinded against each other in the thick smoke, neon-streaked hands clawing at backs and waists, lips crashing together in hungry, messy kisses.
A Himalayan high Yeti, once stiff and poised, had a random elemental pressed up against a pillar, their mouths moving together in a feverish, desperate clash.
A Vampyr Academy girl, still bent over, reached back and grabbed the waist of the guy behind her, forcing him closer, moving against him in slow, sensual rolls.
One Haunted High ghost was straddling her date's lap in a chair, grinding against him with zero shame, neon paint smeared across both of their skin.
And in the center of it all—
The Monster High ghouls watched with satisfaction.
Mission accomplished.
And the gas?
It was still getting stronger.
A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through Bloodgood’s skull as she stirred awake. Everything was hazy, her body heavy and sluggish, her thoughts foggy. The last thing she remembered was the sharp crack of something slamming against her head—
A bat.
Someone had knocked her out.
Her fingers twitched as she attempted to move, but something stopped her.
Cold metal.
Her wrists. Her ankles. Chained.
She blinked hard, her vision adjusting to the dimly lit room around her. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and rotting wood. The walls were bare, the space cramped, with no real furniture besides a few dusty crates.
A cabin?
Her heart pounded harder as her gaze swept across the room. That’s when she noticed—
She wasn’t alone.
The other headmasters and headmistresses were here, too.
Chained just like her, slumped against the wall, still unconscious.
Where the hell were they?
Panic tried to rise, but she forced it down. Think. She needed to get out of here. Now.
Her students—her entire school—depended on her.
Bloodgood tested the chains, pulling at the rusted iron, but they were sturdy. Too sturdy. She hissed through her teeth, trying to wiggle her wrists free, but the shackles dug into her skin.
No. She couldn’t afford to waste time.
Her eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—that could help. And then, she saw it:
A loose nail sticking out from the wooden beam beside her.
Her fingers stretched, straining toward it, just barely scraping against the tip. A little more—
Her nails caught it. She yanked, feeling it wiggle free from the old, rotten wood until—
SNAP.
She had it.
Her fingers trembled as she maneuvered the nail into her lock, twisting, coaxing the rusted mechanism to turn. It wasn’t easy—her hands were slick with sweat, her movements restricted—but after several painful, grueling minutes—
Click.
Her wrist came free.
She exhaled sharply, ignoring the sting in her raw skin as she moved to the other shackle, then her ankles.
The moment she was fully free, she collapsed forward, gasping.
Her clothes were torn from struggling. Her wrists and ankles were bruised and bleeding. But she was out.
One by one, she freed the others. They were still unconscious, their breathing even but slow. No time to wake them—not yet.
She stumbled toward the door, bracing herself against it before shoving her weight against it.
It didn’t budge.
She gritted her teeth, slamming her shoulder into it again. Nothing.
Something was blocking it from the outside.
"Damn it."
Bloodgood turned, eyes darting around the room until—there.
A window.
She climbed onto the crate beneath it, gripping the frame. It was old, fragile—it would break if she threw herself against it.
She didn’t hesitate.
With one final breath, she thrust herself forward.
CRASH.
Glass shattered around her as she tumbled through, shards slicing into her arms, her clothes ripping further as she landed on the cold, damp earth outside.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
The cabin was completely isolated.
A massive boulder and debris blocked the door, making escape impossible from the front.
But the real problem?
The cabin was surrounded by water.
A lake.
A thick fog hung over the surface, making it impossible to see what lurked beneath. There was no sign of a boat, no bridge, no easy way across.
And then—
A flicker of color in the distance.
Bloodgood froze, her eyes locking onto the Cathedral, its silhouette barely visible against the night sky.
But something was wrong.
The Cathedral was glowing.
Strange, pulsing lights of purple, pink, and blue illuminated the night. Those lights—
Those lights were NOT there before.
Her blood ran cold.
There was only one explanation.
The students had taken control.
And the Monster Mash had descended into chaos.
She clenched her fists. She had to get back.
Even if it meant swimming through whatever lurked in that lake.
Little did she know… It was too late
The entire next generation of monsters had been corrupted.
Amid the chaos of the dance floor, where students had fully succumbed to their desires—grinding, making out, sneaking off into the shadows—a small group of students from West Valley High remained untouched by the madness.
They were nerds, through and through.
Their glasses were askew, their button-up shirts and sweaters stained with neon paint, glitter, and artificial smoke. And while the rest of the crowd had lost their minds, they stood at the edge of the dance floor, wide-eyed and horrified.
This wasn’t just a wild party anymore. This was pandemonium.
“…Where the hell are the teachers?” one of them muttered.
No one had seen a single adult since the dance started.
Something was wrong.
“We need to find them.”
With grim determination, the group pushed through the crowd, dodging writhing bodies and carelessly discarded masks and accessories. The air smelled thick with sweat, perfume, and something… else.
The further they went, the worse it got.
In the hallways, couples were pressed against walls, lost in each other’s lips. Others disappeared into empty rooms, giggling and whispering.
The nerds swallowed hard.
This was bad.
They took a deep breath, preparing to split up and search for the teachers—
But then, their path was blocked.
By none other than Clawd, Gil, Deuce, Manny, and Heath
The five of them stood shoulder to shoulder, their outfits completely covered in neon paint, glitter, and lipstick smears—but their expressions were anything but playful.
Clawd crossed his arms. His golden eyes gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
"And just where do you think you’re going?"
The nerds froze.
"Uh—w-we were just—uh—"
One of them tried to stammer out an excuse, but Heath snapped his fingers.
"Wait a sec! I know you guys!" His eyes narrowed. "You’re the same losers who tried to cheat during our casketball game!"
The nerds blanched.
Oh no.
"Yeah," Clawd growled, cracking his knuckles. "Tried using a crystal ball to predict our moves. Almost cost us the whole game, remember that?"
Manny rolled his shoulders, his massive frame casting a shadow over them. "I say we get some payback."
The nerds immediately backpedaled, hands up in surrender.
"Guys, c’mon, that was a misunderstanding—"
Too late.
Deuce smirked, sliding his shades down just enough to give them a glimpse of his glowing green eyes.
"Nah, bro," he said smoothly. "It wasn’t."
The nerds let out a chorus of nervous, high-pitched chuckles, eyes darting for an escape. But there was none.
Gil smirked, crossing his arms. "You know what happens to snitches and teacher’s pets at our school?"
One of the nerds swallowed hard. "W-what?"
Manny cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Simple. We use ‘em as dodgeball practice…"
And then, he leaned in.
"And we don’t use the soft balls."
The nerds paled.
The boys stepped forward—
And then—
A pair of pale green slender hands glided in between Deuce and Manny.
"Now, now, boys."
Casta Fierce moved through the group with calm confidence, her flowing cloak brushing against their arms as she placed herself between the nerds and their impending doom.
Her dark lips curled into a smirk. "No need to worry. I’ll take it from here."
The boys hesitated.
Clawd frowned. "Casta, these guys—"
"Are hardly worth your time."
She reached up, trailing a finger along Deuce’s chin, then lightly tapping Manny’s massive chest.
"Besides… don’t you boys have ladies waiting?"
That got them.
Clawd glanced back toward the dance floor, where Draculaura was undoubtedly up to something. Deuce’s mind flickered to Cleo, and Gil definitely didn’t want to keep Lagoona waiting.
The group exchanged glances.
“…Fine,” Clawd muttered. "They're lucky we got better things to do."
One by one, they turned back toward the party, leaving the nerds standing there—completely helpless.
The moment they were gone, Casta slowly turned back to them.
The nerds barely had time to breathe in relief before they noticed something off.
The look in her eyes.
A mischievous hunger.
She licked her lips. "You boys…" she purred, taking a slow step forward. "Will make fine toys just like the rest of the ones I've collected."
The nerds shrank back, eyes widening in horror.
And then—
Her eyes glowed.
A deep, swirling mix of green and pink.
Their bodies locked up.
"From this point on…"
She leaned in, her voice a sultry whisper.
"You belong to ME."
The nerds screamed.
Meanwhile, on the Dance Floor, Kiyomi was absolutely losing herself in the music, throwing it back like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. The neon lights reflected off her translucent form, her ethereal body phasing in and out as she moved with the bass.
Every drop of the beat sent a thrill through her, and for once, she wasn’t worried about how ghostly she looked—she was just having fun.
But then—she felt something.
A finger phased through her hand.
Kiyomi instantly whipped around, eyes wide, only to see Toralei standing behind her, arms crossed and a smirk curling across her lips.
"Hey, Toralei?" Kiyomi asked, confused. "What's up?"
Toralei wasted no time. She leaned in close, barely audible over the pounding music. "You can make portals, right?"
Kiyomi blinked, tilting her head. "Uh… yeah? Why?"
Toralei’s smirk widened. "I need a favor."
On a lonely, dimly lit road, a group of girls stomped forward, their night utterly ruined. The excitement and fun they’d once felt had been replaced with frustration and disappointment.
The crew—all of them bad girls in their own right—had been thrown out by the cathedral’s guards after getting caught twerking too hard on the dance floor. Now, their heels clacked against the pavement as they grumbled, some wiping away smudged mascara while others kicked at the gravel in frustration.
Purrsephone let out an exasperated sigh, her twin tails swishing irritably behind her. "This is so STUPID!" she growled, her bangs falling into her face. "We were just having fun! What's her problem?"
Meowlody groaned, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "I know, right? We weren’t hurting anyone! Who cares if we were getting a little freaky?"
Amanita, still fuming, clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. "I swear, if I see that headless bitch again, I AM GONNA—"
"Calm down, girl!" Gory interrupted, quickly shoving a tissue into Amanita’s hands before she could finish that sentence. "It’s not that serious! Besides, you’re gonna ruin your makeup even more if you keep freaking out."
Amanita snatched the tissue with a huff, aggressively dabbing at her streaked mascara. "I don’t care! Bloodgood’s just a bitter old hag who hates seeing anyone have a good time!"
Pearl and Perri sniffled, both of them still teary-eyed. "This was supposed to be the best night ever!" Pearl whined, clinging to her sister.
"And now we’re just stuck out here in the middle of nowhere!" Perri added, pouting as Kala gently patted their shoulders in comfort.
"It’s almost midnight, guys," Kala reminded them, shaking her head. "The party’s probably over by now, anyway. No point in getting all worked up."
Purrsephone scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Whatever. Let’s just find a club or something—somewhere where people actually know how to party."
The rest of the girls grumbled in agreement; their moods still soured as they started walking faster.
But then—a shimmering portal suddenly ripped open in front of them, swirling with ghostly mist.
The girls skidded to a stop, eyes wide, just in time to see a very smug-looking Toralei Stripe stepping through, arms outstretched as if she had just saved the day.
"Miss me, ladies?" she purred.
A moment of stunned silence passed before Purrsephone stepped forward, crossing her arms. "What the hell, Toralei? Where have you been?"
"Oh, you know…" Toralei grinned, examining her claws. "Making sure the real bad girls didn’t have to miss out on the best night of their lives." She motioned to the glowing portal behind her. "I got you all a VIP pass back to the party. You in or what?"
Gory’s eyes instantly lit up. "Hell YES! I gotta go find my man!" She didn’t even wait for a response before dashing through the portal to go find Bram.
Amanita smirked, folding her arms. "Now that’s what I’m talking about! Let’s get our asses back in there!"
Kala, Pearl, and Perri—no longer sniffling—perked up, their faces brightening. "Really?! We can go back?!"
"Duh," Toralei smirked.
Meowlody nudged Purrsephone with her elbow. "Well? You wanted a place where people actually know how to party."
Purrsephone’s lips curled into a grin. "Damn right. Let’s get back in there and show ‘em how it’s done."
As the girls cheered and started stepping through the portal, Wydowna hesitated, adjusting her dress with her 6 arms.
"Hold on," she said, crossing her arms. "How do we know this isn’t some kind of prank?"
Toralei rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Wydowna. Do I look like I’d go through all this trouble just to mess with you?"
Wydowna gave her a deadpan look. "Yes."
The other girls snickered, but Toralei just smirked. "Fair point. But this ain't a prank, babe—it's a second chance. Now, are you coming, or are you gonna stand here looking paranoid while the rest of us get freaky?"
Wydowna glanced at the glowing portal, then at the girls already disappearing through it. With a sigh, she cracked her knuckles.
"Fine. But if this is a prank, I’m rigging your locker to explode next week."
"Noted," Toralei purred. "Now get your ass in there."
With a smirk, Wydowna finally stepped through, vanishing into the chaos of the party.
One by one, the girls stepped through the portal, emerging back into the wild party scene.
Spectra—hovering over the dance floor—saw them return and grinned mischievously. With a flick of her wrist, she dumped a bucket of neon paint over them.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
The music blasted louder.
And just like that—the bad ghouls were BACK.
They hit the dance floor like they had never left, throwing it back harder than before, their bodies covered in glowing neon streaks.
Amanita flipped her hair, swaying her hips in slow, hypnotic movements before going all in.
Kala took Pearl and Perri’s hands, spinning them around before dropping low.
Purrsephone and Meowlody tag-teamed, dancing back-to-back, their tails swishing in perfect sync.
Wydowna dropped it low, 2 hands on her hips, 2 on her head and the others flowing free as she bounced it like a basketball.
And Toralei?
She sauntered back into the madness, her grin smug and satisfied.
The entire room pulsed with chaotic, hormone-fueled energy, the party descending even deeper into madness.
And at this point—there was no saving the next generation of monsters.
In the pit, the teachers sat in various states of frustration, exhaustion, and outright defeat. Some, like Mr. Where, were trying in vain to climb the slick walls, only to slide back down with a grunt of irritation. Others, like Miss Kindergrubber, sat with their arms crossed, grumbling under their breath.
Above them, students passed by, laughing, pointing, and occasionally stopping to mock their trapped educators. A few poured their drinks over the edge, watching as sticky neon liquid dripped down onto the miserable adults. Others got more creative, giggling as they tossed down whatever they had on hand.
Mr. Rotter wiped some disgusting piss off his sleeve with a look of utter disdain before turning to Hackington, who was slumped against the dirt wall, his suit disheveled and his glasses askew.
“Alright, Hackington,” Rotter said, rubbing his temple. “Please tell me you’re making progress on the cure.”
Hackington didn’t even look up. He exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, staring blankly ahead like a man who had seen too much.
“…Hackington?” Rotter pressed.
Hackington just sighed again, lowering his head into his hands.
“…I am so damn tired.”
Rotter closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long night.
The party had officially descended into complete chaos.
Cleo and Spectra were throwing it back on opposite ends of a massive table, their movements smooth, hypnotic, and utterly shameless. Cleo’s gold jewelry jingled with every precise motion of her hips, while Spectra’s ghostly form shimmered under the neon lights.
Abbey, meanwhile, had Heath pinned against a chair, grinding against his waist with such intensity that the flames on his head flickered erratically. She snapped her fingers in front of his face, making him refocus.
“Heath,” she commanded, voice thick with her Yeti accent. “Smack my ass. Like you mean it.”
Heath gulped, his hands instinctively moving to her hips. “Y-yes ma’am!” He swung his palm, landing a firm smack that made Abbey purr in approval.
Students from other schools had long since given in, their inhibitions drowned beneath the flood of pheromones and flashing neon lights. The dance floor pulsed with bodies moving in wild abandon, and at the heart of it all, the Monster High ghouls were leading the charge.
Ghoulia had rejoined the dance floor, albeit looking a little wobbly after what had clearly been a very productive rendezvous with Slo-Mo. She flipped her hair back, adjusted her glasses, and rolled her shoulders before diving right back into the madness.
Then there was Gigi.
Perched on a chair at the center of the room, she moved with an impossible fluidity—spinning, flipping, twisting in ways that defied physics. At one point, she leaned back, throwing both legs into the air before balancing effortlessly on the chair’s back legs, her body bending with unnatural grace.
Ryder, standing nearby, could not look away.
“Holy shit…” he muttered, absolutely mesmerized.
Gigi noticed.
She flashed a knowing grin, pointed straight at him, and then—slowly, teasingly—curled her finger in a 'come here' motion.
Ryder’s entire brain short-circuited.
“Uhhh—”
Before he could even think about moving, Lagoona, Lorna, and Sirena snickered at his hesitation.
“Oh, mate, ya ain’t gettin’ outta this one,” Lagoona teased.
“Best of luck, boyo!” Lorna grinned mischievously.
“Try not to drown,” Sirena giggled before all three shoved his wheelchair forward, rolling him straight toward Gigi.
The moment he got close enough, Gigi grabbed him by the shirt collar.
“Mine.”
And with a snap of her fingers, they both vanished.
The moment they disappeared, the guys exchanged glances.
“Damn,” Deuce whistled. “She’s gonna drain him dry.”
Clawd chuckled. “Better hope he makes it back alive.”
The moment they reappeared inside her pocket dimension, Ryder found himself flung onto a massive, luxurious bed.
Without his wheelchair, he was completely at her mercy.
He barely had a second to process before Gigi—hovering above him like a tiger ready to pounce—gave him a slow, hungry smirk.
And then she leapt.
As Gigi leapt, Ryder's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through his veins. She landed softly on top of him, her hands planted firmly on either side of his head, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made him forget to breathe.
She took off her hair band and her hair cascaded down around them, creating a private, intimate curtain that shut out the rest of the world.
"Gigi," Ryder began, his voice barely above a whisper, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Shh," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "No talking. Just stay still."
Gigi's hands began to explore, tracing the lines of his face, his neck, and then slowly moving down his chest. Each touch was deliberate, igniting a trail of fire beneath his skin.
She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, "I've been waiting for this."
Her lips brushed against his neck, sending another wave of shivers through him. She kissed and nipped at his skin, her hands continuing their descent.
Ryder's breath hitched as her fingers reached the waistband of his pants, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them with practiced ease.
Gigi shifted her position, moving lower down his body. Her hair tickled his bare skin as she tugged at his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. Ryder lifted his hips slightly to help, his breath coming in short, excited gasps.
She paused for a moment, her eyes locked onto his, a wicked smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she lowered her head.
Ryder's world exploded into a sensation of warmth and pleasure as Gigi took him into her mouth. His hands fisted the sheets beneath him, his body tensing as waves of ecstasy washed over him.
She moved with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and deliciously intense, her tongue swirling and teasing, her lips creating a perfect seal around him.
Every flick of her tongue, every subtle change in pressure, sent electric pulses through his body. Ryder's hips bucked involuntarily, but Gigi's hands held him firmly in place, her grip strong and steady.
She was in complete control, and he was more than willing to let her take the lead.
Time seemed to stand still as she continued, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. Ryder's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, Gigi pulled away, a satisfied smirk on her lips.
"Not yet, dear" she murmured, her voice husky with desire. She climbed back up his body, her knees straddling his hips. Ryder's hands instinctively went to her waist, his fingers digging into her soft skin.
Gigi reached down, positioning him at her entrance. She lowered herself slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Ryder's breath hitched as he felt her warmth envelop him, inch by agonizing inch. She was tight, her body gripping him like a vice.
Once fully seated, Gigi paused, giving them both a moment to adjust to the sensation. Then, instead of a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she began to move with a fierce, unbridled intensity.
Ryder's hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts as she rode him with wild abandon. Her pace was relentless, her movements fast and frenzied, like a cheetah chasing its prey. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure crashing through him, building higher and higher with each passing second.
Gigi's breath came in ragged gasps, her head thrown back, her hair whipping around her like a storm. She was a vision of raw, primal desire, and Ryder was completely captivated. He matched her rhythm, his hips lifting to meet hers, their bodies moving in a chaotic, passionate dance.
The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—loud moans, urgent whispers, the frenzied slap of skin against skin. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own private universe of wild, uncontrolled pleasure.
Gigi's movements became even more urgent, her breath coming in short, desperate pants.
"Ryder. Ryder. RYDER!" She screamed on repeat.
Ryder could feel her body tensing, her inner muscles clenching around him with each powerful thrust.
He was close, so close, but he held back, waiting for her.
With a final, explosive thrust, Gigi cried out, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her.
The sight and sound of her release pushed Ryder over the edge. He gripped her hips tightly, his own body tensing as he joined her in ecstasy.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high.
Then, Gigi collapsed onto his chest, her body warm and sated. Ryder wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, a contented smile on his lips.
"We heading back to the party?" Ryder asked.
"Let's just stay here for minute," Gigi murmured into his chest. "Just the two of us."
Ryder chuckled, kissing the top of her head.
"Sounds good to me."
And with that, they drifted off to sleep.
The dance floor was an absolute war zone of ass-shaking, neon lights, and pure, unfiltered chaos.
Sirena was fully in the zone, swaying her hips and backing it up with reckless abandon. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t looking—just feeling the rhythm. But in her excitement, she miscalculated her movement and slammed right into someone behind her.
She immediately gasped, spinning around in a panic. "Oh, seashells! I am so sorry—"
But instead of anger, she was met with Vandala’s trademark smirk. The ghost pirate tipped her hat up, giving Sirena an appraising look before laughing. "No need to apologize, lass. If anythin’, ya just made my night more interestin’."
Sirena blinked. "Wait… you’re not mad?"
Vandala grinned, placing her hands on her hips. "Mad? ‘Course not! If yer gonna shake it, might as well do it right. Keep goin’!"
Sirena’s lips curled into a wide, mischievous grin. "Oh, bet."
She turned back around and immediately started shaking her ass against Vandala’s waist. The pirate ghoul let out a low whistle before placing her hands firmly on Sirena’s hips, guiding her movements as she began grinding against her.
The crowd around them lost their minds. Cheers, whistles, and hollers erupted as Vandala playfully smacked Sirena’s ass a few times, making the mer-ghoul giggle.
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Avea and Bonita sat back, watching the madness unfold.
Bonita leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Huh… never thought I’d see Sirena go full freak mode, but here we are.”
Avea chuckled, arms crossed. “Aye, it’s good to see her let loose. She needed a little fun in her life.”
Bonita sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, lucky her. Wish I had someone to spice up my night.”
Avea arched a brow. “Feelin’ a bit… lonely there, Bonita?”
Bonita groaned, throwing her arms over her face dramatically. “Yes! I am so touch-starved, it’s not even funny! If I don’t get some kind of action soon, I might just lose my mind.”
Avea exhaled through her nose, staring at the floor for a moment before muttering, “…Same.”
Bonita peeked out from under her arms. “Wait. You too?”
Avea shot her a look. “Bonita, I’m half-horse. It is a biological nightmare trying to find someone who can keep up with me.”
Bonita burst out laughing. “Oh gods, I didn’t even think about that! That’s gotta suck!”
Avea smirked dryly. “Aye. It does.”
Bonita leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Sooo… desperate enough to take just anyone?”
Avea gave her a pointed look. “Not that desperate. Yet.”
Bonita sighed, sinking into her seat. “…Yeah. Same.”
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, watching Sirena continue grinding against Vandala while the crowd hyped them up.
Avea huffed. “We need to get laid.”
Bonita nodded. “Big time.”
Meanwhile, in a secluded corner of the room, Neighthan leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed in pure bliss.
Isi was on her knees in front of him, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him into her mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming, every flick of her tongue and every subtle movement of her lips sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.
Isi's eyes flicked up to meet his, a mischievous glint in them as she increased her pace.
Neighthan's breath hitched, his hands fisting in her hair as he struggled to maintain control. The sounds of the party faded into the background, leaving only the intense, intimate connection between them.
Her movements became more urgent, more demanding, and Neighthan could feel himself teetering on the edge.
He let out a low groan, his body tensing as he surrendered to the sensation. Isi's grip tightened, her movements becoming even more frenzied as she brought him to the brink of ecstasy.
With a final, powerful suck, Neighthan cried out, his body convulsing as he came inside her mouth. Isi slowed her pace, her tongue gently lapping at him as he came down from his high.
She looked up at him with a satisfied smirk, her eyes gleaming with pride.
Neighthan leaned down, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her lips.
"Thank you," he murmured against her mouth, his voice husky with gratitude.
Isi grinned, standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Anytime, handsome," she purred, her body pressing against his. "Anytime."
As they returned to the dance floor, the music concluded.
The moment Bounce by Big Boogie ended, the entire room was in a frenzy. The ghouls had been throwing it back like their lives depended on it, drenched in neon paint and sweat, the crowd hyping them up nonstop.
But now, Holt decided it was time to switch things up.
Grinning, he grabbed the mic. “A’ight, ghouls, you had your fun. Now it’s time for the bros to take over!”
With that, he cued up the next song—'Shake Sum' by DaBaby.
The instant the beat dropped, the boys were already gearing up.
'I don't know how to dance but can lean and make the ghetto bitches put they hands on they knees (ah)'
On cue, Clawd, Deuce, Heath, Gil, Manny, Johnny, Porter, Romulus, and Bram all stepped forward like they had been waiting for this moment.
At first, Holt stayed at the station, continuing to monitor the setup. But then a hand tapped his shoulder and Holt turned to see Frankie looking at him with a grin.
"C'mon, babe, show 'em what you're made of!"
Holt was hesitant at first, but then Astranova placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry Holt," she said, a sweet smile on her lips. "I've got this. Go have fun."
Holt looked back at Frankie, his face splitting into a wide grin as he nodded and left the DJ booth. He immediately ran over to join the guys, who were all adjusting their clothes so that there wouldn't be any problems.
With that, the boys went off.
Their movements were sharp, calculated—straight-up Jabberwocky-level choreography. They leaned, popped, and hit every beat like they had been rehearsing for this moment their entire lives.
The crowd went wild.
Their girlfriends were the loudest of all.
"GET IT, BABE!" Draculaura screamed, nearly losing her voice as Clawd hit a spin and flexed mid-dance.
Spectra was floating above the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth as she cheered, "PORTER, YOU'RE KILLING IT!"
Ghoulia, still a little out of breath from her earlier activities with Slo-Mo, let out an approving moan. "Rrrrrhh!"
Frankie was practically vibrating with excitement, watching Holt absolutely shred the dance floor. "THAT'S MY MAN!"
By the time the second verse hit, the boys were moving in perfect sync, their squad looking like an unstoppable force.
'I don't know how to dance but can lean and make the ghetto bitches put they hands on they knees (ah)'
And then—the real madness began.
One by one, their girlfriends pushed through the crowd and joined them.
Draculaura wasted no time jumping onto Clawd, her arms draping around his shoulders as she started grinding on him.
Cleo slid up behind Deuce, her hands running down his chest before she turned around and threw it back. Deuce damn near lost his mind, but he kept dancing.
Abbey had been waiting for this moment—she grabbed Heath by the waist, spun him around, and forced him to take it. "Hands on my hips, flame boy, and do not stop smacking!"
Iris practically launched herself onto Manny, her wild energy making him grin. "Don't hold back, big guy!"
Operetta, Gory, Meowlody, and Purrsephone had no intention of staying on the sidelines either. They found their respective lovers—Romulus for the twins, Bram for Gory, and Johnny for Operetta—and made sure they all got a proper view of their ass cheeks.
By now, the entire dance floor was shaking.
What started as the boys showing off turned into pure madness—an explosion of synchronized movements, couples grinding, and absolute hype.
The other students were losing their minds.
"THIS IS INSANE!" someone screamed.
"THEY’RE TAKING OVER THE PARTY!"
"IS THIS A DANCE BATTLE OR A LIVE SHOW?!"
By the time the song ended, the boys were spent. Their chests heaved, sweat dripping, but they knew they had just put on one of the best performances of their lives.
But before they could even think about catching their breath, they felt hands gripping their wrists.
Their girlfriends weren’t about to let the night end just yet.
One by one, the ghouls started pulling their exhausted boyfriends off the dance floor, their smirks leaving no room for misinterpretation.
"C’mon, babe," Cleo purred, tugging Deuce towards the exit. "You earned a reward."
Draculaura giggled as she yanked Clawd along. "No rest for the wicked~"
Abbey cracked her knuckles. "Heath, you better be ready."
Frankie gave Holt a wicked grin. "You didn’t think I’d let all that energy go to waste, did you?"
Holt gulped. "Oh, damn…"
As the couples disappeared into the shadows, the remaining students stood there, stunned.
The night had officially gone off the rails.
Headmistress Bloodgood ran through the dense, shadowed forest, her breath ragged, her body aching. Twigs snapped under her hurried steps, and the wind howled through the gnarled branches above. Her once-pristine riding coat was torn, her stockings muddied, and a deep scratch ran along her forearm from when she’d barely managed to scramble across the river.
The current had been relentless, and though she had made it across, the price had been steep—her hair was a mess, her legs throbbed from the cold, and her ribs ached from when she had slammed against the rocks.
But she had no time to dwell on it.
The cathedral loomed in the distance, its spires cutting through the dark sky. The faint, pulsing glow of the dance flickered through the stained-glass windows, and even from this distance, she could hear the thunder of bass shaking the very foundation of the ancient structure.
Bloodgood’s stomach twisted.
This wasn’t just a party anymore—this was chaos.
She forced herself to move faster, pushing through the thick underbrush. She had to get there. She had to shut this down before it was too late.
Before the entire world saw what had become of her school.
But what she didn’t realize—what she couldn’t have known—was that it was already too late.
As Clawd and Draculaura stepped into the dimly lit room, the door barely had time to click shut behind them before they were on each other. Their lips met in a fierce, hungry kiss, their bodies pressing together with an urgency that left no room for doubt about their intentions.
Clawd's hands roamed over Draculaura's curves, gripping her hips and pulling her closer as she moaned into his mouth. The sound only fueled his desire, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth.
After a few intense seconds, Draculaura pulled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She gave him a wicked smirk before turning around and sauntering towards the bed, her hips swaying provocatively with each step.
Clawd's eyes were glued to her, his heart pounding in his chest as he followed her like a predator stalking its prey.
Draculaura reached the bed and climbed onto it, positioning herself on her hands and knees.
She looked over her shoulder at Clawd, her eyes filled with a mix of mischief and desire. "You want this, don't you, big guy?" she teased, shaking her ass in his face.
Clawd growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "You know I do," he rasped, his voice thick with need.
Draculaura chuckled, a sultry sound that sent shivers down his spine. "Then come and get it," she purred, wiggling her ass enticingly while curling her finger in his direction.
That was all the invitation Clawd needed.
He positioned himself behind her, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her head back gently. Draculaura let out a soft moan, her body arching into his touch.
With a powerful thrust, Clawd entered her, his hips slamming against her ass. Draculaura cried out, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her as she pushed back against him, meeting his every movement.
"Harder!" she demanded, her voice breathless but insistent. "Come on, Clawd, show me what you've got!"
Clawd growled again, his grip on her hair tightening as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning against her with a force that made the bed shake. Draculaura's moans filled the room, her body trembling with each powerful thrust.
"Yes!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. "Just like that! Don't stop!"
Clawd's suit was slick with sweat, his muscles straining as he gave her everything he had. He could feel her tightening around him, her inner muscles clenching as she neared her climax.
"Harder!" Draculaura cried out again, her voice desperate. "I'm so close! Don't stop!"
Clawd's hips moved like a jackhammer, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased his own release.
With a final, powerful thrust, Draculaura's body convulsed, her scream of pleasure filling the room as she came undone beneath him.
The sight and sound of her orgasm pushed Clawd over the edge. He let out a roar, his body tensing as he joined her in ecstasy, his hips jerking against her as he rode out the waves of his own release.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high.
Then, Clawd collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms as they both laughed breathlessly.
"Damn, Lala," Clawd murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You never cease to amaze me."
Draculaura grinned, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Right back at you, big guy," she purred, snuggling closer to him. "Right back at you."
Frankie and Holt found themselves in the quiet of their room, the urgency of their desire palpable in the air.
Frankie, still in her elegant gown, straddled Holt's lap on the bed, her movements frenzied and desperate. She bounced up and down with an intensity that left no room for doubt about her need. Holt, still in his suit, held her tightly, his hands gripping her waist as she rode him with wild abandon.
The room was filled with the sounds of their ragged breaths and the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin.
Frankie's eyes were closed, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she chased her pleasure. Holt watched her, his own desire mirrored in his gaze, as he matched her movements with powerful thrusts of his own.
As Frankie continued to ride him, her movements became even more intense. She gripped Holt's shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his suit as she bounced harder and faster.
The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, a testament to the ferocity of their passion.
But then—POP
Suddenly, Frankie's arm detached from her shoulder, flying off in the heat of the moment. She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she looked down at her dismembered limb lying on the bed.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with panic. "My arm!"
Holt, momentarily taken aback, quickly recovered. He reached down and picked up the detached arm, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Instead of reattaching it or setting it aside, he had a different idea.
"Don't worry, Frankie," he said, his voice low and husky. "I've got this."
Before Frankie could react, Holt positioned the arm and calmly shoved it up her behind.
Frankie's eyes widened in surprise, and then she let out a scream of pleasure, her body convulsing as the sensation overwhelmed her.
"Oh my god, Holt!" she cried out, her voice trembling with ecstasy. "That feels... incredible!"
Holt grinned, his hands gripping her hips as he continued to thrust into her, the added sensation driving them both to the brink of madness. Frankie's screams filled the room, her body trembling with each powerful movement.
Their climax came swiftly and intensely.
Frankie's body tensed, her screams turning into a long, drawn-out moan as waves of pleasure washed over her. Holt followed soon after, his own release explosive and overwhelming.
He had to be careful though. One wrong step, and he'd accidentally burn her alive.
As they came down from their high, their breaths slowly returning to normal, Frankie collapsed onto Holt's chest, her body sated and exhausted. Holt wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both laughed breathlessly.
"That was... unexpected," Frankie murmured, her voice still trembling slightly.
Holt chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But good, right?"
Frankie nodded, a contented smile on her lips. "Voltagious."
After a moment, Frankie shifted slightly, looking up at Holt with a playful smirk.
"Can you... get my arm out now?"
Holt laughed, gently shifting her off his lap. "Of course," he said, carefully retrieving the arm from her behind. He handed it back to her, a tender look in his eyes.
Frankie reattached her arm with a soft click, her smile widening. "Thank you," she said, snuggling back into his embrace.
Holt held her close, his heart filled with warmth and contentment. "Anytime, Frankie," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her forehead.
As Cleo and Deuce stepped into their private quarters, the air was thick with anticipation.
Cleo, ever the queen, moved with a regal grace, her eyes gleaming with a mix of desire and determination. She reached out to Deuce, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
"On your knees, Deuce," she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. "Your queen demands your submission."
Deuce's eyes flashed with a spark of defiance. Instead of complying, he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. With a swift, powerful motion, he spun her around and threw her onto the bed. Cleo let out a surprised gasp, her eyes widening as she hit the mattress.
"DEUCE!" she exclaimed, her tone somewhere between shocked and delighted.
Deuce chuckled, climbing onto the bed beside her. "I know how much you love giving orders, my queen," he teased, leaning down to kiss her neck. "But tonight, I'm in charge."
Before she could react, Deuce was on top of her, his body pinning hers to the bed. He shoved her dress up, his hand gripping her thigh as he positioned himself at her entrance.
With a single, forceful thrust, he entered her, making her scream out in a mix of pain and pleasure.
Cleo's cry was cut short as Deuce wrapped one arm around her neck, the other clamping over her mouth. His hips began to move, his thrusts powerful and relentless.
Cleo's eyes watered, her mascara running down her face as she struggled to breathe, but the look in her eyes was not one of fear or anger—
It was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Her body writhed beneath him, her hips meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sounds of their ragged breaths and the slapping of skin against skin. Cleo's muffled moans escaped from behind Deuce's hand, her body trembling with each powerful movement.
Deuce's grip on her tightened as he neared his climax. His body tensed, and with a final, deep thrust, he released, his groan of pleasure mingling with Cleo's muffled cries.
As he came down from his high, Deuce slowly released his hold on Cleo, his body shaking with the aftermath of their intense encounter. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and satisfaction.
"Was that... okay?" he asked, his voice breathless.
Cleo, her makeup running, her hair disheveled, simply smiled and nodded.
"More than okay," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the lack of oxygen. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.
Deuce's eyes widened in surprise as they separated. "You... you enjoyed that?"
Cleo nodded, her smile widening. "Every. Single. Second."
Deuce let out a relieved laugh, his body relaxing as he collapsed onto the bed beside her. He pulled her into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"I'm glad," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth.
They lay there for a moment, their breaths slowly returning to normal, the sounds of the party outside a distant hum. Cleo snuggled closer to Deuce, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
"Do you want to go back to the party?" Deuce asked softly, his hand stroking her hair.
Cleo shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Not yet," she said, her voice low and sultry.
"Well," Deuce said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want to do then, my queen?"
She bit her lip, her gaze locked onto his. "Got any other ideas you wanna try?"
Deuce's eyes widened, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He sat up, his body flashing a brilliant green as he began to transform.
Cleo watched in awe as her boyfriend shifted, his form morphing into a writhing mass of snakes.
She let out a delighted gasp, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She lay back down on the bed, spreading her legs wide as she motioned for the snakes to approach.
The snakes slithered towards her, some wrapping around her arms, others around her legs, their scales cool and smooth against her skin.
Cleo's grin widened as she felt the snakes restrain her, their grip firm but gentle. She let out a soft moan, her body trembling with anticipation.
The last snake positioned itself at her entrance, its head poised and ready.
"Go for it," she breathed, her voice filled with desire.
With a loud hiss, the snake dove in.
Cleo's scream of joy filled the room as the sensation overwhelmed her, her body convulsing with pleasure.
With Holt busy handling Frankie in a more private setting, the DJ booth sat empty, music still thumping from the last track.
Astranova floated over, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she scanned the setup. She couldn’t let the energy die down just because half the students had run off to enjoy the party in their own ways.
No—this party was far from over.
Hovering above the DJ booth, she scrolled through Holt’s extensive playlist, her fingers tapping against the console as she considered her options.
What’s the right song to bring all the girls back?
Her eyes flicked through titles.
“WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion? Too obvious.
“Twerkulator” by City Girls? Tempting, but she wanted something with more energy.
“Act Up” by City Girls?
“Hot Girl” by Megan Thee Stallion? Close, but not quite what she was looking for.
She bit her lip, scrolling faster—
Then she found it.
“Level Up” by Ciara.
A slow grin spread across her face. Perfect.
She worked her magic on the controls, adjusting the bass and tempo just a little to really get the beat pumping. Then, with a single press of a button, the song boomed through the speakers.
"Five, four, three, two, one..."
The second the beat dropped, the remaining ghouls in the dance hall perked up.
Venus, Robeeca, Clawdeen, Toralei, Amanita, Wydowna, Sirena, Rochelle, Isi, and Ghoulia, along with some of the visiting students like Vandala and River, all turned toward the DJ booth where Astranova was now floating down onto the dance floor.
They exchanged glances before grinning—
Then they rushed to join her.
The energy shifted instantly. Their movements were sharp, their synchronization immaculate. They followed Astranova’s lead as she worked her cosmic magic, every step perfectly matching the rhythm. Twerking, hip rolls, body waves—everything was on point.
The crowd roared in excitement, completely mesmerized by the girls killing the dance floor. Their control, their unity, the way they owned the space—this wasn’t just dancing.
It was domination.
Every time the beat hit, their movements became sharper, their energy growing wilder.
Even Scarah, who had been sitting out for most of the night after the first song, instinctively tried to rise from her seat, wanting to join in. But the moment she moved, a sharp pang shot through her, reminding her that she was, in fact, pregnant.
Even if she was only a few days in, her body was already starting to feel the effects.
She groaned in frustration, flopping back down onto Invisi-Billy’s shoulder.
“You okay Scarah?” Billy asked softly, his arm wrapping around her protectively.
Scarah pouted, watching her friends dominate the floor. “I wanna join…” she muttered wistfully.
Billy chuckled. “I think your body’s telling you otherwise.”
She sighed dramatically but nodded. “Guess I’ll just enjoy tha show, then.”
As the final chorus of “Level Up” blared through the speakers, the girls all hit one final pose together, standing tall, confident, and looking damn good while doing it.
The entire hall erupted in cheers, screams, and whistles. The energy was insane.
Then, as quickly as the performance had peaked, the moment passed, and the ghouls scattered—resuming their various activities. Some went to grab drinks, some went back to dancing solo, and some had... other plans in mind.
Vandala had been watching Sirena ever since that accidental grind earlier. At first, it had been just a funny little mishap, but now? Now it was stuck in her head.
And as the ghouls started to disperse, she saw her opportunity.
She stepped up behind Sirena and, without hesitation, grabbed her wrist.
“C’mon, fishy,” Vandala purred, her voice low and teasing. “Ye can’t jus’ start somethin’ like that an’ not let me finish.”
Sirena blinked, but then a slow, knowing grin spread across her lips. “Oh? You liked that, huh?”
Vandala smirked. “Maybe. Guess ye’ll have to come with me an’ find out.”
Without another word, she tugged Sirena away from the dance floor, disappearing into the shadows.
Meanwhile, Robeeca adjusted her hat, feeling satisfied after the performance. The dance had been thrilling, but now she was ready to mingle, maybe meet some students from the other schools—
Until something tight wrapped around her neck.
Her eyes widened as she gasped, reaching up—only to feel the soft, familiar texture of a vine.
Slowly, she turned.
Venus stood behind her, arms crossed, a dangerous grin on her face. “Goin’ somewhere, gears?” she asked, her voice silky smooth yet filled with command.
Robeeca’s throat went dry. “I, uh—”
Venus yanked the vine just slightly, forcing Robeeca to stumble forward. She leaned in, whispering directly into her ear.
“No teachers. No guards. No rules.”
Robeeca shivered. “Venus, w-we can’t just—”
Venus’s grip tightened. “Get on your hands and knees.”
Robeeca’s breath hitched. Her internal gears whirred, her circuits firing off signals of hesitation, protest—
But it was useless.
Venus knew exactly how to push her buttons.
Robeeca’s body moved before her mind could protest. Her knees hit the ground, her hands following, her head dipping submissively. Her hat tumbled off her head as her entire posture shifted.
Venus chuckled, tilting Robeeca’s chin up with one finger. “Good girl.”
Venus smirked and turned away, but instead of immediately leading Robeeca off, she made her way over to Avea, who was watching with crossed arms. Avea raised an eyebrow as Venus stopped in front of her.
"...What?" Avea asked, suspicious.
Venus simply gestured for Avea to lower her head. Confused, the centaur-hybrid complied, leaning down slightly.
Venus then whispered into her ear, her voice dripping with amusement and something far more sinister.
"I know exactly what you're hiding between those legs of yours, Avea~."
Avea’s eyes widened, her whole body stiffening. But then, realization hit her, and her lips curled into a sly smirk. She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head.
"Heh. So that’s what you want, huh?" she muttered.
Venus only grinned wickedly in response.
Avea chuckled, glancing at Robeeca—who looked back at her with nervous uncertainty—before turning her gaze back to Venus.
"...Fine. Lead the way, plant girl."
Venus tightened her grip on Robeeca’s vine leash, yanked her forward again, and motioned for Avea to follow. The trio disappeared into the crowd, earning a few curious glances and knowing whistles.
Bonita, who had been sitting nearby, let out an exaggerated sigh as she watched them go.
"Great. Sirena’s getting some action with Vandala, Avea gets to tag team two lesbians, and Neighthan is off with Isi… meanwhile, I’m sitting here like a single pringle," she grumbled.
Before she could wallow in her loneliness for too long, a shadow loomed over her.
Bronco, now fully corrupted by the gas, slid up beside her, one arm resting against the wall as he leaned down to smirk at her.
"Hey, gorgeous," he rumbled.
Bonita didn’t even hesitate. "How big is it?"
Bronco's smirk widened. "Large enough."
She let out a slow exhale, then smirked back at him.
"Heh. Guess I won’t be that lonely tonight after all."
With that, Bronco took her hand and led her away.
The room was filled with a symphony of pleasure as Meowlody and Purrsephone, the twin sisters, screamed in unison. Their cries of ecstasy echoed off the walls, a testament to the intense sensations coursing through their bodies.
Romulus, seated beneath them, was the orchestrator of their bliss, his powerful body moving with a rhythm that left no room for doubt about his skill.
Meowlody straddled Romulus's lap, her hips moving in sync with his powerful thrusts. His cock pounded into her with a relentless intensity, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.
Her hands gripped his legs, her nails digging into his skin as she rode him with wild abandon.
Purrsephone, perched on Romulus's face, threw her head back in sheer delight. His tongue worked magic between her legs, licking and teasing with expert precision. Her hips rolled and bucked, her body trembling with each flick of his tongue.
The sensation was overwhelming, her screams of pleasure mingling with her sister's in a harmonious duet of ecstasy.
The room was a whirlwind of passion, the air thick with the scent of their arousal. Romulus's hands gripped Meowlody's waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. His hips thrust upward, meeting her descent with powerful, deliberate strokes.Purrsephone's hands tangled in Romulus's hair, her grip tightening as she ground against his face. His tongue delved deeper, his lips creating a perfect seal around her most intimate place. The sensation was almost too much to bear, her body convulsing with each wave of pleasure.
Meowlody's screams grew louder, her body tensing as she neared her climax.
Romulus's thrusts became more urgent, his own release building with each powerful movement. The room was a blur of motion, their bodies moving in perfect sync, chasing the ultimate high.
In the room next door, Gory was pressed against the wall, her low-cut dress lifted up to reveal her pale, but plump posterior.
Bram stood behind her, his body pinning hers to the wall as he pounded into her with a ferocity that left her screaming his name.
Bram's hand gripped Gory's waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her in place. His other hand wrapped around her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Their eyes locked, the intensity of their connection palpable in the air.
Gory's screams filled the room, her body trembling with each powerful thrust.
Bram's hips moved with a relentless rhythm, his cock driving into her with a force that left her breathless. The sound of their skin slapping together echoed off the walls, a primal symphony of their passion.
Bram's grip on Gory's chin tightened, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. "Say my name," he growled, his voice thick with desire.
Gory's eyes fluttered closed, her body convulsing with pleasure. "Bram!" she screamed, her voice hoarse from her cries. "
Bram, Bram, Bram!"
Bram's hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent. Gory's body tensed, her inner muscles clenching around him as she neared her climax.
The sensation was overwhelming, her screams of pleasure filling the room as she surrendered to the waves of ecstasy.
Bram's own release was imminent, his body tensing as he chased his own high.
With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a roar, his body convulsing as he came inside her.
As they came down from their high, their breaths slowly returning to normal, Bram pressed a gentle kiss to Gory's shoulder. She turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and adoration.
"You have no idea," she murmured, her voice soft and breathless. "How long I was waiting for that!"
Bram smiled, his hand cupping her cheek. "Glad I could fulfil your wish," he replied, his voice filled with warmth.
In the other room, Meowlody and Purrsephone collapsed onto Romulus, their bodies sated and exhausted. Romulus wrapped his arms around them, holding them close as they all laughed breathlessly.
"That was... intense," Meowlody said, her voice trembling slightly.
Purrsephone nodded, a contented smile on her lips. "Very intense," she agreed.
Romulus chuckled, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. "Glad you both enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.
The entrance to the cathedral burst open as Bloodgood stormed inside, looking dazed, confused, and utterly pissed.
As she made her way through the grand halls, she clung to a desperate hope—that the students hadn’t completely ruined the dance. That somehow, some way, she could still regain control.
But what she found shattered whatever confidence she had left.
The cathedral was a disaster. The once-elegant halls were now covered in neon paint and glitter, with torn pieces of clothing strewn about like remnants of a war zone.
As Bloodgood walked, her horror only grew.
Couples flirted shamelessly, openly making out, whispering inappropriate comments to each other, and dragging their partners into the cathedral’s various rooms with no hesitation.
The place looked less like a school dance and more like a monster strip club.
But what truly stunned her wasn’t just the behavior.
It was the fact that the ones doing this… weren’t just her students.
Her breath hitched as she spotted Sirena and Vandala—who she KNEW didn’t attend Monster High—floating into a nearby room and shutting the door behind them.
Her panic escalated as she watched a group of girls from Smogshorts Vampyr Academy get pulled into a room by werewolves from Crescent Moon High, a school that had been assimilated into Monster High years ago.
This wasn’t just her problem anymore.
It wasn’t just Monster High’s students who had succumbed to the madness.
It was students from EVERYWHERE.
But why? Why were the students from other schools acting just as wild as her own?
Then, she saw it.
A girl from Himalayan High eagerly yanking a boy from the Centaur Track team into a nearby room.
As the door swung shut behind them, Bloodgood caught the unmistakable flash of pink in their eyes.
Her heart stopped.
No…
It all made sense now.
The gas had spread. It had corrupted the students from the other schools too.
Her world turned cold.
Millions of students from all over the world were attending this event—monsters from Shibooya, the Himalayas, even from alternate dimensions. If they had all been affected by the gas…
Then there was only one conclusion.
“I failed,” Bloodgood whispered, barely able to find the strength to finish her sentence. "I failed them all."
She felt sick.
It was already a nightmare trying to handle the situation within her school. But now, the entire next generation?
That was more than she—or anyone—could handle.
But before she could even begin to process how the hell she was supposed to fix this for the next five weeks, her eyes landed on something that made her stomach drop.
Venus.
Robeeca.
And Avea Trotter.
They were walking together… and Robeeca was crawling on all fours.
Bloodgood’s heart pounded in her chest.
Ever since Hexiciah’s disappearance years ago, she had vowed to protect his daughter until he returned.
And ever since this gas had turned her students into sex-crazed degenerates, she had been forced to watch Venus dominate Robeeca like she was some kind of pet.
She saw all the warning signs.
The outfits they wore on Day 2.
The way they acted on Day 4.
It made their dynamic CRYSTAL clear.
Venus was the dominant one. Robeeca was the submissive one.
And now… Avea was with them.
Bloodgood’s blood ran ice-cold.
She knew something about centaurs. Regardless of whether they were male or female… they all had one thing in common.
A massive horsecock between their legs.
And if Avea was the type to take charge…
And Venus was already the dominant one…
While Robeeca was the obedient little submissive…
OH NO.
Bloodgood bolted towards them, sheer desperation fueling her every step.
She had failed to save Frankie, but she refused to let Robeeca fall into the same depravity.
She reached out, hand trembling, mere inches from stopping them—
SLAM.
The door shut right in her face.
Bloodgood tried to yank it open, but it was locked tight.
Tears welled in her eyes as soft moans and the violent creaking of a bed echoed from behind the door.
Her breath hitched.
Not only had she failed Frankie.
But she had failed Robeeca too.
She could already picture the furious looks on Sparky and Hexiciah’s faces. The disappointment. The rage.
She had let their children—their legacy—fall to this madness.
“Hexiciah…" Bloodgood muttered as she fell to her knees, "I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
But there was no time to mourn her failures.
Bloodgood swallowed the lump in her throat, wiped her eyes, and ran toward the ballroom.
She had to stop this dance before it was too late.
As Venus led Robeeca and Avea through the crowded dance floor, the anticipation in the air was palpable. Robeeca's heart raced, her internal gears whirring with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Avea followed closely behind, her hooves clopping softly on the floor, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
Finally, they reached a secluded room, the door clicking shut behind them with a sense of finality.
There was some pounding on the door, but none of them addressed it.
Venus wasted no time, yanking Robeeca up from her hands and knees and throwing her onto the bed. Robeeca let out a surprised gasp, her body bouncing slightly on the mattress.
Before Robeeca could fully stand, Avea positioned herself over her, her imposing figure casting a shadow over the steampunk girl. Robeeca's eyes widened as she looked up at the centaur-hybrid, her breath hitching in her throat.
Venus moved to Robeeca's side, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her spine.
She leaned down, her voice a soft, soothing murmur. "Shh, it's okay, Robeeca. Avea's going to take good care of you."
Robeeca's body trembled slightly, but she nodded, her trust in Venus unwavering.
Venus smiled, her fingers moving lower, gently stretching out Robeeca's slutty little hole to prepare her for what was to come.
Avea watched, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire.
She pulled down the drape she used to cover her backside, revealing her long, veiny, 7-inch horsecock.
She gave Venus a nod, signaling that she was ready. Venus returned the nod, giving Avea the thumbs up.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Avea positioned herself at Robeeca's entrance. Robeeca's breath hitched as she felt the pressure, her body tensing slightly. Avea paused, giving her a moment to adjust before slowly pushing forward.
Robeeca's scream filled the room, a mix of joy and agony as Avea's horsecock stretched her wide.
Venus was there instantly, her hands gently stroking Robeeca's hair, her voice a soothing murmur. "That's it, Robeeca. You're doing so well. Just relax and let Avea fill you up."
Robeeca's body slowly relaxed, her screams turning into soft moans as Avea began to move. The centaur-ghoul's hips thrust forward with a powerful, steady rhythm, each movement sending waves of pleasure and pain coursing through Robeeca's body.
Venus continued to comfort Robeeca, her hands gently caressing her skin, her voice a constant stream of encouragement and praise.
Robeeca's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath Avea as she surrendered to the sensations.
Avea's movements became more urgent, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she neared her climax. Robeeca's body tensed, her inner parts clenching around Avea as she joined her in ecstasy.
Their cries of pleasure filled the room, a symphony of their shared bliss.
As Avea came down from her high, she slowly withdrew, her body trembling slightly. She looked down at Robeeca, a satisfied smirk on her lips. "That was... satisfying," she murmured, her voice breathless.
Venus chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to Robeeca's forehead. "You did so well, Robeeca. I'm so proud of you."
Robeeca smiled weakly, her body exhausted and sated. Avea stepped back, her hooves clopping softly on the floor as she made her way to the door. She looked back at Venus and Robeeca, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Thanks for the fun, plant girl. If you two ever want a round two, you know where to find me."
Venus grinned, giving Avea a wink. "Will do, Avea. Thanks for your... assistance."
Avea chuckled, shaking her head as she left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. Venus turned back to Robeeca, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and desire.
"Now, Robeeca," she said, her voice a sultry purr as she manifested a plant made whip. "I hope you're not too tuckered out, because it's my turn now."
Robeeca's eyes widened, but she nodded, a submissive look on her face. She knew that Venus would take care of her, just as she always did.
And as Venus began to undress, her body revealing itself inch by inch, Robeeca couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of excitement and anticipation.
Bloodgood burst into the ballroom, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the utter chaos before her.
Despite the noticeable absence of several students—most notably the ghouls—the party was still in full swing. The dancers weren’t just partying; they were moving like the world was about to end, as if this night was their last chance to experience any sort of freedom.
The ballroom had been completely transformed. The once-elegant setting of the Monster Mash dance was now unrecognizable.
Neon lights flashed wildly across the room, bathing the students in an almost otherworldly glow. The flashing colors, combined with the constant movement, should have sent someone into a seizure by now.
Thick clouds of smoke rolled through the space, making it difficult to breathe. Whether it was from a fog machine or some other questionable source, Bloodgood didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Then she stepped in something wet.
She glanced down to see her boot submerged in a puddle of neon paint. A quick look around revealed that nearly every student’s suit and gown had been splattered in glowing paint and glitter.
Some had streaks of color smeared across their faces and arms, while others had fully embraced the madness, dipping their hands in and dragging paint across their partners' bodies like they were human canvases.
Bloodgood’s stomach churned in disgust.
The Monster Mash was supposed to be a night of elegance, a formal event that celebrated monster unity.
And yet, this…
This was FILITH!
A rave.
A den of debauchery.
A complete and utter mockery of everything her and past generations had worked so hard to uphold.
As she forced herself to look past the chaos, she began to take in individual scenes—each more appalling than the last.
Clawdeen was seated in a chair, her golden eyes locked onto Toralei, who was straddling her lap and moving her hips in slow, deliberate motions.
It wasn’t just dancing—it was a full-on lap dance, the kind Bloodgood would expect to see in a strip club.
Toralei smirked, running a clawed, neon painted hand down Clawdeen’s chest before leaning in and planting a deep, lingering kiss on her lips. Clawdeen, completely captivated, let out a soft growl of approval.
Then there was Casta Fierce.
She was lounging back in a chair, arms folded behind her head, looking as relaxed as a queen on her throne.
Surrounding her, kneeling on all fours, were the nerds from West Valley—the students who had attempted to cheat in the casketball game against Monster High.
But tonight? They were nothing more than worshippers.
Bloodgood watched in stunned horror as they leaned in, eagerly licking Casta’s feet like obedient pets, their eyes pink and glazed over with submission.
Bloodgood watched as Ghoulia sat perched on Slo-Mo’s lap, one arm draped around his neck as she pressed her lips to his in a heated makeout session.
His large hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer as she moaned softly against his mouth, completely lost in the moment.
Against one of the ballroom walls, Howleen and Twyla were tangled in each other’s arms, their bodies pressed together. Neon paint streaked their dresses and skin as they kissed feverishly, their hands exploring each other like they couldn’t get enough.
She also noticed that across the ballroom, several boys and girls had completely abandoned their shirts, twirling them over their heads like propellers as they danced wildly.
Their sweat-slicked bodies gleamed under the neon lights, their movements erratic and primal.
Bloodgood’s gaze landed on a nearby bench, where Scarah Screams and Invisi-Billy were definitely not just resting.
The way they were lying on top of each other, the way their bodies moved in rhythm—there was no mistaking what was happening.
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped in horror. "She’s pregnant! They’re doing this while she’s pregnant?!"
Her blood was boiling.
With no time to waste, she stormed toward the DJ booth, only to stop short at what she saw.
Pharaoh and Catty were at the booth now, controlling the music.
Pharaoh looked wrecked. His normally pristine hair was a mess, and dark kiss marks trailed down from his cheek to his neck.
Catty’s outfit was slightly disheveled, her lips still swollen from whatever had just transpired between them.
They had clearly just finished.
Pharaoh blinked in shock at the sight of Bloodgood. “Wait—what the hell?!”
“She’s awake?!” Catty’s ears twitched, her tail flicking in alarm. “Johnny said he hit her so hard she’d be out for the rest of the night!”
Bloodgood’s eyes narrowed. "So that ghost was the one who hit me."
Her anger reignited as she slammed her hands onto the DJ table. “Turn this music off. Now.”
Pharaoh and Catty exchanged a look. Then Pharaoh leaned back, arms crossed. “No.”
Bloodgood’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”
“We finally get to party,” Catty said, her voice filled with defiance. “And we’re not letting you ruin it.”
Bloodgood opened her mouth to argue, but Pharaoh cut her off.
“You already controlled most of our night,” he said, his voice firm. “These last few hours? They belong to us.”
"Oh and speaking of hours," Catty said. "I have an announcement to make!"
And then, Catty grabbed the mic.
“Attention!” she purred, her voice echoing through the ballroom. “To all students currently spread throughout the cathedral, doing their own thing—” she giggled, making it clear she knew exactly what they were doing, “—we are now down to our final few songs before we wrap things up for the night! So, if you’re still in the mood to dance, finish up whatever you’re doing and make your way back to the ballroom for the last songs of this year’s Monster Mash!”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Bloodgood’s stomach dropped.
She could hear them. Footsteps. Excited chatter. The sound of doors swinging open as students from all over the cathedral rushed toward the ballroom, eager to join in the final hours of madness.
Bloodgood clenched her fists. “Enough!” she shouted, trying to regain control.
But Pharaoh just smirked.
“You can scream all you want,” he said smoothly. “The guards are gone. The teachers are trapped. And the other principals? Locked up in that shack where you left them.” His smirk widened. “You have no power here. There is nothing you can do.”
Bloodgood felt the weight of his words crush down on her.
Defeated but not broken, she took a step back. Her mind was racing.
No teachers. No guards. No backup.
But she wasn’t out of options yet.
"Don't count me out so fast." she hissed, giving him a glare as she turned on her heel and sprinted out of the ballroom, pushing past the growing crowd of students.
She had to find the guards.
Because if she didn’t…
This party was about to descend into peak madness.
The ballroom-turned-rave was at full capacity now. Every student from every school—Monster High, Haunted High, Himalayan High, you name it—had flooded back onto the dance floor, crowding together in a writhing, neon-covered mass of bodies.
The ghouls were exhausted from their activities with their boyfriends, but that wasn’t going to stop them from partying. Their bodies ached, their legs trembled, and their energy was drained, but the gas in their systems refused to let them rest.
If anything, it only made them hungrier—for movement, for stimulation, for more.
At the DJ booth, Pharaoh scrolled through the playlist, searching for the next song. His fingers hovered over the controls as he debated what would come next. Then, suddenly—
“Oh! Play that one!” Catty exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she pointed at the screen.
Pharaoh raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Catty shot him a sultry grin. “Trust me.”
He hesitated for only a second before shrugging. “Alright. Your call.”
With a single press of a button, the next song blasted through the speakers.
'Real hot girl shit'
'Real, real ass bitch, give a fuck 'bout a nigga'
'Hot Barbie summer'
'(What Juicy say? He be like, "Shut the fuck up")'
'Real, real, real ass bitch, give a fuck 'bout a nigga'
'Don't run from me, friend, haha!'
The moment Hot Girl Summer by Nicki Minaj, Ty Dolla $ign, and Megan Thee Stallion played, the crowd erupted.
A deafening roar of approval shook the ballroom. The students went feral.
Casta, still lounging like a queen among her mind-controlled worshippers, snapped to attention. “Oh, hell yes.” She cracked her knuckles and smirked. “A song like this needs a proper look.”
She waved her hands, and in a blinding flash of light, everything changed.
The once-disheveled gowns and suits were gone.
In their place were outfits that made every single look from earlier in the night seem tame.
Tiny neon crop tops, mesh shirts, and dangerously short shorts. Thigh-high boots, fishnets, and glittering chains.
The boys had lost their shirts entirely, leaving them in unbuttoned vests, ripped jeans, and jewelry that gleamed under the flashing lights.
Their hair was redone—sleek, voluminous, perfect. Lipstick was reapplied, sharper and bolder. Highlighter and neon body paint shimmered against their skin.
They didn’t just look hot.
They looked explicit.
They looked like backup dancers in a rap video.
The moment everyone took in their new appearances, the energy in the room exploded.
Girls screamed in excitement, running their hands over their scandalous new outfits. Boys grinned, taking in their fresh, wild looks.
Phones were whipped out immediately—flashes went off, videos started rolling, tongues stuck out as students snapped selfies, capturing the absolute insanity of the moment.
And then, as if possessed by the beat itself, the crowd moved.
The dancing started up again, but it was nothing like before.
And then, as if possessed by the beat itself, the crowd moved.
The dancing started up again, but it was nothing like before.
This was primal.
Bodies slammed together, hips rolled, hands wandered. Grinding, twerking, and all-out debauchery took over the floor. The ghouls, despite their exhaustion, were right in the center of it all, dancing like they had lost all control.
Because by all accounts, they had.
Clawdeen and Toralei were at the front, leading the charge. Clawdeen had one hand wrapped around Toralei’s waist, keeping her pressed flush against her as they swayed to the music, bodies in perfect sync. Toralei leaned back, draping an arm over Clawdeen’s shoulder, her lips curling into a wicked smile.
Draculaura and Clawd weren’t far behind. Draculaura had somehow ended up behind him, rolling her hips as Clawd pressed up against her. She threw her head back, laughing, before gripping Clawd’s collar and yanking him in for a kiss.
Abbey and Heath? No shame whatsoever. Abbey had full control, pulling Heath’s hair as he obeyed her every move, groaning in pleasure as she ground against him with enough force to make his knees buckle.
Howleen and Twyla were caught up in their own world, hands tangled in each other’s hair as they moved together, completely wrapped up in the moment.
And then there was Venus and Robecca.
Venus, fully embracing her dominant streak, had Robecca down on all fours, riding her like a bull as the crowd cheered. Robecca, though completely aware of what was happening, was loving every second of it. The neon paint streaked across her body only made her look hotter.
Beyond the ghouls, the rest of the students were just as unhinged.
The Don Quixote High students? Gone. Their grace and elegancy was tossed aside as they dry-humped each other on the sidelines.
The West Valley High kids? Wild, but not that wild. They were free from Casta's control, but they weren't trying to sabotage the party.
They had been given a strict warning:
“Behave, or you’re getting punted into trashcans.”
They danced, but they kept their antics just below the threshold of getting themselves bodied by the others.
The students of Himalayan High were completely off their chains, having gone through enough that the last of their inhibitions were gone. Their outfits had become little more than scraps of fabric and jewelry as they lost themselves in the music.
Phones were everywhere.
Girls pulled their friends into the frame, tongues out, fingers making peace signs as they took hundreds of photos. Boys recorded their friends getting absolutely destroyed by their dance partners.
Video after video was uploaded in real time, capturing every scandalous move, every outrageous moment, every single second of the madness.
Drinks were passed around, glowing neon under the blacklights. No one knew what was in them, and no one cared. Students gulped them down like they were parched, the heat between them making everything taste sweeter, stronger, better.
The chaos continued, bodies grinding, hands wandering, lips crashing together in every direction. The energy inside the cathedral ballroom had reached a fever pitch—nobody was holding back.
Cleo was throwing it back with absolutely no shame, her hands on her knees as she moved with perfect precision. Deuce, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned and suddenly grabbed her by the waist.
“Woah!” Cleo gasped as Deuce lifted her off the ground, spinning her around like they were in the middle of an Olympic ice-skating routine.
The crowd cheered, hyping them up like a final-round dance battle.
In a dimly lit corner of the ballroom, Sirena and Vandala had finally snapped.
They weren’t dancing.
They weren’t flirting.
They were making out.
Like, hard.
Hours of built-up tension had boiled over, and now they were tangled together, hands gripping each other’s clothes, mouths moving like they were starved. Sirena’s tail flicked, tightening around Vandala’s leg as the ghostly pirate ran her fingers through Sirena’s flowing hair.
Every few seconds, one of them would pause for breath, but then they’d dive back in, completely lost in the heat of the moment.
The werecat twins? Absolute menaces.
They were back-to-back, throwing it back like they were in the VIP section of an underground club. Their tails flicked as they moved in perfect sync, like they had rehearsed this moment for years.
Romulus was standing nearby, arms crossed, watching his girls with a proud, wolfish grin.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “That’s my girls.”
Meanwhile, Rochelle was going feral on Garrott.
She had bent over slightly, hands on her knees, and was shaking ass like she had been training for this moment her whole life. Garrott, stunned at first, quickly adjusted and grabbed her by the waist, holding on for dear life as she moved against him.
His claws dug into her hips as he leaned in and whispered, “You are killing me right now.”
Rochelle giggled, arching her back, making Garrott groan.
Holt, after hours of non-stop dancing and sheer carnal madness, finally threw his hands up and clocked out.
His body shimmered with flames for a split second before dimming—his skin turned pale, his hair darkened, and in the blink of an eye…
Jackson was back.
He blinked, adjusting his glasses, before realizing he was suddenly surrounded by half-naked, grinding, neon-covered students.
“Oh hell,” Jackson muttered.
But before he could fully process what was happening, Frankie was on him.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Frankie grinned, grabbing his hands. “You’re not sitting this one out.”
Jackson barely had time to protest before Frankie dragged him onto the dance floor.
Kiyomi and River had successfully lured Spectra into the madness, pulling her onto the dance floor with them.
But within seconds, they noticed she was… struggling.
She moved stiffly, her legs trembling slightly, her usual ghostly grace absent.
“You good?” Kiyomi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Spectra waved a hand. “I’m fine! Just—”
River’s gaze drifted across the room, landing on Porter, who was leaning casually against a pillar, sipping a ghoulish drink with the smuggest grin in existence.
River turned back to Spectra.
“He destroyed you, didn’t he?”
Spectra sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her forehead. “It was worth it.”
Kiyomi and River lost it, bursting into laughter as Porter gave them a slow, satisfied wink from across the room.
Over by the drinks table, Gil and Heath—after dancing around with Abbey—were locked in a battle of endurance.
A drinking contest.
Glasses were filled. Hands gripped the rims. The challenge was set.
“Go!” someone shouted.
The two boys slammed their drinks back, chugging as fast as they could. Their friends and girlfriends stood around them, cheering, shouting, placing bets on who would finish first.
It was neck and neck—both of them determined to win—until…
BAM.
Heath slammed his empty glass on the table first, exhaling sharply, steam rising from his skin.
“YES!” Heath whooped, pumping his fists.
Gil, still finishing his drink, groaned before setting his glass down in defeat.
Heath clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Hey, good effort, bro.”
Gil just wiped his mouth and muttered, “I hate you.”
The music pounded through the speakers, shaking the walls of the cathedral.
The gas in the air throbbed—alive, feeding off the energy of the students, twisting their desires until all that remained was instinct.
AND THEN—IT HAPPENED.
A moment so legendary that it stopped people mid-dance.
The crowd parted slightly as someone calmly walked forward.
Someone unexpected.
Someone who had spent most of the night simply sitting on the sidelines, sipping his drink, flirting with his boyfriend, not partaking in the madness.
But now…he was ready to show off just how flamboyant he had became.
And that man...
That man was Kieran Valentine.
And he was done holding back.
His inhibitions had been melting throughout the night. And then—Casta’s wardrobe change happened.
And now, standing in the gayest outfit he had ever worn—a tiny crop top with something flamboyantly queer written across the front, fishnet leggings exposing his thighs, and the LGBT flag painted on both cheeks—Valentine’s final shred of self-control vanished.
He took one last sip of his drink.
Then, in the middle of the chaotic dance floor…
He calmly strode forward.
Took a deep breath.
And then—
HE FLIPPED ONTO HIS HANDS. LEGS IN THE AIR.
AND STARTED TWERKING LIKE IT WAS THE END OF THE UNIVERSE.
His thighs and cheeks jiggled as he repeatedly opened and closed his legs while doing it
The entire room froze for half a second.
Shocked gasps echoed through the crowd. A few students’ jaws dropped.
Then—the cheers began.
Students went insane, screaming in pure approval.
The vampires? Losing their minds.
“OH MY GOD!” someone shrieked.
“GO OFF, VALENTINE!”
"WORK THAT BOOTY!"
The claps started. The chanting began.
“VALENTINE! VALENTINE! VALENTINE!”
Meanwhile, on the edge of the dance floor—
Clawd and Draculaura just stared.
“…This man really went from trying to steal my girl to this?” Clawd muttered.
Draculaura, absolutely bewildered, just shrugged. “I—honestly? Good for him.”
Meanwhile, Casta strutted up to Spelldon, arms crossed. “Did you know he was like this?”
Spelldon, still trying to process what he was witnessing, shook his head.
“…No.”
This wasn’t just a party anymore.
This was chaos incarnate.
A final hurrah before the inevitable consequences came crashing down.
And none of them—not a single one—gave a damn.
They were here.
They were young.
They were out of control.
And they were never going to forget this night.
Headmistress Bloodgood tore through the hallways, her face a mix of determination, urgency, and pure desperation to put an end to this madness.
From what little she had gathered from the few sane witnesses left, the guards had last been seen heading toward the theater room. If she could get there and free them from whatever had trapped them, she could bring this entire rave of debauchery to an end within minutes.
Finally, she reached the entrance to the theater room. Grabbing the door handle, she twisted—
Nothing.
It was locked.
Bloodgood narrowed her eyes. She took a few steps back, squared her shoulders, and rammed into the door, knocking it clean off its hinges.
She expected to see hardened guards bound and captured, perhaps knocked unconscious by some unknown force.
Instead, her eyes landed on discarded amulets.
Broken gear.
And a horde of barn animals that looked like they belonged in a petting zoo.
Bloodgood’s mind stuttered.
"...Animals?" she repeated in disbelief, blinking as if her vision might suddenly correct itself. "What in the name of the Horseman—who could have—"
Then she stopped.
A very particular green-skinned girl with dark hair flashed into her mind.
Her expression flattened.
"...Oh. Casta."
With a weary sigh, she turned on her heel and ran back into the hallway.
While she wasn’t overly familiar with this old cathedral, she had heard whispers about a hidden vault deep within the bowels of the building. A vault containing some of the oldest magical tomes known to monster-kind.
If she was lucky, she might find something that could reverse whatever the hell Casta had done.
But as she sprinted through the halls, something caught her eye—something that made her skid to a halt.
A pit.
Bloodgood’s brows furrowed. That hadn’t been there before.
Cautiously, she approached the edge, peering down into the abyss—
Her stomach dropped.
"WHAT THE HELL!?"
Every single teacher sat at the bottom of the pit.
Some looked furious. Others looked defeated. But all of them had one thing in common—they had been completely taken out of commission.
No wonder none of them had stopped this disaster.
One of the teachers looked up, eyes widening. “Bloodgood? Is that you?”
Bloodgood stared. “...Yes. Why are you in a pit? You should be supervising the students!”
For a moment, silence.
Then, Mr. Rotter—who had apparently been bottling up his rage for the entire night—exploded.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK HAPPENED?!" he shrieked, shaking the entire pit with the sheer force of his fury. "CATTY AND THAT DAMN RAPPER BOYFRIEND OF HERS LURED US DOWN HERE AFTER WE CAUGHT THEM MAKING OUT!"
Bloodgood flinched at the sheer volume of his voice. “Rotter, I—”
"NO!" he cut her off, practically foaming at the mouth. "I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD BLOW UP IN YOUR FACE THE MOMENT YOU STARTED ACTING LIKE A DAMN DICTATOR!"
"Rotter, calm—"
"AFTER EVERYTHING THAT'S HAPPENED THIS WEEK! AFTER ALL THE STUPID SHIT YOU PULLED YESTERDAY! YOU ARE STILL SO HELLBENT ON SHOVING AUTHORITY DOWN THEIR THROATS EVEN WHEN IT BACKFIRED ON YOU OVER AND OVER AGAIN!"
"Rotter—"
"I WARNED YOU THIS PARTY WOULD GO SOUTH THE MOMENT YOU STARTED BARKING ORDERS LIKE A MADWOMAN!" he ranted, fury pouring out like a flood. "BUT DID YOU LISTEN? NO! NOW THE GUARDS ARE GONE, THE OTHER PRINCIPALS ARE MISSING, AND THE ENTIRE SCHOOL HAS TURNED INTO A DAMN ORGY!"
"ROTTER! THAT'S ENOUGH!" Bloodgood finally roared, her voice booming through the pit.
The enraged teacher glared up at her before scoffing, shaking his head. "I told you," he muttered, voice dripping with bitter satisfaction. "You should have just let them have their fun."
Bloodgood clenched her fists. As much as she hated to admit it…
He was right.
She had been so desperate to maintain control, so terrified of her schools reputation being destroyed, that she had treated them like prisoners.
And just like prisoners… they had rioted.
This dance could have been a hundred times more peaceful if she had just stayed out of it.
And now?
Now the entire next generation of monsters had devolved into hormonal animals.
She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples before looking back down at the teachers. “I’m going to get you all out of there. Just give me a few minutes.”
With that, she turned and ran.
Mr. Where scoffed, leaning against the pit’s wall. “Yeah. And by the time she figures that out, the party will be over, and all those little gremlins will be gone.”
The teachers let out a collective sigh.
At least then, they might finally get some damn peace and quiet.
The Monster Mash dance floor was still alive, pulsating with energy that refused to die down. The students were turned up beyond belief, their bodies moving wildly to the hypnotic beat thundering through the speakers.
Even exhaustion—from a week of nonstop chaos and a night of absolute debauchery—wasn’t enough to slow them down. Their legs might be wobbly from everything they’d done with their partners, but screw that. They weren’t about to let a little fatigue kill the party.
And right in the center of the madness, surrounded by flashing lights and deafening music, were the baddest bitches of Monster High.
Frankie, Draculaura, Cleo, Clawdeen, Abbey, Lagoona, and Ghoulia were all front and center, tearing up the floor like it was their final night on earth. Their bodies moved effortlessly to the music, their faces glowing with excitement, high off the thrill of the dance and the insanity of the week leading up to it.
Last friday? They got hit with a freaky aphrodisiac gas that made everyone hornier than a cryptid in heat.
Monday? They all but abandoned class to screw their boyfriends and stir up trouble.
Tuesday? They came dressed in the freakiest outfits ever seen in the monster world
Wednesday? They pushed things so far that Bloodgood had to hire a fake slasher to force them to behave.
Thursday? A riot broke out and nearly got the school shut down.
Friday? Okay, Friday was kinda quiet. A weird in-between day.
And tonight? They were celebrating all their victories and sins in the most chaotic way possible.
Yeah. This was one hell of a week.
Lagoona, covered in a light sheen of sweat, threw an arm around Abbey as they laughed. “Ghoul, I dunno how much longer I can keep goin’, but I don’t wanna stop either!”
Abbey smirked. “Then do not stop.”
Draculaura giggled, flipping her hair as she spun to the beat. “Best week ever. I don’t care what anyone says.”
“Oh, for sure,” Frankie agreed, already pulling out their iCoffin for a selfie. “We have to document this.”
The girls huddled together, striking their most iconic poses as the flash went off. The moment was immortalized in a single picture—seven girls, drenched in sweat, looking hot as hell, caught in the middle of one of the wildest nights of their unlives.
Just as they were admiring the selfie, a new presence made itself known.
Toralei and her crew of bad girls strolled onto the dance floor, exuding nothing but confidence and mischief.
Usually, this would mean immediate beef.
Shade would be thrown. Claws would come out. Someone would talk shit, and before anyone knew it, it’d be full-on war.
But things were different now.
Ever since Toralei and Clawdeen had gotten together, the tension between the ghouls and Toralei’s crew had chilled out significantly. They still snapped at each other from time to time—Clawdeen and Toralei both had firecracker personalities—but at least now, they could have a conversation without trying to rip each other’s throats out.
Toralei crossed her arms, smirking. “Didn’t think y’all would still be goin’. Figured you’d be collapsed somewhere, considering how hard you’ve been… exercising.”
Frankie rolled their eyes, tucking their iCoffin away. “As if. This party’s not over until we say so.”
Toralei chuckled. “Fair enough.”
Meowlody leaned in with a sly grin. “Actually, we were gonna say thanks.”
That made the ghouls pause. Cleo raised an eyebrow. “...For what?”
“The distraction.” She said.
Purrsephone nodded. “If you and the others hadn’t kept Bloodgood busy, we—well, everyone but Toralei—would’ve been stuck getting dragged to some lame-ass club instead of being here.”
Cleo, surprisingly, didn’t have a snarky response. Instead, she simply flipped her hair and smirked. “Well, of course. If there’s one thing we know how to do, it’s making a spectacle.”
Toralei grinned. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll give y’all that.”
For once, everything was going smoothly.
But then—
“HEY, Y’ALL SHOULD HAVE A DANCE-OFF!”
The ghouls and Toralei’s group whipped their heads around.
A crowd had formed around them, and now, students were pumping their fists in the air, chanting like this was about to be the most hyped event of the night.
“DANCE-OFF! DANCE-OFF!”
Even their boyfriends were into it.
Clawd and Romulus both grinned, nudging each other. “Oh, hell yeah, I wanna see this.”
Deuce crossed his arms, smirking at Cleo. “You gonna let ‘em call you out like that?”
Gil, Heath and Jackson were cheering them on. "Come on girls, show em what ya got!"
Cleo rolled her eyes. “Ugh, as if we have anything to prove.”
Amanita smirked. “Oh? You scared?”
Cleo’s entire demeanor snapped.
“Oh, it’s ON, bitch.”
And with that, the crowd exploded with excitement.
Toralei cracked her knuckles. “Hope y’all ready to get wrecked.”
“Please,” Clawdeen snorted. “We own this floor.”
The two groups squared up, ready to throw down, when suddenly—
“WAIT!”
Everyone turned to see Hoodude running toward them.
Every single person stared.
They hadn’t seen him all week.
And he was covered head-to-toe in lipstick marks.
Frankie’s jaw dropped. “Dude, where the hell have you been!?”
Hoodude rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Uh… busy.”
Abbey raised an eyebrow. “Busy with what?”
Hoodude quickly changed the subject. “ANYWAY! You ghouls can’t start yet.”
Draculaura blinked. “Huh? Why not?”
“You don’t have enough people!”
The ghouls looked at each other, confused.
Draculaura did a quick headcount.
The ghouls had seven.
Toralei’s crew had eight… or nine, depending on whether Perri and Pearl counted as one person or two.
Perri rolled her eyes. “It’s one body!”
"Technically 2, since yall have 2 heads." Lagoona pointed out.
“HEY!” They both shouted at the same time.
Cleo crossed her arms. “Great. We need one more person.”
Spectra shook her head, yawning. “No thanks. I can barely stand after what Porter did to me.”
Scarah placed a hand on her belly. “Not takin’ any chances with my kid.”
Operetta stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
But Johnny instantly grabbed her wrist. “Hell no. You’ve been dancing all night, we just had another round, and I am not letting you do something that could put our kid—or kids—at risk.”
Operetta frowned but nodded. “Fair enough, sugar.”
Just as they were about to give up, a puff of pink smoke exploded in the center of the floor.
When the mist cleared, a stunning figure stood there, posed like a goddess.
Gigi smirked. “Need a dancer?”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “Gigi! Where the hell have you been!?”
Gigi stretched, looking refreshed as hell. “Had to recharge, darling. But I’m ready now.”
With that, the two groups stood off.
Pharaoh grinned, changing the track.
The battle was about to begin.
Headmistress Bloodgood wiped the sweat from her brow, her hands trembling as she turned the final dial on the massive steel vault hidden deep within the cathedral's underground levels.
This was it. The moment of truth.
If she was right, this would give her access to whatever ancient tomes that were said to be inside—something, anything that could reverse this madness.
With bated breath, she twisted the final notch into place. A soft click echoed through the chamber, followed by the deep groan of unseen mechanisms shifting. Her heart pounded as she gripped the handle, ready to pull—
"Here we g-"
BZZZZZT!
A harsh red light flashed across the door, and suddenly, the metal groaned and morphed before her eyes, its surface melting like liquid silver before reforming into something far worse. The simple dial lock was gone, replaced by a new system—sleek, reinforced, and covered in intricate, shifting runes that pulsed with an eerie glow.
A reinforced keyhole sat at the center, but just as she reached for it, it vanished, replaced by a retina scanner and a magic-infused puzzle wheel.
Bloodgood’s eye twitched.
Her hands clenched into fists.
"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"
Then, with a furious shriek, she reared back and kicked the door with all her strength—only to be met with a solid wall of enchanted steel. Pain exploded through her foot, and she stumbled back, gripping her boot as she hopped on one leg.
"DAMN IT!" she roared, biting back another scream as the realization sank in.
She had just made this ten times harder.
Grinding her teeth, she let out a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders trembling with frustration. Fine. FINE. She would figure this out.
She had to.
But this was going to take a lot longer than she hoped.
'Hennessy on my lips, take a little sip, Privacy on the door, I'ma make the shit grip'
The moment Pharaoh drops the beat, the bad girls step forward, ready to dominate. The deep bass of "My Type" shakes the floor beneath them, sending a ripple of energy through the crowd. The monsters watching barely have time to react before Toralei and her crew launch into the most arrogant, attitude-packed routine the dance floor has ever seen.
'Rich nigga, eight-figure, that's my type'
Toralei leads the charge, her movements sharp and confident. She pops her hips to the beat, flicking her tail with every step, her claws dragging teasingly down her sides. She moves like a queen who knows she’s the baddest in the room, prowling around the ghouls with a smirk that says, 'you don’t stand a chance.'
Meowlody and Purrsephone are right beside her, perfectly in sync, rolling their bodies to the rhythm, their feline grace making every move effortless. When the chorus hits, the twins mirror each other, spinning low before snapping up, flipping their hair back in a way that makes the crowd go wild.
'Eight-inch big, ooh, that's good pipe'
Amanita moves differently—smooth, hypnotic. Vines slither from her fingertips as she waves her hands through the air, her body rolling like liquid, as if she’s rooted to the music itself. Her smirk is pure arrogance, knowing she’s making Cleo fume just by existing. She steps up to the front, running a hand over her collarbone before twirling, her vines following in an elegant, taunting display.
'Bad bitch, I'ma ride the dick all night!'
Wydowna is all about control. With six arms, she does what no one else can. She spins on one heel, her extra limbs moving in mesmerizing patterns, rolling her wrists in perfect synchronization as she sways her hips. Then, she crosses all six arms, lifting her chin like a boss, exuding a too good for this energy while her feet move effortlessly to the beat.
Then there’s Perri and Pearl, who shock everyone with their sheer coordination. As a two-headed mermaid, they have to work twice as hard to move smoothly, but they make it look effortless. They dip low, twisting their bodies in perfect unison, their tails flicking to the side as they spin. When the beat drops, they flip their hair over their shoulders simultaneously before giving each other a smirking high five.
And then, Kala. She owns the floor. She moves slow at first, letting the others take the lead, but when the music swells, her tentacles come alive. They curl and coil around her as she pops her hips, her hands sliding down her sides in a display of pure confidence. When the bass drops again, she raises two tentacles and slams them onto the floor in perfect timing, sending a deep vibration through the crowd that makes everyone lose their minds.
'New wrist, new whip, ride around dipped'
'I can see why all these basic hoes pissed!'
As the song continued, the moves got wilder and more seductive, drawing stares and drooling mouths from the crowd.
Toralei, Meowlody, and Purrsephone formed a tight trio, moving in a fast-paced sequence of hair whips, hip rolls, and clawed hand gestures.
Gory and Amanita worked as a duo, moving in sync with hypnotic, fluid transitions before spinning away from each other dramatically.
Wydowna, Pearl & Perri, and Kala created a breathtaking visual as they wove between each other, making use of their unique limbs to add dynamic layers to their performance.
The ghouls looked on in complete shock. They knew they were talented, but this was something else!
This was on a level of dancing none of them could even touch.
And all that did was make them want to step up their game even more.
For the final move, Toralei and Meowlody flipped into perfectly timed back handsprings, landing in a low crouch, tails flicking as they grinned up at their opponents. Meanwhile, Kala extended her tentacles outward in a final flourish, Wydowna struck a statuesque pose with all six arms splayed, and Amanita let her vines curl around her like a throne.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
It was a flawless performance—equal parts seductive, aggressive, and full of attitude.
Toralei smirked, dusting off her shoulders as she turned to the ghouls.
"Your move."
The tension was thick in the air. The ghouls exchanged glances, rolling their necks and cracking their knuckles. They weren’t about to let this slide.
They’re ready to annihilate them.
Cleo cracks her knuckles. “I hope you enjoyed that,” she purrs. “Because it’s about to look embarrassing in comparison.”
The second the beat drops—'Bad bitch' by Doja Cat—the ghouls launch into motion as one, their movements precise, powerful, and completely in sync. This isn’t just a dance—it’s a statement. The bad girls brought seduction, but the ghouls are bringing domination.
Frankie, Cleo, Draculaura, Lagoona, Clawdeen, Abbey, Ghoulia, and Gigi move like a fearleading squad in the heat of a championship game, each ghoul playing their role with seamless coordination.
'I ain’t tryna be cool like you! Wobblin’ around in your high-heeled shoes!'
The ghouls explode onto the floor, hitting sharp, aggressive steps, their arms slicing through the air like blades. Their footwork is fast, precise, their bodies snapping into place on each beat. Frankie and Clawdeen take the lead in the center, driving the momentum forward, while Cleo and Lagoona flank the sides, their movements crisp and regal. Abbey and Ghoulia hold the backline, keeping the formation tight, while Draculaura and Gigi fill the gaps with fluid transitions.
Lagoona and Draculaura dive forward, faking a wobble before rolling seamlessly into a spin, their hair whipping dramatically around them. Clawdeen and Cleo step up immediately, catching them mid-spin, flipping them back to their feet without missing a beat. The crowd erupts, hyped by the ghouls’ insane coordination.
'I’m the whole damn cake and the cherry on top!'
Frankie and Abbey take center stage, locking arms and flipping Cleo up onto their shoulders. She stands tall, tilting her chin up like a queen, while the others drop into a deep squat, hitting a perfect beat drop pose beneath her. The bass shakes the floor, and Cleo leaps off, twisting midair before Frankie and Abbey catch her effortlessly.
The crowd loses it.
'I don’t wanna row, row, row the boat!'
The ghouls switch formation, their movements fast and precise, hitting intricate footwork patterns in sync. Draculaura and Lagoona cartwheel across the front, seamlessly rolling back into the group, while Clawdeen and Abbey hit a stomp-heavy routine, adding pure power to the choreography.
Then—disaster strikes.
The energy in the room is chaos, bodies jumping, screaming, hyping up the battle. Someone in the frenzy collides into Ryder’s wheelchair—hard. He tips sideways and—
CRASH.
Gigi gasps, her eyes snapping to her boyfriend now sprawled on the floor.
“Ryder!” She immediately breaks from the formation, rushing to him. “Someone take my spot!” she shouts, panic lacing her voice.
Before anyone can react—
“Say less.”
The voice cuts through the noise, and in a flash, Iris Clops flips onto the dance floor. She hits a flawless backflip, twisting midair before landing in a full split at the center of the ghouls' formation.
Perfect.
The switch is seamless—almost like it was planned. The ghouls don’t falter for even a second.
The crowd explodes.
'I took it and I ran for it!'
With renewed energy, the ghouls bring it home. The music pulses through them as they storm across the floor, moving as one unstoppable force. Their hits are sharp, their transitions effortless, their teamwork flawless. Iris keeps up like she’s rehearsed with them for years, her movements precise and powerful.
Ghoulia and Lagoona spin to the sides, faking the audience out before Abbey and Clawdeen yank them back into the center with a snap, hitting the beat perfectly. Draculaura and Iris hit a mirrored high kick, flipping midair before rolling back into the formation.
'I’m a bitch, I’m a boss, I’m a bitch and a boss, I’ma shine like gloss!'
For the final move, the ghouls assemble.
Frankie and Abbey take the back, holding their arms out as bases while Lagoona and Draculaura leap onto them, balancing on their shoulders. Iris and Clawdeen flip forward, landing in front of Cleo, who steps to the center, arms crossed, chin lifted like a goddess.
POSE.
The music cuts, the lights hit, and the ghouls freeze in formation, exuding nothing but pure power.
The room erupts into screams.
They didn’t just win this dance-off.
They owned it.
Bloodgood finally gets the massive vault door open with a deep, echoing click. She doesn’t even take a second to celebrate. She rushes inside, her boots echoing against the stone floor.
The room is massive, lined with ancient bookshelves reaching up to a towering, cathedral-like ceiling. Hundreds—no, thousands—of magical tomes line the shelves, their bindings glowing faintly with arcane energy. Some books whisper as she passes, others shudder as if alive. The air is thick with centuries-old magic.
She takes a deep breath. "Okay, Bloodgood. You just need one book. The right one."
She grabs a thick, deep-blue leather tome off the nearest shelf. The title is in a forgotten language, but the symbols shimmer with power.
Flipping it open, she scans the pages until her eyes land on a promising spell.
“Aqua vitae, vescere plenis—”
FWOOOSH!
A wave of harmless water bursts out of the book, drenching her head to toe.
Bloodgood freezes. Water drips off her hat, her jacket, her boots. She slowly closes the book and sets it back on the shelf.
“Nope.”
She wipes her face and snatches another book, this one bound in dark red with gold lettering. This has to be it. The magic practically vibrates off the pages. She clears her throat and recites the incantation aloud.
“Porta abyssum aperi—”
KRACK!
A jagged tear rips open in the air before her. An eerie, glowing-red portal swirls into existence, howling like a void.
From within, something moves.
A massive, clawed hand begins to emerge, its fingers curling against the edge of the portal.
Bloodgood's heart stops.
“Oh, hell no.”
With a snap of her fingers, she flips the page and frantically chants the counter-spell.
“Obturare! Claudere! CLAUDERE!”
The portal slams shut just as the demon lets out a guttural, disappointed growl.
Bloodgood exhales, shoving the book back onto the shelf like it personally offended her.
“Absolutely not.”
She lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand down her face. This is going to take a minute.
Then, she glances at her watch.
12:30.
She blinks. That can’t be right.
She squints at it again.
The last time I checked… it was 8:30.
Bloodgood freezes. The realization slams into her like a freight train.
“Oh my god.”
She is so screwed.
As the ghouls strike their final pose, the energy in the room is electric. The crowd erupts into cheers, whistles, and excited shouting, the walls of the gymnasium practically shaking from the sheer hype.
Pharaoh steps forward, holding his hands up to quiet everyone. He’s grinning, clearly just as amped as everyone else.
“Aight, y’all! That was insane! But now—it’s time to count up the votes!”
The entire room holds its breath as Pharaoh glances down at the scoreboard. He takes a second to double-check, then blinks in surprise.
“…Huh.”
“What?” Toralei demands, crossing her arms.
Pharaoh chuckles, rubbing his chin before looking back up at both groups.
“…It’s a draw!”
The moment those words leave his lips, both teams explode.
“WHAT?!?”
The ghouls and the bad girls all instantly start protesting, voices overlapping as they argue their case.
“That’s impossible!” Draculaura huffs, putting her hands on her hips. “We were clearly better!”
“You wish, vampire,” Gory scoffs. “We wiped the floor with y’all!”
“You literally did not,” Clawdeen snaps. “We had better teamwork, better coordination—”
“Better teamwork?” Toralei interrupts. “Girl, please. We had swagger. Y’all looked like a bunch of cheerleaders—”
“We are cheerleaders!” Cleo cuts in, flipping her hair.
Amanita rolls her eyes. “Exactly what she just said.”
Before the argument can really take off, Pharaoh quickly raises his hands. “Whoa, whoa, hold up! Y’all both KILLED it, which is exactly why the votes are so tied!”
The groups grumble but don’t interrupt, arms crossed as they wait for him to continue.
“That means we just need something to break the tie,” Pharaoh explains.
There’s a brief silence before Clawdeen raises an eyebrow. “But how, though?”
“OVER TIME!!!!!”
The entire crowd yells it at once, their voices shaking the room.
Both teams blink, looking around in shock. Even Pharaoh seems a little taken aback.
“…Well, damn,” he mutters, then turns to the dancers. “Y’all good with that?”
The ghouls and bad girls exchange looks—then nod.
Pharaoh grins wide. “Aight then! OVERTIME IT IS!”
The crowd loses it, roaring in approval as Catty flips through the playlist, her claws moving quickly over the screen.
“If we’re going into overtime,” she says, smirking, “then let’s turn this up another level.”
She presses a button.
The speakers explode with bass as “Act Up” by City Girls starts blaring through the gym.
The reaction is instantaneous.
Both teams immediately launch into the most unhinged, reckless, high-energy moves yet.
Gone is the calculated precision, gone is the strategic choreography—this isn’t a dance battle anymore. This is pure, chaotic energy unleashed on the floor.
Twerking, flips, spins, grinding, hair whips—both teams are out of control.
Toralei and Clawdeen end up back-to-back, both dropping low and popping back up in perfect sync before separating and diving into different moves.
Draculaura and Iris lock arms, spinning in a rapid whirl before Iris launches Draculaura into a perfect mid-air flip. The moment she lands, she immediately goes into a split, popping back up before anyone can even process what just happened.
Frankie and Cleo, normally so different in style, somehow perfectly feed off each other’s energy—Cleo’s sharp, dominant movements mixing flawlessly with Frankie’s wild, unpredictable bursts of electricity.
Abbey, completely in her zone, straight-up lifts Lagoona and spins her around like a damn tornado, before the sea ghoul lands gracefully and slides into a slick, low-to-the-floor move.
Ghoulia? Ghoulia is flying across the damn floor, executing the cleanest breakdancing spins anyone’s ever seen.
At the same time, the bad girls are just as wild—Purrsephone and Meowlody moving in absolute sync, their tails flicking behind them as they drop, spin, and pop back up with effortless ease.
Twerking? Oh, there is twerking.
Hair flips? A necessity.
Grinding? More than once.
Everywhere you look, someone is doing something crazy—bodies twisting, flipping, rolling, vibing.
It stops being about who’s better.
It stops being about winning.
They’re just feeding off each other’s energy, hyping each other up with every move.
The rest of the gym?
They can’t resist.
Within seconds, the entire crowd jumps in.
EVERYONE is dancing now.
The ball room erupts into pure, peak madness—monsters of all shapes and sizes absolutely losing their minds on the dance floor.
At the center of it all, the ghouls and bad girls keep pushing the limit, throwing themselves into the music like nothing else in the world matters.
And then—
The song ends.
The entire room is panting, sweat dripping, hearts racing.
Pharaoh, looking just as stunned as everyone else, finally raises the mic.
“…Y’know what?” he breathes out, shaking his head. “I think it’s safe to say we can call that a DRAW.”
The gym explodes into cheers.
Both teams are too damn exhausted to argue.
Pharaoh chuckles, wiping his forehead. “But yo, it’s getting late. Buuuut, I got a feeling y’all still got energy for one more song?”
The response is deafening.
“YEEEAAAAAHHHH!”
Pharaoh grins. “Aight then! Let’s end this night off with a BANG! And I got the perfect song!”
He presses a button.
Suddenly—The lights cut out.
The room falls into complete darkness.
Startled gasps and screams ripple throughout the gym, especially from those who don’t do well with the dark—like Cleo.
“What just happened?!” Cleo yelps.
Then—Boom.
The lights slam back on, bathing the entire dance floor in a neon glow as a deep, instantly recognizable voice growls through the speakers:
'I WANNA SLIM, FINE WOMAN, WITH SOME TWERK WITH HER!'
The entire room collectively LOSES THEIR MINDS.
It’s “Twerk” by City Girls.
The same song Holt played back on Tuesday.
The same song that ended the most out-of-pocket day in Monster High history—when every female student came dressed in the most scandalous, inappropriate outfits imaginable.
A throwback to absolute chaos.
And speaking of throwbacks—
The ghouls and bad girls look at each other.
They know exactly what time it is.
They drop low.
Hands on their knees.
NOW IT WAS REALLY TIME TO TWERK!
Down in the pit, the teachers sat uncomfortably, their stomachs growling from hours without food.
"Does anyone have anything we can munch on?" Hackington asked, rubbing his stomach.
"Unfortunately, no," Mr. Where grumbled. He then turned toward Ms. Kindergrubber with an expectant look. "You're a chef. Can’t you whip something up?"
"With what?" Ms. Kindergrubber sneered, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Ze dust and specks of zhis pit? Zhere is no kitchen in zhis cathedral! I have nothing to cook with!"
"Well, you'd better think of something, 'cause I’m starving!" Igor bellowed, his frustration mounting.
As the teachers continued to grumble over their hunger, a set of ropes suddenly dropped down into the pit.
They all snapped their heads upward, eyes widening.
Standing at the edge of the pit was Headmistress Bloodgood, flanked by the guards she had hired for the event—now back in their normal forms, no longer animals.
"Grab the ropes!" Bloodgood shouted down to them.
Wasting no time, the teachers scrambled to grab hold, and within seconds, they were hauled up from the pit, finally standing on solid ground once more.
Mr. Where let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief. "Oh, thank heavens!" he bellowed, his voice shaking. "I thought I was never getting outta there!"
The teachers all muttered their own thanks, grateful to be free after hours of being trapped.
However, not everyone was feeling relieved.
Mr. Rotter was still scowling.
Bloodgood turned to him, her expression unusually soft—her usual sternness replaced with something more genuine.
"Look," she started, her voice calm, "you were right. I shouldn’t have dismissed your concerns. I just—" she hesitated, sighing. "I just didn’t want the future of Monster High to go up in smoke." She looked away briefly before meeting his gaze again. "But I see now that by trying to control everything, I only made things worse."
Rotter stared at her for a long moment before finally letting out a deep sigh of his own.
"Well," he muttered, crossing his arms, "at least you finally admitted it." He gestured toward the chaotic noise still echoing through the cathedral. "But look around, Bloodgood! This is a disaster! The entire next generation of monsters has been turned into a bunch of sex-crazed lunatics who can’t think about anything except screwing each other's brains out!"
"He’s right!" Ms. Kindergrubber cut in. "How are ve going to explain zhis vhen word gets out to zeir parents? Or other communities in zhe monster world?"
Bloodgood’s face hardened.
"We’ll cross that bridge when we get there," she said firmly. "Right now, we have a party to shut down."
Just as the words left her mouth—
BOOM.
A deep, thundering bass shook the cathedral walls, sending dust crumbling from the ceiling.
Hackington adjusted his mask. "We’d better hurry—sounds like the party is descending into bloody madness!"
Bloodgood nodded, turning to the guards. "Listen up! The other headmasters and headmistresses are still trapped in that cabin in the woods. Half of you—get out there, find that cabin, and free them!"
"Yes, ma’am!" Several guards saluted before rushing to the cathedral entrance.
"The rest of you—we’re heading to the gym! That party ends NOW!"
"Yes, ma’am!" The remaining guards immediately took off toward the ballroom.
Bloodgood and the teachers followed close behind.
This wild night was about to come to an end.
Back in the ballroom-turned-neon-rave, the chaos had reached biblical proportions. The air was thick with sweat, the bass thumped so hard it rattled your bones, and the neon lights flickered like a strobe light on steroids.
It was no longer just a dance battle or a wild party—
This was a full-blown, uncontrollable, apocalyptic-level twerking festival—AGAIN!
Every single female from every monster school was in attendance, from Monster High to Haunted High, from Graveyard Prep to Mount Wood High. They were throwing it back like their very existence depended on it.
The room was a sea of gyrating bodies, each one more frenzied than the last.
It was everywhere.
Against the walls, girls were grinding, their hands pressed firmly against the cool surface for support.
On the tables, others were bent over, shaking what their mamas gave them with reckless abandon.
Chairs, platforms, even the damn DJ booth—if it was solid—
someone was bouncing on it.
The energy was unreal—this wasn’t just dancing anymore. This was monster history in the making.
Toralei and Clawdeen locked eyes, a slow, competitive smirk spreading across their faces. And then—
DUAL TWERK WAR.
Their hips moved in perfect sync, challenging one another, neither backing down.
One moment, Toralei took the lead with sharp, quick motions, her claws digging into the fabric of her skirt. The next, Clawdeen countered with a smooth, controlled bounce, effortlessly hypnotizing everyone watching, her curves moving like liquid fire.
Meowlody and Purrsephone were in a tag-team mirror dance—these two weren’t just twerking; they were performing a full synchronized routine.
Bounce. Pop. Spin. Arch. Drop. Pop again.
They moved in perfect unison, as if their bodies shared the same rhythm, the same pulse, their feline grace on full display.
Frankie, with her green skin glowing with electricity under the neon lights, commanded the entire room's attention. The air crackled with anticipation.
ZAP! Sparks flew from her fingertips.
BAM! She dropped LOW, and her hips started moving like a damn electric generator.
BOP-BOP-BOP!
"HOLY—” Jackson shouted, his eyes wide with shock and awe.
It was inhuman. Like she was possessed by the spirit of every twerk champion in history, her movements were sharp and electrifying.
Cleo, on the other hand, was divine.
Her hips moved like water, flowing with an ancient, hypnotic rhythm.
It wasn’t even twerking anymore—her movements were so graceful, so mesmerizing, it looked like she was summoning spirits from another realm.
"My QUEEN!" Deuce gasped, watching in awe, his eyes glued to her every move.
Ghoulia, the nerdy, quiet ghoul, had officially snapped.
Glasses off. Hair down. Full-on feral mode.
She arched her back, threw her ass up, and UNLEASHED HELL.
Her movements were wild and unpredictable, a stark contrast to her usual reserved demeanor.
Perri and Pearl, the conjoined twins, were double the ass and double the destruction. Their hips moved in perfect harmony, shaking the very floor beneath them.
If the walls could talk, they’d be begging for mercy, the sheer force of their movements threatening to bring the house down.
Abbey was pure power and pure muscle. She wasn’t just twerking—she was showing off just how strong her thighs were. Every bounce carried weight—every move had force.
Some poor fool—that wasn't Heath—almost got knocked out just standing too close, her strength was that intense.
Venus and Robecca were both on their hands and knees, repeatedly smacking their butts into each other with a rhythmic slapping noise that echoed through the room.
The sound was hypnotic, drawing everyone's attention as they moved in perfect sync, their bodies colliding with a force that was both intense and incredibly sexy.
The crowd watched in awe, the slapping noise becoming a part of the music, driving the energy of the room even higher.
"D-Don’t stop," Robecca stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes glazed over with desire.
Venus grinned wickedly. "Oh, I won’t."
Operetta and Scarah, pregnant and unbothered, were on the floor grinding with their boyfriends.
Their bumps were just part of the motion, their bodies moving with a sensual, maternal grace that was both powerful and incredibly sexy.
Spectra had regained her energy, and she was MAKING UP FOR LOST TIME.
She had vanished into the walls for a bit, but now she had returned FULL THROTTLE, twerking like a ghostly madwoman, her spectral form flickering in and out of sight with every bounce.
Gigi? Ryder’s fine.
She’s going feral.
This genie was letting loose like she had a thousand years of built-up energy to unleash. Her movements were wild and unrestrained, her body glowing with an otherworldly light as she danced.
Sirena was throwing it back on Vandala like she owned her, zero shame, full confidence.
Her mermaid tail flicked and shimmered under the neon lights, her every move oozing with seductive allure.
Vandala loved every second of it.
Draculaura was wild, her fangs glinting in the strobe lights as she danced with feral abandon.
Iris was going insane, her eyes rolling back in her head as she lost herself in the music.
Gory was elegant yet filthy, her movements a perfect blend of grace and raw, unadulterated sex appeal.
Amanita moved like a hypnotic plant, her body swaying and bending in ways that defied human anatomy.
Wydowna, though not human, knew how to move, her every twerk sharp and precise, her spider form glowing under the neon lights.
Astranova was floating mid-air while twerking like it was intergalactic law, her body defying gravity as she danced.
Rochelle, with her thick gargoyle body, was putting in work, her stone form moving with a fluidity that was both mesmerizing and incredibly hot.
Hell, EVERY GIRL was either throwing it back on their friend or lover, or just throwing it back for EVERYONE to see.
Even Valentine was at it again—twerking like he had nothing left to lose, his body glistening with sweat as he danced with wild abandon.
It was MADNESS. The floor was shaking, the walls were rattling, and the neon lights were flashing erratically, as if struggling to keep up with the sheer wild energy of the room.
This was pure, unfiltered, monster energy.
A final eruption—one last explosive release of pent-up insanity before the night truly ended.
But through it all, one person had remained just on the sidelines—watching but never truly participating.
That person was Jane Boolittle.
For the past week, Jane had been different from most of the students.
Just like Frankie on Day 1, she had been one of the few not acting any different as a result of the gas’s effects.
Her boyfriend, Andy Beast, had definitely been affected—his normally calm demeanor slipping more and more as his primal instincts came to the surface.
But even as Andy had been teasing her, touching her, nuzzling her, whispering filthy things in her ear, Jane had remained reserved.
She had spent the last several days blending in, doing just enough to avoid standing out.
She had worn a tamer (yet still scandalous) outfit on Day 2 like the other girls.
She had laughed along with the crazy moments.
She had nodded and smiled whenever the others teased her about loosening up.
But through it all, she had never truly let go.
Never fully embraced what she secretly wanted.
Never allowed herself to indulge the way the others had.
Until tonight.
Because tonight, something inside her changed.
She watched the other ghouls—the way they moved, danced, laughed, moaned, the way they expressed their pleasure so openly.
She saw the way Clawdeen and Toralei’s bodies moved in sync, their eyes filled with confidence.
She saw Frankie going absolutely feral, Cleo moving like a damn goddess, Venus dominating Robecca, Ghoulia snapping, Abbey flexing, Perri & Pearl shaking the floor, Draculaura going wild.
She saw Operetta and Scarah, STILL getting wild on the dance floor like nothing could stop them, despite their pregnancies.
She saw her boyfriend, Andy, eyes burning with lust and pride as he watched her.
And suddenly, she realized something.
She didn’t want to be the shy girl next door.
She didn’t want to just blend in.
She didn’t want to hold herself back anymore.
She wanted to go crazy.
She wanted to lose herself.
She wanted to feel free....
'Don't hold back.'
Jane paused, looking around, but no one was talking to her.
'Let it out.'
Her head snapped toward Andy, but his attention was on the dance floor.
'Do you?'
She spun around. No one was there.
'Jane.'
Jane's mind began to fill up with panic. But then, she relaxed, instead of freaking out, she closed her eyes.
And then, like a revelation—she heard it.
'Let. Go.'
She opened her eyes again and smiled.
“Ok,” she whispered to herself. “I get it.”
The dance floor was pure madness, but something shifted when Jane began to move.
It was subtle at first.
She took a slow, confident step onto the floor—her movements calm, but her eyes burning with something new.
The wild lights flashed against her revamped outfit—shorter, tighter, more revealing than anything she’d worn before.
The ghouls around her noticed instantly.
“Wait a minute…” Toralei’s ears twitched.
“What is she doing?” Spectra whispered, already reaching for her camera.
Jane raised her hands—her fingers stretching toward the sky.
Her lips curled into a smirk as she closed her eyes.
And then—
She flipped into a perfect split.
And it echoed across the dance floor.
The reaction was immediate, explosive.
Gasps and screams filled the air, a shockwave of energy rippling through the room as students backed away, forming a wide circle around her. Even the DJ rewound the track and blasted the bass, restarting the song just for her.
Andy’s jaw practically hit the floor.
His normally quiet, reserved girlfriend had just dropped down and started throwing it back like she’d been possessed by the spirit of every bad ghoul at Monster High.
“Holy—” He choked on his own breath, his mind short-circuiting at the sight before him.
Frankie and the other ghouls were shrieking in shock and delight.
“JANE?!” Frankie was screaming, grabbing Howleen’s arm and shaking her violently.
“OH, IT’S OVER, Y’ALL.” Draculaura clutched her chest like she was about to pass out.
“SHE’S GONE FULL RATCHET.” Clawdeen was cackling so hard she could barely breathe.
"THIS MUST BE A DREAM!" Cleo was completely losing her mind.
"SOMEONE BLOODY PINCH ME!" Lagoona was in denial. This cannot be real.
Toralei’s eyes widened in disbelief before she let out an impressed laugh. “Ohhhh, SHE’S WILD NOW!”
“Go OFF, Jane!” Amanita shouted, hands cupped around her mouth.
"SHOW EM WHAT YA GOT!" Both Pearl and Perri screamed.
Spectra was already snapping as many pictures as she could, knowing that this moment would be legendary.
Even Casta Fierce, the damn witch rockstar herself, was watching from the sides in stunned admiration.
“DID SHE JUST—”
But Jane wasn’t done.
Not even close.
Still in her split, she twisted her hips and bounced—her body moving in perfect, fluid precision, each motion dripping with confidence.
Then, with effortless grace, she swung up onto her hands, balancing in a perfect handstand before twerking upside-down. Just like Kieran.
The crowd lost it all over again.
Andy snapped out of his daze and ran forward, hyping her up like his life depended on it. His beastly instincts took over, his tail wagging uncontrollably, his voice rising above the music as he howled for her.
The students completely stopped dancing, making room for Jane as she continued her sensual, hypnotic movements, twisting mid-air before landing in a powerful stomp.
She arched her back, ground her hips, threw it back with no hesitation.
Every single student in the room began chanting her name.
“JANE! JANE! JANE! JANE!”
By now, the entire school had gathered to watch.
Jane was no longer the shy, quiet ghoul who always stayed in the background.
She had transformed.
She was wild, untamed, unapologetic.
And as the song reached its climax, she did one final, jaw-dropping move—a twisting drop that left her collapsed in exhaustion, panting, her skin glistening with sweat.
The crowd exploded into cheers, students jumping, screaming, throwing confetti from the ceiling.
The ghouls and bad girls rushed to help her up, fanning her down, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"Girl, you. Were. IN—” Toralei could barely speak.
“—SANEEEEEEEEE!” The werecat twins finished, laughing hysterically.
"YOU FLIPPED, TWISTED, AND GRINDED IN THE AIR!” Draculaura screamed, her hands on Jane’s cheeks.
Frankie jumped in front of her, grinning. "I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YA.”
Jane looked around, her heart pounding, her chest heaving.
For the first time, she felt light. She felt proud. She felt free.
And then, she turned to Andy.
Her voice was husky, raw from screaming and dancing. “I think I owe you something.”
Before he could respond, she grabbed him by the collar—
And kissed him. Hard.
The ballroom erupted once again, the students losing their minds as the ghouls collectively awww’d at the sight.
As Jane kissed Andy, she cracked open one eye and looked toward the balcony.
A small group of critters—her little animal friends—sat there, watching her.
They were cheering for her too.
She had never felt this alive.
She had never felt this free.
And as she embraced it, her eyes glowed pink.
But just as everyone was celebrating Jane, the deafening BOOM of the ballroom doors slamming open sent a shockwave through the crowd, instantly silencing the music and freezing every student in place.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood at the entrance, flanked by her entire team of guards and teachers, her face a mask of pure fury.
“OKAY, THAT'S IT. PARTY'S OVER! EVERYONE OUT!” Her voice thundered through the massive cathedral, carrying the weight of her absolute authority.
The students barely had a moment to react before the head officer pulled out his megaphone, his voice a booming declaration of doom.
“ATTENTION STUDENTS. THE MONSTER MASH DANCE IS OFFICIALLY OVER! YOU ARE ALL NOW TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY! IF THIS ENTIRE BUILDING IS NOT CLEARED WITHIN FIVE MINUTES, ANY REMAINING GUESTS WILL BE CHARGED FOR DAMAGES AND BE PERMANENTLY BANNED FROM THIS EVENT!”
A wave of panic washed over the room.
And then, the spell that Casta Fierce had cast earlier fizzled out, causing the students' outfits to shift back to their dirty but elegant attire. Gone were the skimpy rave outfits, the neon accessories, and the sweaty clubwear—now they were once again dressed in their torn suits and ruined dresses from earlier in the night.
And with that—and the students too exhausted to dance anymore—the chaos imploded.
What had once been a feverish, uncontrollable rave became a full-on stampede toward the exits.
The guards barely had to do anything; the students were so burned out that no one put up a fight. They just wanted out.
As the students and their friends fled the cathedral, last-minute conversations and parting words were exchanged.
Sirena grabbed Vandala’s hand at the last second, quickly scribbling something on a slip of paper.
“Call me,” she whispered, winking before disappearing into the crowd with her hybrid friends.
Vandala blinked, looking down at the number in her hand, a slow smirk forming on her lips.
Meanwhile, Spectra, Porter, Kiyomi, River, Vandala, Johnny, Operetta, Scarah, and Invisi-Billy all grouped together, planning their next move.
“Alright, y’all,” Operetta drawled, adjusting her hair. “We makin’ this an all-nighter, or what?”
Johnny smirked, throwing an arm around her waist. “Darlin, after what we just pulled? We’re legends. We gotta celebrate.”
Scarah sighed dramatically, resting against Billy. “Oh, I suppose we could go out for a bit longer…”
“Let’s hit the town.” Porter grinned.
With that, the group of ghost, phantoms, spirits, and rebels vanished into the night, ready to continue their mischief.
Elsewhere, Toralei planted a quick, teasing kiss on Clawdeen’s lips before sauntering off with her bad girl crew, flicking her tail with a smug smirk.
Clawdeen just chuckled, shaking her head. “That damn cat…”
From across the courtyard, the cheer squad from Smogshorts Vampire Academy made their final declaration.
One of them, a pale, sharp-fanged vampiress, called out over the crowd.
“WE WILL GET OUR REMATCH! MAYBE NOT TONIGHT, BUT SOON!”
Clawdeen and the ghouls just grinned, knowing damn well that when that day came, they would be ready.
With the majority of the students gone, Bloodgood exhaled sharply, taking stock of the situation.
The key players behind the biggest stunts of the night still lingered.
Her gaze slowly swept across the courtyard, fixing on the ones responsible for the biggest humiliations she had suffered that evening.
Casta Fierce. (Turned her guards into animals.)
Johnny Spirit. (Knocked her and the other principals out cold, leaving them in a shed.)
Operetta. (Messed with the guards heads.)
Catty Noir & Pharaoh. (Lured out the teachers by making out.)
Slo-Mo & Ghoulia. (Messed with the security feed.)
Scarah & Invisi-Billy. (Took her amulet and messed with her head.)
Astranova. (Same as Scarah.)
Bloodgood clenched her fists.
The head officer stepped forward, eyes locked onto Casta.
“Ma’am, if I may, I strongly recommend we apprehend Casta Fierce for the assault on my men.” His voice was clipped and authoritative.
Bloodgood’s glare shifted toward Johnny, her fingers itching to see him in handcuffs.
She could already hear the whispers in her mind.
'Just do it.'
'Arrest him.'
'Teach them all a lesson.'
But then…
Her gaze flickered to Operetta and Scarah.
Both pregnant.
Only a few days along, but still—pregnant.
And then, she thought about the students.
They already hated her.
After what happened Thursday, she was already on thin ice. If she tried to forcefully arrest their friends and idols, the entire school would turn on her.
And worse?
She had no idea how banshee or phantom pregnancies worked.
Would stress cause complications? Would Operetta or Scarah react so violently that they risked hurting themselves or their babies?
Would their boyfriends fight to protect them?
Would other students join in?
Would this escalate into a full scale conflict?
Bloodgood took a deep breath.
“…No.”
The head officer blinked. “Ma’am?”
“No arrests,” she said, firmly. “Let them off with warnings.”
The officer hesitated but ultimately nodded, relaying the orders to his men.
Another guard approached her. “Most of the students are gone, ma’am, but some are still unaccounted for. Likely still… engaged in activities inside the cathedral.”
Bloodgood pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course.
She waved a hand. “Find them. Escort them out. Gently. No more injuries tonight.”
The guards nodded and hurried off to flush out the stragglers.
Eventually, everyone was gone.
The cathedral was a disaster.
Glitter, torn fabric, neon paint, and who-knows-what-else was scattered across every surface.
The once elegant ballroom now reeked of sweat, alcohol, and pheromones. The tables were wrecked, some completely defiled in ways she didn’t even want to think about.
It would take months to fix this.
Bloodgood sighed, rubbing her temples.
She was so deep in thought, trying to figure out how to even begin dealing with this mess, that she didn’t notice the presence behind her.
Until she heard their voice.
“Care to explain to us why your students are acting like a bunch of sex-starved degenerates with no sense of shame?”
Bloodgood turned around slowly.
There, standing before her, was Principal Revenant—along with the principals of the other monster schools.
Their expressions ranged from disbelief to disgust to barely contained amusement.
Bloodgood exhaled sharply.
“...I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
To be continued...
Notes:
After writing that much, I'm taking a small break, so don't expect part 3 for a week or 2.
Also to any of you who are gonna ask "Why didn't this couple have a sex scene?"
A. There are plenty of those already.
B. I'm saving them for later.
C. I didn't have any ideas for them.
D. It would've made things longer.
Chapter 12: The Monster Mash Dance (part 3): The Afterparty
Summary:
The Monster Mash dance may be over....
BUT THE PARTY NEVER DIES!!!!!
Chapter Text
The streets of New Salem were alive with the sound of monsters. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and whatever lingering magic still clung to the students after the wildest Monster Mash in history.
As the last of the students flooded out of the cathedral, the energy among the ghouls and their friends remained electric. Even after hours of dancing, drinking, and debauchery, none of them were ready to call it a night.
“Well, that was a bust,” Clawd muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked alongside Draculaura, who was still buzzing from the night’s events.
“Ugh, I know,” Cleo sighed dramatically, flicking some stray glitter from her ruined dress. “I’m not about to go home when I still have this much energy. That would be a waste.”
“Then let’s keep going!” Heath piped up, throwing an arm around Abbey’s shoulders. “I say we keep the party alive!”
The group all murmured in agreement, but there was one big problem.
“Where?” Frankie asked. “The cathedral’s closed, the teachers are already pissed at us, and we don’t exactly have a backup plan.”
“Well, we could always head to Cleo’s place,” Rochelle suggested.
A sharp snort came from Cleo. “Yeah, because that went so well last time.”
Everyone grimaced, immediately recalling the last party they had at Cleo’s mansion—which had been going perfectly until Nefera showed up like the worst possible buzzkill and threatened to snitch if they didn’t clean up immediately.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Deuce agreed, adjusting his sunglasses. “I’d rather keep my eardrums intact.”
“Then we’re screwed,” Clawdeen huffed.
For a moment, the group stood in silence, the idea of going home settling in.
But then—
“You guys can throw it at my place.”
All heads snapped toward the unexpected voice.
There, standing taller than usual, was Twyla.
Twyla—who was not acting like Twyla.
Her posture was straight, confident, bold. There wasn’t a single ounce of hesitation in her stance.
“Wait,” Howleen blinked, “are you serious?”
“Of course,” Twyla said smoothly, a mischievous glint in her usually reserved eyes. “My dad’s out for the night. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The ghouls all exchanged surprised glances.
They’d never seen Twyla like this before. She was usually so timid, always in the background, always playing it safe.
But tonight?
Tonight, she looked like a ghoul who had absolutely no fear.
And honestly? They liked it.
“You sure, Twy?” Draculaura asked, grinning. “You know what happens when we throw a party.”
Twyla just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Let it happen.”
That was all the confirmation they needed.
Ghoulia whipped out her phone and started sending invites.
And as the ghouls and their boyfriends all piled into various cars and headed toward the Boogie Mansion, the excitement in the air was palpable.
What had started as just another event had turned into something so much bigger.
And now?
Now, the real party was about to begin.
But, not everyone was headed to Twyla’s place.
A few groups had other plans.
The Phantom Crew – Spectra & Co.
Spectra, Porter, Kiyomi, River, Vandala, Johnny, Operetta, Scarah, and Billy had something else in mind.
New Salem was still awake, still buzzing with unsuspecting humans who had no idea that a group of ghosts was about to mess with them just for fun.
“I say we make this town ours for the night,” Porter smirked.
“Oh, absolutely,” Spectra purred. “I've always wanted to haunt some humans.”
Johnny cracked his knuckles. “Let’s give ‘em a show.”
With that, the group of ghosts vanished into the night, ready to cause pure, chaotic mischief.
The Bad Girls - Toralei & Co.
Toralei, Meowlody, Purrsephone, Amanita, Gory, and some of their other gang members had zero intentions of heading home.
They wanted trouble.
And New Salem was about to give them exactly what they were looking for.
“Alright, ladies,” she purred. “I say we make this night one to remember.”
They shared a knowing grin.
And with that, the bad girls of Monster High disappeared into the dark alleys of New Salem, ready for whatever trouble they could stir up.
The Cathedral was in ruins.
The once-pristine halls, though never particularly orderly, now reeked of sweat, pheromones, and irresponsibility. Trash littered the floors—discarded snack wrappers, half-empty drink cups, and the occasional ripped piece of clothing that no one dared to question.
The entire building had been defiled, save for a single room untouched by the students’ depravity.
It was in this one blessedly clean space that Bloodgood sat with the other principals and staff, engaged in what could only be described as a trial.
At the center of it all stood Headmistress Bloodgood, her expression weary yet composed, though the dark bags under her eyes told a different story.
She had spent the past week trying—and failing—to contain the madness that had gripped her school.
Tonight, however, was the final straw.
The Monster Mash Dance had been a complete and utter disaster.
Not only had her students descended into a chaotic mess of grinding, twerking, and reckless behavior, but their influence had spread to the other schools. She knew, knew, that this was only going to make things worse.
And judging by the rage-filled glares of the other principals, she had been absolutely right.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy, thick with unspoken accusations as the other heads of monster academies turned to Bloodgood, their expressions ranging from disappointment to outright fury.
Then, Scary Murphy—the fearleading legend—broke the silence.
Her voice was like thunder, cutting through the tension.
“I demand an explanation.”
Bloodgood let out a slow breath, but before she could respond, Murphy continued.
“I know for a fact that Monster High is home to some of the most disciplined and respectful monsters out there. I’ve seen it for myself—your students have always carried themselves with dignity.” She narrowed her eyes, her ghostly hands tapping against the wooden table.
“So tell me, Bloodgood—why the hell were they out there acting like a bunch of goddamn heathens?”
Bloodgood barely had time to open her mouth before another voice joined the attack.
“Indeed.”
Revenant, the pale, ghostly headmistress of Haunted High, crossed her arms, her expression dark and unreadable. She had a deep personal stake in this disaster, and it showed in the way her voice wavered—not with fear, but with betrayal.
“I let some of my best students transfer to your school—Porter, Kiyomi—because I wanted them to have a better education.” Her cold, dead eyes locked onto Bloodgood’s. “Instead, I find out that they’re over here twerking and making out with people?”
A small flicker of irritation crossed Bloodgood’s face, but before she could interject, yet another voice rang out.
“And what of the eyes?”
The voice belonged to Signore Vitriola, the sharp-dressed, no-nonsense headmaster of Accademia de Mostro, the prestigious school of northern Bitealy.
He leaned forward, his long fingers steepled together. “I saw numerous students leaving the dance with their eyes glowing a distinct shade of pink.” His eyes narrowed. “I have never seen that before. Until tonight.”
He straightened, his voice dropping to a cold, dangerous tone.
“Is it mind control?”
Bloodgood stiffened.
“Are you drugging your students?”
The accusation sent a visible ripple of unease through the room.
“What the hell is going on here, Bloodgood?” Revenant demanded, her translucent form flickering slightly with restrained anger. “And why are all our students acting weird too?”
The onslaught of questions was relentless, hitting Bloodgood from every direction.
Why weren’t they informed of this sooner?
Why did it take a full-blown public spectacle for them to hear about it?
What had Monster High become?
The walls felt like they were closing in, the pressure mounting—until finally…
SLAM.
A deafening voice cut through the chaos.
“SILENCE!”
All eyes turned toward Sylphia Flapper, one of Monster High’s most respected teachers, as she slammed her hands on the table. Her scaly arms twitched with frustration, and her usually calm demeanor had been replaced with barely contained exasperation.
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Bloodgood exhaled, gathering herself. Then, she turned to the principals, her voice steady, but firm.
“I understand your frustration. I do. But before any of you make assumptions, you need to listen to what I have to say. It’s the only way we’ll be able to solve the problems ahead.”
A beat of silence.
Then, Scary Murphy arched a brow.
“What problems?”
Bloodgood’s expression darkened.
Slowly, she gestured toward Hackington, who had been sitting quietly in the background, his face pale with anxiety.
The scientist hesitated, then cleared his throat. He reached for his laptop, pulling up a set of documents, his fingers trembling slightly.
“On Friday of last week,” Hackington began, “I made… a mistake.”
The other principals stared, waiting.
He swallowed hard.
“I accidentally released a chemical compound that contained a… strong amount of aphrodisiac onto the student body. During an assembly.”
The silence that followed was deadly.
He continued, his voice hurried.
“The compound was meant to boost student morale—to help them do better in things like assignments and quizzes. But I… I accidentally added an aphrodisiac.”
Revenant’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Vitriola just stared.
Murphy’s eyes narrowed.
Hackington looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
“During a transport to the lab,” he went on, “the hatch was accidentally opened, releasing the gas onto the unsuspecting student body. And ever since then… Monster High has become, for lack of a better term, an adult film.”
He clicked a few buttons on his laptop, pulling up his research.
A wall of text appeared on the screen, detailing the horrific nature of the gas.
The Gas’s Effects:
Hijacks the brain’s limbic system
Targets the hypothalamus, which regulates emotions, sexual desire, and impulse control
Floods the brain with dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, creating an uncontrollable state of arousal
Lowers inhibitions and rational thinking, resulting in animalistic, instinct-driven behavior
Side Effects Include:
Extreme Increase in Libido – Affected individuals experience an uncontrollable surge in arousal, prioritizing pleasure above all else.
Lowered Inhibitions & Impulse Control – Rational thinking is severely diminished. Subjects act on their immediate desires without concern for consequences.
Heightened Physical Sensations – The body becomes hypersensitive, making even the slightest touch intensely pleasurable.
Glowing Pink Eyes – The universal sign that the gas has taken effect. When someone fully gives in, their eyes glow pink for a moment before returning to normal.
Addictive Properties – The more an individual succumbs to their urges, the harder it becomes to resist further temptation.
As the words sank in, the room fell into an even deeper silence.
Hackington swallowed hard, turning back to the others, his voice hoarse.
“…And as you can see, this is not something that just ‘wears off.’”
Hackington rubbed the back of his neck, his voice barely above a whisper.
“While the students didn’t demonstrate any ill effects other than drowsiness and fatigue at first… once the next week came, things went from 0 to 100 real fast.”
He took a breath.
“Students were flirting. Making out. Having sex. Wearing inappropriate outfits. The whole nine yards.”
The room was frozen.
The principals were absolutely stunned.
Then, Revenant slammed a hand on the table.
“And you didn’t think to inform us of this before the Monster Mash Dance?!”
Bloodgood sighed, rubbing her temples.
“I was trying to curb the chaos. I was dealing with the Monster Council, who were threatening to shut us down if they found anything amiss. And—”
Before she could finish—
“And frankly,” Rotter cut in, his voice sharp and cutting, “she was more worried about staying in control and acting like a dictator, rather than actually helping the students deal with the boosted hormones.”
The room fell silent.
Then—
“…Why do you think she announced all those rules at the beginning of the dance?”
Bloodgood’s head snapped toward him.
“ROTTER!”
But the damage had already been done.
And the other principals?
They were looking at Bloodgood differently now.
The Boogie Mansion could only be described as hauntingly beautiful.
The blackened walls loomed overhead, towering like shadows that had taken form. The floors beneath their feet creaked and groaned, whispering secrets of the past with each step. The hallways twisted unnaturally, as if the mansion itself were alive, shifting and rearranging just to confuse its guests.
If you listened closely, you could hear them—the whispers of ghosts, the faint, distant screams of long-deceased souls trapped within the Boogeyman’s domain. Some voices pleaded, some cackled, and others simply moaned in sorrow.
In the heart of the foyer, a grand staircase loomed, its ornate railing draped in cobwebs. Portraits of ghosts and unfamiliar, eerie figures lined the walls, their hollow eyes watching as the mansion filled with uninvited guests.
It was the kind of place that belonged in an old gothic horror movie, the kind that would make even the bravest monster feel uneasy.
But right now?
Right now, it was a party house.
The eerie atmosphere was quickly drowned out by the flood of laughing, excited monsters pouring inside.
Holt immediately took charge of the music, setting up his speakers and blasting a heavy, bass-filled beat that shook the very foundations of the mansion.
The eerie silence was gone, replaced by the pounding rhythm of monster bangers.
Ghoulia, ever the planner, set up a snack table, passing out drinks and chips to anyone who wanted them. Even though the mansion itself felt alive, she wasn’t about to let that stop her from making sure the party had the essentials.
On the far wall, Heath and Abbey were already going at it.
Abbey had pinned Heath against the cold, creaky surface, her powerful arms trapping him in place. Heath melted into the kiss, completely surrendering as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. His legs hooked around her hips, practically climbing her like a tree as she dominated him with each heated movement.
Across the room, Clawdeen sat comfortably in one of the mansion’s worn-out chairs, casually sipping a soda while chatting with some of the other monsters who had shown up. Her eyes flickered to the dance floor every now and then, watching as things got wild.
Outside, just beyond one of the massive gothic windows, Venus and Robecca sat together, the soft glow of moonlight casting a gentle silver hue over their intertwined hands. They weren’t caught up in the chaos—just enjoying the quiet beauty of the night sky, Venus idly tracing patterns over Robecca’s metal fingers.
As for Rochelle?
Well, she and Garrott had disappeared into one of the mansion’s many shadowy corridors. No one knew exactly where they went, but every few minutes, a loud giggle echoed from the darkness, followed by the sound of something—or someone—getting pressed against a wall.
Frankie?
She was just chilling, nothing else.
And the rest of the ghouls?
The moment Holt turned on the music…
They immediately started throwing ass on the dance floor.
Full-On Twerk Mode
Draculaura was bent over, her tiny frame moving effortlessly as she threw it back against Clawd. Her boyfriend’s claws dug into his jeans, his tail wagging uncontrollably as she grinded on him to the beat.
Cleo, never one to be outshined, had her own moment on Deuce. Her movements were slow, hypnotic, rolling her hips in perfect rhythm as she backed up onto him. Deuce just smirked, keeping his hands firmly on her waist, letting her do what she did best.
Lagoona?
Lagoona was going crazy.
She had both hands planted on her knees, her golden curls bouncing as she twerked on Gil, her tail swishing with each movement. Gil’s gills fluttered wildly, his hands twitching as he tried to keep his cool.
Howleen, however?
Howleen wasn’t feeling it.
She sat off to the side, her legs crossed, idly scrolling through her phone while everyone else had their fun.
That is, until a certain someone approached.
Twyla.
But not just any Twyla.
This was a different Twyla. A bold Twyla. A Twyla who had zero hesitation in her step as she casually strolled up to her girlfriend with a mischievous smirk.
“You alright?” Twyla asked, tilting her head.
Howleen shrugged, barely looking up from her screen. “I dunno. Just not in the party spirit, I guess.”
Twyla’s smirk widened.
“I can fix that.”
Before Howleen could react, Twyla grabbed her hand and yanked her off the chair, dragging her onto the dance floor.
“H-hey—Twy—wait—”
“Nope! Too late!” Twyla spun her around, forcing Howleen into the crowd of moving bodies.
Howleen sighed, shaking her head, still not quite in the mood.
And then—
Twyla grinned.
And did something unexpected.
She spun around, bent over, put one hand on the floor, and started twerking on Howleen.
Howleen froze.
Her ears shot straight up.
Her jaw dropped.
She had seen Twyla twerk before—but never like this.
Never on her.
Twyla looked back over her shoulder, that mischievous grin still plastered across her face.
“You like that, huh?” she teased.
Howleen was speechless.
She could barely process what was happening, let alone form a proper response.
Twyla just laughed, flipping her hair back before continuing to dance.
And just like that—
The afterparty was in full swing.
No Bloodgood.
No teachers.
No security guards.
Nothing could stop them now.
After changing out of their outfits—trading their extravagant party wear for something more suited to the night—Toralei and her girls stepped onto the neon-lit streets of New Salem, ready to cause trouble.
Now back in their usual clothes, they looked way more like themselves—Toralei in her signature striped crop top and ripped jeans, Meowlody and Purrsephone rocking their twin punk-styled fits, Amanita lounging in something flowy yet dangerously short, Gory in her usual dark, regal aesthetic, Pearl and Perri coordinating their mermaid fashion, Kala wearing her signature gown, and Wydowna with her usual spider-styled flare.
The energy of the city was electric, buzzing with life even in the dead of night. The streets were packed with monsters of all kinds, enjoying their own nightlife, but the bad girls had no intention of just blending in.
They roamed for a bit, making small mischief—stealing snacks from street vendors, “accidentally” knocking over souvenir stands, slipping into a few small clubs without paying—but nothing too major.
That is, until they spotted it.
A high-end monster club, standing tall with a massive neon sign flickering in gold above the entrance. The kind of place where the elite and filthy rich came to waste thousands of dollars on drinks and entertainment. The entrance was lined with muscular bouncers, all dressed in sleek black suits, scanning the guests who entered.Toralei’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now this,” she purred, “looks like fun.”
The group approached the entrance, but the moment security saw them, they were already waving them away.
“Get lost,” one of the bouncers growled. “This ain’t your kind of place.”
The girls bristled at that, but Amanita just smirked. Stepping forward, she brushed a hand along the bouncer’s arm and released a wave of her pheromones, her floral scent wrapping around him like an intoxicating fog. His expression slackened, his pupils dilating as his stance immediately relaxed.
“Actually, sweetie,” Amanita cooed, tilting her head. “I think you’d love to let us in.”
The bouncer blinked slowly, his mind clearly no longer his own. “...Yeah, go on in.” He stepped aside, and the other guards, caught in the pheromones' range, didn’t even protest.
Toralei grinned. “Knew we kept you around for a reason.”
With that, the girls strolled into the club, vanishing into the sea of expensive perfume, rich monsters, and blinding neon lights.
The place was lavish, draped in gold and black, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling that sparkled with enchanted gemstones. The air was thick with the scent of high-quality liquor, and the sound of a live jazz band playing a haunting, enchanting tune filled the club.
The girls instantly split up, each finding their own way to enjoy themselves.
Toralei and Gory wasted no time slinking through the crowd, their sharp eyes scanning the oblivious rich ghouls and dudes sipping on ridiculously overpriced drinks.
Within minutes, they were discreetly lifting valuables—a gold compact mirror here, an expensive lipstick there—with the grace of seasoned thieves. Every now and then, Gory would casually apply a new shade of lipstick, smirking at Toralei as they pocketed their loot.
Wydowna released her “lovelies”, a swarm of small, eerie spiders that skittered through the club, pulling pranks on the rich and snobby guests—tying their shoelaces together, stealing their jewelry, even dropping into their drinks just to watch them shriek. She giggled from a dimly lit corner, watching the chaos unfold.
Kala had found a fellow kraken, a famous sea actor, lounging in the VIP section. She wasted no time flirting shamelessly, running a hand along his suckered forearm, her voice dripping with charm as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.
She could almost see the steam coming off of him, and she knew it would be no time at all before he invited her home.
Amanita was making her rounds, flirting with various men, flashing them seductive smiles while letting her pheromones do the work. The moment one fell under her spell, she’d let him buy her an expensive drink, then move on to the next, collecting a small army of admirers.
Meowlody and Purrsephone? They weren’t causing any trouble—yet. They lounged by the bar, minding their business, sipping on drinks they definitely didn’t pay for.
Meanwhile, Pearl and Perri lounged against the club’s ornate railing, watching the rich socialites mingle with mild disinterest. Their night had been fun so far, but at the moment? They were bored.
That was, until a small voice caught their attention.
“Um… excuse me?”
They turned, both pairs of sea-green eyes locking onto a little boy, no older than six, staring up at them with fascinated wonder.
The twins exchanged a glance before smirking, their identical faces lighting up with playful mischief.
“What’s wrong, cutie?” Perri purred, leaning down. “You lost?”
The boy nodded shyly, his small hands fidgeting. “I… I can’t find my mommy…”
Instead of showing even the slightest bit of concern, Pearl and Perri giggled, leaning in closer.
“Awww,” Pearl cooed, batting her lashes dramatically. “That’s too bad. You’re just the cutest little thing.”
Perri tilted her head, pretending to think. “Maybe we should keep him.”
The boy’s brows furrowed, clearly confused. “Huh?”
Pearl grinned, resting her chin in her palm. “Well, you’re just so adorable.”
“Too adorable to just give back,” Perri finished, grinning.
The boy took a hesitant step back, looking unsure now. “Uhh… I think I should find my mommy…”
Pearl sighed dramatically, pouting. “Such a shame… I bet you’d be such a good little boyfriend for us.”
“Yeah,” Perri agreed, tapping her chin. “You ever had two girlfriends before, cutie?”
The boy’s face flushed a deep red, his tiny hands waving frantically. “W-What?! I-I—”
The twins giggled again, clearly entertained by his embarrassment.
“Awww, look, Pearl—he’s blushing!” Perri teased.
“He’s just too precious,” Pearl sighed.
And then—
A sudden voice snapped through the air, sharp and arrogant.
“Excuse me.”
Toralei, who had just swiped a silk scarf from some rich lady’s bag, turned and narrowed her eyes.
Standing before her was a tall, snobby-looking vampire, dressed in elegant designer clothing, her nose turned up as if she could smell Toralei’s “lower class” from a mile away.
“I’ve never seen you before,” the ghoul sneered, looking Toralei up and down with blatant disgust. “Who are you?”
Toralei rolled her eyes, not interested in entertaining some brat’s attitude. “None of your business, Princess.”
Then, she turned to leave.
But the vampire wasn’t so easily deterred. She stepped in front of Toralei, her expression defiant.
“You’re clearly not a high-class ghoul like me,” she sneered. “Why are you even here? What could you possibly be doing in a place like this?”
Toralei smirked. “And why would you care?”
The vampire’s expression darkened. “I care because this is MY establishment, and I don’t want any riffraff ruining my party. Why don’t you do everyone a favor and get the hell out of here?”
Toralei’s smirk grew, her sharp teeth gleaming in the light. “And why should I take orders from someone like you?”
That only made the girl angrier. The conversation quickly escalated, insults flying back and forth, until finally, the vampire hissed in disdain:
“Filthy kittens like you should’ve been left to die in the trash a long time ago.”
The entire club fell silent.
A tense pause filled the air. Even the band stopped playing.
Then—before anyone could react—
Toralei spun on her heel and ROUNDHOUSE KICKED THE BITCH.
The force sent the ghoul flying across the room, crashing into an expensive food display. Plates shattered, drinks spilled, and the girl was covered in cuts and bruises.
And that's when everything went to hell.
Wydowna barely had time to react before a horrified shriek rang through the club.
“SHE’S STEALING—AND SHE HAS SPIDERS!”
She turned just in time to see an angry guest pointing right at her, their face twisted in terror. Around them, several rich ghouls shrieked as her ‘lovelies’—tiny spiders—crawled all over the buffet table, dropping into expensive cocktails and skittering across designer dresses.
Wydowna grinned sheepishly. “Oops. Guess they got a little carried away.”
“GET HER!” a security guard bellowed, lunging forward.
Meanwhile, across the room, a furious wife pointed a shaking manicured hand at her disheveled husband, whose face and neck were covered in lipstick marks.
“WOULD YOU LIKE TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY YOU LOOK LIKE A DAMN LOVE LETTER?!” she screeched.
The man stammered, pulling at his collar. “I—uh—it’s not what it looks like, honey! I was just—”
“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!”
Without thinking, the husband jabbed a finger toward Amanita.
She simply smirked, batting her lashes. “What can I say? I’m very… persuasive.”
“YOU HARLOT!” the wife lunged forward, but security was already storming the club, shoving through guests as the alarms blared.
And then—
“MY BABY! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY PRECIOUS BABY?!”
A piercing wail shattered through the chaos as a fur-coat-clad, diamond-drenched woman burst onto the scene.
Her sharp, accusatory eyes landed on the snobby ghoul, who was still dazed from Toralei’s roundhouse kick, covered in food.
She gasped dramatically, clutching her pearls. “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!”
The ghoul groaned, lifting a trembling hand to point toward Toralei, who was already backing away.
Toralei huffed. “Oh, give me a break.”
Security zeroed in on them.
Time to go.
Realizing their cover was blown, Toralei shouted:
“RUN!”
The girls bolted, knocking over things around them as they escaped from security.
As for Pearl and Perri, they were still engaged in a flirtatious conversation with the young boy.
But before they could tease him any further, a shout suddenly rang through the air.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?! LET’S GO!”
The twins snapped their heads up, only now noticing the chaos around them—security storming the club, guests screaming, and their crew already running for the exit.
Kala was furious, glaring at them. “GET YOUR ASSES MOVING!”
The twins gasped dramatically, turning back to the poor, flustered little boy.
Pearl pouted. “Aww, guess we gotta go.”
But just before slipping away, the twins leaned in close, their voices dripping with mischief as they purred:
“See you later, cutie.”
Before the kid could utter a word, they both leaned in and kissed his cheeks, making him turn bright red.
And then, just like that, they floated off, giggling, to join their crew.
The back doors slammed open with a crash as the girls spilled onto the street, laughter bubbling from their lips while security stormed after them, barking orders they had no intention of following.
With security chasing after them, the girls ducked into a side alley, hearts pounding. They stayed hidden, listening as the guards stormed past.
When the coast was clear, they stepped onto the street, laughing.
Toralei grinned as they counted their stolen loot—lipstick, jewelry, money, and expensive drinks.
“Now that,” Gory said, applying her new lipstick, “was a good time.”
The girls smirked at each other, stepping back onto the road.
One club down.
Time for the next one.
The night was still young, and the ghostly crew drifted through the darkened streets of New Salem, looking for their next unsuspecting victims.
Operetta, Scarah, and Billy—unlike their fully spectral companions—were cursed with corporeal forms, unable to float freely through the air.
But that was no issue. Johnny, ever the devoted boyfriend, carried Operetta in his arms with ease, a cocky smirk on his face. Spectra and Kiyomi teamed up to support Scarah, making sure to keep her stable—Scarah might be the queen of mind games, but even she didn't want to risk anything while carrying Invisi-Billy’s kid.
As for the future dad himself, Porter had slung Billy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, flying effortlessly with his usual mischievous grin.
The group passed over rooftops, their spectral forms flickering under the glow of neon signs and city streetlights. New Salem was alive with nightlife, packed with normies and monsters alike.
And among them, River suddenly stopped mid-air, her eerie, ghostly eyes locking onto a group of normies huddled together, laughing and chatting near a coffee shop.
"Bingo," she whispered with a smirk, pointing a transparent finger downward.
The ghosts all hovered near the edge of a building, peering down at their next targets.
It was a group of six humans, but the real highlight was the one couple standing close together. The girl was happily clinging to her boyfriend’s arm, her eyes full of trust, while the boy put on a charming smile.
One that Johnny, with his decades of experience in troublemaking, could tell was faker than a scam email.
"So, what’s the plan?" Porter asked, adjusting his grip on Invisi-Billy, who just sighed and let himself hang limply.
"Simple," Johnny grinned. "We expose some dirt."
With a quick glance around, he was elected as the one to go down and cause some chaos. He cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath, and vanished into thin air.
The group watched in anticipation as Johnny swooped down, slipping into the unsuspecting boyfriend’s body like a glove.
A moment passed. The normies continued talking, laughing—until suddenly, the boy stiffened. His body twitched unnaturally, as if something had suddenly taken hold of him.
Then, with absolutely no hesitation, he threw his arms up and, with the force of a man who had reached his breaking point, screamed, "I'VE BEEN CHEATING ON YOU WITH LIKE FOUR OTHER GIRLS, AND HONESTLY, ONLY TWO OF THEM WERE WORTH IT!"
The world around them froze.
His girlfriend’s jaw dropped. The entire group went silent. The chaos was instant.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!" the girl screeched, her face contorting in absolute fury.
Johnny, of course, had already left the dude's body and floated back up to the roof, cackling as they all watched the carnage unfold. The boy looked utterly horrified, as if even he couldn’t believe what had just come out of his own mouth.
"N-no, baby! I didn't mean that! I don’t even know why I said that!" he stammered, but the damage was already done.
The girl’s brother—who had been standing next to them—didn't wait for an explanation.
With zero hesitation, he reeled back and slapped the absolute shit out of the guy. The sound echoed through the street. The other normies gasped, stepping back as the girlfriend began pelting her now-ex with her purse, screaming every curse word in the book.
Meanwhile, up on the roof, Operetta smacked Johnny upside the head, hard enough that he actually flinched.
"You just wrecked that poor girl's relationship, ya ass!" she scolded, her accent thick with disapproval.
Johnny just laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Pfft, please. That guy actually was cheating on her."
Operetta paused. "...Oh. Well, in that case, fuck him!" She crossed her arms and smirked. "That was hilarious."
And just like that, the ghosts moved on, floating off to find more mischief.
Mr. Ewing had always known something was wrong with his apartment. He had lived in New Salem for decades, long enough to know that ghosts were real. He had heard the stories—things moving on their own, whispers in the dark, shadows that slithered across walls when no one was there.
But tonight? Tonight was worse.
As he sat in his creaky recliner, nursing a cup of chamomile tea, the first sign of trouble came when his reading lamp flickered violently. The bulb surged bright white before plunging the room into darkness.
Then came the sound.
A slow, deliberate creak.
Like a chair dragging across the wooden floor.
Mr. Ewing turned his head sharply toward the dining table—his blood turned to ice when he saw the chair moving on its own.
"No… n-no, not again…" he whispered, gripping the arms of his chair.
Another creak. A second chair slid back, as if someone was sitting down. Then another.
Then, from right behind him, a raspy voice murmured, "You're not alone."
That was it. Mr. Ewin didn't even look. He launched himself out of his chair, his teacup smashing to the floor as he bolted for the door in his floral-print pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
The neighbors barely had time to react as the elderly man sprinted down the hall, screaming, "THE DAMN SPIRITS ARE BACK!"
Back in the apartment, Invisi-Billy chuckled, watching the chaos unfold. He cracked his knuckles, pleased with his work.
"Too easy," he muttered before jumping out the window he came in.
Dani and her friends were buzzed. The alley shortcut was the best way to get home from the bar—plus, it was secluded enough for them to check their phones and gossip without getting shoved around by the nighttime crowd.
"Okay, but listen," Dani slurred, scrolling through her DMs, "if he sends one more ‘u up?’ text, I’m literally throwing my phone into the river."
Her friend snorted. "Girl, just block—"
The ground beneath them vanished.
One second, they were walking—the next, they were falling.
A collective scream tore through the night as the group plummeted into a shimmering portal. It wasn’t like falling into a hole; it was like the air itself had swallowed them.
And just as suddenly as they fell, they landed.
The group crashed onto cracked pavement. Streetlights flickered dimly. They were no longer in the city. No sidewalks, no buildings. Just a vast, empty parking lot surrounded by abandoned warehouses. The distant sound of a train whistle echoed.
Dani scrambled up, spinning in a panic. "What the hell—where ARE we?! We were in the alley! We were just in the city!"
Another girl grabbed her phone, her voice trembling. "There’s no service! What the actual fuck?!"
The entire group shivered as an unnatural chill crawled up their spines, like unseen fingers brushing against their skin.
And somewhere, just beyond the flickering streetlight, a soft giggle floated through the air.
Kiyomi watched from above, covering her mouth to stifle another laugh before phasing out of sight.
Inside a quiet café, two girls sat across from each other, sipping on overpriced iced lattes.
"So then I told her—uh, hello? That was MY idea first! Can you believe she had the nerve to—"
A soft, low hum echoed through the café, curling around them like a whispered secret. Neither girl noticed at first, but their hands tightened around their drinks. Their shoulders tensed.
The hum grew deeper, threading itself into their subconscious like a parasite.
Then, suddenly—
"You ALWAYS do this!" one girl snapped, slamming her drink down hard enough to slosh it over the table.
The other girl recoiled. "Excuse me?! I do what?!"
"You know exactly what! You always try to one-up me, like you can’t stand when I get attention!"
"OH, PLEASE! You’re just mad that people actually like me!"
SLAP.
The café gasped as a full-on brawl erupted. Chairs toppled over, iced lattes spilled, and customers scrambled out of the way as the two best friends lunged at each other.
From outside, Operetta leaned against a streetlamp, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Well, that escalated real quick," Porter muttered beside her.
She flicked her hair back. "Ah can’t help it if mah voice brings out the truth."
The pre-teens at the skate park were having the time of their lives. Tricks, dares, and loud, obnoxious laughter filled the air.
Then, the laughter stopped.
A presence settled over them, thick and suffocating.
One of the kids felt it first. "Dude… it just got really cold."
Then, they turned—
And there she stood.
A towering, hooded figure. Silent. Unmoving. Watching.
Her eyes—pitch black, hollow voids—stared into their very souls.
Their boards hit the ground with loud clatters as the group SCREAMED, dropping everything and bolting from the park like their lives depended on it.
As their terrified shrieks echoed into the night, River lowered her hood, a satisfied grin on her face.
"Nice," Spectra smirked. "Always fun to give ‘em a little existential crisis."
Two thugs stood in an alleyway, shaking up cans of spray paint.
"Dude, let’s tag this whole wall. Make it say somethin’ sick, like, ‘Death’s Playground.’"
They popped the lids. But just as they aimed to spray—
The cans were ripped out of their hands.
They hovered mid-air.
Then, they started painting on their own.
The first thing that appeared was a set of red, glowing eyes.
Then, the words: WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
The thugs froze. "What the…?"
The cans kept going. Sentence after sentence, they wrote their darkest secrets. Crimes they committed. Deals they made. People they killed.
Then, an eerie, scrawled message in dripping black paint:
WE’RE COMING FOR YOU.
That was all they needed to see. One guy didn’t even hesitate—he dropped everything and sprinted out of the alley. The second took a second too long to process, but when the paint cans suddenly turned toward him, he let out a terrified yelp and booked it.
Above them, Porter cackled, spinning a spray can in his fingers.
“Man, I love my art.”
And so the ghostly crew continued their reign of terror, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake.
By the end of the night, they’d haunted, pranked, and terrorized half the damn city—and not a single one of them had any regrets.
As they floated off into the night, laughing and congratulating each other on their best scares, one thing was certain:
This was only the beginning.
The cathedral-like chamber was eerily silent, save for the soft hum of flickering candlelight.
Revenant crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall as she narrowed her glowing eyes. After everything that had been discussed—including the sheer insanity that had unfolded over the past five days—one thing still didn’t make sense to her.
"I get it," she said, her voice smooth yet edged with tension. "The gas is the reason they're all acting like this. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But what I don’t get—what none of us get—is how it spread to students who weren't even at the damn assembly."
She tilted her head, letting the question hang in the air before her gaze sharpened.
"And more importantly, why the hell hasn’t it affected Bloodgood or any of the staff?"
That got everyone’s attention. Eyes flickered toward Hackington, the eerie doctor who had been suspiciously quiet up until now. He had the answers—they could feel it.
Hackington inhaled, adjusting his tattered suit as he stepped forward. His smile, sharp and knowing, sent a chill down a few spines.
"Ah. Yes," he murmured. "I've been meaning to share my latest findings."
A shiver passed through the room.
"You see," Hackington began, pacing leisurely, "due to the extreme levels of activity from Monday to now, the gas has been steadily growing stronger with each passing day. The more... depraved the students became, the more the gas evolved in response."
Silence.
The weight of his words pressed down like a suffocating fog.
"Thursday was the tipping point," Hackington continued. "After the lockdown—after students were locked up, broken out, and then gathered in mass—it seems the gas began to mutate. At first, it was a simple increase in intensity. More energy, more wild behavior. But after today's events..."
He paused, his grin widening slightly.
"It has mutated even further."
A heavy pause.
From the back of the room, one of the principals—Madame Blackveil of Graveyard Prep—spoke up, her spectral form flickering. "Mutated how?"
Hackington turned to face them, his sickly yellow eyes glinting.
"The gas no longer simply spreads aimlessly," he said, his voice carrying an unsettling amusement. "Being in the same room as a corrupted student has triggered a reaction in the gas. Now, instead of indiscriminately affecting anyone and everyone, the gas has learned how to... pick and choose its victims."
A collective chill passed through the room.
"It’s as if it is..." Hackington let the sentence linger, as if savoring the moment.
Then, with deliberate weight, he finished:
"Alive."
The temperature seemed to drop.
The thought was horrifying. It wasn’t just a mindless aphrodisiac anymore—it was an entity.
"So this means..." Revenant trailed off, her fangs biting into her lip as she processed the implications.
Hackington simply folded his hands together and delivered the final blow.
"The gas is developing sentience," he declared, his tone chilling. "And soon, it may reach a point where the wave of... heightened behavior no longer lasts for just five weeks. No, no... If this continues unchecked, the gas might persist indefinitely."
For a moment, no one spoke.
No one breathed.
Then, the room exploded.
Voices screamed over each other, the sudden eruption of anger, fear, and pure outrage shaking the very walls of the cathedral chamber.
"YOU’RE TELLING US THIS NOW?!"
"HOW THE HELL DID IT GET THIS BAD?!"
"THIS IS A GODDAMN DISASTER!"
The fury in the room boiled over like an untamed inferno, and all of it was directed at Bloodgood.
The principals of the other monster schools—some specters, some ghost, some creatures of the night—turned on her like a pack of rabid beasts.
"HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!" shouted Headmistress Marisol Perrault of Don Quixote High. Her hands slammed against the stone table, her body shimmering with barely contained fury. "Monster High was supposed to be an example to all of us, but instead, your students are running around like mindless beasts!"
"Do you have any idea what you've done?!" roared Headmaster Tsewang Drakpa of Himalayan High. His yeti-like frame loomed over the table, his icy breath visible in the tense air. "If the gas doesn’t wear off, our students will become permanently corrupted! And if that happens, who will be next?"
"Your school was meant to teach discipline, not allow students to turn into sex-crazed degenerates!" spat Madame Blackveil, her ghostly form flaring with dark energy.
Bloodgood opened her mouth to defend herself, but she barely got a syllable out before the shouting continued.
And then, the dagger to the heart—
"Monster High and all of our schools exist to prevent monsters from repeating the mistakes of the past!" someone growled, their voice thick with barely contained rage. "If all of our students are acting like horned-up idiots, do you know what that means?!"
Bloodgood’s fingers curled into fists.
"It means we are setting monsterkind back by years. Centuries of progress—gone. Do you even realize what’s at stake?! If the world sees these acting like animals, unable to control themselves, then what stops humans from fearing us? What stops them from hunting us again?"
The words slammed into her like a silver blade.
"If they see our students assaulting guards, ignoring authority, and treating their own education like a joke—what else will they assume we're capable of?!"
The room crackled with rage. The accusations piled higher and higher, slashing into her like whips.
Bloodgood gritted her teeth, her knuckles turning white.
They had no idea. No idea what she had gone through this week. No idea what she was dealing with.
And then—
Something inside her snapped.
SLAM.
The table shook violently as Bloodgood’s fists slammed down onto the wood.
"QUIET!"
Her voice boomed through the chamber, commanding, thunderous.
Instantly, the room fell silent.
All eyes snapped to her.
Bloodgood slowly straightened, her eyes burning with fire.
The room had been shaking with rage just moments ago. The principals from every monster school had piled their fury onto Bloodgood, their voices blending into an overwhelming wall of condemnation.
But the moment she shouted "QUIET!" the entire room fell into a stunned silence.
And then—she let loose.
“Oh, of course. Of course, it’s all my fault. Why wouldn’t it be? Why wouldn’t everything be my fault?"
She stepped forward, her voice shaking, but not with fear—with exhaustion, with frustration, with the weight of everything crushing down on her.
"Do you have any idea what I’ve been dealing with? Any at all? No, of course you don’t. Because none of you were there when the gas hit. None of you saw how fast it spread, how immediate it was. None of you saw students collapsing in the middle of an assembly, twitching and sweating and moaning like they were being set on fire from the inside out. None of you saw the panic. None of you heard the screaming. You weren’t there."
As Bloodgood's voice rose, frustration and exhaustion pouring from her in waves, the principals and teachers who had been yelling at her tried to interject.
“Bloodgood, that’s not what we’re—” someone began, but Bloodgood threw out a hand, shutting them down.
She took a step forward, her eyes burning as she looked at each of them.
“You think I wanted this to happen? That I should have magically known what he was smuggling into my school? You want to blame me? Fine. Add it to the pile. I’ll take it. But don’t you dare act like I haven’t been fighting every single second to keep this from turning into an all-out disaster.”
“I understand you're frustrated, but—”
“SHUT UP!”
The entire room flinched at the sheer force of her voice. She wasn’t just yelling—she was roaring, her headless form radiating with fury.
“I’ve been playing politics with the Monster Council, trying to keep them from shutting us down completely. Do you have any idea how hard that is? I’ve been holding this school together with my bare hands, making rules that I knew no one would listen to, because what the hell else was I supposed to do?"
A few of the principals exchanged glances, but before anyone could answer, she bulldozed ahead.
“Did you want me to just announce it to the entire monster world? ‘Oh, by the way, my school is overrun with hormonal teenagers who can’t control themselves, good luck!’ You think that would have gone over well? You think parents would have just shrugged and said, ‘oh well, kids will be kids’? NO!"
Bloodgood’s hands clenched into fists.
"You don’t know what it’s like to stand in front of your students—students you’ve raised, students you’ve protected— and see them looking at you like you’re the enemy. Like you’re some cruel dictator instead of the only person trying to save them from themselves."
The principals and teachers, who had been so quick to attack her minutes ago, were now standing in stunned silence.
"I don’t sleep anymore. I don’t eat. Hell, I’ve even started to drink."
That made the room jolt. Bloodgood? Drinking? That was unheard of. Unthinkable.
There were several gasps, and even Rotter looked shocked.
“And why?” she continued, her voice breaking. “Because every single second, I’m either putting out fires or waiting for the next explosion. And you know what? I still don’t have any answers."
"Because there are no answers."
"Because the gas isn’t just making them act out—it’s evolving. And now, it’s sentient? Now, I don’t even know if we can stop it."
Her voice cracked, raw with despair.
"So go ahead. Blame me. Yell at me. Tell me what a terrible headmistress I am. But don’t stand there and act like I haven’t tried. Don’t act like this hasn’t been the hardest, most impossible thing I’ve ever had to face. Because I have given everything I have left. And if that’s still not enough for you—”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Then I don’t know what else to do.”
The room remained frozen, every single person struggling to process what had just happened. No one had ever—ever—seen Bloodgood like this.
And then, for the first time since this entire disaster started—Bloodgood truely broke down.
She didn’t just tear up. She collapsed. Right there, on her knees, her entire body shaking as she covered her face with trembling hands. Sobbing.
The room was dead silent.
No one had ever seen Bloodgood cry.
Not once.
Even the most hardened, battle-worn principals stood frozen, their anger evaporating into something else entirely—something they had never considered.
Guilt.
Ms. Kindergrubber and Sylphia immediately moved to her side.
“Come, mein dear,” Kindergrubber murmured, her voice unusually gentle as she and Sylphia helped Bloodgood up. “You need rest. You need time.”
Bloodgood didn’t fight them. She couldn’t. She had nothing left.
They led her out of the room, leaving Hackington, the teachers, and the remaining principals behind.
A long, heavy silence settled over the room.
Scary Murphy, once the loudest in condemning Bloodgood, was now sitting back in her chair, arms crossed, deep in thought. Her rage had faded. Now, he just looked... tired.
Eventually, she sighed and rubbed his temples.
“So, Hackington.” His voice was gruff but measured. “Do you actually have a cure in the making?”
Hackington nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Yes. But… after an accident on Tuesday, the original formula was completely destroyed.”
That made a few heads snap toward him.
“Destroyed?” one of the principals echoed. “How?!”
Hackington’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Let’s just say… girls got a little too enthusiastic while under the gas’s effects on Tuesday, and things got out of hand.”
Everyone could fill in the blanks.
“So now,” Hackington continued, “I’m starting over from scratch. And with the gas mutating, I can’t even guarantee that what I was working on before will still be effective.”
A few principals muttered under their breaths.
Scary Murphy exhaled through her nose. “Okay. So what do we do in the meantime?”
Hackington sighed, running a hand through his mask.
“For now? Follow the same schedule you usually do. But—” He held up a hand before anyone could interrupt. “Expect a massive increase in truancy and… well, you already know.”
There were a few groans.
“And at least try to help the students with their hormones instead of acting like nagging dictators.”
That got some grumbles, but no arguments.
Hackington closed his notebook and stood. “That’s all I’ve got for now. The meeting’s dismissed.”
With that, the room slowly emptied, principals muttering amongst themselves, some looking pale, others exhausted.
As for Hackington? He lingered, rubbing his face, already knowing—
This was only going to get worse.
The ghouls sat in a dimly lit side room of the venue, sprawled out in a loose circle on the floor. The distant thrum of the main party filtered through the walls, but in here, the mood was far more intimate. Venus idly spun an empty soda bottle between her fingers, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips.
"This is fun and all," she mused, glancing around at the mix of ghouls and the three guys present—Gil, Heath, and Slo-Mo—"but I think we should make it more... interesting."
The group exchanged looks, some intrigued, some suspicious.
"How interesting we talkin'?" Clawdeen asked, arching a brow.
Venus grinned and laid out her new rules.
1.You can't refuse a kiss.
2.If you land on your own partner, you have to top them in front of everyone.
3.If two people refuse a kiss, they both have to strip a piece of clothing instead.
"Whoa, whoa, hold up," Gil said, shifting uncomfortably. "Isn't this kinda—"
"Scared, fish-boy?" Cleo teased, looking at him with a smug grin.
"That’s not—" Gil sighed, realizing there was no way out of this.
"I'm in," Clawdeen smirked.
"Me too," Howleen added, nudging Twyla, who nodded eagerly.
Venus turned to Heath. "You?"
Heath grinned. "Pfft. Please. This sounds like a normal Friday night with Abbey."
The group laughed, then settled in. Venus took the first spin. The bottle clinked against the wooden floor, slowing until it landed on Robecca.
"Ooooh," Frankie giggled. "Startin' off strong!"
Robecca shrugged and leaned in, her metal lips pressing against Venus’s with surprising intensity. The group let out a mix of cheers and whistles as the two ghouls held it for a few seconds longer than necessary before pulling away.
"Not bad," Venus smirked, licking her lips. "Alright, your turn, Robo-ghoul."
Robecca spun, and after a few tense moments, the bottle pointed directly at Clawdeen.
"Ohhh, this is gettin' juicy," Draculaura purred.
Clawdeen chuckled, brushing her hair back. "Alright, let's do this."
Robecca leaned in, and their lips met. The kiss was slow, testing, but then Clawdeen playfully nipped at Robecca’s lower lip, making the group erupt into laughter and cheers.
One by one, the bottle landed on different pairings—some expected, some not.
Howleen and Twyla shared a surprisingly deep kiss, their usual shyness melting away under the game’s influence.
Cleo and Spectra ended up tangled together for way longer than necessary, much to the group’s amusement.
Gil, after much nervous fidgeting, kissed Clawdeen, only to get teased mercilessly by Lagoona when she returned later.
Heath and Venus’s kiss ended up being so heated that Abbey was gonna have words with him later.
Slo-Mo surprised everyone by pulling Ghoulia onto his lap when their turn came up, making her a blushing mess.
But the real chaos started when the bottle landed on Clawdeen and Draculaura.
The room went dead silent before Clawdeen smirked. "Good thing my brother's not here."
Draclaura blushed. "What do you mean b-"
Before Draculaura could finish, Clawdeen leaned forward and pressed a slow, searing kiss to her lips.
The room erupted into cheers and hoots, none louder than Cleo's.
The 2 soon pulled away. Clawdeen looked incredibly prideful, while Draculaura was blushing madly
"Oh, come on!" Draculaura protested, but Clawdeen just laughed.
"Oh, you didn't think we wouldn't have gone here eventually, princess?" she teased, her voice husky. "I know I'm dating Toralei, but that doesn’t mean I won't be kissing you tonight."
Draculaura opened her mouth to reply, but Clawdeen silenced her with another kiss that left them both breathless.
As they pulled away, Cleo snickered. "That's one for the scrapbook, ghoul."
"Shut up, Cleo." Clawdeen chuckled.
And with that, the game officially descended into full blown competition mode.
After hijacking and barely escaping that high-end club, the girls decided they deserved a break—a place where they could actually relax without dodging security or causing a scene.
Well, maybe just a little bit of a scene. They found themselves at a more down-to-earth nightclub, a dark and neon-lit spot pulsing with bass-heavy music.
The air smelled like spilled drinks and cheap cologne, and the crowd was packed with all kinds of people just looking to dance, drink, and forget their problems for a while. It was exactly the kind of place they needed.
Until some dumbass decided to ruin it for them.
Inside, the group spread out, each ghoul finding something to do. Toralei, Meowlody, and Amanita claimed a booth, sipping on their drinks while watching the dance floor.
Gory and Wydowna were already in the thick of it, spinning and dropping it low under the flashing lights.
Kala, Pearl, and Perri found a good spot at the bar, chatting up the bartender for free drinks.
And Purrsephone? She was just stepping away from the group for a moment, making her way toward the restroom when some guy blocked her path.
He was tall, muscular, and reeked of overconfidence and desperation. His grin was wide, too wide, and his eyes had that glint of a guy who thought he was way more charming than he actually was.
"Hey there, gorgeous," he drawled, stepping into her space. "You been dancing all night, or do you need someone to show you how it's done?"
Purrsephone barely gave him a glance. "Not interested."
That should've been the end of it. Any guy with a brain would’ve taken the hint and walked away. But not this one.
"Aw, c'mon, don’t be like that," he said, still blocking her path. "I promise, I don’t bite... unless you’re into that."
Purrsephone rolled her eyes. "I have a boyfriend."
He scoffed. "Yeah? Where is he?"
"Not here," she snapped. "But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in you."
The guy's grin faltered for half a second before twisting into something uglier. "You're really gonna talk to me like that?"
"Yep," she said, stepping around him. Or at least, she tried.
Before she could take another step, she felt a sharp yank at the base of her tail. A jolt of pain shot up her spine, and she yowled in surprise, twisting around to see the guy gripping her tail in his fist.
"Don’t turn your fucking back on me!" he snarled, pulling her closer.
She was about to claw his eyes out when—
THUD.
The guy went flying.
One second, he was standing there like an arrogant bastard, and the next, he was airborne, crashing into the wall with enough force to shake the paintings hanging on it.
Toralei and Meowlody stood where he had been, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch people without permission?" Toralei sneered, flexing her fingers like she was debating whether or not to throw him again.
Meowlody cracked her knuckles. "You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."
The guy groaned, clutching his now-broken nose, blood already dripping down his face.
But before things could escalate further, the club owner stormed over, looking pissed. "Oh, hell no! I don’t care who started it, you all gotta get the hell outta my club!"
Toralei rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we were leaving anyway."
The group filed out, Purrsephone still rubbing her sore tail while Meowlody draped an arm around her shoulders. "You okay?"
"I’m fine," Purrsephone grumbled. "Fucking asshole."
"Yeah, well, he won’t be bothering anyone else tonight," Toralei smirked.
"Speaking of," Pearl piped up, dangling something shiny between her fingers. "Look what I found."
They all turned to see her holding a set of car keys.
Toralei blinked. "Where’d you get those?"
"Dude dropped ‘em when you two sent him flying," Pearl grinned. "Figured, why let them go to waste?"
The group exchanged glances before a wicked smirk spread across Toralei’s face. "Ladies, I think we just found our next ride."
Back inside the club, the guy was still groaning, dabbing at his bloody nose with his sleeve when he heard the unmistakable sound of an engine revving outside.
His stomach dropped.
He scrambled to his feet, rushing out the doors just in time to see his car peeling out of the parking lot, the bad ghouls laughing as they sped away.
"NOOOOOOO!" he howled into the night, fists clenched, rage burning in his chest.
Meanwhile, Toralei and her friends cruised down the streets, music blasting, windows down, the city lights flashing past them as they continued their wild night out.
"Think he’ll call the cops?" Amanita asked.
Toralei snorted. "If he does, he’ll have to explain why he got his ass kicked by a bunch of girls first."
That thought made them all burst into laughter as they sped off into the night, ready for whatever trouble came next.
The ghosts floated effortlessly through the streets, their laughter echoing in the night. Spectra, Porter, Kiyomi, Johnny Spirit, Operetta, Invisi-Billy, Scarah, River, and Vandala drifted above the sidewalks, weaving through neon signs and flickering streetlights.
Their latest string of pranks had left the city in chaos—flickering lights, objects moving on their own, a few terrified pedestrians who swore up and down that ghosts were real. Classic.
Johnny had Operetta in his arms, while Billy held Scarah close, his expression still a mix of excitement and concern. Scarah, meanwhile, rested a hand on her stomach, already tired of his worrying.
“So what’s next?” Porter grinned, lazily flipping upside down mid-air. “We hitting up another mansion? Maybe a museum?”
“Nah,” Spectra said, flipping through her ghostly phone. “We need a place with more energy. More chaos.”
That’s when River pointed. “What about that place?”
They all turned in unison, eyes landing on a human nightclub just a block away. The bass was loud enough to shake the pavement, the line outside was filled with teens dressed to party, and inside—through the huge windows—they could see a packed dance floor.
Johnny grinned. “Oh, that is perfect.”
But Kiyomi frowned. “How are we supposed to get in? That place is full of humans. We’d attract too much attention, and you know that could put some of us in danger.”
Her gaze flicked toward Operetta and Scarah, both of whom weren’t like the rest of them. While none of them were afraid of humans, the reality was that Operetta and Scarah were still solids.
If things went south and the humans decided to get physical, the rest of them could simply phase out of reach—but Operetta and Scarah wouldn’t be so lucky.
Worse, if someone hit them the wrong way, they could risk losing their children.
Billy stiffened immediately. “Kiyomi’s right. Scarah, you’re not going in there.”
Scarah sighed, rolling her eyes. “Billy—”
“Nope,” he cut her off. “You’re pregnant, babe. What if someone freaks out and things get violent?”
“I got this,” Scarah assured him, taking his hands. “Trust me.”
Billy hesitated, but she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Ah promise. Just sit back an’ watch the show.”
Billy groaned. “I hate this plan already.”
But it was too late. Scarah had already started walking toward the club.
Inside, the club was alive. Bodies moved to the rhythm of the bass-heavy track the DJ was spinning. Neon lights flickered between deep blues, purples, and reds, illuminating the sea of people packed onto the dance floor. Laughter, conversations, and music all blended together in a chaotic, electric atmosphere.
Then—
Blackout.
In an instant, the entire club was swallowed by darkness. The music cut off, replaced by confused murmurs and shuffling feet.
“The hell?” someone muttered.
Phones started coming out, the glow of flashlights flickering on. Shadows stretched against the walls. The DJ tapped his soundboard, trying to figure out why everything had suddenly died.
Then—
A breath.
A long, rattling, unnatural breath.
It was close.
Too close.
One of the teens slowly turned, their flashlight trembling in their grip.
Standing just a few feet away was a girl.
Her head was down, dark hair hanging limply over her face. She was wearing what looked like a ruined dress, covered in neon paint and glitter, like she had just crawled out of some kind of haunted rave. Her posture was unnatural—too still, too rigid. Something about her was wrong.
Someone gasped.
Then, before anyone could react—
Scarah’s head jerked up.
Her glowing green eyes flashed.
And then—
She screamed.
Not just any scream. An ear-shattering, bone-chilling, soul-freezing scream.
It rattled the very walls, shook the floor, sent people clutching their ears in pain. The sound crawled into their skulls, slicing through their nerves like jagged glass.
Panic exploded.
The crowd erupted into chaos.
People shoved each other, tripping over tables, knocking over drinks, scrambling over chairs in a desperate attempt to get out.
“RUN! RUN!” someone shrieked.
The DJ abandoned his booth. The bartenders ducked behind the counter. A group of girls sprinted toward the exit, screaming all the way out.
Within seconds, the entire club emptied, leaving only overturned tables, spilled drinks, and a few lost shoes behind.
Hidden in the shadows just outside, the ghosts watched it all unfold.
Porter was grinning. “That. Was. Beautiful.”
River snorted. “Ye got ‘em runnin’ faster than a scallywag dodgin’ the plank.”
Johnny nudged Scarah. “Ain’t gonna lie, sugar, that was creepy as hell.”
Scarah just smirked, dusting off her dress. “Ah try.”
Once the last human was gone, they made their way inside.
“Alright, Scarah!” Spectra cheered, giving her a high-five. “Now, let’s make this our party.”
Spectra immediately sent out invites, her ghostly powers allowing her to spread the word to every spirit in the area.
And within minutes—
The club was packed again.
Only this time, it was purely ghosts.
The neon lights flickered back on, but now they glowed an eerie, otherworldly shade, pulsing in time with the music. Ghosts poured in through the walls, the ceiling, the floor, appearing out of thin air, all dressed in spectral shades of glowing blues, greens, and purples.
The entire space transformed into a ghost rave.
It was exactly like the Monster Mash dance.
Neon paint splattered across the walls and floors, glowing under the blacklights. Glitter swirled in the air like spectral dust. Smoke machines pumped out thick, colorful fog, making everything look like a haunted dream.
The music was louder, heavier, the bass shaking the very foundation of the club. Ghosts danced wildly, their movements both fluid and erratic, some twisting and flipping mid-air, others phasing in and out of visibility as they moved.
Twerking.
Grinding.
Spinning.
Floating.
Some ghosts were making out against the walls, completely lost in the energy of the place. Others were just vibing, throwing paint at each other, leaving glowing handprints across the floor.
And in the middle of it all—
Operetta and Scarah were comfortably seated on their boyfriends’ laps.
Johnny had one arm wrapped around Operetta’s waist, resting a hand on her growing belly while she sipped on a spectral drink. Meanwhile, Billy had Scarah close, his fingers gently running through her hair as she leaned back against him, watching the chaos unfold with a satisfied smirk.
“This,” Operetta said, tapping her glass against Scarah’s, “is exactly what Ah needed.”
Scarah chuckled, resting a hand on her stomach. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Billy exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Ah swear, you’re gonna be the death of me before this kid is.”
But when Scarah kissed his cheek again, he just sighed and held her closer.
And as the ghost rave raged on, filling the night with music, color, and pure supernatural chaos—
They knew they had just thrown the second wildest party of the year.
Bloodgood sat hunched over in the dimly lit room, her hands gripping the desk as her shoulders shook with every silent sob. She wasn’t wailing, wasn’t screaming—just quietly breaking down, the weight of everything pressing down on her at once.
The door creaked open.
She didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge the sound of footsteps hesitating just behind her.
A beat of silence.
Then—
“…Look, uh. I don’t do this kind of thing. So, if you want some big speech about how ‘everything’s gonna be okay,’ you’re out of luck.”
Bloodgood let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I figured.”
Rotter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced around, as if trying to find the right words somewhere in the damn room, but of course, there was nothing.
Nothing except a headless woman who had finally shattered.
“…I was a dick to you.” The words came out gruff, like they physically hurt him to say. “I’ve been a dick all week. Hell, probably all year. And I still stand by most of what I said, but—” He hesitated. “I… didn’t realize just how much of this was eating you alive.”
Bloodgood scoffed, wiping at her face. “And yet, you still helped pile the weight on.”
Rotter flinched, but he didn’t deny it.
Instead, he let out a long breath and sat down in the chair across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I meant what I said back there. You were pushing too hard. You were trying to force order onto something that was already way too far gone. And yeah, it blew up in your face." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But… I also get it now. You weren’t doing it because you wanted control. You were doing it because you were desperate.”
Bloodgood didn’t reply. Just kept her gaze locked on the desk.
Rotter drummed his fingers against his knee before sighing again. “I dunno what you want me to say. That you did your best? That you were dealt a shit hand? That I shouldn’t have screamed in your face the way I did?”
Another pause.
“…Because all of that’s true.”
Bloodgood’s breath hitched.
She swallowed, gripping her arm. “…Why are you here, Rotter?”
He leaned back, scoffing. “Hell if I know. Probably because I don’t like seeing my boss—who’s normally tough as nails—sobbing like a goddamn freshman in detention.”
That actually got a small, wet laugh out of her. A tiny one.
But it was enough.
Rotter sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look. I can’t fix this. I can’t pretend like everything’s fine. And I sure as hell can’t undo the last week. But… if you need someone to scream at for a little while? I’ll take it.”
Bloodgood finally looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. “And why would I do that?”
He smirked, shrugging. “Because I probably deserve it.”
Another pause.
Then—Bloodgood let out a deep, shaky breath and leaned back in her chair. Not fully okay. Not even close.
But a little less alone.
And for now—that was enough.
The room settled into silence, heavy yet almost peaceful. Bloodgood exhaled slowly, exhaustion pressing into her bones. She wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.
But at least, for now, she wasn’t alone.
Then—
BANG!
The door slammed open so hard it nearly came off its hinges.
Bloodgood shot upright on instinct, her body snapping into high alert as Mr. Where practically stumbled into the room, eyes wide, breath coming fast.
“We have a problem!” he blurted out, his voice sharp with urgency.
Bloodgood’s stomach dropped. The weight of exhaustion vanished in an instant, replaced by cold, sharp focus.
She straightened fully. “What is it?”
Mr. Where ran a hand through his already-disheveled bandages, glancing between her and Rotter like he was trying to figure out how to put it into words. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something simple. It wasn’t something he could just explain.
“I—” He shook his head. “You need to see it for yourself.”
Bloodgood’s heart pounded.
If Mr. Where, who had seen it all, couldn’t even say what was wrong…?
This was bad.
Without another word, she strode forward, Rotter close behind, following Mr. Where out of the office and into the unknown.
The afterparty at Twyla’s place was still going strong, the chaos from earlier bleeding into the night like neon paint on a canvas. Outside, the music pulsed through the yard, blending with laughter, shouting, and the occasional sound of something breaking—nobody cared enough to check what. Holt had set his playlist to automatic before switching back to Jackson, meaning the music would keep going without interruption.
Rochelle and Garrott were back on the dance floor, twirling the night away.
But inside, away from the wild energy of the party, a smaller group had gathered in one of Twyla’s extra rooms.
Draculaura, Clawd, Clawdeen, Frankie, Jackson, Lagoona, Gil, Venus, Robeeca, Abbey, Heath, Cleo, Deuce, Slo-Mo, and Ghoulia were sprawled out in a circle, still dressed in their utterly destroyed formalwear from earlier. Neon paint splattered across their suits and gowns, glitter clung to their skin like a second layer, and some of them even had smudged makeup that had long since been ruined from hours of partying.
In the middle of their circle, an empty bottle sat, freshly spun.
Truth or dare.
It had started off innocent enough—harmless questions, goofy dares, nothing too serious. But as the game went on and the energy in the room buzzed with leftover adrenaline, the dares got wilder.
And, of course, Draculaura had to stir the pot first.
She leaned forward, fangs glinting as she smirked at Lagoona. “Alright, Lagoona. I dare you to give Gil a strip tease.”
Gil instantly choked on air, his face turning a deep shade of blue as he sputtered, “W-WHAT?!”
Lagoona’s entire face went red. “Laura!”
Draculaura batted her lashes innocently. “What? You gotta admit, it’d be fun.”
Lagoona crossed her arms. “No way.”
Draculaura’s smirk widened. “Okay, then truth.”
Lagoona hesitated, eyes narrowing. She knew whatever truth Draculaura had in mind would be worse, so with a groan, she rolled her eyes and stood up.
“Fine.”
Gil made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a nervous laugh. “Wait, babe, y-you don’t have—”
But it was too late.
Lagoona flicked some neon paint off her ruined gown, took a deep breath, and—hesitantly at first—started swaying her hips. Then, as the teasing whistles started from the others, she grew more confident, slowly slipping one strap off her shoulder, then the other.
Gil?
Absolutely wrecked.
His gills fluttered violently, eyes wide as he stared at his girlfriend like she had just reinvented the concept of attraction. He was frozen in place, oxygen tank bubbling wildly as Lagoona danced closer, hands dragging down the front of his shirt before she finally dropped onto his lap, giggling at his completely dazed expression.
The room howled.
Draculaura clapped her hands. “Oh my ghoul, that was even better than I imagined!”
Clawd groaned, covering his eyes. “I did not need to see my girlfriend's best friend give her boyfriend a heart attack.”
Gil, still in a daze, just whispered, “I have never been so alive.”
Cleo scoffed, filing her nails. “Please, amateurs. If I did that to Deuce, he’d pass out.”
Deuce, who had been watching with mild amusement, snorted. “She’s not wrong.”
A few rounds later, the bottle pointed at Robeeca.
Clawdeen smirked. “Robeeca, I dare you to act like a dog for Venus for the next ten minutes.”
Robeeca’s reaction was instant.
“HELL NO.”
The room froze.
It wasn’t even the refusal that shocked them—it was the fact that Robeeca had cursed.
Robeeca never cursed. Not once. Ever.
Even Venus blinked in surprise.
“…Wow,” Frankie whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”
Robeeca scowled. “Because I don’t! But I am not acting like a dog. I have dignity.”
Clawdeen raised her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Then truth.”
Robeeca hesitated.
“…Fine. I’ll take the dare.”
Venus, amused, patted her lap. “Come here, girl.”
Robeeca glared, but crawled over begrudgingly. The first minute was awkward. She sat stiffly on her knees, clearly uncomfortable, but as Venus scratched under her chin with a teasing grin, something shifted.Robeeca’s gears stuttered slightly.
Her face burned.
And before she realized it, she was—leaning into it.
“Oh my ghoul,” Clawdeen whispered. “She likes it.”
“I DO NOT,” Robeeca snapped. But her ears twitched slightly when Venus ran her fingers through her hair, and yeah, okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad—
Venus grinned, petting her again. “Good girl.”
Robeeca’s soul left her body.
The rest of the group lost it.
Then came Heath.
He spun the bottle, and when it landed on him, he grinned.
Clawdeen smirked. “Kiss another dude.”
Instantly, Heath’s smile dropped. “Nope. Not doing it.”
“Oh, come on,” Draculaura whined.
“Nope.” Heath shook his head, crossing his arms. “I am not about to have Abbey mad at me again. Last time, she nearly broke my arm. And that was just for kissing Venus during spin the bottle.”
Abbey, sitting beside him, merely shrugged. “Was not mad. Just… little irritated.”
“SEE?” Heath waved a hand. “She was irritated! That’s worse!”
Clawdeen sighed. “Alright, fine. Truth then.”
Heath groaned. “Ugh, fine.”
Clawdeen smirked. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“…Kissing another dude.”
“Then pucker up, fire boy.” Clawd grinned.
Abbey immediately snapped her head toward him. “HEY! Only I can call him that!”
Clawd raised his hands in surrender. “My bad, my bad!”
The next few moments happened way too fast for Heath to process.
Clawd, being the good sport that he was, shrugged and grabbed Heath by the shirt, yanking him forward for a quick, very awkward kiss. It lasted about half a second.
The reactions?
Draculaura and Clawdeen gagged dramatically.
Ghoulia let out a disgusted groan, while Slo-Mo just blinked slowly, watching with mild confusion.
Abbey? She just smirked. “Is funny.”
Clawd pulled away, grimacing as he wiped his mouth. “Dude. Cinnamon lip balm?”
“SHUT UP.”
And finally—
Jackson.
He spun the bottle, and when it landed on him, Frankie grinned.
“Jackson,” she said sweetly. “I dare you to let me have complete control over you for the rest of the night.”
Jackson blinked. “Uh. What exactly does that mean?”
Frankie’s smirk widened. “You’ll find out later, hot stuff.”
Jackson swallowed.
The rest of the room whooped.
And with that, the game continued, the dares getting wilder, the truths getting riskier, and the night stretching on in a haze of neon, laughter, and absolute chaos.
Toralei and her crew were tearing through the streets in their stolen car, laughter echoing as they blasted music, neon lights flashing through the windows.
The stolen ride reeked of cologne and bad life choices, but they didn’t care.
Meowlody had her feet up on the dashboard, Amanita was digging through the glovebox for anything interesting, and Wydowna was hanging halfway out the window, howling into the night.
They had never felt more alive.
Toralei grinned, pressing harder on the gas. “This baby’s got speed.”
“Careful, stripes,” Gory warned from the backseat. “We don’t exactly have insurance.”
Toralei rolled her eyes. “Relax, it’s not like we’re—”
CRASH.
The world flipped.
Screeching tires. A violent jolt. Metal crunching like paper.
Then—silence.
Cut to a few minutes later.
The ghouls staggered down the sidewalk, groaning. Their usual stylish clothes were now dusty as hell, their hair a mess from the impact, but aside from their pride, none of them were actually hurt.
Meowlody groaned, rubbing her head. “That was fun. Let’s never do that again.”
Purrsephone sighed. “Man… I should’ve gone home with Romulus.”
Meowlody nodded. “Yeah, round two would’ve been nice.”
Gory shot them a disgusted look. “Can you please keep your sex lives to yourselves?”
The twins shared a look before smirking.
“Oh, sure,” Meowlody purred.
Purrsephone grinned. “Says the girl who was getting her back blown out and crying ‘BRAM, BRAM, BRAM!’ in the other room.”
The group erupted.
Amanita clutched her stomach, cackling. Kala went wide eyed. Pearl and Perri nearly fell over. Wydowna had to sit down from laughing too hard.
“OHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The girls all chorused, fanning the flames.
Gory’s face turned red—and not in the usual vampire way.
Her fists clenched. “You bitches.”
Purrsephone smirked. “Gonna cry about it, or—?”
Before a full-out brawl could break out, Wydowna suddenly shot up, pointing across the street. “Hold up! Look!”
All eyes turned.
There, under a lone streetlight, a news reporter stood in front of a camera crew, delivering a live broadcast. The empty street behind him stretched for blocks, the only movement coming from an occasional flickering streetlamp.
His voice was monotone, utterly uninterested.
“…And with these recent budget cuts, local officials have stated that infrastructure repairs will be delayed for yet another fiscal year—”
The ghouls all turned to each other.
Slowly, the same grin spread across all their faces.
Toralei leaned in, whispering, “Alright, ladies. Let’s give him something to really report on.”
The camera zoomed in on the reporter, who continued droning on about numbers, statistics, and government funding.
Then, just behind him—
Meowlody, Purrsephone, and Gory DROPPED. It. low.
Dressed in their usual outfits, they made the most out of it—low-waisted pants, short skirts, anything that allowed them to move. They threw it back like their lives depended on it, shaking their asses with expert precision.
The cameraman coughed, his hand shaking as he tried to keep the camera steady.
Completely oblivious, the reporter kept going. “Experts say this will likely—”
Toralei slinked into frame next, running her hands down her body, rolling her hips like she was dancing against an invisible pole.
Then, without missing a beat, she turned to the camera, smirked, and made a sultry “call me” gesture.
The cameraman started wheezing.
Amanita joined in next, winking before flashing the camera.
The cameraman choked.
The reporter, still absolutely unaware, continued, “—have drastic consequences for the local—”
Then came the glitches.
Gory, using her supernatural vampire speed, darted in and out of frame at inhuman speeds. One second she was there, the next she was gone. It was like the camera was malfunctioning, catching glimpses of her mid-smirk before she vanished again.
Pearl and Perri, the two-headed mermaid, grabbed onto a nearby streetlight and pole danced on it, swinging around effortlessly, giggling as they flipped upside down.
Toralei came back into frame, licking her fangs before smacking her own ass and sprinting off, still keeping eye contact with the camera the entire time.
The cameraman was dying. He had to turn away from the camera, shoulders shaking.
The reporter frowned, confused. “Are you okay?”
The cameraman straightened, cleared his throat, and lied through his teeth. “Y-Yeah, no, nothing’s wrong.”
The reporter nodded, looking back at the camera. “In conclusion—”
He didn’t get to finish.
Because all the ghouls suddenly appeared behind him, shaking ass like it was the Olympics.
Toralei. Meowlody. Purrsephone. Gory. Amanita. Pearl. Perri. Wydowna. And Kala
Twerking.
Grinding.
Throwing up middle fingers while doing it.
Pure, unfiltered chaos.
The cameraman lost it. His laughter was full-on screaming at this point.
The reporter turned, finally noticing the absolute disaster happening behind him.
His eyes widened in horror.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”
Toralei blew a kiss at the camera. “We’ll be right back, boys~”
The cameraman zoomed in for emphasis.
And with that, the bad ghouls bolted, laughter echoing through the streets.
The reporter stood frozen in shock, his career flashing before his eyes. He turned back to the camera, opened his mouth, closed it, then groaned, rubbing his temples.
“…I’m so getting fired.”
Back at the news station—
The live feed abruptly cut to commercial.
The ghost crew had done a lot that night—pranks, parties, terrifying humans, you name it. But as the night stretched on and the streets of New Salem settled into a restless lull, they found themselves floating aimlessly, looking for one more thing to top it all off.
“Alright, y’all,” Johnny said, stretching. “We got one more in us, or we callin’ it?”
Spectra smirked. “Oh, we’re not done yet. I say we hit up one last spot.”
Kiyomi floated lazily beside her, thoughtful. “We’ve pranked clubs, restaurants, and an entire school. What’s left?”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then River pointed down the street.
“What about a museum?”
The group turned in unison, eyes landing on a towering, historical-looking building just a few blocks away.
Porter grinned. “Oh, now that has potential.”
“Imagine all the old junk in there,” Johnny mused. “Bound to be somethin’ fun to mess with.”
“Not to steal, though,” Spectra reminded. “Just… borrow.”
“Borrow for chaos,” Kiyomi clarified.
The group snickered, all nodding in agreement.
Unfortunately, as they floated closer, they noticed the large CLOSED sign on the doors.
“Welp,” Johnny sighed. “Guess that’s that—”
Spectra phased straight through the locked entrance. “Or not.”
Most of the ghosts followed her effortlessly.
Except—
“…Yeah, so we got a problem,” Billy deadpanned, standing firmly on the sidewalk with Scarah and Operetta.
Since they were solids, they couldn't just phase through.
Porter blinked. “Oh. Right.”
No problem—he flicked his wrist, using his poltergeist powers to unlock the doors for them with a satisfying click.
Billy gave him a look. “Y’know, sometimes I forget you can do that.”
Porter smirked. “I like to keep things interesting.”
With that, the rest of them stepped inside, closing the doors quietly behind them.
The museum was dark and eerily silent, the glow of streetlights barely illuminating the exhibits.
Vandala immediately gravitated toward the enormous pirate ship display in the center of the room.
“Oooh, look at this beauty!” she gasped, floating around it in admiration. “Reminds me of me father’s ship—though this one be a bit less seaworthy.”
“Yeah, considering it’s indoors,” Kiyomi said dryly.
The others split up, browsing for something that could be used for a prank.
They found plenty of cool stuff—a suit of armor that moved on its own, ancient artifacts that hummed with supernatural energy, a really creepy doll exhibit that Johnny refused to go near (“I don’t mess with haunted dolls, y’all. That’s where I draw the line.”)—but nothing prank-worthy.
Then—
Operetta stopped.
She was staring at a dusty old record player, displayed behind glass with an ominous-looking plaque beneath it.
She read it aloud:
"The Cursed Melody: This enchanted phonograph is said to force anyone who hears it to dance uncontrollably to its song. Use with caution."
Operetta’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.
“Perfect.”
Spectra hovered over her shoulder, reading along. “Oh, we have to use this.”
Operetta cracked her knuckles, rolling her shoulders. “Alright, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.”
She crouched slightly, gripping the edges of the cursed record player. At first, it wasn’t too bad—heavy, sure, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She started to lift it, getting it a few inches off the ground—
Then—
A sharp, searing pain shot up her back and through her stomach.
The sudden intensity of it made her cry out, her grip instantly giving out as she stumbled back.
She barely had a second to process before—
WHOOSH.
Johnny was there before she even hit the floor, hands gripping her arms, steadying her. “Whoa! Whoa, baby, you alright? What happened?”
She clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly as the pain dulled to a deep ache. “Ah—Ah just—Ah thought Ah had it, but then—damn—” She hissed, rubbing the underside of her belly, still trying to catch her breath.
Johnny’s eyes scanned her, his usual easygoing attitude gone. “Where’s it hurt? Is it bad? Do we need to get you outta here?”
“Nah, nah, Ah’m fine,” she muttered, forcing a breath. “Just… Ah ain’t as strong as Ah used to be.”
Johnny’s grip on her arms tightened, his face still tense, like he wasn’t fully convinced.
She gave him a small smile. “Ah promise.”
He exhaled through his nose, nodding reluctantly. But he didn’t let go. Not for a long time.
Spectra and Porter exchanged a glance before stepping in.
“No worries,” Spectra said, patting Operetta’s shoulder. “We got it.”
Porter cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, let the actual ghosts handle the heavy lifting.”
Johnny didn’t even glance at them. His full focus stayed on Operetta, watching her like a damn hawk.
Together, they easily lifted the cursed record player, floating with it toward the exit.
“Where should we set this bad boy up?” Porter asked.
Spectra tapped her chin. “I was thinking off the museum roof, but…”
River floated alongside them. “Not enough people would hear it.”
“Good point.”
Kiyomi stroked her chin for a moment. Then, she snapped her fingers.
“The radio tower.”
The ghosts grinned.
“Oh, that’s genius,” Spectra said. “Let’s go!”
The New Salem radio station sat on a hill, broadcasting music all across the city.
And the best part?
It was haunted as hell tonight.
The station workers were completely unprepared for what happened next.
As they floated up to the radio tower, Johnny glanced at Operetta. “Hey, sugar, think you can use that voice of yours to hypnotize ‘em? Make ‘em walk outta there nice and easy?”
Operetta sighed, rubbing her stomach. “Ah’d love to, darlin’, but after tryin’ to lift that dang record player, Ah’m ‘bout as worn out as a possum in a dog race.”
Kiyomi winced. “Yeah, let’s not push it, then.”
Porter cracked his knuckles. “No worries, I got this.”
Spectra smirked. “Oh, this I gotta see.”
And with that, Porter got to work, grinning as he activated almost every poltergeist ability in his arsenal.
First, he deepened his voice into something inhumanly eerie, causing every speaker and microphone in the station to whine with static.
Then, he made everything in the room start flying—papers, chairs, even a damn coffee pot.
Then, for the final touch, he shapeshifted, his entire form warping into something straight out of a nightmare—eyes glowing neon green, face stretching into a twisted grin, his arms elongating like shadowy tendrils.
The employees didn’t even hesitate.
They screamed and ran for their lives, tripping over each other in their panic.
Porter snickered as the last one fled. “Too easy.”
Spectra smirked, grabbing him by the collar. “Come here, you.”
Porter barely had time to register what was happening before Spectra grabbed him by the collar and crashed her lips against his.
He made a surprised noise, but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in tighter.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her cold lips pressing hungrily against his. He responded just as eagerly, one hand sliding up her back while the other gripped her hip, their bodies pressed so close it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Spectra sighed against his mouth, her body going weightless, floating slightly as she melted into him.
Porter smirked against her lips. “Damn, babe—if I knew scaring humans turned you on, I’d have done this way sooner.”
Spectra just smirked, nipping at his lower lip before pulling back slightly, her nose brushing against his. “You talk too much.”
Then she yanked him back in for more.
The rest of the ghosts groaned in unison.
Billy raised a brow. “We gonna say somethin’ about this?”
Scarah side-eyed him. “Considering the entire night has been filled with us sneakin’ off to make out and—” she coughed pointedly, “other things, I’d say we don’t got room to talk.”
Billy snorted. “Fair.”
Johnny smirked. “Yeah, ain’t none of us innocent.”
Operetta adjusted her gown smugly. “Ah regret nothin’.”
The group collectively nodded in agreement.
Spectra and Porter? Still too busy to care.
Ignoring them, the rest of the crew got to work.
They hooked up the cursed record player to the station’s broadcasting system—then, with a dramatic flourish, dropped the needle.
The cursed melody echoed across New Salem.
And the results?
Instant chaos.
Across the city, humans and monsters alike dropped what they were doing and started dancing against their will.
A businessman in a suit? Breakdancing on the sidewalk.
A group of teenagers? Shuffling like their lives depended on it.
A cop writing a parking ticket? Moonwalking while sobbing.
Screams of confusion filled the night.
Even Toralei and her crew, who were within hearing range, suddenly froze before their bodies started moving on their own.
“THE HELL?!” Purrsephone yelled, but even as she cursed, she was effortlessly throwing it back.
Meowlody spun into a perfect split.
Toralei groaned. “Oh, come on—” twerks anyway.
The worst part?
They immediately got used to it.
“…You know what? I ain’t even mad,” Amanita admitted, popping her hips in rhythm.
Back in the radio station, the ghosts were losing their minds.
They laughed hysterically, watching through windows as people everywhere danced uncontrollably.
Of course, Operetta and Scarah chose their movements carefully, making sure they weren’t straining themselves too much.
But everyone else?
Fully vibing.
River and Vandala twirled together mid-air, Ghoulia busted out some insane zombie moves, and Johnny? Johnny was doing THE MOST, spinning Operetta dramatically before dipping her like they were at a haunted ballroom.
“Best night ever,” Spectra declared.
And honestly?
Nobody could argue with that.
Bloodgood’s heels clicked against the tile as she followed Mr. Where down the dimly lit hallway, Rotter right beside her.
Her mind was still reeling from everything that had happened earlier— the dance, the revelations, her breakdown, Rotter’s unexpected attempt at comfort, the absolute dread that had settled in her bones ever since Mr. Where barged in, panicked out of his mind.
And now, she was marching toward what had to be another disaster.
They reached the room, and the second she stepped inside—
She knew something was wrong.
The entire faculty was freaking. Out.
Principals, teachers, staff members—all of them huddled around a computer screen, whispering frantically, some pacing, others gripping their heads like they had just witnessed something unspeakable.
Bloodgood froze. “What’s going on?”
Nobody answered. They all just… stared at her, their faces pale, their expressions ranging from horrified to deeply, deeply disappointed.
Her stomach dropped. “I asked what’s going on.”
Still, silence.
Until finally, Mr. Where sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “As we were packing up to leave, someone got a notification from FrightTube.”
Bloodgood’s brows furrowed. “And?”
“…And when they opened it, they panicked.”
Bloodgood folded her arms. “It’s a video site. Why would a video on FrightTube cause this kind of reaction?”
The staff exchanged glances, clearly hesitant.
Then, Principal Revenant exhaled slowly and turned the laptop screen toward Bloodgood.
“You might wanna see for yourself.”
Bloodgood stepped forward, her heart pounding.
The video started playing.
At first, it seemed… normal. Just your average party footage—monsters dancing under flashing lights, music blaring, neon paint staining the walls.
But as she looked closer, a horrible feeling crept up her spine.
The place they were in…
It looked an awful lot like the Cathedral.
And some of those kids…
They looked awfully familiar—
OH NO
Her eyes widened as the camera panned, revealing more of the scene.
The streaks of neon paint. The faint clouds of smoke in the background. The glitter clinging to everyone like a second skin.
And then—
The faces.
Familiar students came into view.
Frankie. Clawdeen. Draculaura. Deuce. Lagoona. Toralei. Dozens more.
And what really confirmed it—
Was the title.
"MONSTER MASH DISASTER – THE FORMAL EVENT THAT TURNED INTO A NIGHTCLUB"
Bloodgood choked on air.
She frantically looked at the timestamp.
The video had been uploaded—
TWO HOURS AGO.
Her panic skyrocketed.
Mr. Where cleared his throat. “And that’s not all. We found more.”
Before she could even process that information, he scrolled down.
More videos.
Dozens of them.
Each one filled with everything she hoped wouldn’t happen tonight.
Grinding.
Making out.
Extremely inappropriate music.
And most importantly—
TWERKING. EVERYWHERE.
Her eye twitched.
Mr. Where sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s still not the worst part.”
Bloodgood’s fists clenched. “What could possibly be worse than this?!”
“…The comments.”
He scrolled further down.
And that’s when Bloodgood saw it.
A torrent of reactions from monsters all across the world.
"What the hell happened to Monster High?? This is disgusting!"
"I THOUGHT ONLY HUMANS DID THIS. WHY ARE WE ADOPTING THEIR BEHAVIOR?!"
"This was a nightmare to watch. These are supposed to be the future leaders of our world??"
"I sent my child to this event expecting ELEGANCE. Not THIS."
"This is what the next generation is doing? No wonder the world’s going to hell."
"My daughter wanted to go to attend this school. HA! Not anymore."
"That’s it. I’m pulling my kid out first thing tomorrow."
"Is this what’s considered ‘education’ these days? Monsters have no class anymore."
"Disrespectful. Shameful. APPALLING."
And—
"I swear, I just saw my niece in that video. What the HELL?!"
Bloodgood took a shaky breath, trying to keep her composure.
“...Th-The footage is blurry,” she stammered, grasping at anything to salvage this. “They—they won’t recognize the students.”
The room was dead silent.
The staff all exchanged glances.
Then, one by one—
They shook their heads.
Bloodgood’s stomach dropped. “No, no, no, NO.”
She refused to believe it.
Mr. Where grimaced and scrolled down again.
And Bloodgood’s breath caught in her throat.
Because now?
People were calling out names.
"IS THAT CLAWDEEN? WHAT IS SHE WEARING?!"
"DRACULAURA?! WHAT THE HELL, I THOUGHT SHE WAS A SWEETHEART??"
"HOLD ON!! IS THAT CLEO DE NILE! SINCE WHEN DID RAMSES DAUGHTER START ACTING LIKE THAT??"
"FRANKIE?! WHY ARE YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DANCE FLOOR LIKE THAT?!"
"Someone explain why GIL is just LETTING his girl do THAT on him—"
"…Bro. Is that my cousin in the background?? HOLD UP."
"WASN’T THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A FORMAL EVENT?!"
Bloodgood’s entire body went cold.
And just when she thought it couldn’t get worse—
Mr. Where clicked onto another tab.
Monster High’s official email inbox.
The message count?
Over 200 unread emails.
All from furious parents.
And all asking the same questions.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU LET OUR CHILDREN DO?!"
"WHAT KIND OF SCHOOL ARE YOU RUNNING?!"
"IS THIS WHAT YOU ALLOW?!"
Bloodgood froze.
Her vision blurred.
Her mind raced.
Her hands shook.
She was completely and utterly fucked.
The afterparty was in full swing.
The ghouls were back on the dance floor, bodies moving to the beat, neon paint and glitter still clinging to their skin from earlier in the night. The bass rattled the walls of Twyla’s house—the Boogeymansion—as couples and friends danced together, laughing, shouting, and living in the moment.
Draculaura was spinning in Clawd’s arms, giggling as he dipped her low before pulling her back up.
Cleo and Deuce were pressed close, swaying to the rhythm like they owned the floor.
Lagoona had Gil’s hands in hers, pulling him into a faster pace despite his usual awkwardness.
Clawdeen was in her own little world, her hands on her hips, her smirk playful as she moved with a fiery intensity.
Heath and Abbey were going wild, their dance moves chaotic and hilarious, while Venus was actively trying to stop Robeeca from malfunctioning after she attempted to moonwalk for the first time.
At the DJ booth, Jackson was gone—Holt was in full control now, expertly mixing beats, making sure the music never let up. The party had been legendary, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.
That is—
Until Twyla sprinted up to the booth, panicked.
“Holt!” she hissed, tugging at his arm.
Holt barely glanced away from his mixing board. “What’s up, shadow girl?”
“You need to shut the music off. Now.”
Holt frowned. “Huh? Why?”
Twyla looked around, making sure no one was listening, then leaned in close.
“My dad could be home any minute.”
Holt blinked. “Okay? So?”
Twyla gave him a look.
A very serious, very you-should-know-better look.
Holt opened his mouth—then paused.
And then it clicked.
Twyla’s dad.
Her father.
The Boogeyman.
Oh.
Oh shit.
His brain immediately conjured up an image—
The Boogeyman standing in the doorway. A towering shadow, eyes glowing in the dark, his voice a deep, rumbling growl as he took in the sight of his daughter’s house trashed by partying teens.
Would he be chill about it?
Holt knew from others that Twyla’s dad was a peaceful guy. But still.
Did he really want to test those waters?
Hell. No.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the mic.
“Alright, everybody!” Holt’s voice boomed through the speakers. “It’s been a killer night, but it’s time to wrap this party up!”
The dance floor groaned in unison.
“Aww, come on!”
“Just one more song!”
“Booooooo!”
Holt waved a hand. “I know, I know! But hey, better to leave on a high note, yeah?”
Slowly, reluctantly, people started heading toward the exits.
That’s when the ghouls strode up to the booth, confused.
“Yo, what gives?” Clawdeen asked, raising a brow.
“Yeah, why’d you stop the music?” Frankie pouted.
Holt glanced at Twyla, who still looked stressed, then sighed.
He leaned in, voice low.
“Because Twyla’s dad is coming home soon,” he said. “And I do not wanna deal with the Boogeyman.”
Silence.
Then—
“Oh shit.”
All the ghouls panicked.
Draculaura grabbed Clawd’s arm. “We gotta go.”
Lagoona yanked on Gil’s oxygen tube. “Move it, love!”
Cleo, already snatching up her purse, gasped. “Not getting cursed today, thank you very much.”
Within seconds, everyone was scrambling to grab their things, yanking on their jackets, grabbing lost shoes, making sure nothing was left behind.
Except—
Once everyone was ready to go, a problem arose.
They couldn’t find Howleen.
“Where the hell is my sister?!” Clawdeen groaned, scanning the room.
The group split up, searching every room, opening closets, checking under tables—anywhere the little wolf could’ve wandered off to.
Finally, someone called out.
“Found her!”
They all rushed toward the bedroom, stopping at the doorway—
And collectively melted at the sight.
Howleen was curled up in Twyla’s bed, completely knocked out. Twyla was right beside her, equally unconscious, their small forms buried beneath blankets, faces peaceful.
It was adorable.
But they still needed to go.
Clawdeen stepped forward, kneeling by the bed. “Howleen, c’mon, wake up. It’s time to go.”
No response.
She shook her gently. “Howleen, come on.”
Nothing.
Clawd stepped in, placing a hand on his little sister’s shoulder, shaking her lightly.
“Howleen, let’s move.”
Howleen let out a tiny, sleepy whimper, then mumbled something so soft they barely caught it—
“…noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”
The entire room froze.
And then silently lost it.
“She’s too cute,” Lagoona whispered, covering her mouth.
Frankie clutched her chest. “I love her.”
Abbey simply nodded. “She is baby.”
Clawdeen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh, for the love of—”
She tried again, gently nudging Howleen. “Sis. I know you’re tired, but we have to go.”
Howleen burrowed deeper into the blankets.
Clawd ran a hand down his face. “Okay, I’m callin’ it. She’s not moving.”
The ghouls looked at each other, debating—
Then, finally, Clawdeen exhaled.
“Fine,” she muttered. “We’ll let her sleep here for the night.”
Twyla’s dad probably wouldn’t mind.
…Right?
The ghouls all sighed, quietly grabbing their stuff again.
One by one, they filed out of the room, but not before Clawdeen reached over, brushing a stray curl from Howleen’s face before leaning down and whispering, “See you tomorrow, sis.”
And with that, they all slipped out the door—
Leaving behind the peacefully sleeping young couple.
The night air was cool as the ghouls made their way home, the streets quiet except for the sound of their voices echoing off the buildings. Their bodies ached from dancing, their skin was still dusted with glitter and neon paint, and their formalwear was now completely shredded, save for a few loose straps and buckles holding it together.
And yet, none of them felt tired.
If anything, the adrenaline from the night was still coursing through their veins.
"Best. Night. Ever." Clawd stretched, cracking his back.
"No kidding," Draculaura grinned. "Honestly, I don’t think we’ve ever gone this hard before."
Clawdeen smirked. "And the best part? Bloodgood really thought she could control us with all those rules."
That set everyone off.
"Oh my ghoul," Lagoona wheezed, barely holding back laughter. "She really thought she had us!"
Frankie, ever the dramatic one, cleared her throat before mimicking Bloodgood’s stern voice. "If you want to stay in this party, you will. Follow. The. Rules."
The group exploded with laughter.
Frankie, proud of herself, wiped a fake tear from her eye. "Ahh, she really thought she had power over us. That’s cute."
"Yeah, we sure as hell showed her," Cleo smirked.
Throughout their conversation, their phones kept buzzing—texts, missed calls, voicemails—all from their parents.
They saw the notifications.
And completely ignored them.
Not tonight.
Tonight was theirs.
Eventually, they reached the crossroads where they had to split off toward their separate homes.
Jackson adjusted his glasses, turning toward Heath. "Alright, man, let’s get home before—"
Before he could take a step, Frankie grabbed his arm.
Jackson turned, confused.
"Uh…?"
Frankie tilted her head, their grip firm. "Where do you think you’re going, baby?"
Jackson blinked. "…Home?"
Frankie chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, no, no, no. I meant what I said earlier."
Her fingers traced circles on his wrist, her eyes locking onto his.
"You’re mine tonight."
The realization hit Jackson like a truck.
Oh.
Oh, no.
The dare.
His breath caught as Frankie smirked.
"You’re coming home with Mommy tonight…" she purred, her lips barely an inch from his ear. "And trust me, babe, you won’t be walking right tomorrow."
The group lost it.
"OH SHIT!" Clawdeen cackled.
Lagoona covered her mouth. "Frankie, leave him alive!"
Jackson’s face burned as he stammered. "I—I—uh—"
Before he could form a proper sentence, another conversation caught everyone’s attention.
Because while Jackson was processing his fate, Heath was about to argue—
Until Abbey wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him close.
"You really want your cousin to hear everything we’re doing tonight?" she asked, her voice smooth as ice.
Heath blinked. "Huh? Whaddya mean—?"
Then, as the words processed—
His eyes widened.
"Wait."
Abbey smirked.
Heath spun to face her. "But we just did it an hour ago!"
Abbey shrugged. "And we’ll do it again. And again. And again."
Her grip tightened, her voice dropping to a purr.
"Until you can’t even stand, fire boy."
The group howled.
"DAMN, ABBEY!" Clawd doubled over, laughing.
"She’s ruthless!" Cleo cackled.
Heath’s jaw dropped. "Damn, girl, you tryin’ to kill me?"
Abbey leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear.
"No."
Her voice was so soft.
"I am trying to make you mine. Over. And over."
Then she licked his ear.
Heath froze.
Realization.
Acceptance.
And then—
Defeat.
He sighed, letting himself be dragged toward home.
"Welp," he muttered, "guess I’m dying tonight."
The group called out their goodbyes, their laughter echoing into the night.
The night was finally winding down.
After all the chaos—the pranks, the parties, the absolute disaster they left in their wake—it was time for the ghosts to head home.
Spectra, Porter, Johnny, Kiyomi, River, and Vandala all floated through the quiet streets of New Salem, still buzzing with the high of the night.
But some of them?
They weren’t exactly feeling their best.
Operetta let out a low groan, one hand on her back, the other gripping Johnny’s shoulder for support. “Sugar, Ah ain’t gonna lie… Ah’m in hell right now.”
Johnny tightened his hold around her waist, his brows furrowing. “I told ya to take it easy.”
Operetta huffed. “Yeah, well, easy ain’t exactly mah style.”
Scarah, floating sluggishly beside them, winced as Billy kept a steady arm around her. “Agh, shite, Ah don’t even know if Ah’ll be able to move tomorrow.”
Billy gave her a concerned look. “You’re not doin’ this again next year.”
Scarah snorted. “Please, we both know that’s a lie.”
Billy sighed, shaking his head, before glancing at Kiyomi. “A little help?”
Kiyomi nodded, shifting closer to help him get Scarah home.
Johnny adjusted his grip on Operetta before floating higher into the sky. “Alright, babe, let’s get you back. No way I’m lettin’ you walk home like this.”
“Ah don’t walk,” Operetta pointed out. “Ah strut.”
Johnny smirked, flying higher. “Yeah, yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that, darlin’.”
Spectra, Porter, River, and Vandala waved them off, watching as the two couples disappeared into the night.
“Guess that’s our cue to split, too,” River said, stretching.
Vandala nodded. “Aye, let’s head back.”
She pulled out a small glowing compass from her belt and flicked it open. Instantly, the air around them shifted—a thick, foggy mist curling around their feet. A deep, echoing creak sounded in the distance, followed by the unmistakable clang of a heavy anchor rising.
And then—
From the mist, her ship appeared.
The Salty Specter.
The massive ghostly pirate ship glided toward them, its spectral sails rippling despite the lack of wind.
The haunted vessel let out a deep, low moan, almost as if it were greeting its captain.
Vandala grinned. “There she be.”
She and River stepped onto the floating ship, the wooden planks shifting beneath their weight.
Spectra crossed her arms. “You two sure you don’t wanna stay in New Salem for a bit longer?”
“Nah,” River waved her off. “It’s been a long night. We’re headin’ back to Haunted High.”
Spectra smirked. “Suit yourselves. Try not to crash into any icebergs on the way.”
Vandala scoffed. “We don’t sink, lass, we sail.”
River rolled her eyes before glancing at Vandala. “Hey, you feel… weird?”
Vandala paused, brows furrowing. “Weird how?”
River shrugged. “I dunno. Kinda… off. Like, in a good way? Like I wanna run laps ‘round this whole damn ship, but also like I could pass out any second.”
Vandala hummed in thought. Now that she mentioned it…
She felt it too.
An odd, thrumming energy deep in her core. Like something new had settled inside her without her realizing.
“Huh,” she muttered. “Strange.”
River shook her head. “Eh, probably just from all the partying.”
Vandala nodded, but deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something else.
River smirked suddenly. “Speakin’ of partyin’…” she leaned on the ship’s railing. “What’s up with you and Sirena?”
Vandala stiffened. “W-What?”
River grinned. “Oh, don’t play dumb. We all saw you two makin’ out during the dance.”
Vandala scoffed, waving her off. “T’was just a little fun, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Serious,” Vandala said. “Nothin’ more than a harmless kiss.”
River gave her a look. “You got her number?”
Vandala hesitated. “…Aye.”
River grinned.
Vandala rolled her eyes and pulled out a small, water-stained card. Sirena’s number was scrawled across it, along with a tiny, drawn heart in the corner.
River raised a brow. “Harmless, huh?”
Vandala ignored her, flipping the card between her fingers before slipping it back into her coat.
Maybe she would call Sirena.
…Eventually.
As the Salty Specter disappeared into the mist, River smirked to herself.
Yeah.
That ghoul was hooked.
Porter dropped Spectra off at her house, floating lazily as she hovered in front of her window.
Spectra smirked. “Well, that was a hell of a night.”
Porter grinned. “Damn right.”
They lingered for a moment, just floating in the quiet.
Then—
Porter leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips.
Spectra kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, deepening it for just a second longer than necessary.
When they pulled apart, Porter chuckled. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
Spectra grinned. “Oh, I know.”
With a wink, she phased through her window, disappearing into her room.
Porter smirked before floating away into the night.
Inside, Spectra sighed, stretching as she floated toward her closet.
Her dress was completely ruined.
Neon paint, glitter, a torn strap—yeah, this was definitely gonna need a deep dry clean.
She changed into one of her oversized nightshirts, then hovered toward her desk.
She should’ve gone straight to bed.
But her fingers twitched for her laptop.
One more article.
Just one more.
She cracked her knuckles, grinning as she typed out the title:
“Monster Mash or Monster Mess? The Night That Rocked the Underworld”
And with that, she wrote.
Everything.
From Bloodgood’s ridiculous rule enforcement, to the chaos that erupted after, to the wild turn the dance had taken.
Every.
Little.
Detail.
By the time she was done, the article was perfect.
She grinned, stretched, and hit publish.
Then, finally, she shut her laptop, sighed contently, and drifted toward her bed.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
Her mind, however?
Nowhere near peaceful.
Her dreams were filled with Porter.
Hands roaming. Lips hot against hers. A teasing voice whispering in her ear, making her shiver under phantom touches.
Her entire body tingled, aching for something just out of reach.
In the depths of her dream-addled mind, she moaned.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh, Porter…"
A chuckle—low, deep, mischievous.
"Damn, babe," his voice purred, smooth as silk. "You're one hell of a ghoul."
As Spectra continued to indulge in her fantasies.
She was completely unaware that her latest article…
Was about to blow up the internet.
The night had been wild.
After hours of chaos, pranks, and straight-up criminal activity, the bad ghouls were finally back at Toralei’s place, sprawled out across the furniture, catching their breath from the insane events of the night.
Toralei’s apartment wasn’t fancy—just a small, very lived-in space, cluttered with clothes, stolen trinkets, and the occasional bottle of smuggled liquor. The dim lighting and scratched-up walls made it clear that this wasn’t some polished, high-end hideout.
It was a den.
A place where troublemakers thrive.
Amanita was howling with laughter, leaning back on the couch as she wiped at her eyes. “Oh my ghoul, I still can’t believe I actually flashed that camera guy! His face—PRICELESS!”
Gory, who was sitting nearby, was less amused. She let out a disgusted groan, aggressively scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand. “Ugh. Never again. That guy at the bar was a pathetic kisser.”
Meowlody smirked. “Then why’d you let him get that close, huh?”
Gory shot her a glare. “I didn’t! He just leaned in, and I—I panicked!” She groaned, slumping back. “Bram’s gonna kill me.”
Purrsephone snorted. “Girl, you were the one screaming his name earlier. I think you’re fine.”
The room howled with laughter as Gory groaned, covering her face.
Purrsephone chuckled, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Honestly? The best part of tonight? Stealing that guy’s car.”
Meowlody grinned, nudging her twin. “Easiest heist we’ve ever pulled.”
Toralei stretched, lounging across an armchair. “I still wanna know what his reaction was when he walked outside and saw us driving off with his ride.”
They all laughed, imagining his rage.
Meanwhile, Wydowna smirked as she turned her gaze to Pearl and Perri. “What about you two, huh?” she teased. “Still thinking about that little boy you two were flirting with at that high-end party?”
Pearl and Perri rolled their eyes.
“Oh, please,” Pearl said. “That was harmless fun.”
Perri nodded. “He was cute! If we stayed there any longer, we would’ve snatched him up.”
The girls howled in laughter.
But amidst the laughter and jokes—
Kala wasn’t smiling.
She wasn’t relaxed like the rest of them.
She was tense.
Still.
Like something was wrong.
Pearl and Perri noticed first.
“Hey, Kala?” Pearl nudged her. “What’s up? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Kala swallowed hard. “Uh… are any of you worried?”
The room went quiet.
Toralei raised a brow. “About?”
Kala looked around, suddenly feeling like the only sane one in the room.
“About the fact that we might be tracked?!”
The mood shifted.
All of them perked up, expressions tightening.
Kala kept going.
“We went to so many places tonight,” she said, voice tense. “The high-end party? The bars? The news station?! There were hundreds of witnesses!”
Silence.
“Sure, we made successful getaways,” she continued. “But all it takes is for one person to remember our faces, and the next thing we know, that rich girl from the party, that dude whose car we stole, and the entire news station are knocking on our door—with the cops.”
Now?
Now they were really panicking.
Meowlody sat up straight. “Oh shit—”
Purrsephone’s tail flicked nervously. “We didn’t even wear masks…”
Toralei ran a hand through her hair. “Merde, we’re so screwed.”
They knew what would happen if they got caught.
They’d been to jail before.
And it was not pretty.
But just as the tension hit its peak, a voice cut through.
“Relax, idiots.”
All eyes turned to Amanita.
She was sitting with her legs crossed, completely unbothered, filing her nails like she wasn’t just watching all her friends spiral into a full-blown crisis.
Toralei narrowed her eyes. “What.”
Amanita smirked. “No cops or pissed-off rich pricks are gonna find us.”
Everyone stared at her.
“…And why is that?” Purrsephone asked.
Amanita stretched lazily, popping her neck before flashing them a smug grin. “Because while we were running around all night, I was spreading my spores.”
Silence.
“…Huh?” Meowlody blinked.
Amanita giggled. “Oh, you thought I was just using them to seduce men?” She flipped her hair. “Please. I’m way more resourceful than that.”
The girls all exchanged confused glances.
Amanita smirked. “Everywhere we went—the club, the bar, the news station, all those different locations—I planted spores.”
She leaned forward, grinning. “And by now? They should be fully activated.”
Toralei sat up, her ears twitching. “…Meaning?”
Amanita’s grin widened. “Meaning no one will remember us.”
Dead. Silence.
She kept going. “Anyone who was around us tonight? Their memories should be… let’s say, foggy.” She made a little swirly gesture with her fingers. “Like a dream they barely remember. Faces blurred, details lost, everything feeling like a hazy hallucination.”
The girls stared at her.
Taking that in.
Processing.
Until—
Slowly.
One by one.
They all stood up.
And attacked her in a group hug.
“OH MY GHOUL, I COULD KISS YOU!” Meowlody laughed.
“You’re a genius!” Purrsephone grinned.
“I am never doubting you again,” Toralei smirked.
Amanita groaned. “Ugh, get off me, you peasants!”
She dramatically squirmed, pretending to fight them off—
But everyone could see it.
The small smile on her lips.
The little bit of genuine warmth behind her usual smug expression.
She was happy.
And for the first time that night, they all felt safe.
Jackson was panicking.
His heartbeat was out of control, his palms sweaty, his entire body screaming at him to either run or pass out.
But Frankie?
Frankie was having the time of her life.
She would not stop teasing him.
"You’re shaking, babe." Frankie’s voice was smooth, her smirk sharp as they watched him fidget. "What’s wrong? Scared of a little fun?"
Jackson gulped. "I—I’m just—uh—"
Frankie leaned in, her eyes gleaming under the streetlights. "Mmm… you know, you always get like this when I take the lead."
Jackson sputtered. "Wha—I—!"
Frankie just laughed. A slow, wicked little chuckle that made Jackson’s entire soul leave his body.
"I can already tell…" she purred, trailing a finger down his arm. "You’re gonna be begging for mercy by the end of the night."
Jackson’s brain short-circuited.
He stumbled over his own feet, nearly tripping.
Frankie grinned. "Aw, babe, you good? You’re looking a little weak there."
"I’m FINE!" Jackson practically squeaked.
Frankie hummed, clearly amused. "Mmm. We’ll see about that."
By the time they reached Frankie’s house, Jackson’s legs felt like jelly.
Frankie pulled out her keys, smirking.
The house was empty.
Perfect.
Jackson barely had time to react before the door was slammed shut and locked behind them.
Lips crashed into his.
Frankie dominated the kiss, pressing him up against the wall, fingers curling into his button up before she dragged him toward their room.
"Frankie—!" Jackson barely got the word out before heat flooded through his entire body.
Frankie kicked the bedroom door open, yanked him inside—
And slammed it shut.
Frankie wasted no time, her hands moving swiftly to strip off Jackson's clothes. His suit Jacket hit the floor, followed quickly by his shirt, pants, and boxers.
He stood before her, naked and vulnerable, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Frankie's eyes roamed over his body, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Mmm, much better," she purred, her voice a sultry murmur that sent shivers down his spine. She began to undress herself, her movements slow and deliberate, a teasing striptease that had Jackson's heart racing even faster.
As her gown joined his on the floor, Frankie stepped closer, her body pressing against his. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath hot against her skin.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Ready to beg for mercy, babe?"
Before Jackson could respond, Frankie pushed him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. She climbed on top of him, her knees straddling his hips, her hands pinning his wrists above his head.
Jackson's eyes widened, his body tensing as he realized just how much he was at her mercy.
And to assert her dominance even more, she leaned in and pulled his glasses off his face, making his vision blur.
Frankie's smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with a mix of desire and dominance.
She leaned down, her lips capturing his in another fierce, passionate kiss.
Jackson moaned into her mouth, his body arching beneath her as she began to grind against him, her hips moving in slow, deliberate circles.
She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down his jaw, his neck, his chest, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Jackson's breath hitched, his body trembling as she teased him, her touch both gentle and demanding.
"Frankie," he gasped, his voice a desperate plea. "Please..."
Frankie chuckled, a low, wicked sound that sent shivers down his spine.
"Please what, babe?" she teased, her hips continuing their torturous dance. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"
Jackson's mind was a blur, his body aching with need. "Don't stop," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Frankie, don't stop."
Frankie's smirk turned into a full-blown grin, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "With pleasure." She purred.
She released his wrists, her hands moving to grip his hips as she positioned herself above him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered herself onto him, her body enveloping his cock in a tight, warm embrace.
Jackson's breath hitched, his body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Frankie began to move, her hips rolling and bucking with a rhythm that left him gasping for breath. She was in complete control, her body dominating his, her every movement designed to bring him to the brink of ecstasy.
"Say my name, babe," she demanded, her voice a husky growl. "Scream it for me."
Jackson's body convulsed, his hips bucking beneath her as he surrendered to her demands. "Frankie!" he screamed, his voice hoarse with desire. "Oh god, Frankie!"
Frankie's movements became more urgent, her body tensing as she neared her own climax.
Jackson could feel her inner muscles clenching around him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode him with wild abandon.
With a final, powerful thrust, Frankie threw her head back, her scream of pleasure filling the room as she came undone.
The sight and sound of her release pushed Jackson over the edge, his own body convulsing as he joined her in ecstasy.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high.
Frankie collapsed onto Jackson's chest, her body warm and sated, a contented smile on her lips.
But as Jackson's heart rate began to slow, a sudden surge of energy coursed through him.
He wrapped his arms around Frankie, his grip tightening as he flipped her over, pinning her beneath him.
Frankie's eyes widened in surprise, a delighted grin spreading across her face as Jacksons body was covered in a firey aura.
And just like that, Holt was now starting down at her.
"Well, well, well," she purred, her voice filled with amusement. "Look who's taking control now."
Holt's smirk matched her own, his eyes gleaming with a newfound determination. "That's right, firecracker," he growled, his voice low and husky. "It's my turn now."
With Holt now firmly in control, the dynamic in the room shifted palpably. Frankie, who had been the dominant force just moments ago, found herself pinned beneath him, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and excitement.
Holt's gaze was intense, his smirk confident as he took the reins.
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, demanding kiss.
Frankie moaned into his mouth, her body arching beneath him as she surrendered to his dominance. Holt's hands roamed over her curves, gripping and squeezing with a possessive fervor that left her breathless.
Breaking the kiss, Holt trailed his lips down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, eliciting a sharp gasp from Frankie. He continued his descent, his mouth exploring every inch of her body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
Frankie's moans filled the room, her body writhing beneath his touch.
Holt's hands gripped her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach with a swift, powerful motion.
Frankie let out a surprised yelp, but it quickly turned into a moan of pleasure as Holt positioned himself behind her, his body pressing against hers.
He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "You wanted to play, Frankie," he growled, his voice low and husky. "Now it's my turn to make you scream."
With that, he thrust forward, his cock filling her in one swift motion. Frankie's back bowed, her eyes widening as she was filled with a heat unlike anything she had felt before.
Holt began to move, his hips thrusting forward in a powerful rhythm that left Frankie gasping for breath.
His grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he drove into her again and again.
Frankie screamed, her body convulsing with pleasure as he hit a spot that made her toes curl and nails dig into the bed.
Holt grinned, his pace quickening as he continued to drive into her, her screams filling the room with every thrust.
As the night wore on, they both lost count of how many times they orgasmed, their bodies writhing together in a passion that seemed to never end.
Finally, Holt collapsed on top of Frankie, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
For a moment, they lay there, their bodies entwined as they caught their breaths.
"Wow," she murmured, her voice soft and breathless. "That was... intense."
Holt chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
Frankie looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and adoration. "I always do, with you," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity.
Holt's smile widened, his heart swelling with love for her. He held her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her as they both drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined in a perfect embrace.
The room was filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, the world outside fading away as they found solace in each other's arms.
"Sweet dreams," Frankie purrs, her voice underlined with a mischievous tone. "My little human."
The night had been a whirlwind of passion and pleasure, a testament to their deep connection and insatiable desires. And as they slept, their dreams were filled with the promise of many more nights to come.
Abbey did not have the patience for a slow entrance.
She straight-up kicked the front door open.
Heath yelped. "GIRL, WHAT THE HELL?!"
Didn’t matter.
Because the next thing he knew—
He was being carried bridal style up the stairs.
"Abbey—!"
He flailed slightly, gripping Abbey’s shoulders, eyes wide.
"Put me down, put me down, put me dow—"
Abbey grinned. "No."
Heath glanced down at himself—his short, lanky ass looking tiny in Abbey’s muscular arms.
Panic.
Pure panic.
"H-Hey now, let’s—let’s talk about this—!"
Abbey smirked. "You look nervous, Heath," she'd said with a smirk, her accent thicker than usual.
"N-Nervous? Me? Nah, I'm just—uh—warming up!" He had gulped, his bravado melting faster than his flames under her icy gaze.
"Good." Abbey’s voice dropped, smooth as ice.
She leaned in, her face inches from his.
"You will need all the warmth you can get."
Heath’s soul left his body.
"WAIT—"
BAM!
Abbey kicked open his bedroom door.
Then, without hesitation—
She threw him onto the bed.
"Babe—!" Heath barely bounced before she was on top of him, grinning like a predator.
His breath hitched.
Abbey leaned in, her lips barely brushing against his ear.
"You’re mine tonight, fire boy."
Abbey's eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and desire as she straddled Heath, her powerful thighs gripping his hips.
Heath's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked up at her, his eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.
Abbey's smirk widened, her hands roaming over his chest, her touch both gentle and demanding.
"Tell me," she purred, her breath hot against his ear. "Are you ready to give me what I want?"
Heath gulped. "Y-Yes," he stammered, his voice barely above a whimper.
Abbey chuckled, a soft, husky sound that sent shivers down Heath's spine. "Good." she purred, her voice a sultry murmur that sent shivers down his spine.
She leaned down, her lips capturing his in a fierce, passionate kiss. Heath moaned into her mouth, his body arching beneath her as he surrendered to her dominance.
Abbey's hands moved to his shirt, her fingers deftly unbuttoning it before she tore it off, exposing his lean, muscular chest.
Then, in one swift motion, she ripped off her dress, her body bared for all to see.
Heath gasped, his eyes wide as he stared up at her, her lithe, muscular form and massive breast on full display.
Abbey's smile was pure triumph as she leaned down, her lips trailing kisses over his torso, her tongue lapping at his nipples.
Heath moaned, his back bowing as her mouth explored every inch of his skin. Abbey's hand slipped lower, her fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him to hardness.
Heath cried out, his body bucking beneath her touch as she took control of his pleasure.
Abbey smirked, her eyes gleaming with dominance as she guided him inside her, her body sheathing him in a tight, cold embrace.
"Say my name," she commanded, her voice husky with desire. "Scream it for all to hear."
Heath moaned, his body convulsing beneath her.
"A-A-Abbey!" he cried out, his voice echoing off the walls.
Abbey chuckled, her hips moving in a slow, powerful rhythm that had Heath's body writhing with pleasure.
She took control, her movements fluid and dominant, her body commanding his every move. Heath's eyes rolled back in his head, his body surrendering to her as she fucked him with a ferocity that left him breathless.
As their bodies moved together in perfect sync, Heath's soul began to burn with an intense, all-consuming passion that threatened to overwhelm him.
Abbey's dominance was intoxicating, her every touch and movement designed to bring him to the brink of ecstasy and keep him there, teetering on the edge of release.
Her hips rolled and bucked with a relentless rhythm, her inner muscles clenching around him, gripping him tightly as she rode him like her life depended on it.
Heath's moans turned into screams, his body convulsing beneath her as she took him higher and higher, pushing him to his limits.
Abbey's hands roamed over his chest, her nails digging into his skin, making him groan in pain.
She leaned down, her breath cold against his ear as she whispered, "You're mine, fire boy. Say it."
Heath's eyes rolled back in his skull. "Y-yes, yours," he muttered, his words barely intelligible through the haze of pleasure. "Yours, Abbey. All yours."
Abbey's smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She straightened up, her hands gripping his hips as she increased her pace, her body slamming against his with a force that made the bed shake. Heath's screams filled the room, his body tensing as he neared his climax.
"That's it, Heath," Abbey commanded, her voice a husky growl. "Cum for me. Let me feel you."
With a final, powerful thrust, Heath's body convulsed, his release exploding through him like a supernova. He screamed Abbey's name, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Abbey's own release followed soon after, her body tensing, her inner muscles clenching around him as she rode out her own climax. Her screams of pleasure mingled with Heath's, their voices echoing off the walls as they surrendered to their shared bliss.
As they came down from their high, Abbey collapsed onto Heath's chest, her body warm and sated. Heath wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as their breaths slowly returned to normal. The room was filled with the soft sounds of their panting, the world outside fading away as they basked in the afterglow of their passion.
Heath pressed a gentle kiss to Abbey's forehead, his voice soft and filled with adoration. "That was... incredible," he murmured, his heart still racing in his chest.
Abbey looked completely knocked out, like she had drained every last ounce of energy from her body.
Heath, on the other hand, was barely holding on to consciousness himself. His limbs were heavy, exhaustion seeping into every muscle, but then—
He remembered.
Abbey had kicked the front door open.
His neighborhood wasn’t exactly a crime hotspot, but still—he wasn’t about to risk some random stranger wandering into his house in the middle of the night.
So, despite his weakened state, Heath forced himself out of bed. Or at least, he tried.
Because the moment he put weight on his legs—
They gave out completely.
With a pathetic yelp, he collapsed face-first onto the floor.
For a long moment, he just laid there.
Contemplating life.
Contemplating his choices.
But he refused to be defeated.
With sheer determination (and crippling fear of home intruders), he began to crawl.
Dragging himself forward with his arms, inch by agonizing inch, he slowly—painfully—made his way across the floor.
It took him minutes.
Too long.
By the time he reached the front door, his arms were shaking.
But finally—finally—he pulled it open.
VICTORY!
Or so he thought.
Just as he was about to crawl outside, he felt a strong hand clamp around his ankle.
He froze.
Slowly—terrified—he turned his head.
Abbey was staring right at him.
Wide awake.
Fully alert.
And smirking.
"And where do you think you're going?" Abbey purred, her voice dripping with amusement.
Heath swallowed hard. "Uhhh— just going to, uh, close the door…" he said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Abbey’s smirk widened.
"I don't think so," she murmured, her tone dipping into something dangerously sultry.
Her grip tightened.
"I'm not done with you yet, Heath."
Pure. Terror.
Before he could even process what was happening, Abbey grabbed both his legs and yanked him backward.
Heath let out a choked gasp as he was dragged across the floor.
"WAIT—WAIT—PLEASE—!"
Abbey’s face morphed into a predatory grin.
"TOO BAD!" she declared, flipping him onto the bed like a ragdoll.
Heath screamed.
Like a man in a horror film, he clawed at the sides of the door, clutching onto anything for dear life.
"PLEASE! MY DICK CAN’T TAKE ANOTHER ROUND!"
Abbey slammed the door shut behind her.
Then—
She pounced.
Like a tiger capturing its prey, she landed on top of him, pinning him effortlessly.
It was at this moment that Heath knew.
He wasn’t walking at all tomorrow.
The house was silent.
The kind of silence that felt heavy. Suffocating.
Bloodgood sat at the dining table, hunched over, a half-empty bottle of aged, high-proof alcohol clutched in one hand. Her other hand rested against her forehead, fingers tangled in her hair, shoulders sagging from the sheer weight of the past week from hell.
The teachers had all gone home.
The other Headmasters and Headmistresses had returned to their parts of the world, each as horrified as she was about what had happened at the Monster Mash—some promising updates on how their own students were involved, others making it very, very clear that they would not be associating with Monster High for the time being.
Not after this.
Bloodgood exhaled shakily, her grip tightening on the bottle.
Her laptop sat open in front of her, the screen illuminating the massive email she had sent just an hour ago—one she had rushed to write the moment the inbox flooded with furious messages from parents.
Subject: Urgent Meeting Regarding the Recent Videos Circulating Online
Dear Parents and Guardians,
I want to assure you that I have seen the videos that are currently circulating online regarding the Monster Mash event. I understand that many of you are angry, shocked, and deeply concerned about what transpired.
However, I ask that you withhold judgment until you hear the full story. There is more to this situation than meets the eye, and I would like the chance to address this matter directly with you.
I am calling for an urgent meeting tomorrow, Saturday, at 12:00 PM in the Monster High auditorium, where I will explain the full context of what happened.
Until then, I ask that you refrain from punishing your children. Acting in anger will only make matters worse.
I understand your frustration. I feel it, too.
But I urge you—please, wait until tomorrow.
I will see you then.
Sincerely,
Headmistress Bloodgood
Bloodgood sighed, slumping further into her chair.
Would this work?
Would the parents even listen?
Or had Monster High’s reputation already been burned to the ground?
She poured herself another drink, the liquid swirling in her glass before she took a deep sip, letting the burn settle in her chest.
And as the alcohol settled in, so did the memories.
The nightmare of a week that had led to this moment.
Last Friday.
Monster High was as perfect as it could ever be.
There was no violence.
No conflict.
Students were getting along.
Everything was fine.
If only…
If only she hadn’t let Hackington walk through the assembly with that canister.
The gas.
The moment it was accidentally released, something in the air shifted.
The students had changed.
Subtly, at first. But then…
The touching.
The making out in the hallways.
Students sneaking off to do things they had NO business doing.
Grinding against each other like they were in a damn nightclub.
Twerking on desks.
Moaning in classrooms.
Bloodgood squeezed her eyes shut, taking a long sip from her glass.
Her school had turned into a goddamn brothel.
And now…?
The entire monster world knew.
Bloodgood sniffled, her vision blurring as she wiped at her face.
She had tried.
Tried to control the situation. Tried to maintain order. Tried to keep the school together.
And yet—Everything had collapsed anyway.
She took another deep drink, her hands shaking slightly.
Halloween was right around the corner.
How the hell was she supposed to handle this mess before then?
Would Monster High even survive until then?
Her future…
Was unknown.
And right now?
She had never felt more alone.
Howleen stirred, blinking groggily as morning light streamed through her window.
For a brief moment, she saw shadows swirling around her—dark, wispy tendrils that dissipated the second her eyes fully opened.
She frowned.
Weird…
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Where was Twyla?
Howleen glanced around her room, but it was just her.
No sign of her girlfriend.
Then—
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it, squinting at the screen.
Twyla 👻: Morning, sleepyhead. I teleported you back home so my dad wouldn’t find you and freak out. You were out cold, so I figured you wouldn’t mind. See you later, boo~ ❤️
Howleen smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.
She hugged her phone to her chest, sighing happily.
Twyla always had her back.
She was about to roll over and go back to sleep when—
Shouting.
She heard voices arguing downstairs.
Loud. Heated.
Probably her siblings.
Howleen stared at the ceiling, debating if she should care.
…Nah.
With a shrug, she flopped back onto her pillow, pulling the blanket over her head.
They could argue all they wanted.
She was too comfortable to deal with it.
Within seconds, she was asleep again.
The soft glow of morning light filtered through the blinds, casting warm streaks across the room.
Jackson stirred, his body aching in ways he wasn’t used to. His limbs felt heavy, his muscles sore, and for a brief moment, his brain refused to function beyond the simple realization that he was still alive.
Then—
He felt warmth beside him.
His eyes fluttered open, and that’s when it hit him.
Frankie was still lying next to him, her bare body pressed lazily against his side, her fingers tracing idle shapes on his chest.
Before he could even react, she let out a soft, pleased hum and smirked at him.
"Morning, my little human~."
Jackson froze.
His entire soul short-circuited as the events of last night came crashing back.
The dare.
The kissing.
The touching.
The tag-team.
The "You’re mine tonight."
The fact that he wasn’t even sure if he could stand right now.
Frankie giggled, watching the absolute horror and realization dawn on his face.
"Oh, don’t look so scared," she teased, brushing a hand through his messy hair.
Jackson opened his mouth—closed it.
Opened it again.
Then quickly decided that he had no words.
He moved to sit up, his entire body screaming in protest, but just as he tried to slip out of bed—
Frankie grabbed his arm.
“Oh no, no, no,” she giggled, pulling him back down.
She swung herself over him, straddling his waist with a slow, wicked grin.
"The fun’s not over yet."
Jackson barely had time to process before she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered,
"You’re not going anywhere this morning. I own you now."
Jackson swallowed hard.
His brain screamed at him to RUN.
His body, however?
Immediately obeyed.
He let out a shaky breath as she claimed his lips again, her hands trailing down his sides, her touch electric.
Yeah. He was done for.
Their lips moved together, deep and slow, Jackson already giving in—
Until—
Frankie’s eyes suddenly snapped open.
Her gaze flicked toward the bedside clock.
7:00 AM.
Her entire body stiffened.
Jackson immediately noticed. “Huh?” he mumbled against her lips. “What’s wrong?”
Frankie jerked back. “Shit!”
Jackson blinked, dazed. “What?”
Frankie bolted upright, suddenly frantic. “You need to leave. NOW.”
Jackson’s brain lagged. “Wait, what—”
Frankie jumped out of bed and started grabbing his clothes. “MY PARENTS SAID THEY’D BE HOME AT 7!!"
Jackson’s soul left his body.
"WHAT?!"
“MOVE!” Frankie threw his pants at him.
Jackson panicked.
Like, full-on survival mode panic.
But the worst part?
He was still completely naked.
“WHERE ARE MY BOXERS?!” he shrieked, scrambling to look around.
Frankie shoved his shirt at his chest. “I DON’T KNOW, JUST PUT SOMETHING ON—”
Jackson frantically reached for his pants, fumbled them, nearly fell over, and then—
A car engine.
Outside.
His stomach dropped.
Frankie froze.
She raced to the window, peeked through the blinds, then whipped around, her face pale.
"IT’S THEM!"
Jackson screamed internally.
NO. NO, NO, NO—
HE WAS BUTT-ASS NAKED AND HER PARENTS WERE PULLING INTO THE DRIVEWAY.
"I CAN’T FIND MY UNDERWEAR!" Jackson whisper-screamed.
Frankie grabbed his jacket and shoved it at him. "SCREW IT, JUST RUN!"
He barely had time to throw it over himself before she was dragging him downstairs, both of them tripping over each other in their panic.
They reached the back door.
Frankie yanked it open.
"GO!" she shoved him outside.
But before he could bolt—
She grabbed him one last time.
"Wait."
Jackson barely had time to react before she crashed her lips against his, kissing him deep, slow, lingering.
He let out a startled sound, but quickly melted into it, clutching onto her waist as she pulled him closer.
After a few seconds, Frankie pulled back, smirking.
"Next time, I’m keeping you all night."
Jackson’s face ignited.
"O-okay!" he stammered before finally booking it.
Jackson had barely made it to the front yard before disaster struck.
Because the second he turned his head—
He saw the car.
Turning onto the street.
Victor and Viveka Stein.
His stomach dropped.
"NO. NO, NO, NO—"
HE WAS STILL NAKED EXCEPT FOR HIS JACKET.
Without thinking, he dove into the bushes.
The car pulled into the driveway.
Jackson held his breath, eyes wide as he peeked through the leaves.
Victor and Viveka stepped out, their expressions worried.
Victor adjusted his glasses. “You think she’s still asleep?”
Viveka sighed. “If last night was as bad as we heard, she’s probably exhausted.”
Jackson mentally screamed.
They walked up to the door.
It swung open immediately.
Frankie stood there, perfectly composed.
“Hey, Mom, Dad!” she chirped, acting like she hadn’t just thrown her naked boyfriend out of the house. “You’re back early!”
Jackson didn’t wait.
The moment the front door closed and locked behind them—he RAN.
Like his life depended on it.
Jackson had never run so fast in his damn life.
The second Frankie’s parents stepped inside the house, he sprinted down the street, his bare feet slapping against the pavement. He didn’t dare stop—not yet. Not until he was far enough away to breathe again.
After a good five minutes of pure adrenaline-fueled running, he finally slowed down, panting as he leaned against a streetlamp, his hands on his knees.
His heart was still racing.
His entire body ached.
His everything was fucking exhausted.
He took a deep breath and mentally reached out to Holt.
"Holt, I need you to take over."
Silence.
Jackson frowned.
"Holt? You there?"
Nothing.
His pulse picked up.
"Holt, come on, man, quit messing around. I need to fly home."
Still. Nothing.
He gritted his teeth.
"HOLT. WAKE UP."
No response.
Jackson’s breathing hitched.
He tried again. Louder.
"HOLT! WAKE UP, DAMN IT!"
Nothing.
By now, Jackson was shouting.
"ANSWER ME, YOU LOUDASS FLAMING DUMBASS—"
Still.
No. Response.
Jackson exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm.
Holt had to be asleep. That was the only explanation.
Honestly? After what Frankie put them through last night, he was probably more wrecked than Jackson was.
Jackson could practically hear his alter-ego groaning in exhaustion, probably sprawled out somewhere deep in his subconscious, body aching, hair a mess, completely fried.
"Bro… I ain't got it in me today… You're on your own."
Jackson sighed, rubbing his temples.
Holt wasn’t dead. He wasn’t gone.
He was just too tired to function.
Which meant Jackson had no choice but to walk home.
Great.
His naked ass was about to take the most humiliating walk of shame in history.
Jackson walked.
Every step reminded him of last night’s events.
His legs ached. His back hurt. His entire existence felt wrecked.
And worst of all?
People saw him.
Jackson turned a corner and nearly collided with an elderly woman walking her tiny, fluffy Pomeranian.
She looked at him.
Her eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
Then, clutching her pearls, she let out the most dramatic gasp he had ever heard.
Jackson, still only wearing his jacket, quickly pulled it tighter around himself.
"M-Morning, ma’am," he muttered awkwardly, giving her a stiff nod before power-walking away.
She just kept gasping.
Jackson passed a house where a woman was gathering her kids inside.
Unfortunately, they saw him.
The woman’s face immediately twisted into horror.
She grabbed her children by the collars and yanked them inside the house so fast that it looked like she had just seen a damn serial killer.
"INSIDE. NOW." she ordered, slamming the door shut behind them.
Jackson sighed.
Further down the street, Jackson passed a man casually drinking coffee on his porch.
The guy took one look at him.
Paused.
Then nodded in respect.
Jackson blinked.
"Uh… thanks?" he said, voice confused.
The man just sipped his coffee and muttered, "We've all been there, bro."
Jackson wasn’t sure if he should feel worse or better.
Halfway home, Jackson spotted something far worse than judgmental pedestrians.
A police cruiser was coming down the street.
His blood ran cold.
NOPE.
Jackson dove into the nearest bushes, praying to whatever higher power existed that the cops wouldn’t notice the half-naked man hiding for his life.
The cruiser slowly passed.
Jackson didn’t breathe.
Then—
It turned the corner.
And he booked it.
By the time Jackson reached his house, the sky was brighter, his body felt like it had been through war, and he was 100% done with life.
He dropped his pile of clothes from yesterday, dug through it, and pulled out the keys.
The house was quiet.
His uncle and auntie still weren’t home.
Thank God.
Jackson unlocked the door and stepped inside.
And immediately stopped.
Because sitting on the couch—completely naked—was Abbey.
Jackson froze.
She sat there like a goddamn queen, unbothered, casually sipping from a cup of water.
Her messy white hair was draped over her shoulders, her muscular arms flexed slightly as she leaned back.
She reeked of Heath.
And she looked like she had no regrets.
She glanced at Jackson, raised a brow, and smirked.
"Long night?"
Jackson sighed. "You have no idea."
Abbey chuckled, stretching lazily.
Jackson looked around. “Where’s Heath?”
She gestured upstairs. “Out cold. Completely.”
Jackson, dreading what he was about to see, slowly made his way toward Heath’s room.
The door was cracked open.
He peeked inside—
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
Heath looked like he had been drained of his very soul.
He was sprawled across the bed, shriveled up like a raisin. His hair was a disheveled mess, his limbs lifeless, his face blank—as if he had seen things no man should ever see.
He looked dead.
Jackson sighed deeply and gently closed the door.
"Rest in peace, buddy."
Still half-dazed, Jackson stumbles his way into the bathroom, flipping on the light.
His reflection stares back at him—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and the undeniable look of a man who had just experienced something life-changing.
He removes his glasses, holding them up to inspect them for any damage. As he tilts them in the light, he notices a faint, glistening sheen smeared across the lenses—
Frankie’s pussy juice.
His breath hitches slightly.
For a moment, he just stares at the mirror, his expression unreadable.
He should feel grossed out.
He should feel ashamed.
But he doesn’t.
His fingers tighten around the frame, and before he can even think, his tongue darts out, greedily lapping up the juices like a dog savoring its favorite treat.
He licks every last drop, his movements slow at first, but then desperate, as if he’s reliving the taste of Frankie all over again.
When he’s finished, he pants softly, his lips slightly parted, his heart pounding in his chest.
He slowly slides the glasses back onto his face, lifts his gaze to the mirror…
And smiles.
His pupils dilate. His pink glow flares in his eyes once again.
Not out of embarrassment.
Not out of shame.
But out of desire.
Despite his embarrassment, he looked forward to the new life ahead of him.
And if that meant being Frankie stein's boyfriend and personal fucktoy…
Then so be it.
To be continued....
Notes:
And with that.
We've reached the end of week 1.
The gas has become sentient. The entire next generation has been corrupted. And now, the parents are aware.
How will Bloodgood manage the precarious situation?
And how will parents react to the truth?
Find out in the next part!
(P.S. Yes I know Bloodgood was crying in chapter 6, but no one saw her do it)
Chapter 13: The Meeting
Summary:
Bloodgood discusses matters with the parents.
Chapter Text
The hotel room was quiet.
Viktor and Viveka Stein lay in their king-sized bed, the faint hum of the city outside filtering through the thick curtains. The entire week had been exhausting—conferences, meetings, late nights discussing new advancements in science and medicine.
And yet, one thing had been on their minds.
Frankie.
Something was… off about her lately.
At first, they hadn’t thought much of it.
Last Friday, she had come home looking completely drained, barely mumbling a greeting before immediately collapsing into bed. They had chalked it up to exhaustion—she had been dealing with a lot of tests at school recently.
But after the weekend?
She started acting different.
Monday morning, she had been asking odd questions about anatomy.
At first, Viktor had been pleased—curiosity in the field of science was something he encouraged—but when they came home that afternoon, she had been giddy about something.
When Viveka had asked her what she was so excited about, Frankie had simply grinned, refusing to clarify.
That wasn’t like her.
She was also researching something.
When they had asked about it, she had simply shrugged and said, "Oh, it's just for exercise."
They hadn’t thought much of it then.
Tuesday morning, she had left before they even got the chance to say goodbye.
And when they came home?
She had been practically bouncing off the walls, talking on the phone for hours, giggling excitedly.
They assumed she was talking to her friends, but something about it had seemed… different.
More personal.
Wednesday, she came home looking frustrated.
Her face was scrunched in irritation, and she had been muttering under her breath as she walked past them.
When Viktor had asked, "Pumpkin, what’s wrong?"
She had just grumbled something unintelligible and marched upstairs.
Neither of them got an answer that night.
Thursday was worse.
She came home late.
Her makeup was smudged, and she was muttering insults under her breath.
They hadn’t thought much of it—until she stomped into the house, threw her bag onto the couch, and snarled,
"Bloodgood is a tight-ass, holier-than-thou, crusty old banshee who needs to get the hell over herself!"
Viktor had nearly dropped his book.
Viveka had been floored.
Frankie had never spoken about a teacher like that before.
It had led to a heated argument between her and Viveka, one that lasted almost an hour.
"What has gotten into you?!" Viveka had demanded.
"It doesn’t matter!" Frankie had snapped back.
They had tried to pry for more answers, but nothing came of it.
And unfortunately, they had no time to investigate further—
They had to leave for the conference the next morning.
Now, here they were.
Resting in their hotel room.
Hoping—praying—that despite whatever stress Frankie had been dealing with this week, she was having a good time at the famous Monster Mash dance.
They had no idea.
Viktor was deep in sleep, Viveka curled up beside him, when suddenly—
RING!
His phone vibrated aggressively on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room.
Viktor groaned.
Who the hell was calling him at this hour?
With a grumble, he reached over, squinting at the screen.
A colleague.
He frowned.
Still half-asleep, he answered.
"Hello?" His voice was gruff.
The response he got made his blood freeze.
"Do you allow your daughter to act like a whore?"
Silence.
Viktor’s eyes snapped open.
Viveka stirred beside him. “Mmm…? What is it?”
Viktor’s fist clenched.
He sat up slowly, his voice dangerously low.
"You have exactly five minutes to explain what the hell you mean by that… or our next conversation will not be a pleasant one."
Viveka was fully awake now.
She sat up beside him, eyes filled with concern. "Viktor, what’s wrong?"
Viktor didn’t answer. He was too focused on the voice on the other end.
The colleague scoffed. "Why do you let your daughter run around acting like she has no self-control? Flaunting herself like she has no home training?"
Viktor’s jaw tightened.
"I thought she was a good girl. Smart. A bright future ahead of her. Instead, she’s proven herself to be just as wild as most of the human females I’ve seen online. If she were my daughter, I would’ve disowned her and thrown her onto the streets."
Viveka gasped.
Viktor saw red.
"You shut your damn mouth." His voice was low, dangerous. "I don’t know where you’re getting these heinous accusations, but I can assure you—my daughter is in no way, shape, or form like all those other girls."
His grip on the phone tightened.
"Frankie is one of the sweetest, most brilliant women to ever grace this world. One day, she’s going to do great things. But you—"
His voice dropped even lower.
"You better pray I don’t see you tomorrow. Because if I do… God Himself will have to come off that cross to pull me off you."
A beat of silence.
Pure, dead silence.
Then—A notification.
A link.
"Perhaps this will change your mind," the colleague said.
Then—Click.
The line went dead.
Viktor hesitated, glaring at the link.
It had to be a mistake.
Maybe it was just some random girl who looked like Frankie.
Maybe this was just one big misunderstanding.
But Viveka, now wide awake and deeply concerned, encouraged him.
"Play it."
So, they did.
At first, it looked like your typical monster rave.
Strobe lights. Loud music. Monsters dancing.
Nothing unusual.
But then—
The camera panned.
And they saw them.
Monster High students.
Grinding. Twerking. Making out.
It was chaos.
And then—They saw her.
Frankie.
Their sweet, bright, intelligent daughter.
Twerking on some fire boy’s lap.
Viveka covered her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.
Viktor felt his stomach drop.
The comments were even worse.
"Who knew a mad scientist was hiding a secret thot daughter?"
"This has to be what happens when the daughter of a mad scientist goes to school."
"Bloodgood really needs to get control over her school. If this is what she’s teaching her students—"
"LMAO ‘good girls’ don’t act like that."
"If she moves like this at a party, imagine what she does behind closed doors 😏"
"Stein’s daughter is a freak?? WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT."
The comments went on and on, but Viktor and Viveka barely noticed.
Viveka was crying.
Viktor?
Viktor was already getting dressed.
"Pack your things." His voice was firm, controlled—but burning with rage.
Viveka wiped her tears. “Viktor—”
"We’re leaving. Now. We need to get home and figure out what the hell is going on."
Because Frankie had never acted like this before.
Something was wrong.
And they needed to get to the bottom of it before it was too late.
Frankie stood in the doorway of their home, beaming as she welcomed her parents back.
“Welcome home!” she said cheerfully.
Viveka immediately sighed in relief, stepping forward to hug her daughter. After everything she and Victor had seen, it was at least reassuring to see Frankie standing here safe and sound.
“Pumpkin, I was so worried about you,” Viveka murmured, running a hand through Frankie’s hair.
Frankie giggled. “Mom, I told you—I was just at the Monster Mash! Nothing bad happened.”
But the moment she pulled away from her mother’s embrace, she noticed something.
Her father hadn’t said a word.
Victor stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, watching her carefully.
Frankie’s smile faltered.
“…Dad?” she said slowly. “What’s wrong?”
Victor tilted his head slightly.
Then, in a calm and measured voice, he asked,
“Are you okay?”
Frankie blinked, confused. “Uh… yeah? I’m fine.”
Victor nodded. “Yes, you’re physically okay… but are you mentally okay?”
Now Frankie was even more confused. She let out a nervous chuckle. “Dad, what are you talking about?”
Victor didn’t break eye contact. His voice remained calm, but there was an underlying tension.
“Did something happen at school?” he asked.
Frankie frowned. “No.”
“Did something happen between you and your friends?”
“No?”
“…Are they forcing you to do something?”
“What? No!”
Even Viveka, who had originally just been relieved to see Frankie safe, started picking up on something. She looked at her husband, then at Frankie.
“Sweetheart,” she said gently, “have you been feeling off lately? Maybe stressed? Have you been dealing with peer pressure?”
"Mom, what are you guys talking about?" Frankie was really starting to get concerned.
“Are you acting of your own free will?” Viktor asked.
Frankie’s brows furrowed. “Okay, what the hell is this? Why are you two suddenly acting like I’m some troubled teen?”
Victor sighed.
Then, without another word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and held it up for Frankie to see.
A video began to play.
Frankie watched in silence.
The loud music. The flashing lights.
Students grinding, twerking, making out.
And then—there she was. Right in the middle of the dance floor.
Twerking on Holt’s lap.
The look on Frankie’s face was priceless.
Her eyes widened, mouth slightly agape. For a moment, she was frozen, just staring at herself on screen, shaking her ass on the boy’s waist.
Viktor and Viveka watched her closely, waiting for a reaction—
But then, she exhaled, relaxed, and gave a casual shrug.
“Oh,” she said. “So people recorded it. No biggie.”
Both parents lost their minds.
“NO BIGGIE?” they both shouted at the same time.
Victor stepped forward, glowering. “Do you even realize how serious this is?!”
Frankie blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Thousands of people saw that video, Frankie! Do you even understand how that could impact your future?”
Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s just a dance, Dad.”
Victor wasn’t having it. “And what about your reputation? You think colleges won’t look at that? You think they won’t take this into account when reviewing your applications?”
“Even if the video gets deleted,” Viveka added, “the digital footprint is still there, Frankie. People will always circle back to that video whenever your name is brought up!”
Frankie just shrugged again.
“If a bunch of geezers are losing their minds over a video of me twerking—” she even gave a playful shake of her hips, “—am I the problem? Or are they the problem for not minding their business?”
Victor’s eye twitched.
Viveka rubbed her temples.
And then, it happened.
An explosive argument.
Her parents were desperately trying to get her to see sense.
Frankie was just as calmy standing her ground.
Back and forth.
Yelling. Debating. Reasoning. The works.
"FRANKIE! YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS!"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH TWERKING?! IT'S JUST A DANCE, MOM!"
"I DON'T WANT TO SEE MY PUMPKIN FLASHING HER ASS FOR A BUNCH OF PUPPY LOVE-STRUCK TEENAGERS!"
"QUIT BEING SO DAMN DRAMATIC!"
"WATCH YOUR MOUTH! WE DON'T NEED TO SEE YOU DANCING LIKE A PROSTITUTE TO KNOW YOU'RE A SMART GIRL, FRANKIE!"
"IF I'M SMART, WHY CAN'T I CHOOSE HOW TO DANCE AND DRESS MYSELF?!"
But eventually, Victor and Viveka realized something.
They were talking to a brick wall.
Frankie liked doing this.
She enjoyed herself.
And no amount of old people complaining online was going to make her feel bad.
Victor let out a long breath, rubbing his face in frustration. He didn’t even have the energy to yell anymore.
Then, to his shock, Viveka suddenly asked,
“Well… at least tell me you had fun?”
Victor’s head snapped toward her. “Viveka!”
But Frankie just grinned.
“Hell yeah! Best night ever!”
Viveka sighed. “And who was that boy you were dancing on?”
Victor crossed his arms. “And who was that boy I saw running out of our bushes naked?”
Frankie’s smile dropped.
Viveka’s eyes widened.
Victor stared her dead in the eye.
Frankie’s brain was screaming.
Oh, shit. They saw Jackson!
She cursed herself. She shouldn’t have made out with him before he left.
Frankie sighed, then—without hesitation—she told them the truth.
“They’re my boyfriends.”
Silence. Total silence.
Both parents, in perfect unison:
“WHAT?!” They gawked at her.
Frankie just grinned, absolutely giddy.
"Yep," She said excitedly. "I have 2!"
They began bombarding her with questions.
“How long?”
“Since Monday!”
Viktor and Viveka stared.
Viveka blinked. “Monday?” She turned to Victor. “Did she just say—”
“Since Monday!” Frankie repeated, smiling.
Viktor’s eye twitched. “You’ve been dating them for less than a week?!”
Frankie nodded enthusiastically.
Viktor rubbed his temples. “Alright, fine. How long have you even KNOWN them?”
Frankie shrugged. “Since my first year!”
Viveka narrowed her eyes. “Wait. That long, and you never thought to mention them before?”
“Not really.”
Viktor’s patience was wearing thin. “And who the hell are they?!”
Frankie’s smile grew wider. “Jackson Jekyll and Holt Hyde!”
Silence.
At first, the names meant nothing.
But then—The last names.
Jekyll.
Hyde.
Something clicked.
Viktor and Viveka’s faces drained of color.
They slowly turned to each other, then back at Frankie.
Viktor’s voice was careful, deliberate. “…They wouldn’t happen to be related to Henry Jekyll and Edward Hyde—the infamous serial killer?”
Frankie beamed. “Grandparents!”
That was the WRONG thing to say.
Viveka gasped, hands flying to her mouth. Victor staggered back, as if she had just told him she was dating the literal Boogeyman.
Frankie tilted her head. “Why do you guys look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“BECAUSE WE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE,” Victor barked.
Viveka was stammering. “Frankie, sweetheart, do you—do you have any idea what their grandparents did?!”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom, I’m aware. Ancient history.”
“Ancient?!” Viktor exploded. “Edward Hyde ripped people apart in the streets! He was a monster! Henry Jekyll enabled him!”
“And? That was generations ago!” Frankie crossed her arms. “They are NOT their grandparents.”
Victor’s hands clenched into fists. “You are dating the descendants of one of the most infamous criminals in monster history!”
Frankie’s patience snapped.
“They are NOTHING like their grandparents!” she shouted. “And you have NO RIGHT to judge them!”
Viktor and Viveka froze.
The intensity in her voice. The way her stitches sparked with electricity.
She meant it.
Viveka swallowed. “Frankie…”
Frankie’s chest heaved. Her hands were shaking.
“They are the sweetest, kindest, most loving boys I’ve ever met,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “They’ve always treated me with respect. They make me laugh. They make me feel special.”
Her voice cracked.
“They make me happy.”
Viktor and Viveka were stunned.
Because… she had a point.
They exchanged looks.
For years, they had taught Frankie to see beyond appearances. To give people a chance.
And yet, here they were, doing the very thing they told her not to do.
Viktor sighed, rubbing his temples. “At least you haven’t lost your—”
“Nope! Lost that Tuesday!”
Silence.
Then—
“WHAT?!”
Viveka choked. Viktor shot up from his chair.
Frankie, completely unbothered, smiled. “Yeah! Tuesday. Best day ever.”
Victor’s eye twitched. “You’re joking.”'
Frankie giggled. “Nope! I mean, at first, I wasn’t sure, but wow. Holt and Jackson? So good. Like, I get why people do it so much now—”
“FRANKIE!” Viveka nearly fainted.
Viktor was turning red. “You—you—”
Frankie tilted her head. “Oh! You wanna know details?” She clasped her hands together. “Okay, so first, Jackson was kinda nervous, but once we got going—”
Viktor slammed his hands on the table. “I DO NOT WANT DETAILS!”
Frankie huffed. “Make up your mind, then.”
Victor and Viveka sat there, completely stunned.
Then—Viktor’s patience SNAPPED.
“HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM ABOUT THIS?!” he bellowed.
Frankie shrugged. “Because it’s fun?”
“NO, IT’S NOT!” Viktor roared. “THERE IS NOTHING FUN ABOUT LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE! ESPECIALLY TO THE GRANDCHILD OF A SERIAL KILLER!”
Frankie’s eyes flashed. “Oh my ghoul, can you drop that already?!”
“NO, I CAN’T!” Viktor ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I sent you to Monster High so you could grow, so you wouldn’t have to hide yourself from the world! I raised you to do great things! To be better! Not—” he gestured wildly, “THIS!”
Frankie crossed her arms. “And what exactly is this?”
Viktor’s voice shook. “Reckless. Irresponsible.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please—”
“DON’T ‘OH PLEASE’ ME!” Victor slammed his fist on the table. “Do you have ANY idea how this could affect you?! Your future?!”
Frankie scoffed. “Oh no, the internet saw me twerk. Guess I can never be president.”
Victor was fuming. “It’s more than that, Frankie! Reputation matters! There are thousands of people who saw that video! You think that just goes away?”
She shrugged. “I mean, if some geezers wanna cry over me shaking my ass, isn’t that their problem?” She even gave a little demonstration, again.
Viveka gasped. Viktor saw red.
“You think this is a joke?” he hissed. “You really think this is okay?”
Frankie’s eyes narrowed. “I think it’s my body, and my life.”
Viktor’s jaw locked.
“Frankie…” Viveka started softly.
But Viktor was done.
“I let you have freedom because I trusted you,” he said, voice dangerously low. “I wanted you to live your life, to experience what it’s like to be a teenager. But this? This is too far.”
Frankie’s lip trembled.
Viveka put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, physically calming him down as she saw Frankie’s eyes well up.
Viktor exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.
Viveka pulled out her phone.
“Viktor…” She hesitated.
Viktor frowned. “What?”
“Look at this.”
She turned the screen toward him.
Bloodgood’s email.
Victor’s anger dimmed. He read through it, his expression shifting from rage to concern.
He exhaled through his nose. “Get in the car.”
Frankie looked up, wiping her eyes. “What?”
“We’re going to Monster High.”
Frankie scowled. “You’re not dragging me back there—”
“You’re staying here.” Victor’s voice was firm. “And until we get back? Do not contact Jackson or Holt.”
Frankie’s hands clenched. “You can’t tell me what to—”
“Final.”
Viveka touched her arm gently. “Just… give us time, sweetie.”
Frankie glared.
Victor and Viveka headed for the door.
Frankie watched them go, seething.
Then, he and Viveka got into the car.
It was time to figure out what the hell was going on.
Bloodgood adjusted her riding crop in the mirror, her expression tight with frustration.
This entire week had been a disaster. Ever since the Monster Mash Dance, she had been drowning in emails, phone calls, and furious parent complaints. She had spent hours contacting FrightTube to get the videos taken down, only for them to resurface again and again.
And then, Spectra’s article.
That damn ghost had blown the lid off everything—every scandalous detail, every piece of footage, every whisper of gossip. And worst of all? She had made Bloodgood look like a fool.
Because if she couldn’t control her own students…
How could anyone trust her to run Monster High?
The backlash had been immediate.
Parents were furious. The phones had been ringing nonstop, full of demands, accusations, and even threats. Some wanted answers. Others wanted her resignation.
Some just wanted blood.
Bloodgood had faced scandals before. School attacks, bullying complaints, students getting into altercations on the daily. She had always handled them with grace and authority.
But this?
This was different.
She could already picture the parents gathered in the auditorium—angry, disgusted, ready to tear into her.
Shock.
Outrage.
Calls for her removal.
Some would argue that Monster High had always been a place for acceptance, that young monsters needed the freedom to express themselves.
But there were limits.
And now, those limits had been shattered.
Bloodgood took a slow, steadying breath. As she made the final adjustments to her uniform, there was a knock at the door.
Mr. Rotter stepped in.
“Bloodgood.” His voice was calm, but edged with tension.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “Yes, Mr. Rotter?”
“They’re here.” His expression was unreadable. “All of them. And they’re waiting.”
Bloodgood closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then, she straightened her back, lifted her chin, and set her jaw.
The fear had to go.
Now was not the time for doubt.
She turned to face him. “Alright,” she said, voice firm. “Let’s get this over with.”
With her head held high, she strode out of the office, Mr. Rotter by her side.
It was time to face the storm.
The auditorium was a chaotic mess.
Parents were talking over one another, some arguing, others shouting. A few were outright screaming. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with outrage and indignation.
Bloodgood stepped onto the stage, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. She ignored the chaos around her, moving with calm authority as she made her way to the podium.
With a sharp tap, tap against the microphone, the noise immediately died down.
Hundreds of eyes were now trained on her, burning with expectation, frustration, and barely restrained fury.
Bloodgood adjusted her stance and spoke, her voice even, professional.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice."
A few parents scoffed. Some folded their arms. Others, like Dracula and Frankie's parents, simply watched with measured curiosity.
"I understand that many of you are angry about the videos circulating online—"
"You’re goddamn right we are!"
Bloodgood barely had time to register the outburst before Ramses de Nile shot up from his seat, his golden bandages flowing around him as he jabbed a sharp finger in her direction.
"Do you have any idea how many emails and phone calls I’ve received about Cleo’s behavior?!" he snapped. "How many so-called friends and acquaintances are making a complete MOCKERY of my family?!" His voice thundered through the auditorium. "People I do business with are laughing at me! If anything, this entire meeting is just an excuse for you to save your own damn ass!"
A few parents rolled their eyes at his dramatics, while others muttered amongst themselves.
Across the room, Medusa Gorgon let out a tired sigh, adjusting her dark glasses before snapping, "Oh, for the love of the Gods, Ramses, sit your ass down!"
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Ramses’ jaw clenched, but after a moment of hesitation—and a few glares from the other parents—he reluctantly dropped back into his seat, arms crossed in indignation.
Bloodgood waited a moment for the murmurs to settle before continuing.
"I understand your frustrations. Truly, I do." Her voice remained steady, unwavering. "But I assure you—there is a very real reason why your children have been acting out the way they have."
Manny's father leaned forward; his brow furrowed in frustration. "Okay, then what the hell happened at Monster High that has all our kids acting like a bunch of damned sex kittens?!"
"I know for fact that Frankie would never act like this," Viktor said, his voice low, dangerous. "What could’ve possibly driven her to behave this way?"
Bloodgood took a deep breath.
Then, with absolute seriousness, she said:
"Your children are under the influence of a chemical compound."
Silence.
For the first few seconds, there wasn’t a single sound in the auditorium.
Then—Laughter.
First, it started as a few snickers. Then chuckles. Then full-blown laughter.
Ramses was laughing like he had just heard the funniest joke of the night, slapping his knee with amusement. Other parents followed suit, shaking their heads in disbelief. Even the more professional individuals—Dracula, The yeti's, Clawdeen’s parents—all exchanged skeptical glances.
Dracula, the oldest and most respected monster in the room, let out a deep, knowing chuckle. "Oh, Headmistress Bloodgood. Come now, surely you don’t expect us to believe—"
But then he saw her face.
And the laughter stopped.
Bloodgood wasn’t laughing.
Not even smiling.
Her expression was like stone. Cold. Unmoving. Grave.
That eerie, deathly serious look on her face spread a wave of discomfort through the auditorium.
The parents who had been laughing slowly stopped, their amusement fading into uncertainty. The murmurs of disbelief died down.
The atmosphere shifted.
Isi's mother—who was sitting in the back—hesitantly raised a hand. "Please tell us you’re joking?"
Bloodgood’s gaze never wavered. "No. I’m not."
A chill spread through the room.
She folded her hands in front of her and continued, "The reason why your children have been behaving this way is because of a chemical compound that is currently affecting their minds. That is why they are out there doing… what they’re doing."
Another beat of silence.
Then—
BOOM.
The room EXPLODED into shouts, gasps, and accusations.
"Are you telling me my kid is DRUGGED?!"
"What the hell kind of school are you running?!"
"This is OUTRAGEOUS!"
"How could this even happen?!"
Iris's mother was hysterical, demanding to know what this chemical was and who was behind it. Ramses was back on his feet, yelling about how this was an attempt to ruin his family’s reputation. Others were shouting over each other, firing questions Bloodgood couldn’t even answer fast enough.
Bloodgood exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.
This was going to be a long-ass meeting.
Frankie paced back and forth in her bedroom, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned a shade paler than usual.
She was still seething.
Her parents’ reaction had been insane.
It had started with the video, sure—but the moment she told them about Jackson and Holt, that’s when they really lost it. Like, screaming, ranting, ground-me-for-life kind of lost it.
Because, oh no, Jackson’s related to some dead serial killer!
Like that had anything to do with him!
She threw herself onto her bed, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. With aggressive taps, she opened the group chat.
[Ghoul Squad 💀🔥]
Frankie: We need to talk. Now.
Clawdeen: Girl, same. I’m THIS close to flipping a damn table.
Lagoona: Mate, you have NO idea.
Cleo: I am so SICK of hearing my father’s voice, you have no idea.
Abbey: I am currently standing in street. Heath parents make me leave. Am very cold. And very pissed.
Draculaura: My dad lost his damn mind. I mean, completely lost it. I’ve never seen him like this before.
Frankie: WHY ARE THEY ALL ACTING LIKE THIS?
Clawdeen was the first to reply.
Clawdeen: Girl, I dunno, but I’ve been yelling at my folks since this morning. My mom is freaking out, my dad keeps saying I "embarrassed the family,” and my brothers are just making things worse by backing ME up.
Clawdeen: Like, THANK YOU, CLAWD, but also, SHUT UP BEFORE THEY KILL ME!
Frankie groaned, rolling onto her back.
Clawdeen had it bad, but at least she had backup. Frankie was out here fighting for her life against two pissed-off parents who just did not get it.
Lagoona: At least y’all were arguing. I just sat there getting interrogated like I was in a freakin’ courtroom. My parents had me surrounded. Siblings too. I swear, even the damn pet fish was judging me.
Lagoona: “Lagoona, why were you acting like this?”
Lagoona: “Lagoona, what were you wearing?”
Lagoona: “Lagoona, who were you with?”
Lagoona: Mate, I swear to Poseidon, I was about to lose it.
Cleo’s response came next, way more aggressive.
Cleo: Try having your father call you every name in the damn book while your SISTER just sits there laughing at you!
Cleo: I’m a disgrace! I’m an embarrassment! I’ve ruined the family name! I have single-handedly destroyed our reputation! Blah, blah, blah!
Cleo: Like I get it, DAD, people are TALKING! But HELLO, MAYBE I WOULDN’T ACT LIKE THIS IF YOU WEREN’T SO DAMN CONTROLLING!
Frankie winced at that. She and Cleo didn’t always see eye to eye, but Cleo’s dad was next-level when it came to expectations. She could only imagine how bad that argument got.
Draculaura jumped in next.
Draculaura: No, you don’t get it. My dad went from 0 to 100 SO FAST. One minute, he was disappointed. Next thing I know, he’s pulling out the “I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THIS” speech.
Draculaura: Then it was “Draculaura, do you even understand what this means for OUR FAMILY?”
Draculaura: Girl, Why is he acting like I burned his whole legacy to the ground?!
Frankie let out an exhausted groan.
Frankie: I don’t get it. It’s JUST. A. VIDEO.
For a moment, the chat was silent.
Then Lagoona chimed in again.
Lagoona: You know who this reminds me of?
Lagoona: Your parents, Frankie.
Frankie: ???
Lagoona: Like, the way your folks are acting about Jackson is the same way Gil’s parents act about ME.
Lagoona: They don’t care that I’m a good person. They don’t care that I love their son. All they care about is “saltwater this, saltwater that.”
Lagoona: Like, HELLO, IT’S WATER. LET IT GO.
Frankie sat up.
She’d never thought of it that way before.
Her parents were so stuck on Jackson’s family history that they refused to see him for who he actually was. Just like Gil’s parents did with Lagoona.
That realization made her even angrier.
Frankie: Oh my ghoul, you’re RIGHT.
Frankie: I HATE that so much.
Frankie: Jackson isn’t his grandfather. Holt isn’t his grandfather. They’re literally the SWEETEST, most amazing guys, and they make me HAPPY.
Frankie: But NOOOOO, my parents just HAVE to be judgmental hypocrites about it.
Abbey, who had been silent for a bit, finally sent a message.
Abbey: Parents can be idiots.
That was it. That was the message.
And honestly?
They all agreed.
The moment the words left Bloodgood’s mouth, the auditorium exploded.
Shouting, screaming, crying—absolute chaos.
Fathers were livid over what had happened to their daughters. Mothers were furious at the school’s incompetence. Some parents were making threats, while others were too stunned to even speak. Some had their heads in their hands, shaking in disbelief, while others were actively sobbing.
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO OUR KIDS?!” someone bellowed.
“WHO AUTHORIZED THIS?!”
“HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!”
Bloodgood tried to speak, but no one was listening. Parents were too far gone.
Then—
SLAM!
Bloodgood slammed her ruler onto the podium, the loud crack booming through the auditorium.
“QUIET!” she commanded, her voice cutting through the noise like a sharpened blade.
Instantly, the parents shut up.
Not because they weren’t still furious, but because something about the way she spoke sent a chill through the air.
Bloodgood took a deep breath, composing herself.
“I understand that you are all stunned,” she said firmly, her voice steady. “But now is not the time to panic. We need to—”
“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!” Abbey's mother shrieked.
Bloodgood opened her mouth to respond—
And then she froze.
Because she remembered.
FLASHBACK
Bloodgood’s head was pounding.
She sat in her office, surrounded by Monster High’s staff and administrators. The atmosphere was heavy. No one spoke. No one even breathed.
The screen on her desk displayed video after video of the students at the Monster Mash Dance, their behavior plastered all over FrightTube.
Her email inbox? Flooded.
Angry parents. Disgusted commentors. Former alumini.
This was bad.
Really, really bad.
Across from her, Mr. Where anxiously adjusted his tie.
“What the hell are we gonna do?” he muttered. “This is already everywhere. If we don’t act fast, this could—this could turn into a full-blown scandal.”
Bloodgood exhaled slowly.
“We have no choice,” she said. “We need to tell the parents the truth.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then—A loud, choked sob.
Everyone turned toward the source.
Mr. Hackington, one of the school’s more... eccentric professors, had dropped to his knees.
He was crying.
In fact, Hackington didn’t just cry.
He collapsed.
The same man who spent years terrorizing his students with surprise tests, impossible assignments, and zero mercy was now on his knees, his entire body wracked with sobs.
For the entire time they’d known him, he had been nothing but a pain in the ass. The mad scientist, the strict professor, the nightmare in the classroom who delighted in making students suffer.
But now?
Now they were watching him break.
And it was far worse than Bloodgood’s breakdown had ever been.
He was begging.
Pleading like a man about to be sentenced to death.
“Please, Bloodgood, you can’t!” His voice cracked, his words choked by sobs. “You can’t tell them! You CAN’T!”
Bloodgood stared. “Can't what? Tell them the truth about the gas? About what you did? About—”
Hackington let out a sound that was half a sob, half a broken laugh.
He looked deranged.
Tears streamed down his face, his glasses slipping down his nose as he shook his head violently.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice trembling. “If word gets out that I’m responsible for this… my life is over.”
His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.
“Do you have any idea how my family will look at me?!” His voice rose in hysteria. “How many monsters will despise me? Do you know how many fathers will want me dead for corrupting their daughters?!”
Hackington’s hands dug into his hair.
“I will never be able to show my face again! I will be a pariah, Bloodgood! A disgrace! I’ll be run out of every respectable institution, my career will be ashes, my reputation will be ruined!”
He sniffled, barely able to hold himself together.
Then, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
“And it’s not just me.”
Bloodgood narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Hackington’s hands shook.
His mouth opened.
Then, barely above a whisper, he choked out:
“My family comes from a long line of cannibalistic serial killers.”
GASP!
The entire room went silent.
Out of all the things that have been revealed this week, that was the LAST thing, they expected to hear.
Hackington gave a hysterical laugh, his expression twisting into something broken.
“Back in the day, we used to capture travelers, drag them into our homes—do unspeakable things to them.” His breath hitched. “Torture, murder, consumption—oh, we were truly bloody monsters.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“But we—we buried that past,” he whispered. “We’ve spent generations trying to move on. To be better.”
His shoulders shook violently.
“But if people start digging into my past? If they find out I’m responsible for this mess?”
His voice cracked.
“They’ll find everything.”
Tears slid down his face, his glasses turning red.
“My family’s lives will be destroyed.”
He looked up at Bloodgood, desperate.
“I know this is my fault,” he whispered, voice thick with guilt. “I know I deserve hell for it. But please—don’t make my family suffer for my mistakes.”
Bloodgood just stared.
The entire room was silent.
Because for the first time ever—They saw Hackington not as a ruthless professor.
Not as a mad scientist.
Not as the idiot responsible for all of this.
But as a man.
A man who had made a terrible mistake.
And a man desperate to save his family from being torn apart by the consequences of those mistakes.
END OF FLASHBACK.
Bloodgood’s eyes flickered to the back of the auditorium, where Hackington sat.
His hands were clasped together, his eyes pleading.
Begging her not to destroy him.
She turned back to the parents.
And then—she spoke.
“On Friday, September 27th, our scientists developed a chemical compound,” she began, her voice steady.
The entire room listened.
“It was designed to boost morale and increase confidence in our students,” she explained. “We wanted to improve their academic performance—help them succeed in projects, tests, and assignments.”
A tense silence.
“But…” Bloodgood continued, “there was a miscalculation in the formula. A faulty reaction.”
She exhaled.
“Instead of improving their studies…”
She paused.
Then, with deadly seriousness, she said:
“It made them increasingly… horny.”
The auditorium went silent.
Then—
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
A father shot up from his seat.
“Are you telling me that the reason my son is out here screwing around is because of some social experiment gone wrong?!”
“Yes,” Bloodgood said simply. "And we are working around the clock to create a cure.”
At first, everyone looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Some had suspicious looks, while others looked at her like they wanted to string her up by the neck and hang her.
But Bloodgood did not flinch.
She held her ground.
And.... it worked.
Dracula, who looked a bit doubtful but still had a great deal of faith in the school, let out a small sigh.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “So our children are under the influence of some science experiment gone wrong. We can accept that.” He folded his arms. “But what’s being done about it?”
Bloodgood gave a firm nod. “We have some of our best scientists working on a cure as we speak,” she said. “Progress has been slightly delayed due to… an incident that occurred on Tuesday, but I assure you—everyone is working as fast as they can.”
The room, still tense, seemed to settle slightly.
The anger didn’t disappear. It still hung thick in the air, a storm waiting to strike. But for now, there was at least some level of understanding.
A random parent called out from the crowd.
“Okay, so what are we supposed to do until then?”
Bloodgood clasped her hands together. “All I ask is that you remain patient.”
A few parents nodded, but then—
“However—” Bloodgood continued, her tone sharpening. “I must insist that you all refrain from disciplining your children.”
And just like that—The room ignited.
Protests erupted immediately.
“Excuse me?!”
“You want us to what?!”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
Ramses was the loudest.
“That is absolute nonsense!” he snapped, rising to his feet. His golden jewelry clinked as he gestured wildly. “I have seen the videos, Bloodgood! I have seen the disgrace my daughter has become! And you expect me to just—do nothing?!”
Many parents agreed, loudly voicing their anger.
“She’s out of her damn mind!”
“Gas or no gas, they still need to be held accountable!”
“They’re acting like reckless teenagers!” one father shouted. “Surely, some discipline is needed to straighten them out!”
A wave of agreement rippled through the room.
Murmurs, shouting, even outright yelling.
Bloodgood didn’t flinch.
Instead, she simply reached into her pocket, pulled out a small remote, and pressed a button.
Click.
A loud whirring sound filled the auditorium as a projector flickered to life, casting a massive screen against the front wall.
The parents turned, watching as the footage began to play.
Bloodgood’s voice rang out over the chaos.
“Perhaps this footage will change your minds.”
The first clip showed Headmistress Bloodgood, with a serious look on her face as she addresses the students in the hallway, megaphone in hand.
"Attention, students of Monster High!" she barked, her voice strict and authoritative. "I understand that you may still be a little overenthusiastic after last Friday's... incident, but let me remind you that this is a school, not a romance retreat! Kindly make your way to class before the bell rings!"
For a moment, an eerie silence swept over the hallway as students exchanged amused and mildly annoyed glances.
Then, as if Headmistress Bloodgood were an elaborate decoration rather than an authority figure, they turned back to their conversations, completely ignoring her.
Draculaura sighed and resumed talking to Frankie. "Anyway, like I was saying, we were just about to—"
"EXCUSE ME!" Bloodgood's amplified voice boomed through the megaphone, shaking the very lockers. Her frustration was almost palpable. "Did ANY of you hear what I just said?!"
The chatter abruptly ceased, and all eyes turned to the increasingly annoyed headmistress.
"Yeah, we heard you," Cleo said, arms crossed and unimpressed as ever. "We just don’t care."
Bloodgood gasped, her jaw dropping as though Cleo had struck her with a mummy’s curse. Quickly regaining her composure, she pointed the ruler at the Egyptian diva. "Young lady, that is NO way to—"
"Are you done yet?" Lagoona interrupted, raising an eyebrow and leaning casually against Gil, whose arm was draped around her shoulders. "You’re interruptin’ me flirtin’ with me mate, y’know?"
A few parents gasped at the sheer blatant disrespect on the screen. The very idea of their children talking back—no, outright defying authority like that—was unfathomable.
Lagoona’s mother, in particular, looked like she had been slapped in the face.
Her mouth hung open, eyes wide as she stared at the screen, stunned speechless.
She had never—never—heard her daughter speak like that.
Especially not to a principal.
But it didn’t stop there.
It kept going.
Now, Bloodgood was in what looked like an abandoned classroom, surrounded by a group of girls.
"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU ALL DOING HERE?!" she bellowed, her voice echoing through the abandoned room. "THIS CLASSROOM HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR TWO YEARS! WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE IN HERE?"
Cleo, ever the queen of composure, straightened up and met Bloodgood's glare. "We were just... conducting a seminar," she said, choosing her words carefully.
Bloodgood’s brow furrowed. "A seminar? On what exactly?"
"On how to seduce your partner like a queen," Cleo replied matter-of-factly, her tone dripping with pride.
Bloodgood’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was too stunned to speak. Then, the room shook with her outburst. "WHAT?!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT BE LEARNING ABOUT THAT! YOU’RE ALL STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL!"
"So?" Howleen chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Bloodgood turned on Howleen with an icy glare that could freeze even the boldest ghoul in her tracks. "Are you kidding me?!" she hissed. "You should be focusing on your studies, not on... SEX! How do you expect to improve the monster community or make an impression on the monster council if you’re too busy obsessing over your love lives?"
Her gaze then snapped to Clawdeen. "And you, Clawdeen! You’re one of the oldest students here. You should be setting an example for your younger classmates—and for your sister!"
Clawdeen folded her arms and met Bloodgood’s piercing stare without flinching. "First of all," she began, her voice calm yet firm, "most of us are near or above 18, so we’re more than capable of deciding what we want to learn. Second of all, Howleen is old enough to make her own choices. I didn’t force her to come here—she chose to come willingly."
The Wolf family collectively shrank in their seats, looking like they wanted to melt straight into the floor.
Clawdeen’s siblings exchanged nervous glances, while her mother rubbed her temples like she was nursing a headache.
Ramses, meanwhile, was visibly bristling.
His golden rings clinked together as he clenched his fists, his jaw ticking.
He was actually growling.
A deep, low rumble of pure rage.
Some of the other parents?
They were silently chuckling at his reaction.
But then—
It got violent.
Mrs. Kindergrubber stood in the doorway, her trademark rolling pin in hand and an expression of utter disgust plastered across her face.
“Vhat is zat disgusti—” she began,
but her words were abruptly cut off as a shoe flew through the air and hit her square in the forehead with a thud.
“LEARN TO KNOCK!” Draculaura shouted, still poised with one shoe on and the other foot bare, glaring at the teacher with a mix of indignation and embarrassment.
Mrs. Kindergrubber clutched her forehead, wobbling slightly. “Ach! Vhat in ze world—!”
Not missing a beat, Clawd swept Draculaura off her feet, scooping her up in his arms like a werewolf prince rescuing his princess.
“Hang on tight, Lala,” he said with a playful grin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief.
Before Mrs. Kindergrubber could recover or utter another word, Clawd dashed out of the room with a burst of speed, his powerful strides carrying them down the hallway. Draculaura clung to him, laughing despite herself as they sped past startled students and confused staff members.
Dracula’s eyes went wide as he watched the next clip unfold.
His daughter—his sweet, polite, well-mannered daughter—
“Did she really—?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
He already knew the answer.
And he did not want to see any more.
“You think I was born yesterday?” They reached out and grabbed Toralei’s arm. “You’re coming with me to the headmistress’s office.”
Toralei gasped like some poor, helpless maiden in distress. “OH NOOO!” she wailed dramatically, struggling in his grip. “SOMEBODY! HELP! I’M BEIN’ DRAGGED AWAY AGAINST MY WILL!”
The teacher sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Nice try, Stripe, but you’re not getting out of—”
BANG!
The shower room door burst open, and a metal bucket came flying out like a missile. It spun through the air and CRACKED against the teacher’s forehead with pinpoint accuracy. They stumbled back with a dazed groan, releasing Toralei as they collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
Toralei blinked. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
From the doorway, Clawdeen Wolf stepped out, golden eyes glinting with mischief, her hands resting confidently on her hips.
She sauntered over to the fallen teacher, bent down just enough to meet their dazed gaze, and wagged a clawed finger in their face.
"Ow, what th-
“Uh-uh-uh,” she tsked, shaking her head. “Hands off.”
Toralei wasted no time sauntering over to her girlfriend, her tail flicking behind her.
Clawdeen’s mother sat stone still, staring at the footage like she had just witnessed a crime scene.
Her expression was caught between horrified shock and something else—
Something like… reluctant admiration.
Like she wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or disgusted.
“Hey, at least she’s protective,” Clawdeen’s father muttered under his breath.
He barely got the words out before his wife smacked him upside the head.
“Don’t encourage this!” she hissed.
The monitor took one step into the room, but before he could say anything more, Frankie raised her hand and zapped him with a quick burst of electricity. The monitor let out a yelp, his body convulsing as sparks danced across his uniform.
“HEY! You can’t just—” he tried again, but Holt stepped forward, his grin mischievous.
“Buddy, you really don’t know when to quit, huh?” Holt said before delivering a fiery uppercut that sent the monitor flying into the hallway. He landed with a thud, groaning as smoke wafted from his singed clothes.
Frankie and Holt exchanged a look, their grins growing wider.
Frankie and Holt exchanged a glance.
Then, their grins widened.
But Viktor and Viveka?
They were staring.
Their heads turned slowly—first toward each other, then back at the screen.
They had seen Frankie do a lot of things.
But assaulting a hall monitor?
That was new.
And it just kept going.
More clips. More violence. More rebellion.
A hall monitor being launched out of a room.
A teacher getting sucker-punched in the head.
A staff member thrown down the stairs.
One mother covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling.
A father gripped his knees, his jaw tight.
But the worst—
The worst was Ryder and Gigi.
“AHEM.”
A stern voice cut through the air like a whip.
They both turned to see a hall monitor striding toward them, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.
“Nope, nope, nope,” the monitor snapped, clicking his fingers at them like they were misbehaving toddlers. “We’re not doing this. Separate. Now. And get to class.”
Ryder groaned, but before he could argue, Gigi let out an exaggerated sigh and clapped her hands together.
POOF!
The Hall Monitor was gone.
Ryder and Gigi didn't even flinch. The latter soon teleporting them both away.
And when the video cut out, Bloodgood’s voice rang through the silent room.
“That hall monitor,” she began, her tone cold and sharp, “is currently in the hospital.”
The entire room stilled.
“With 70% percent of his body missing."
A sharp, collective gasp.
A woman clutched her chest.
A man muttered a curse under his breath.
“And he has been placed on bedrest for at least three weeks.”
The weight of those words sank into the crowd.
And then—The footage ended.
The projector clicked off.
Silence.
Horrible, deafening silence.
Bloodgood turned back to the crowd, her gaze icy cold.
“This,” she said, gesturing toward the now blank screen, “is what happens when you try to stop them.”
She folded her hands behind her back.
“The gas does more than just increase their hormones,” she continued. “It also heightens aggression. It warps their judgment. It makes them act purely on instinct rather than reason.”
She swept her gaze across the shell-shocked parents.
“Every attempt we’ve made to prevent these behaviors has been met with hostility, violence, and complete disregard.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
Bloodgood inhaled.
Then, with a level tone, she said:
“As of this moment, we have twelve hall monitors currently in the hospital.”
GASP.
Horrified whispers.
A mother gripped her chest, her face pale.
A father muttered, “Oh my God.”
Even Ramses looked shaken.
“These students are not in their right minds,” Bloodgood continued. “They are not the children you raised. Until we find a way to neutralize the effects of the gas, you cannot treat them as if they are still fully in control.”
Silence.
Then, Bloodgood clicked her fingers.
A single motion.
From the shadows at the edge of the room, a figure slowly stepped forward.
Gasps echoed as the parents got a good look at him.
He was covered in bandages from head to toe.
A limp in his step.
His arm was in a sling.
His face was mostly obscured, but what little skin was visible was bruised, battered, and barely healed.
He looked like he had just crawled out of a warzone.
A mother let out a choked gasp.
Someone whispered, “Dear God…”
Bloodgood gestured toward him.
“And if that’s not enough to convince you…” she said, her voice sharp as a blade.
She turned to the wounded man.
“Would you care to tell them your story?”
The bandaged man took a slow, painful breath before speaking.
"The name’s Jebediah ‘Jeb’ Rotlake."
His voice was rough—like gravel scraping against concrete.
“I’m an alumni of Monster High. Attended from 1980 to 1993." His eyes—what little could be seen of them through the bandages—glimmered with something haunted. "I’m a Jeepers Lake zombie."
That got a few reactions. Parents exchanged uneasy glances.
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"Yeah, that Jeepers Lake. The same one from all those urban legends. You know the ones. A zombie kid drowns in the lake, comes back, starts slaughtering campers one by one.” He tilted his head slightly. “Humans loved it so much, they made a whole movie franchise about it."
A few parents visibly stiffened.
Jeb slowly exhaled. "Point is, I know a thing or two about scaring kids straight."
Bloodgood gave him a small nod. "That's why I called him."
Jeb shifted slightly, wincing as he adjusted his bandaged arm.
"Last Tuesday, I got a call from Bloodgood. She told me about what was going on at Monster High—how the students were acting out, ignoring rules, and doing stuff that would get them killed in a real horror movie."
He let out a bitter chuckle.
"So she asked me to come back. Give ‘em a scare.”
Some parents frowned.
Jeb continued.
“See, there’s this old rule in horror flicks, right? S*x gets you killed." He glanced at Dracula. "You know what I'm talking about, old man."
Dracula grunted. "Unfortunately."
"So the idea was simple: scare 'em back into line. Show ‘em that when you ignore the rules, a big, bad slasher comes to collect.”
Some parents nodded, seeing the logic.
Jeb's voice darkened.
“Problem was—it didn’t work."
Bloodgood pressed the button.
The screen flickered to life again, and the room watched.
BANG!
The door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.
Heath barely had time to register the noise before he saw a tall, shadowy figure standing in the doorway.
The slasher had arrived, his eerie, featureless mask staring at them in complete silence.
For a moment, no one moved. Abbey’s grip on Heath’s back became iron-tight, her muscles instinctively tensing as she prepared to drop him and deal with the intruder. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You have five seconds to turn around and leave," she warned, her voice cold enough to freeze an ocean.
The slasher took a step forward.
"Wrong answer."
Before Abbey could react, Heath exploded into flames.
"OH HELL NO!" Heath shouted, his entire body igniting in a furious inferno. In one swift motion, he threw out his hands and blasted the slasher with a massive surge of fire.
The masked figure barely had time to react before he was engulfed in flames and sent flying backward out the door, crashing into the hallway wall with a loud thud.
Smoke curled in the air as Heath slammed the door shut behind him.
A collective gasp rippled through the parents.
The footage jumped.
The slasher barely had time to react before Deuce stormed back into the shower room, his eyes flashing with a deadly and familiar glow.
In an instant, the slasher's body stiffened, his outstretched hand turning a sickly gray, the color spreading rapidly like a grotesque stain. His legs locked into place, his entire form hardening, cracking, until he was nothing more than a lifeless stone statue, frozen mid-attack.
Another cut.
Jeb set his sights on Iris and Manny, hoping to catch the couple off guard. But the second he got close, Manny absentmindedly stretched his arm while talking to Iris—and ended up backhanding the slasher so hard that he was sent crashing through the wall like a cartoon character.
The minotaur didn’t even notice what he had done until Iris pointed it out, giggling.
Another cut.
Frustrated, he made one last attempt—targeting Clawd and Draculaura while she was lovingly wrapped in his arms, passionately making out with him like they were in the climax of a romance movie.
As he crept closer, Draculaura suddenly tilted her head, her vampire senses tingling. She smirked against Clawd’s lips. "Someone's watching us, woof," she whispered playfully.
Clawd cracked his neck, turned around, and kicked the slasher so hard he was launched down the hallway like a football, slamming into a vending machine with a metallic clang.
And if that wasn’t enough, Manny—who happened to be passing by—dropped his entire body weight into a vicious stomp on the slasher’s back, embedding him into the floor. The minotaur scoffed and delivered one final stiff kick to his head for good measure before continuing on his way like nothing had happened.
Parents were speechless.
The footage continued.
Hit after hit.
Jeb never stood a chance.
By the time the first reel ended, the entire auditorium was silent.
Ramses, who had been the most vocal earlier, was now clenching his jaw. His knuckles white.
Jeb shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ll admit,” he muttered, “I lost my temper after that.”
Bloodgood pressed the button again.
The second clip played.
The footage started with Jeb, bruised and angry, attacking a couple of students.
The creepateria descended into chaos as a fight broke out.
WHAM!
Abbey hit him first.
Her fist collided with his face so hard that he heard his nose crack.
The world tilted—his vision blurred—and then he hit the ground.
“GET HIS ASS!” Deuce roared.
And then—they swarmed.
Fists. Claws. Supernatural abilities.
All rained down in a storm of pure, unrelenting fury.
“YOU WANNA HURT SOMEBODY, HUH?!” Clawd snarled, slamming his foot into his ribs.
The Slasher shrieked. But the onslaught continued.
“You like hitting girls?!” Operetta growled, punching him so hard his head smacked against the floor.
Johnny phased through his legs, grabbed his ankle, and twisted.
The Slasher let out a horrible scream as something popped.
But they didn’t stop.
“HOW DOES IT FEEL, HUH?!” Frankie shrieked, sending bolts of electricity surging through his body.
Billy went invisible. And in an instant—The Slasher felt a blade sink into his leg.
His own scream nearly drowned out the furious roars of the students.
The last shot of the video showed Jeb running for his life, limping out of the school, covered in blood and bruises. The students were all throwing things at him from the doorway as he ran. Food. Trash. Everything.
The video ended.
Silence.
Parents were ashen.
A mother burst into tears.
A father was shaking his head.
One whispered, “What the hell is wrong with them…?”
Jeb took a slow breath, adjusting the sling on his arm.
“I don’t know what the hell was in that gas,” he said grimly. “But I do know this.”
He looked around at the parents.
“Your kids don’t just ignore authority anymore. They destroy it.”
Another horrified silence.
Jeb winced, shifting his weight. “Since then, I’ve been in the hospital recovering.”
A long pause.
“…Only reason I’m here now is because Bloodgood had me teleported.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Even standing up hurts like hell.”
More silence. More horror.
Even Ramses, who had been so loud and demanding earlier, was now speechless.
Bloodgood finally turned to Jeb and gave a grateful nod.
“Thank you, Mr. Rotlake.”
Jeb nodded back. “No problem.”
And then—He vanished.
The teleportation spell whisked him away, back to his hospital bed.
The parents were left in stunned silence.
Bloodgood’s voice was calm but firm as she addressed the stunned auditorium.
"As you can see, the gas not only increases their hormones but also makes them extremely aggressive whenever you try to prevent them from engaging in these... activities."
She let the words sink in.
The parents, who had started the meeting livid, demanding answers, were now shell-shocked.
Many still had that look in their eyes—the kind that said they wanted justice, wanted to punish their kids for what they had seen in those videos.
But Bloodgood wouldn’t allow that.
"For your own safety— don’t discipline your children."
There were murmurs.
Some in disbelief. Others in outrage.
Bloodgood continued, "Don’t ground them. Don’t take their things. Don’t lock them in your house."
Her voice darkened.
"All that will do is make them more desperate. And it puts you at risk of waking up in a hospital bed— or worse."
That shut them up.
A few parents exchanged nervous glances, gripping their armrests as if they had just been told their own children were a potential threat to their well-being.
Bloodgood sighed.
"And for the love of all things monstrous, don’t punish them by humiliating them. Don’t film their tears and post them online. I’ve seen far too many parents try that approach, and all it ever does is completely nuke your relationship with your child."
More silence.
Some looked guilty.
They knew what she was talking about.
Parents posting videos of their kids breaking down, lashing out—thinking public humiliation was some kind of ‘lesson.’
It wasn’t.
It was just cruel.
Note from the author : This is a message to all the parents out there, who think that it’s okay to film and post videos of your children being humiliated.
STOP.
DOING.
THAT.
It's cruel, humiliating and just FUCKING EVIL. You're not teaching your child a lesson, you're making them absolutely despise you. When they move out and rarely ever talk to you, your gonna be wondering, "Why won't my child visit me anymore?".
It's because you treated them like SHIT KAREN!!
Treat your kids with RESPECT, treat your kids like they are PEOPLE. You are their parent. Not their damn bully. So, act like it.
Back to the story.
And if these students were violent under the gas’s influence, what happened when one of them snapped because of public shame?
The parents were convinced.
But not all of them.
One father, his voice still hesitant, spoke up.
"So what are we supposed to do, then?"
A few others murmured in agreement.
"Just let our kids—" he struggled with the words, his face twisting in frustration, "—have sex and sneak out all day?"
A chorus of grumbles.
Bloodgood opened her mouth to answer—
But before she could—A voice echoed through the auditorium.
"You won’t have to."
The room darkened.
A great swarm of bats descended from above.
Parents screamed.
A few fathers shot to their feet, ready to fight.
Ramses leaped up, furious.
"DRACULA! CALL OFF YOUR HORDE!"
Dracula, who had been as surprised as anyone, gave him an offended look.
"This isn’t me."
The bats whirled through the air, circling the stage like a storm of shadows.
Then—
They descended. Merging. Shaping.
Within seconds, the bats had fused into the form of a man.
A tall, imposing figure clad in a dark coat embroidered with ancient symbols. His skin was pale as snow, his hair dirty blonde, his eyes a burning crimson that seemed to hold centuries of knowledge and power.
A collective gasp.
Dracula’s eyes widened.
"Lazarus?"
The Vampire turned in face Dracula, a warm smile on his face.
"Hello. old friend." He extended an arm, revealing a deep, ornate scar in his palm. "It's been a while."
Dracula stepped forward, taking his hand in a firm handshake.
Bloodgood blinked in shock.
She stepped forward, looking the man over as if to confirm it was truly him.
"Lord Lazarus," she addressed him formally. "I thought you said you weren’t getting involved after your visit to the school on Thursday."
Lazarus, the leader of the Monster Council, turned to her with an air of calm authority.
"That was true—" he nodded. "Until I saw the events of the Monster Mash dance."
The mention of the dance caused a stir among the parents.
Several mothers exchanged nervous glances.
A few fathers gritted their teeth, already suspecting the worst.
Lazarus faced the crowd.
"Because of that dance, nearly every monster school in the country—including those in alternate dimensions, such as Haunted High— is now under the influence of the gas that has turned Monster High into an adult film."
Chaos erupted once more.
Bloodgood closed her eyes.
When will this shit end?
She knew they were all angry, but this was getting ridiculous.
Lazarus raised a single hand. "Enough."
Instantly—The entire room fell silent.
His voice was unshaken. Commanding.
The parents stilled.
Lazarus’s crimson eyes swept the room.
"You are upset. And rightfully so."
His voice was smooth, measured, and yet, it commanded absolute attention.
"But the council and the higher authorities have already made a decision."
The parents stiffened.
Ramses narrowed his eyes. "What decision?"
Lazarus met his gaze, unfazed.
"Until a cure is created, all Monster High students will be placed in dorm roomsm to prevent further spread. Effective immediately."
The reaction was instant.
"WHAT?!"
Mothers gasped. Fathers shouted.
Dracula himself looked startled. "You mean to keep them locked away? Like prisoners?"
Lazarus turned to his old friend. "I mean to contain the spread. To prevent further corruption."
More shouting. More protests.
Viveka, who was now trembling, asked, "For how long?!"
Lazarus’s gaze darkened. "For as long as it takes."
Viktor fist clenched. His jaw tightened.
"This is ridiculous," he growled. "You're going to forcefully separate us from our children?"
Lazarus did not blink. "Would you rather risk them corrupting more schools?"
Viktor opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because he knew.
The answer was no.
Another father, his voice wavering, spoke up.
"But... they're our kids."
Lazarus gave a slow, understanding nod.
"And I understand that. But if you truly care for your children—then you will see this as an act of protection. Not punishment."
As the tension in the room settled into an uneasy silence, a skeptical voice broke through.
"Since when did Monster High have dorms?"
A vampire with sharp crimson eyes—Lazarus—turned toward the speaker, his expression unreadable.
"Monster High has always had dormitories." His voice was smooth, but firm. "They were originally built for students who lived too far to commute. However, as commuting became the norm, most were abandoned."
He folded his arms. "Now, given the circumstances, we are reopening and refurbishing them."
Dracula, standing beside Bloodgood, gave a small nod. "It’s true. In my youth, Monster High had many students who lived on campus. The dorms have been empty for years, but they were never demolished."
The parents exchanged wary glances. The idea of dorms was one thing—trusting Monster High with their children again was another.
The tension in the auditorium was thick enough to choke on.
The parents were already on edge—their children were being taken away, placed in forced dormitories like prisoners. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Lazarus’s decree had shaken them into reluctant acceptance.
For a moment, it seemed like they would cave in.
Until—
A chair screeched against the floor.
A woman stood up.
She had been quiet the entire time, shaking with restrained rage, her fingers gripping her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
But now, she could hold it in no longer.
Her voice cut through the silence.
"I won’t do it."
All eyes turned to her.
Bloodgood froze.
Lazarus’s crimson eyes narrowed.
The woman took a deep breath, her solid white eyes burning with fury as she pointed a shaking finger at the stage.
"You’re not taking my daughter."
Dracula squinted. "And you are—?"
She snapped.
"Scarah Scream’s mother!"
Bloodgood felt her stomach drop.
And then Scarah’s mother dropped the bomb.
"And my daughter is pregnant!"
The room exploded.
Gasps. Shouts.
Bloodgood paled.
Lazarus’s expression darkened.
He whipped his head toward Bloodgood, whispering urgently, "You didn’t tell her?!"
Bloodgood shot him an exasperated glare.
"Been a bit busy!"
Meanwhile, Scarah’s mother was furious.
She stormed to the front of the auditorium, her heels clacking against the polished floor as she pointed an accusing finger at Bloodgood.
"Because of this school’s stupid experiments, my daughter got knocked up!"
Bloodgood flinched but stood her ground.
"Miss Screams, I—"
"No!" She slammed her fist on the nearest table. "You don’t get to talk right now!"
Tears welled in her eyes, but her rage outweighed her sadness.
"You know how hard I had it? I was a single mother at eighteen. I had to fight to give my daughter a decent life. I struggled to keep us afloat, to make sure she had what she needed. And now? She’s going to go through the exact same thing!"
She turned back to the crowd, her voice breaking with emotion.
"I love my daughter. But she’s not ready for this! And it’s all YOUR fault!"
The room was silent.
Until—Another voice spoke.
"...She’s not the only one."
A deep, solemn voice.
A voice that had been quiet the entire meeting.
A voice that carried the weight of a man with nothing left to say.
The Phantom of the Opera stood from his seat.
His cape flowed behind him as he tilted his head downward, his gloved hands gripping the edge of his chair.
"My daughter, Operetta, is also pregnant." His voice was hollow, his words laced with defeat. "She’s only 17."
The room erupted.
Mothers shrieked in horror. Fathers cursed. And some even broke down into sobs.
Lazarus sighed, rubbing his temples.
This was bad.
He turned to Scarah’s mother, his voice calm but firm.
"I understand your anger. And I understand why you don’t feel comfortable keeping Scarah at Monster High after what has happened."
His crimson eyes softened—just a fraction.
"But right now, we are in a state of emergency. And we cannot afford to take risks."
Scarah’s mother shook her head, furious.
"I don’t care! She’s not staying here!"
Lazarus inhaled sharply.
He could reason with the Phantom. The man was logical, practical. He had said what he needed to say, but he wasn’t fighting back.
Scarah’s mother, on the other hand?
She was a mother desperate to protect her child.
And desperate people were unpredictable.
Lazarus’s voice lowered, steady and authoritative.
"Miss Scream. You need to cooperate."
She laughed bitterly.
"Oh, you mean let my daughter ruin her life even more?"
Her hands shook.
She turned to the parents, her voice raw.
"None of you get it. None of you understand what this means! The fathers of these kids? You think they’re gonna step up? No. It’s gonna be our daughters, suffering, struggling, while the boys move on like nothing happened!"
Some of the mothers nodded solemnly, their faces filled with concern.
A few fathers looked uncomfortable.
And that’s when Ramses decided to make things worse.
"Hell no!" His deep voice boomed through the auditorium. "I’ve already given Cleo too much damn leeway!"
Everyone turned to him.
Ramses stood up, seething. "I’m not about to send her off to some dorm where she can screw around and get herself knocked up by that damn snake-eyed freak!"
The room went still.
Then—
"EXCUSE ME?"
Medusa stood up, looking like she wanted to kill him.
Her sharp, slitted eyes blazed with fury.
Ramses’s face twisted in disgust. "You heard me."
The room tensed.
Then, like a gunshot—Medusa lunged.
The two parents collided.
Screaming.
Claws and magic flying.
Hair whipping through the air like snakes.
Blood was splattered on the floor as Medusa tackled Ramses to the ground, her eyes glowing with unfiltered rage.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU DESPICABLE PIECE OF—"
And then, she screamed as his staff jammed into her shoulder.
Blood gushed from her wound.
The room erupted into chaos.
Dracula and Viktor leapt into action, trying to separate them.
"CALM DOWN—" Dracula began, but it was too late.
A green flash of light exploded in the air. Ramses barely managed to dodge. The blast missed him—only to instead collide with one of the pillars.
Parents scrambled back as the two powerful monsters nearly tore each other apart.
Bloodgood backed away from the madness, her hands on her head.
She was about to lose it.
But before she could, a powerful voice rang out.
"SILENCE!!!"
The room shook.
The walls trembled.
Lazarus’s voice ripped through the air, filled with ancient power.
Ramses and Medusa were thrown apart, landing on opposite sides of the auditorium.
Everyone froze.
Lazarus took a deep breath, his patience gone.
His next words were absolute.
"You can moan. You can scream. You can curse my name all you want. It doesn’t matter. We are not risking further spread. And we are NOT risking an INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT."
The room was dead silent.
Then—
His final decree.
"So either hand over your children willingly…Or they WILL be taken into custody by FORCE."
Silence.
Bloodgood exhaled.
Dracula stared.
The parents—shell-shocked.
Lazarus scanned the room one last time.
No one spoke.
No one argued.
"No arguments?" His voice was cold.
Not a single one.
"Good. Meeting’s dismissed."
The echo of Lazarus’s final decree hung in the air like a death sentence.
For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke.
And then, the shuffling began.
Chairs scraped against the floor. Parents stood up, faces grim, emotions ranging from fury to resignation.
The meeting was over.
Bloodgood exhaled, exhaustion finally settling into her bones.
She’d expected resistance.
She’d known this would be a disaster.
But she hadn’t expected the meeting to devolve into fistfights and pregnancy announcements.
And she definitely hadn’t expected Lazarus to resort to threats.
But at this point… there was no other choice.
The parents filed out, murmuring angrily among themselves. Some were still in shock. Some still looked like they were going to vomit. Others…
Were absolutely furious.
"This isn’t over, Bloodgood."
She turned her head as Ramses—still fuming, still seething with rage—stood in front of her, his golden eyes burning with fury.
He jabbed a clawed finger at her chest. "I will have your job if this isn’t fixed. Do you hear me?"
Bloodgood didn’t flinch.
She was beyond exhausted, beyond frustrated—but she met his glare with cold, unwavering authority.
"Noted."
Ramses huffed, then stormed off, his cape billowing behind him.
Scarah’s mother didn’t say anything.
She just shoved her purse over her shoulder and stalked out of the room, grumbling under her breath.
Bloodgood watched her go.
She wished she could say something to ease her pain.
But what was there to say?
I’m sorry? I’m going to fix it?
No.
Because if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Monster High was never going to be the same. Not after this.
The damage was already done.
One by one, the parents drifted away.
Some left in angry silence.
Others kept muttering among themselves, voices hushed, unsure of what to do next.
Some of them had argued. Protested.
But in the end, they all knew the truth.
They had no choice.
Their children had to be in Monster High’s dorms by the end of the weekend.
And if they weren’t…
People would be sent to "help" them move in.
The weight of Lazarus’s words still hung over the room as the last of the crowd faded into the evening.
But not all of them left.
Some remained.
The ones who weren’t here to throw blame, but to help fix this mess.
Dracula, arms crossed, gave Lazarus a knowing look.
"You certainly know how to make an entrance, old friend."
Lazarus sighed, rubbing his temples. "I didn’t come here to make enemies, Drac. But we can’t afford any more mistakes."
Viktor Stein stepped forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the stage.
"Then let's make sure there are no more." His voice was calm, measured, but firm.
Beside him, his wife, Viveka, nodded in agreement.
"We need to act fast. If we’re going to create an antidote, it’s going to take all of us."
A deep, rumbling chuckle sounded from the side.
The Boogeyman stepped forward.
His long, clawed fingers tapped together in thought, his glowing yellow eyes gleaming under the dim auditorium lights.
"This entire situation is a nightmare," he mused, voice smooth and eerie. "And if there's one thing I know how to deal with... it's nightmares."
Bloodgood raised a brow. "So you’re offering to help?"
The Boogeyman grinned, his sharp teeth flashing.
"Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world."
From the back of the room, a low, familiar growl rumbled through the air.
Clawd’s parents—Harriet and Clawrk—strode forward, their arms crossed.
Harriet’s keen, amber eyes studied Bloodgood.
"If our kids are going to be locked up in those dorms, then you better believe we’ll be helping with this cure."
Clawrk nodded. "We’re not just going to sit back and wait."
Bloodgood felt something tighten in her chest.
For the first time that night, she felt something other than exhaustion, frustration, or panic.
She felt… Hope.
She turned to Hackington, who had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal, watching from the shadows.
The old scientist finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm.
"If we all work together, we can fix this. We'll have that cure done in no time."
Bloodgood nodded.
She looked at the monsters who remained, the ones who weren’t walking away in anger, but stepping forward to fight for a solution.
For a moment, she felt the weight of everything pressing down on her.
But then—She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin.
She met the gazes of the parents who still stood beside her.
"Okay then." Bloodgood said, her voiced now filled with determination. "Let’s get to work."
"And can we be quick with this.” One of them said. “I don’t want this to last so long that my daughter and the rest of their friends are twerking in their cap and gowns at graduation.”
The room froze.
The sheer horrific possibility of that scenario seemed to spread across the room like wildfire.
And then—
It happened.
An Imaginary Future…
The auditorium was packed to the brim.
Hundreds of Monster High students sat in perfectly aligned rows, their black and blue graduation robes shimmering under the stage lights, tassels swaying with every excited fidget. Every graduate was polished to perfection—fangs glinting, claws manicured, scales buffed, bolts tightened.
In the audience, proud monster parents filled every seat, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the aisles, phones held high, recording every second. Some wept softly. Others beamed with pride, clapping quietly, careful not to shed fur or feathers from excitement.
On stage, the faculty stood tall and composed—or at least as composed as a group of paranormal educators could manage at the end of the most chaotic school year on record. Headmistress Bloodgood adjusted the hem of her ceremonial robe and gave a rare, subtle smile. Her skull perched proudly atop her shoulders, posture impeccable.
Today was a good day.
No outbursts. No accidents. No hauntings, hexings, possessions, or dance riots.
For once—peace.
A perfect end to a truly imperfect year.
Jackson Jekyll stepped up to the podium, the student-selected commencement speaker. His tie was slightly crooked, and his hands trembled just a little as he adjusted the mic. But when he spoke, his voice rang out with calm, steady pride.
“Ladies and gentlemen, students of Monster High… today, we don’t just celebrate the end of a chapter—we mark the beginning of a bold, strange, brilliant new journey. A future where—”
He paused.
Something was wrong.
His body stiffened. His fingers flexed around the podium. His spine twitched unnaturally.
The air shimmered.
Then—
POOF.
A flash of flame, a crackle of static—and Jackson vanished.
In his place stood Holt Hyde, grinning like he just staged a coup.
His shades slid into place.
“CLASS OF 2019,” he bellowed, “MAKE SOME NOOOOOISE!!”
He didn’t wait for applause.
He slammed his hand on a massive button wired to the DJ booth beside the stage.
“SHAKE SUMM” by DaBaby EXPLODED through the speakers.
The bass dropped like a meteor.
And with it, all Hell broke loose.
The graduates didn’t hesitate.
Boys jumped to their feet, pumping their fists, grinding, body-rolling, and stomping like they were in a club.
But the girls?
They twerked.
Hard.
Unapologetically.
Uncontrollably.
It wasn’t a handful of students—it was the ENTIRE class.
Cleo de Nile and Toralei Stripe were already halfway down the stairs, throwing it back like their scholarships depended on it. They moved with the grace of ancient royalty and the violence of nightclub queens. Toralei's tail lashed with every bounce.
Clawdeen and Lagoona climbed onto their folding chairs, locking eyes as they synced in flawless rhythm, howling and laughing.
Frankie, overwhelmed by the bass and her own excitement, sparked from every bolt, electric pulses shooting from her hands as she bent over to shake with wild precision—accidentally shorting out the microphone system in the process.
Abbey Bominable—usually the composed, icy stoic—threw her arms overhead and began stomping the floor with bone-rattling force. Her robe flared behind her as snowflakes burst from her boots. Ice slicked the tile beneath her feet as she threw it back like a yeti possessed.
Howleen Wolf and Purrsephone grabbed hands and spun in a wide, frenzied circle, shrieking in delight. Meowlody dove into a cartwheel mid-twerk and landed in a split like it was an Olympic finale.
Even Gil—sweet, quiet, water-breathing Gil—was body-rolling. His helmet sloshed violently, mini tidal waves crashing inside it, but he did not stop. He couldn’t stop.
And the most disturbing part?
They were still in their caps and gowns.
Now it wasn’t just a spontaneous dance break—it was academic twerking.
Someone’s vampire grandmother screamed in terror.
A sasquatch dad shielded his toddler’s eyes.
A banshee mom let out a full-volume shriek and passed out on the spot.
Bloodgood stood center stage, her skull twitching in disbelief, her jaw dropping so low it threatened to roll off her neck entirely.
Dracula stood frozen, arms stiff, mouth agape.
Viktor sat upright, pupils dilated, blinking slowly like his brain had just been erased.
The Boogeyman clutched his chest with shaking claws, gasping, “MY HEART—THE DARKNESS—IT’S—TOO STRONG!”
Meanwhile, in the chaos, Clawrk Wolf launched to his feet.
“BOY, WHAT IN THE HOWLIN’ HELL ARE YOU DOIN’?!” he barked as his sons—Clawd and Manny—hit a synchronized TikTok routine so flawless it looked choreographed by the spirits of social media themselves.
A wave of parents surged toward the stage, screaming, hissing, sobbing, howling. Some tried climbing over seats to grab their kids. A ghoul dad launched a grappling tongue to pull his daughter down, only for her to dodge mid-spin.
The students didn’t care.
They went harder.
A boy flipped his graduation cap into the air like it was a three-pointer at the buzzer.
A specter kid phased through the stage and came back up mid-split.
In the center aisle, Draculaura and Gory formed a full-on vampire twerk circle, clapping to the beat, fangs glittering. They were surrounded by a skeleton drumline, every bony limb rattling in perfect percussion, desks upturned for maximum acoustics.
A gargoyle freshman climbed to the rafters, launched himself off a speaker tower, and started crumping in midair.
A literal zombie student, half-decayed, was body-rolling so violently his arm flew off—and he kept going.
Someone lit a sparkler. Indoors.
Another kid had conjured glowing fog and lasers.
A banshee girl screamed on beat, adding live vocals.
That’s when Bloodgood snapped.
She stormed toward the podium, robes billowing behind her like a cloak of wrath.
“STOP!! STOOOOOOOP!!!” she shrieked into the mic—but the speakers were long dead, fried by the bass.
They couldn’t hear her.
They wouldn’t stop.
They REFUSED.
The parents were in a frenzy now—some casting spells, others summoning ancient spirits to try and contain the outbreak of pure chaos—but nothing worked.
Up on stage, Lazarus clung to the curtain rail, whispering to himself: “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
Hackington just stood there, unmoving, glasses sliding off his nose.
Dracula mumbled in pure horror, “The council will shut us down for this…”
Viktor stared into the crowd, face blank, voice gone. He hadn’t blinked in minutes.
And in the eye of the storm, Holt Hyde moonwalked to the edge of the stage, hair blazing like fire, spinning once before pointing at the nearest camera like a rockstar on his final tour.
“CLASS OF 2019, BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”
Flashbulbs went off. The sparkler set off the smoke alarms.
And the twerkpocalypse continued.
Everyone in the auditorium snapped out of it at the same time.
No one spoke. No one moved.
The mental image was too powerful.
Too real.
Bloodgood looked absolutely disturbed. “…That cannot happen.”
Dracula nodded, pale. “I second that.”
Viktor gripped his chair. “Oh dear God.”
The Boogeyman shook his head. “I never wanna see my daughter drop it low in a graduation gown. Ever.”
Harriet clutched her chest. "My babies... oh my LORD."
Lazarus exhaled sharply. “We need this cure. NOW.”
Hackington deadpanned. "We needed it yesterday."
Bloodgood clapped her hands. "Alright! No more talking! LET'S. GET. TO. WORK!"
Draculaura sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers flying across her phone screen as she messaged Clawd. They had been texting for hours, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.
It was the only thing keeping her sane.
Her father had left a while ago, and all of them were waiting for the fallout. He had left angry, confused, scared—she had no idea what was going to happen next.
But talking to Clawd?
That was normal.
And right now, normal was good.
But then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Draculaura froze.
She slowly looked toward the door.
She hadn’t heard her father come home.
She hadn’t even heard him arrive.
But he was there now.
And the air in the room suddenly felt colder.
Draculaura swallowed, her fingers tightening around her phone.
"C-Come in?"
The door opened, and there he was.
Dracula.
His face was unreadable.
Not angry. Not disappointed.
Just… cold.
Draculaura immediately sat up straighter.
"Dad, I—"
"Later."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Draculaura snapped her mouth shut.
Dracula looked at her, eyes dark, his expression blank.
Then, in that same, unshaken tone, he said—
"Start packing your things."
Draculaura felt her heart stop.
Her throat went dry, her mind raced.
Packing?
Packing?!
She felt her breath quicken, her stomach twist into a knot.
Was he kicking her out?!
She knew he was upset—that was a bit understandable—but was it that bad?!
She opened her mouth, ready to beg, to plead, but before she could get a word out, Dracula raised a hand.
"You're not being kicked out, Laura," he said, voice still eerily calm. "You’re being temporarily relocated."
Draculaura blinked.
…Huh?
Before she could even ask, her father turned and walked away.
No further explanation. No anger. No argument.
Just a command.
Then he was gone.
Draculaura sat there, stunned, confused, heart still racing.
She snatched up her phone.
She quickly typed out a message to Clawd.
"My dad just told me to start packing my things. Wtf??"
Seconds later, a reply.
"Same. Just happened to me, Clawdeen, and Howleen too."
Draculaura's brows furrowed.
That… wasn’t just a coincidence.
She pulled up a group chat with the ghouls and started texting furiously.
"Hey, is anyone else’s parents acting weird?"
One by one, the messages came in.
Frankie: "Yeah, my dad just told me to pack??"
Lagoona: "Mum just said the same thing, mate."
Cleo: "Ugh. My father is making my servants pack for me. So dramatic."
Ghoulia: "Affirmative. My mother handed me a suitcase."
Abbey: "Father and mother say I am ‘relocating.’ Unclear why."
Draculaura’s grip on her phone tightened.
What the hell was going on?
She quickly typed again—
"Wait. Pack for what?"
And then came the answer.
Frankie: "Apparently… Monster High has dorms now?"
Draculaura felt her stomach drop.
Draculaura stared at the screen.
Monster High had dorms now?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as her mind processed the words.
And then—
A slow, mischievous smile curled across her lips.
Oh.
OH!
So that meant…
No more sneaking around.
No more worrying about her father coming home early.
No more having to rush Clawd out the window whenever she heard the front door open.
At the dorms…
She could bring him over whenever she wanted.
For… personal activities.
Draculaura bit her lip, excitement bubbling in her chest.
She quickly texted Clawd.
"Sooo... dorms, huh? 😉"
He responded almost immediately.
"Yeah. Crazy, right?"
Draculaura giggled, already imagining the possibilities.
"Very crazy. But... I think we can make it work. 😏"
Clawd’s reply came fast.
"Absolutely. Can't wait 😏"
Draculaura grinned, her heart pounding.
She was going to have so much fun. 🥳
The screen went dark as she snatched up a bag and began throwing her clothes inside. Her father had said she was leaving in a few hours.
Oh yeah.
This was about to be so much fun.
The early evening sky was streaked with orange and purple as hundreds of parents helped their children move into Monster High’s newly unveiled dorms.
The buildings themselves looked old—dusty stonework, creaky floors, flickering lanterns lining the halls—but the school had promised renovations were coming.
When parents asked how long their kids would be staying, the answer was always the same:
“Until a successful cure is made.”
That could be weeks. Months. Who knew?
But the students?
They didn’t care.
This was freedom.
Dracula set the last of his daughter’s luggage onto the old wooden floor, brushing off his cape as he straightened up. The room was bare—just a bed, a desk, and a single window that let in the dim evening light. It wasn’t much, but knowing his daughter, it would be unrecognizable in less than an hour.
Draculaura hummed, already imagining where she’d put up her curtains and posters.
Her father, however, wasn’t thinking about interior design.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. Cold. Firm.
“Draculaura, promise me something.”
She paused, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice. “Dad—”
“Promise me you won’t get yourself knocked up.”
Draculaura groaned so hard she nearly threw her head back. “Ugh, seriously? I promise, okay?”
Dracula narrowed his eyes like he was scanning her for deception. When he found none, he gave a slow nod.
“Good. I’ll talk to you soon.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and swept out the door, his cape billowing behind him.
The second she heard the click of the door shutting?
Draculaura snatched up her phone.
"GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE. Room 304. NOW."
She grinned.
Tonight was gonna be fun.
Lagoona barely had time to react before her mom’s hands clamped down on her shoulders, her grip tight, her expression frazzled.
“Lass, listen to me.” Her mother’s voice shook, her wide blue eyes filled with desperation. “I don’t want to be a grandmother this early. Please, for the love of the ocean, don’t let Gil get you pregnant.”
Lagoona stifled a laugh, though it took everything in her not to burst out cackling.
“Mum, I won’t.”
Before her mother could say anything else, a large webbed hand landed gently on her shoulder.
“Ease up, Coraline.” Lagoona’s dad, Wade Blue, finally spoke, his deep, calm voice contrasting with his wife’s panicked energy. “She’s a smart girl. We raised her right.”
Coraline turned to him with a disbelieving scoff. “Wade, did you even go to high school? I love our daughter, but these kids aren’t thinking clearly right now.”
Wade sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Fair point.”
Coraline turned back to Lagoona, gripping her face with both hands, forcing her daughter to look her dead in the eyes.
“No grandkids. Not now. Not for a long time. Got it?”
Lagoona nodded seriously. “Got it, Mum.”
Satisfied—though still not entirely convinced—Coraline finally released her, exhaling a breath like she’d been holding it for hours.
Wade clapped Lagoona on the back. “We love you, sweetheart. Just be smart.”
“I will, Dad.”
With that, her parents left, Coraline muttering anxiously under her breath as Wade tried to soothe her nerves.
Lagoona waited exactly five seconds before she flopped onto her bed, pulled out her phone, and shot Gil a text.
"Come over. Now. My folks just left. 😉"
Ramses had his arms crossed, his face stern and unreadable, eyes locked onto his daughter like a statue of judgment.
“Listen to me, Cleo.” His voice was like stone, heavy with warning. “I don’t want you anywhere near that—” He spat out an insult so vile for Deuce that even the scarabs on his belt squirmed.
Cleo barely batted an eye. She just stood there, hands on her hips, bored. She stopped caring about her father’s opinion ages ago.
Still, she smiled sweetly, tilting her head ever so slightly.
“Of course, Daddy. I won’t.”
Ramses studied her, his eyes narrowing, searching for deception.
Cleo stared back, perfectly composed.
Finally, he grunted. “Good.” Then, without another word, he turned and left, his golden robes flowing behind him.
Cleo watched him disappear down the hall, waited a few beats to make sure he was really gone… then pulled out her phone.
"Deuce, my love, get over here now. 💋"
Heath’s parents—his real parents—stood in front of him, looking exhausted, but still determined to lecture him.
“Heath,” his dad started, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No knocking Abbey up. I mean it.”
His mom nodded. “We are not ready to be grandparents.”
Heath grinned, running a hand through his fiery hair. “Relax, guys. I got it under control.”
That did not reassure them.
Meanwhile, Holt stood off to the side, arms crossed, waiting for this to be over.
Then, Heath’s dad turned toward him. “And you,” he pointed, “don’t go knocking up some random girl. We don’t need that kind of drama.”
Holt raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
Heath’s mom nodded in agreement. “Your uncle and aunt are trusting us to keep you in line. So no sneaking around and getting yourself into trouble.”
Holt stared at them, completely deadpan.
Because, see, what they didn’t know?
He wasn’t messing around with “random girls.”
He was dating Frankie Stein.
And Frankie was waiting for him.
Harriet Wolf held her daughters close, her expression tight with concern.
“Look, I know you two are lesbians,” she said, “but please, for the love of the moon, don’t get yourselves into a situation you can’t get out of.”
Clawdeen rolled her eyes. “Mom, we’re fine.”
Howleen snorted. “Yeah, we’re not idiots.”
Harriet wasn’t convinced. She knew her daughters were smart, but they were also young and hormonal as hell.
Meanwhile, their father, Clawrk, turned to Clawd, arms crossed, expression stern.
“Use protection.”
Clawd blinked. “Wait, wha—?”
Clawrk narrowed his eyes. “I am NOT dealing with Dracula if you screw up. That is YOUR problem.”
Clawd snickered. “Come on, Dad, you’re acting like I’d be dumb enough to get Draculaura pregnant.”
Clawrk gave him a deadpan look. “Son. You are that dumb.”
Clawd gasped, clutching his chest. “Wow. No faith in your own pup?”
Clawrk sighed. “Clawd, listen. I was your age once. I know how easy it is to get caught up in the moment. And I also know that Dracula will rip you apart if anything happens to his daughter.”
Clawd laughed it off. “Relax, Dad. We’re just having fun.”
Clawrk wasn’t amused. “That’s what every guy says right before they get the ‘I’m late’ text.”
That actually made Clawd pause for a second—before he shook it off and grinned. “Not gonna happen.”
Clawrk sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Just… don’t be stupid.”
Clawd grinned wider. “No promises.”
Clawrk let out a low growl.
But Clawd wasn’t worried at all.
Because he already had plans for the night.
Viveka smoothed out Frankie’s collar, her stitches pulling slightly. “Sweetheart, just play it safe, okay?”
Frankie sighed, exasperated. “Mom, I know.”
“I mean it,” Viveka continued, “I know Frankenmonsters don’t have to worry about pregnancy, but that doesn’t mean you can be reckless.”
“I won’t be,” Frankie muttered, already half-checking out of the conversation.
Viktor stepped forward, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. His bolts flickered with static.
“Promise me something, Frankie.”
Frankie bristled immediately. She already knew where this was going.
Her voice turned cold. “If it’s to stay away from Jackson and Holt, forget it.”
Viveka and Viktor stared at her.
Viktor tilted his head slightly, looking almost… surprised. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
Frankie froze.
Viktor’s tone was calm, but something about it made her stomach twist. “I was just going to ask you to be careful.”
For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.
She had been so ready to fight, so prepared for yet another 'Jackson and Holt are bad for you' speech.
But instead, Viktor just looked at her. And for the first time in a long while… she saw something that looked almost like regret in his eyes.
Her chest felt tight.
And maybe, on the surface, it was.
But deep down...
It was too late.
Viktor had already burned that bridge.
Frankie quickly looked away, forcing herself to relax. “…I promise.”
Viktor nodded. Viveka rubbed her arm reassuringly.
Without another word, they both turned and left, shutting the door behind them.
Frankie exhaled sharply, rubbing her eyes.
Then, without hesitation, she pulled out her phone—
Frankie: Room 211. Now.
She hit send.
Jackson and Holt were already on their way.
The Phantom of the Opera stood stiffly in Operetta’s new dorm room, his gloved hands clenched behind his back. His red cloak billowed slightly as he stared at his daughter, his face unreadable behind his white mask.
“Are you sure about this, little songbird?” he finally asked, his deep voice betraying an edge of unease.
Operetta sighed, crossing her arms. “Pa, we’ve been over this.”
“No, we have not,” he corrected. “You’ve been telling me what I want to hear, but you haven’t actually answered me.”
Operetta tensed.
“Are you absolutely certain Johnny Spirit will stand by you when this madness ends?”
Her fingers twitched involuntarily. “…Of course, he will.”
“You say that, but how can you be sure?” he pressed, stepping closer. “That boy has always been… unreliable. Reckless. You’re not just his little fling anymore, Operetta. You’re carrying his child.”
Operetta glared. “I know that.”
The Phantom studied her carefully. “Then you also know how easy it would be for him to disappear. He’s a ghost. He can vanish whenever he pleases. If he leaves, what will you do?”
Operetta didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t want to think about that.
Johnny wasn’t going to leave. He wouldn’t do that.
…Right?
Her father must have seen the hesitation flash across her face, because his voice softened slightly.
“I just don’t want you to go through what your mother did.”
Operetta’s jaw locked.
She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t going to be some tragic, abandoned girl raising a child alone.
Johnny wasn’t like that.
He wasn’t.
…But if he was?
Then she’d do what needed to be done.
She straightened, her voice steady. “Johnny’s stayin’. But even if he don’t… I’ll be fine.”
The Phantom didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t argue further. Instead, he sighed heavily.
“…I hope you’re right.”
He moved forward and, in a rare display of affection, pressed a gloved hand against the side of her head.
“Be careful, songbird.”
Then, without another word, he turned and left.
Operetta watched him go, expression unreadable.
Her phone vibrated.
Johnny: Yo, I’m outside your dorm. You alone yet?
She exhaled, rubbing her belly absentmindedly.
Operetta: Yeah. Get in here, sugar.
She tossed her phone on the bed, forcing her mind away from her father’s words.
Johnny wasn’t leaving.
She wouldn’t let him.
Scarah’s mother sat on her daughter’s bed, wringing her hands. Her face was lined with exhaustion, her eyes sunken with worry.
Scarah stood by the window, arms crossed. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, finally, her mother’s voice broke the silence.
“…I just don’t want you to end up like me, love.”
Scarah’s throat tightened.
“I already know what you’re gonna say, Ma.”
“Do you?” her mother asked, her tone brittle. “Do you know what it’s like to raise a child alone? To struggle every single day, wondering if you’re doing enough? Wondering if—”
Her voice cracked.
She took a shaky breath, rubbing her temples. “You’re too young for this, Scarah. You shouldn’t have to go through this.”
Scarah’s grip on her arms tightened.
“I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to!” her mother snapped, looking up sharply.
Scarah finally turned to face her. “Ma, I ain’t gonna be alone. Billy’s gonna help me.”
Her mother laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Oh, sweetheart. I want to believe that. I do. But boys always say they’ll stay… until they don’t.”
Scarah gritted her teeth.
Billy wasn’t like that.
She wasn’t going to let this turn into some sob story about being abandoned.
But… looking at her mother now—seeing the real, raw fear in her eyes—she felt something twist deep in her chest.
Her mother wasn’t just angry. She was terrified.
She was reliving her past through Scarah.
And for the first time since this conversation started… Scarah hesitated.
“…Ma.”
Her voice was softer this time.
She sat down beside her mother, her hand brushing against hers.
“…I know this ain’t what you wanted for me. But I promise—I’ll be okay.”
Her mother’s lip quivered.
For a moment, Scarah thought she was going to cry.
Instead, she just gripped her hand tightly.
Neither of them spoke.
For the first time in a long while, they just sat together.
…Of course, that didn’t mean Scarah had changed her mind.
She still planned on meeting Billy later.
But for now?
She just held her mother’s hand.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
Bloodgood sat at the head of the long conference table, her expression grave. Around her, the teachers, Lazarus, Hackington, and the few parents who had agreed to help were gathered, their faces a mixture of concern, frustration, and—more than anything else—fear.
Hackington stood at the board, marker in hand, explaining the science behind the gas.
"The gas works by hijacking the brain’s limbic system, specifically targeting the hypothalamus, which regulates emotions, sexual desire, and impulse control."
He scrawled words on the board in large, bold letters: LIMBIC SYSTEM. HYPOTHALAMUS. IMPULSE CONTROL.
"It floods the brain with an overwhelming surge of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin," he continued, underlining each one. "This creates an uncontrollable state of arousal while simultaneously lowering inhibitions and rational thinking."
He turned to face the room, his expression grim. "In other words, the students aren’t thinking. They aren’t reasoning. They’re acting purely on instinct—on pleasure-seeking impulses they can’t control."
The room was dead silent.
Harriet Wolf tightened her grip on the table. “…And it only affects the students?”
Hackington nodded. "Yes. But this is where things get worse."
He uncapped the marker again and wrote a single word in the middle of the board:
SENTIENT.
The air in the room shifted.
"The gas is becoming aware."
A few parents exchanged nervous glances. Even some of the teachers looked shaken.
Hackington kept going. "At first, we assumed it was just a mindless chemical reaction. But after observing the way it spreads and how it adapts to different individuals, it’s clear that it is evolving."
He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward. "This is why it hasn’t affected us. It’s choosing who it infects. It wants the students."
The weight of that sentence hung in the air.
Dracula was the first to speak. His voice was low, grave.
"This is bad."
Hackington exhaled. "It gets worse."
He turned back to the board and circled a number.
5 WEEKS.
"Originally, the effects of the gas were supposed to last five weeks. That was our initial estimate. But after the events of the dance—after the exposure was heightened and the infection deepened…"
He slowly scratched out the 5 WEEKS.
"Now, there is no expiration date. It could last indefinitely."
The room exploded.
"Are you telling me our children could be stuck like this forever?!" Viveka slammed her hands against the table, eyes wild.
The Boogeyman turned sharply to Bloodgood. "Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?"
Bloodgood sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "Because I have been too busy dealing with the Monster Council. I have been fighting tooth and nail to keep this from turning into an international disaster."
Lazarus spoke up next, his voice calm but firm. "If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. I’ve been on her ass about it all week."
Clawrk snorted, folding his arms. "Oh, don’t worry. We’re mad at both of you."
"Enough." Viktor cut in, voice sharp. He turned back to the board. "Have you tried magic?"
Bloodgood exchanged a look with Hackington.
"We haven’t been able to find a magic user strong enough."
The Boogeyman leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the table. "I tried helping Twyla… but the gas has such a deep hold on her mind that nothing worked."
For the first time since the meeting started, there was something in his voice that almost sounded like… fear.
Another silence fell over the room.
Then, Lazarus straightened. "Then we focus on the cure."
Bloodgood nodded. "We’ll need to start breaking down what we know. Identifying the chemicals, understanding how the sentience works, and—most importantly—figuring out how to neutralize it."
The Boogeyman nodded. "Then let’s get to work."
They had already gone through the list of supplies needed for the cure, yet no one had moved. Instead, the conversation had taken a more personal turn—one filled with frustration, regret, and a painful sense of realization.
One by one, the parents discussed how they reacted to the video.
Harriet rubbed her temples, sighing. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but seein’ that? My baby girls actin’ like that? It—it shook me. Clawdeen especially. I always thought she was the responsible one.”
Clawrk nodded. “Same with Clawd. He’s never been reckless, but now?” He let out a deep breath. “I told him to use protection. That’s all I could say.”
The Boogeyman spoke next, voice low and gruff. “I’ve always been able to keep Twyla safe. That’s my job. But this?” He shook his head. “I tried to pull her out of it, and it was like she wasn’t even there.”
Dracula folded his arms, his usually calm expression unreadable. “I spoke to Draculaura. She acted like this whole thing was some kind of... vacation. She’s excited to be in the dorms.”
There was a collective murmur of disbelief.
Then, the conversation reached Viktor and Viveka.
Viktor exhaled, running a hand down his face. “…We were shocked when we found out Frankie had a boyfriend.”
Viveka nodded, gripping her hands together. “More than shocked. We were stunned. She never mentioned anything. Not once.”
That alone was hard to process. But then—
“And when we found out who he was related to?” Viktor’s voice grew heavy. “That’s when things got heated.”
That caught Hackington’s attention.
His head snapped toward them. “What do you mean by ‘heated’?”
Viktor sighed, as if reliving the moment. “We freaked out a bit. We had no idea Dr. Jekyll even had a grandson.”
The room went still.
Dr. Jekyll.
A name that carried weight. History. Controversy.
Dracula leaned forward. “Jekyll has a grandson?”
Viktor nodded.
Harriet’s voice was slow. “And he’s dating Frankie?”
"Yes." Viktor said.
"How did you two handle it?" She asked.
Viveka continued, her voice quieter. “We told Frankie not to contact him until we got back from this meeting.”
Hackington’s expression darkened.
“…Excuse me?”
Viveka shifted in her seat. “We told her we just needed some time.”
Hackington blinked slowly. Then leaned forward.
“So let me get this straight.”
He held up one finger. “You flipped out when you found out Frankie had a boyfriend.”
A second finger. “Then lost it even more when you found out he was related to Dr. Jekyll.”
A third. “Then you told her not to contact him until you got back.”
Viktor hesitated. “…Yes?”
A fourth. “And then you proceeded to say, ‘give us some time’ without even clarifying what you meant by that?”
Viveka nodded slowly. “Yes… why?”
Silence.
Then—
"ARE YOU INSANE???"
Hackington’s voice BOOMED.
The entire room jumped.
Viveka stared, startled. “Wait, what did we do?”
Hackington’s hands slammed down onto the table. “YOU BASICALLY JUST TOLD FRANKIE THAT YOU’RE A BUNCH OF BLOODY CLOSE-MINDED HYPOCRITES!”
Viktor frowned. “What? No, we didn’t—”
“YES, YOU DID.” Hackington cut him off, fury blazing in his eyes. “You still don’t get it, do you? The gas doesn’t just make them horny and violent. It alters their emotions. It distorts their perception of everything.”
He pointed at Bloodgood.
“Take her, for example.”
Bloodgood stiffened.
“She has spent this entire week trying to keep the students from engaging in sexual activity. She has sacrificed sleep, her patience, her sanity, trying to protect them from themselves.”
He gestured toward the door. “But what do they see her as now? Some nagging, overbearing dictator who won’t let them have fun.”
He turned his glare back to Viktor and Viveka.
“And now, thanks to what YOU just said, Frankie probably thinks YOU’RE a bunch of stereotypical assholes rather than her loving parents.”
Viktor stiffened. “What are you trying to say?”
Dracula spoke up, his tone softer. “…He’s saying that Frankie may not be happy with you at the moment.”
“NO.” Hackington shouted.
He leaned forward, his voice sharp as a knife.
“I’m saying that you just hit the NUKE BUTTON on your relationship with your daughter. Frankie probably LOATHES you now.”
The realization hit like a damn freight train.
Bloodgood gasped, her eyes wide.
Viktor and Viveka just stared at him.
It took them a long, long moment to process his words.
But finally—They realized.
Viktor went pale.
Viveka’s eyes welled up. “…No. No, she—she knows we didn’t mean it like that.”
Hackington shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. From her POV, that’s EXACTLY what you meant.”
Viktor was in denial. "No. Frankie knows me. She knows I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Does she?” Hackington challenged. “Because I guarantee you, right now, she’s sitting in her dorm, thinking that the two people who raised her—who built her from the ground up—just looked her in the eye and told her that they don’t accept her for who she is.”
Viktor gripped the arms of his chair. “This—this is ridiculous. Frankie would never—”
“Do you really want to test that theory?” Hackington snapped.
The words shook him.
Viktor opened his mouth to argue—but nothing came out.
Because deep down?
He knew Hackington was right.
Viveka let out a choked sob, hands covering her face.
Lazarus sighed. “Look. For now, we need to focus on making the cure. But until then…”
His voice hardened.
“…You both need to accept the fact that Frankie probably despises you now.”
That was the final straw.
Viveka bolted from her seat, running out of the room in tears.
Viktor collapsed back into his chair, his hands trembling.
Clawrk and Dracula moved to comfort him.
"…How could she think that?" he mumbled, his face ashen. "She knows me."
Dracula squeezed his shoulder.
“Viktor… you’re a good parent, but sometimes things get out of hand. She’ll come around.”
Viktor didn’t say anything.
He just sat there, his face contorted in pain.
It didn’t work.
Because all he could hear—over and over again—
Were the words he said earlier.
“You are dating the descendants of one of the most infamous criminals in monster history!”
“And until we get back? Do not contact Jackson or Holt.”
“You can’t tell me what to—”
“Final.”
It sounded so much different now.
So much worse.
He fucked up.
BIG TIME.
And now.
He's lost his daughter.
To be continued....
Notes:
Well that was a rollercoaster.
What do you think will happen next?
Chapter 14: The New Norm.
Summary:
We now take a look at the new norm for Monster High.
While the parents see just how horny their children have become.
Notes:
Warning, this chapter is gonna be HELLA long.
And after writing all that, I'm taking a break. So please don't be saying, "UPDATE!" in the comments.
If you have questions though, I can answer those.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jackson stirred as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. His body felt heavy, a deep exhaustion settling into his bones.
His mind was still foggy from last night—a blur of electricity, heat, and wild, reckless pleasure.
As his eyes fluttered open, he became aware of the warmth pressed against him.
A soft, satisfied hum drifted through the air.
"Morning, handsome."
Frankie.
Her voice was husky, filled with a lazy kind of satisfaction that sent a shiver down his spine.
Jackson turned his head, meeting her half-lidded, mischievous gaze. Her stitches gleamed in the sunlight, and her hair was a mess of wild, untamed curls.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmured back, voice still laced with sleep.
He stretched, muscles aching from last night, and moved to sit up—
But before he could even think about leaving the bed, Frankie’s hands pressed against his chest, pushing him back down.
“Not just yet.”
Her voice was silky, teasing.
She straddled him with an easy, fluid motion, pinning him beneath her.
Her smile turned wicked.
"I need my morning wood."
Jackson's body responded instantly to her words, his arousal growing as she ground her hips against him. He reached up, his hands resting on her thighs, feeling the heat of her skin.
With a wicked grin, Frankie leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear.
“I want you to fill me up, Jackson. I want you to make me scream.”
Before Jackson could respond, Frankie sat up, her body poised above him. She reached down, positioning his cock at her entrance, and then slowly lowered herself onto him.
Jackson's breath hitched as he felt her warmth envelop him, her body gripping him tightly.
Frankie's eyes locked onto his, a mix of desire and dominance gleaming in their depths. She began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Jackson's body tensing with pleasure.
She rode him like a cowgirl, her movements fluid and confident, her body taking control of his.
Jackson's hands gripped her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as he struggled to keep up with her pace.
Frankie's breaths were coming in short, sharp pants, her breasts rising and falling with each movement.
Jackson's gaze was fixed on her, mesmerized by the sight of her body moving above him, her pleasure etched on her face.
As she rode him, Frankie's moans filled the air, growing louder and more intense with each thrust. She leaned forward, her hands on Jackson's chest, using him for leverage as she increased her pace.
Jackson's body was on fire, his cock throbbing inside of her, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of her, the taste of her, the sounds of her pleasure.
Frankie's movements became more frantic, her body tightening around him as she approached her climax.
Jackson's hands gripped her hips, guiding her, urging her to move faster, harder.
Frankie's moans turned into a desperate cry, her body tensing as she reached her peak. Her inner walls clamped down on Jackson, squeezing him tightly as she rode out her orgasm.
Jackson's body was still trembling from the intensity of Frankie's ride, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he lay beneath her. He thought she was done, her body sated and exhausted from the wild, passionate encounter. But Frankie had other plans.
With a wicked smirk, she slid off him, her body glistening with sweat. Jackson watched her, his eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and disbelief as she moved down his body, her grin wide and intentions clear.
"Not yet," she purred, her voice husky with desire. "I'm not done with you."
Before Jackson could react, Frankie took his cock in her hand, her grip firm and confident. She leaned down, her tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive tip. Jackson's body jerked in response, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.
Frankie's eyes locked onto his, a mischievous gleam in their depths as she took him into her mouth.
She sucked him like she was the nastiest whore imaginable, her head bobbing up and down with a ferocious intensity that left Jackson breathless.
Her tongue swirled around his shaft, her lips creating a tight seal as she took him deeper and deeper. Jackson's hands fisted the sheets, his body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over him.
He could feel her throat constricting around him, her mouth working him with a skill that was both exhilarating and overwhelming.
Frankie's moans vibrated around his cock, sending shivers down his spine.
She sucked him with a fervor that was almost desperate, her head moving faster and faster, her hand gripping the base of his shaft tightly.
Jackson's body was on fire, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of her mouth on him, the sounds of her moans, the sight of her head bobbing up and down. He could feel his climax building, his body tensing as he neared the edge.
Frankie seemed to sense his impending release, her movements becoming even more urgent. She sucked him harder, faster, her hand pumping in sync with her mouth. Jackson's breath hitched, his body convulsing as he reached his peak.
With a final, powerful suck, Frankie sent him over the edge. Jackson's body tensed, his release exploding through him like a supernova. He cried out her name, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Frankie swallowed every last drop, her mouth continuing to work him until he was completely spent. Only then did she release him, her lips glistening as she looked up at him with a satisfied smirk.
"Now," she purred, her voice filled with triumph. "Now we're done."
Jackson lay there, his body exhausted and sated, a contented smile on his lips. He reached down, pulling Frankie up to lie beside him, his arms wrapping around her tightly.
The room was filled with the scent of sweat, ozone, and something distinctly electric.
Frankie let out a contented sigh, draping herself across Jackson’s chest.
“Mmm... We should stay here all day.” She traced lazy patterns along his skin, fingers gliding over his collarbone. “Just the two of us. No interruptions. No school. No raggedy-ass parents ruining the mood.”
Jackson let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through his messy hair.
"That sounds tempting, babe, but..."
He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing his phone. He squinted at the screen, waiting for his vision to focus.
The moment he saw the date, his stomach dropped.
"...Shit."
Frankie raised a brow, propping herself up on her elbow. “What?”
Jackson turned the phone toward her.
It was Monday.
Frankie blinked.
Then her smug expression immediately turned into a full-blown pout.
"Noooooo," she whined, flopping back onto the mattress. "We can skip. What’s one day? I wanna stay here and screw you stupid."
Jackson chuckled, pulling her against him. “Frankie, come on. We’ve got all day. And besides…”
He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, teasing whisper.
“…There are plenty of places to screw in the school.”
Frankie froze.
Jackson smirked. “The closets. The empty classrooms. The Catacombs—hell, take your pick.”
For a second, she just stared at him.
Then, a slow, devious grin spread across her face.
“Oh, you make an excellent point.”
She bolted upright, suddenly full of energy.
“Alright! Let’s go!”
Jackson laughed, watching as she practically bounced out of bed, already gathering her clothes.
Yeah.
They were definitely getting into trouble today.
The clock on Headmistress Bloodgood’s office wall ticked steadily, marking the start of a new week.
A week that, if everything went as planned, would be the beginning of the end of this nightmare.
She stood behind her desk, eyes scanning the group of parents and teachers in front of her. The room was tense. The weight of what they were about to do pressed on every single one of them.
Dracula stood with his arms crossed, his usually cool demeanor barely masking his unease.
Clawrk Wolf leaned against the wall, looking wary.
Viktor Stein sat stiff in his chair, his mind clearly elsewhere.
The Boogeyman was silent, his expression unreadable.
Harriet Wolf tapped her fingers against her arm, eyes darting to her husband.
And then there was Hackington, standing next to Bloodgood with a serious expression, holding a small black case.
She exhaled. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
Bloodgood gestured to the case, and Hackington flipped it open, revealing a row of small, black, circular devices.
“These are your recording devices,” he announced. “They’ve been modified specifically for this mission.”
He picked one up, holding it between his fingers.
“They’re designed to pick up both audio and video, automatically transmitting all data back to me in real-time. That means everything you say, everything you see—it all gets sent straight to my system for analysis.” He smirked slightly. "In simpler terms? Think of them as bodycams, but smarter."
He passed them out, making sure everyone clipped them onto their clothes properly.
Dracula examined his closely, narrowing his eyes. “And you’re sure these things won’t malfunction?”
Hackington scoffed. “I built them myself, Dracula. They’re perfect.”
Viktor, who had barely said a word since arriving, furrowed his brows. “And what exactly are we looking for?”
Hackington turned serious again. “Patterns. Triggers. Physical and psychological responses. Any changes in behavior. The more data we have, the better we can fine-tune the cure.”
Bloodgood nodded, stepping forward. “And before we continue, let me make one thing very, very clear.”
Her tone darkened. “You are here to observe. Not intervene.”
Silence fell over the room.
The parents exchanged glances.
“So we’re just supposed to let them do whatever they want?” Harriet finally spoke, arms crossed.
Bloodgood gave her a pointed look. “Do you want to land in the hospital?”
That shut everyone up real fast.
Even Clawrk, who had been about to speak, immediately clamped his mouth shut.
Bloodgood let that sink in.
Then she sighed, voice softening—just slightly.
“I know this sounds bad. Trust me, I don’t like it either.”
She glanced at Viktor, at Dracula, at every worried parent in the room.
“But if we want to end this, we need that cure. And the only way to make it is by collecting as much data as we can for Hackington.” She exhaled. “That means observing. That means watching, listening, and documenting everything—no matter how hard it is.”
She scanned the room again.
“Don’t intervene. Don’t start anything. And don’t panic if you see your kids.”
She hardened her stare.
“JUST. OBSERVE.”
A heavy silence followed her words.
Viktor looked down, gripping his recording device like it was a lifeline.
Dracula rolled his shoulders, nodding slightly.
Harriet Wolf sighed, rubbing her temples.
Clawrk adjusted his coat, clearly still tense.
The Boogeyman simply crossed his arms, face unreadable.
Bloodgood gave them all one final look.
“Alright. You know your assignments. Now go.”
With that, she turned back toward her desk, already pulling up her own monitor.
The group exchanged one last glance.
Then, one by one, they filed out of the office.
The mission had begun.
The first thing Dracula noticed when he flew through the open window wasn’t the warm spring breeze. It wasn’t the soft hum of chatter or the distant clang of lockers.
It was the energy.
Or rather, the complete and utter lack of discipline pulsing through the walls of Monster High.
It was unhinged.
The second he fluttered down the hall in his bat form—tiny, unnoticed, perfectly camouflaged among the chaos—it hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.
The students were unfiltered.
Not like before, not like the beginning of last week when they were sneaky, still flirting and sneaking off, while trying to avoid the prying eyes of teachers.
No.
Now, they weren’t even pretending.
Flirting everywhere.
Groping in corners.
Tongues halfway down throats in open hallways.
Dracula zipped up into the rafters, eyes wide, scanning the mess below.
Below him, a couple leaned against the lockers, whispering in each other’s ears—and it was NOT sweet nothings.
“Say that again,” the girl giggled, biting her lip.
“Only if you promise to wear that skirt I like tomorrow,” the boy purred, hands already roaming.
At another locker, Gil and Lagoona were engaged in a rather risqué conversation.
"You know," Lagoona murmured, her voice low and sultry, "what we did over the weekend in our dorms was... unforgettable."
Gil's gills fluttered, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah," he replied, his voice husky. "Next time, maybe I should pull your hair like you wanted. And tie you down."
Lagoona's eyes darkened, a wicked smile curving her lips. "Oh, mate. I think that can definitely be arranged. Not too hard, though—just enough to make me squeal."
Dracula groaned. “Good grief.”
He kept flying.
Nearby, Iris Clops and Manny Taur were oblivious to the world around them, lost in a passionate embrace. Their lips moved in sync, hands exploring familiar territories, completely disregarding the curious glances from passing students.
Not that anyone cared.
Down another corridor, Catty Noir and Pharaoh were whispering and giggling, their eyes scanning for empty rooms.
“What about the janitor’s closet?”
“Taken.”
“Catacombs?”
“Even better.”
They slipped away without hesitation.
Dracula let out a frustrated sigh, his tiny wings twitching with irritation.
“Unbelievable," he muttered. “The second Bloodgood’s not breathing down their necks, this place turns into a damn brothel.”
Amidst this sea of newfound boldness, Frankie Stein and Jackson Jekyll strolled hand in hand, their fingers interlocked. Their flirtatious banter was punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances, a stark contrast to the reserved demeanor they once upheld.
Dracula’s wings flapped in disbelief. “What the hell is happening in this school?”
He darted around a corner just in time to see something… even worse.
Herbert East, the weird, twitchy kid who always avoided eye contact and had a notebook filled with disturbing doodles, walked past a locker—
And a slimy, green tentacle slithered out of the slats.
It wrapped around his waist.
Dracula hovered, waiting for the usual screaming. The panic. The flailing.
But Herbert?
He just smiled.
“Oh. You again.” His voice was weirdly dreamy. “Don’t be gentle this time.”
And then the tentacle dragged him into the locker.
The door slammed shut.
There was a beat of silence.
Then the noises started.
Squishy. Wet. Repetitive.
Dracula nearly fell out of the air.
“Bloodgood was not lying when she said this place has become an adult film…” he whispered, eyes wide. “A very low-budget adult film.”
From a nearby stairwell, someone moaned loudly.
Dracula groaned. "Oh, come on.”
Eventually, despite the chaos, the morning bell rang.
And, like a strange spell falling into place, the students began trickling into their classrooms—disheveled, panting, flushed, and clearly not ready to learn a damn thing.
Dracula watched them shuffle in, some adjusting clothes, some grinning like devils, others still exchanging kisses at the door like it was Valentine’s Day in hell.
If this was the new normal?
They were in deeper than he thought.
He fluffed his wings and narrowed his eyes.
Time to see what else this mess had in store.
1ST PERIOD
Mr. Rotter’s classroom was way louder than it should’ve been. He was at the board, going over formulas like it mattered, but he already knew—no one was listening.
The students were too busy wrapped up in their own conversations. And the ghouls?
They were deep into one.
“So,” Cleo grinned, eyes glittering, “whose boyfriend do y’all think is packing the most?”
This question resulted in immediate chaos.
“Mine,” Ghoulia sighed dreamily. “Slo-Mo might be mostly brawn and grunts, but trust me—he’s built like a beast.”
“Please,” Draculaura said, brushing her bangs back. “Clawd’s a werewolf. He can go all night.”
Frankie let out a soft laugh and waved a hand. “Okay, but I know Jackson’s got the biggest.”
That made every ghoul at the table stop and look at her.
Nobody had really heard much about Jackson and Holt in that department before. So this? This was news.
“How big we talking, mate?” Lagoona asked, raising a brow.
Frankie smirked, then slowly lifted her hands and spread them apart—eleven inches wide.
A chorus of whistles broke out.
“Damn,” Lagoona said with a grin. “He’s built like a Clydesdale.”
“Damn right he is.” Frankie leaned back, clearly satisfied.
“Oh, whatever,” Cleo cut in, flipping her hair. “Still doesn’t compare to my Deucey.”
Draculaura rolled her eyes. “We all know Deuce is big, Cleo,” she said, bored. Then her voice shifted, slower, sultrier. “But can he make a ghoul scream like Clawd does? Can he make you beg for him like I do?”
Cleo just smirked. “With that extension he can.”
Every ghoul blinked.
“Extension?” Venus asked, confused.
Cleo sat up straighter, practically glowing. “One of Deuce’s powers—I didn’t even know about it until recently—lets him shift into a full-on mass of snakes.”
The table went dead silent.
Eyes wide. Mouths open.
Even students from nearby desks paused mid-convo to process what they just heard.
Cleo's smile widened. "Not only that, but he can also use that power to stretch his length."
"What do you mean?" Ghoulia asked.
Cleo looked at them with a smug grin. "Let me tell you what he did to me the other night. He was fucking me doggy style, right?"
Frankie nodded, still confused. "Yeah, we know it."
Cleo smirked. "So he's fucking me, and I'm moaning his name, telling him how big he is. Then he starts stretchingit."
Lagoona looked confused. "He stretched it?"
"Yes," Cleo continued. "He stretched his cock deeper and deeper into my pussy, and I could feel every inch of him inside me. It was amazing."
Draculaura raised an eyebrow. "How big was it?"
Cleo smiled again, then raised her hands to indicate the size. She brought them up to about 16 inches apart.
The ghouls stared, slack-jawed.
"That's insane!" Frankie exclaimed, her face flushed.
"How are you not bloody dead?!" Lagoona exclaimed, her eyebrows raised.
"It gets better," Cleo continued. "Because as it got even bigger, he started to fuck me even harder. I felt every inch of him deep inside me. It was so big and hard, and I was so wet for him. Then—"
She paused, her smile growing wider.
"His cock started to throb and pulse inside me, and I knew he was getting close. And when he came, let me tell ya, it was like a tsunami of his hot cum filling me up completely. I was screaming his name and cumming too—it was just—"
Before she could continue, Mr. Rotter slammed his ruler on the desk.
“Quiet.” he snapped.
The ghouls jumped, snapping upright like they’d just been hit with cold water. Faces flushed. Eyes wide.
Cleo shot him a glare, clearly annoyed.
Mr. Rotter turned back to the board, choosing not to push it. He knew better than to escalate anything right now.
Hidden in the back—tucked behind a tall bookshelf—Dracula, in bat form, sat motionless. The tiny device clipped to his wing was recording everything. Every word. Every tone. All of it getting streamed straight to Hackington.
He muttered softly into the mic. “Subject behavior escalating. Zero regard for academic environment. Verbal content highly sexual. No signs of inhibition…”
He paused.
Because Cleo and Draculaura had just started whispering again, giggling like nothing happened.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
A few seats down, the guys were locked in a conversation of their own—low voices, wide grins, and wild imaginations. At first, it was all quiet daydreaming, each of them mentally undressing their ghouls.
Then Gil spoke up, grinning.
“Yo… did any of your girlfriends break furniture while y’all were at it?”
That lit a fire.
“Mine did,” Invisi-Billy said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was on top, and I guess she lost balance. Fell forward, I fell back, and boom—we went straight through the coffee table. Whole thing just collapsed.”
Clawd snorted. “Laura snapped the bed frame, cracked the headboard, then knocked the damn closet door off its hinges. I had to rebuild half the room, man.”
Deuce leaned in, smirking. “I broke a chair. She bent over, wanted it doggy style. I got excited, started going to town—next thing I know, the legs give out and we’re both on the floor surrounded by splinters.”
The group burst out laughing, some nearly choking on their own spit.
They were so deep in their jokes, they almost missed the tomato-red face across the row.
Garrott was looking at them, clearly flustered.
“What?” Heath asked, raising a brow.
Garrott hesitated, lips tight, like he wasn’t sure he should say anything.
Then, sheepishly, “Rochelle and I… we broke ze bed.”
Dead silence.
“…Wait, for real?” Gil asked.
Garrott nodded, face burning. “It was… intense. Very intense.”
Clawd let out a slow whistle. “Damn. Didn’t know Rochelle had it in her!”
Garrott just gave a small shrug, still looking half-mortified. “We ‘ad to buy a new one ze next day. Ze old one… was not salvageable.”
Clawd stared at him like he just discovered a new side of the moon. “Bro. I’ve seen her throw granite blocks like they’re pillows, but I didn’t know she was out here crushing furniture. Respect.”
Garrott blinked. “I… guess?”
Clawd chuckled and gave him a fist bump. “Nah man, if she’s snapping beds in half, you’re doing something right. That’s elite level.”
Gil nodded. “Facts. Garrott, you’re a damn beast.”
Still blushing, Garrott mumbled a quiet “Thanks,” while the guys slapped him on the back like he’d just won a medal.
Then Heath raised his hand, expression dead serious.
“You think that’s bad?” he said grimly. “Try Abbey.”
Everyone turned.
Heath leaned in like he was delivering war trauma. “She went so hard Friday I couldn’t walk. My knees were Jell-O, man. And when I tried to leave to close the door, she grabbed me—dragged me right back into bed like I was her chew toy.”
The boys' jaws dropped.
“Bro…” Deuce whispered. “How are you alive right now?”
“I’m not sure,” Heath whispered back. “I think I left my soul in her dorm.”
They all fell out again—laughing, wincing, mentally high-fiving him and also never wanting to trade places.
Dracula looked on, utterly bewildered.
He’d never seen this side of them before. The raw honesty, the uninhibited stories, the…
The pride?
In the past, people would shy away from those questions, explain why they were not appropriate and change the subject.
Now?
They were bragging about it.
It wasn’t just sex, or hormones, or whatever. This was different. It was like they were… competing.
He turned slightly, tapping the side of the bodycam attached to his harness, recording the whole thing for Hackington.
“Mr. Rotter’s class is completely derailed. Students are not learning. They are… comparing the amount of property damage caused during sexual activities. Most of it is furniture-related. Apparently, this is a point of pride now.”
A pause.
“They’ve turned virility into a competitive sport.”
He looked down again, watching as Clawd reenacted the moment his bed broke, while Invisi-Billy mimed crashing through a table.
“This gas isn’t just amplifying desire—it’s amplifying ego. Testosterone, bravado, dominance, conquest… all of it’s peaking. This is beyond hormone spikes. This is primate behavior on steroids.”
Another pause.
Heath was now describing Abbey like she was the Yeti version of a dominatrix. The other boys looked horrified... and oddly impressed.
Dracula let out a quiet, exhausted squeak.
“Hackington, if you’re hearing this… whatever timeline you had for making that cure? Shorten it. By a lot.”
Meanwhile, with Toralei and her crew, one of them was looking for some rather naughty advice.
“How is it that almost everyone in this school has someone to fool around with except us?” Pearl asked, her tone part frustration, part genuine confusion.
“I know right?” Perri echoed, resting her chin on her fist as she leaned back in her seat. “It’s like we’re invisible. Everyone else is out here getting their backs blown out and we’re just… eating lunch.”
The whole table went quiet for a beat.
And then Amanita slammed her hands down.
“Excuse me?” she snapped, eyes wide. “I’m single too, you know! Don’t lump me in with you two sea-fish nobodies.”
Toralei snorted into her drink. “Yeah, but in your case? That’s a you problem,” she said, smirking.
Amanita blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You can literally release spores that let you control people’s minds, Amanita. You have zero excuse to be single.”
“She’s got a point,” Meowlody chimed in, crossing her arms. “You could have the whole casketball team eating out of your hand if you wanted. But nooo, you’d rather throw a tantrum and make everyone feel beneath you.”
Amanita rolled her eyes. “I have standards.”
“Girl,” Toralei drawled. “You are the standard. Act like it.”
That got a few laughs, but Pearl and Perri still looked annoyed.
“I just want someone to look at us the way Deuce looks at Cleo,” Perri muttered. “Or the way Clawd carries Draculaura’s books…”
“…before he carries her up against a locker,” Pearl added bitterly.
“Oh my god, are you seriously sulking?” Gory rolled her eyes. “You don’t wait for attention. You take it.”
“Exactly,” said Purrsephone, nodding. “You want a guy? Trap a guy.”
“Girl,” added Wydowna, “wrap your tail around his leg when you’re on top. Trust me.”
Pearl’s eyes went wide. “I—I don’t think were ready for that—”
“Then get ready!” Toralei snapped. “You want to sit on the sidelines or ride the damn roller coaster?”
Kala leaned in, eyes sharp. “You gotta look him dead in the eyes when you sit down. Don’t blink. That’s dominance.”
Meowlody snapped her fingers. “Yes! Establish who’s in control right from the start. Boys are dumb, they need a power dynamic.”
“And if you really wanna break their brain?” said another girl, twirling her straw like she was spinning secrets. “The moment you say, ‘Use all of it,’ they malfunction like robots. Glitch. I’ve seen it.”
Pearl’s two heads blinked in sync, mouths open in stunned silence.
“Y’all are… aggressive,” Perri said slowly.
“That’s the point,” Toralei smirked, brushing a claw through her hair. “No one’s gonna hand you a hookup on a silver platter. You wanna be the queen of his world? You better come in like a wrecking ball.”
Pearl bit her lip, still unsure. Perri was staring into the distance, clearly thinking way too hard about the phrase “don’t blink.”
Amanita scoffed and leaned back in her chair. “Honestly, I’m surrounded by amateurs.”
“Then go spore a boyfriend and leave us alone,” Gory muttered.
“I will, actually.”
“Good. Do it.”
“I am.”
“…Then what are you still doing here?”
The whole table erupted in a fit of laughter, Pearl and Perri looking mildly traumatized, but also… taking notes.
Bad girls give bad advice—but sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.
Dracula looked up, his voice barely a squeak.
“Toralei’s crew is taking notes on how to ‘take control’ of their partners. They’re not just chasing pleasure, they’re chasing power. Dominance. They’re… hunting for prey.”
Meanwhile, Ghoulia leaned into Slo-Mo’s side, her voice low and sultry as she traced slow, lazy circles on his thigh with her fingertip.
“You know,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear, “I’ve been very bad girl lately.” She purred.
Slo-Mo swallowed, jaw tight as he fought back a groan.
He knew exactly what she meant.
For weeks, she’d been pushing him to the edge—sneaking touches, teasing glances, whispered promises of what she wanted him to do.
He kept his eyes glued to the board, willing himself to stay focused. Mr. Rotter was still talking about ancient curses or whatever, but the words were lost in the haze of Ghoulia’s teasing.
“Don’t you wanna punish me?” she murmured again. “Maybe pin me to the wall and have your way with me? remind me who’s in charge?”
Slo-Mo bit back a hiss, his body reacting to her words despite his best efforts.
His parents begged him to tone it down, to keep things… appropriate.
He’d promised his parents he’d chill out. Less freaky stuff. More self-control.
But Ghoulia was making that impossible.
She was pushing every button like she wanted to get punished.
Or maybe she loved driving him crazy.
Maybe she craved the way he would lose it and take her hard.
Maybe she liked the ache just as much as he did.
His hand gripped his thigh, knuckles white. “Ghoulia,” he growled softly, “Stop. You know we can’t—”
“I don’t see why not,” she pouted, leaning in to nibble on his ear. “I can be very, very naughty if you want me to be.”
Slo-Mo’s breath caught, his resolve wavering.
Ghoulia knew exactly how to get under his skin. She always had, and now? With the gas making them both more intense, more desperate? She was damn near unstoppable. He’d tried to be strong, to hold back, but with her lips so close, her whispers so tempting, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
"Tell me you don't want to bend me over right here, Slo-Mo," she whispered, her words dripping with desire. "Tell me you don’t want to fuck me hard and deep, right on this desk."
Across the room, the ghouls watched the scene unfold from a distance.
“Does she have a death wish?” Lagoona whispered.
“She’s gonna break him,” Draculaura muttered, peeking over her shoulder.
Cleo squinted at Ghoulia and shook her head. “Nope. She wants him to snap. That girl’s playing with fire.”
Back at their desk, Ghoulia leaned in closer, her breath hot against Slo-Mo’s neck. Her fingers wandering higher, teasing the edge of his shorts.
Slo-Mo sucked in a sharp breath, his patience fraying.
He wanted her. God, he wanted her.
But he couldn't do it. He promised his parents he'd stay away from that stuff.
And then, she said it.
"I want you to fuck me till I can't walk straight, Slo-Mo. I want you to leave me so sore and aching that I can still feel you inside me hours later. I want you to throw me over your shoulder and carry me around like I'm nothing but dead weight. And then, whenever you feel like it, throw me on the ground, and fuck me again. Harder. Until I’m screaming and begging for more. I wanna be nothing but your little slut. Your plaything. Your fleshlight that you use to your hearts content.”
Then she leaned in even closer and whispered in the dirtiest voice she could muster.
"I want you to ravage me, Slo-Mo. Every. Single. Day."
And then, she grabbed his cock and squeezed, hard.
That was the last straw.
In a flash, Slo-Mo stood up so fast his chair nearly flew backwards. Without saying a word, he reached down, scooped Ghoulia up, and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
“Finally,” Ghoulia purred, grinning. “Took you long enough, big guy.”
Mr. Rotter flinched. “Hey—HEY! You put her down this instant!”
Slo-Mo didn’t even blink.
He marched toward the supply closet at the back of the room, a ghoul slung over his shoulder and a mission in his eyes.
“Slow-Moe!” Rotter barked. “This is completely inappropriate! You will NOT—!”
The classroom door slammed open. The closet slammed shut.
Locked.
Then came the sounds.
Skin against skin. The room shook. Ghoulia’s cries. Slo-Mo’s grunts.
Mr. Rotter facepalmed, groaning into his hand. “I swear to the ancients... I do not get paid enough for this.”
Back at their desks, the ghouls were cracking up.
“She’s gone for the day,” Cleo said, shaking her head. “We’re not seeing her until tomorrow at best.”
“Bet she’ll come out limping,” Clawdeen snorted.
Draculaura blinked. “Bet he will too.”
The rest of the class just shrugged, chuckled, or went back to whispering about their own wild weekends. Business as usual.
People with cameras smiled.
And no one was getting any learning done. At all.
Dracula watched the whole thing unfold like a train wreck, his face slowly turning from red to purple.
“This is ridiculous,” he hissed. “This is an institution. We are here to learn, not to… to engage in… in…”
He looked like he wanted to scream.
But at the end of the day, he knew he couldn't blame them.
The bell rang out sharply through the halls of Monster High, echoing like a chime of chaos. The usual shuffle of footsteps and idle chatter followed, but this time, it wasn’t just students going to class.
Some ducked into closets, slipped behind curtains, or vanished into the shadows of rarely-used hallways—anywhere private enough to indulge in the gas-fueled urges that had gripped the school in a haze of reckless freedom.
The air pulsed with a strange tension, thick with hormones, rebellion, and a maddening sense of liberation.
Amidst the bustling movement, Spectra Vondergeist hovered near her locker, eyes fixed on her laptop screen. The glow illuminated her face as she scrolled through the latest reactions to her "Ghostly Gossip" blog.
A mix of exhilaration and apprehension coursed through her; the recent article had garnered unprecedented attention.
And she was loving it.
But suddenly, a shadow eclipsed her screen. Looking up, Spectra met the stern gaze of Headmistress Bloodgood. The headmistress stood tall, her expression unreadable, but the tension was palpable.
“Uh… Headmistress?” Spectra asked cautiously, shifting upright. “Do you need something?”
Bloodgood wasted no time.
Her gloved hand extended out, palm open. “Laptop. Now.”
Spectra blinked, staring at the hand as though it had just risen from a grave. “I—what?”
“I said,” Bloodgood repeated, her voice colder than ice, “laptop. Now.”
Spectra stared at her, stunned. The confusion gave way to something sharper—defensiveness, disbelief, and simmering anger. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why?”
“Because of the ongoing situation in this school, the Ghostly Gossip is being temporarily shut down, effective immediately.” Bloodgood said firmly. “Because of that, I need you to turn in your laptop.”
“Are you kidding me?” Spectra snapped, rising slightly off the floor. “You’re letting everyone else do whatever they want! You literally walked past Jane Boolittle dragging Andy into a bathroom like it was no big deal! But I can’t write some articles?! I’m not hurting anyone!”
Bloodgood’s composure cracked. Her lips twisted into a bitter sneer as she took a step forward, voice raising just enough to make the nearby shadows flinch.
“First of all, I’ve accepted by now that trying to force the students to behave is a death wish. Every time I raise my voice, someone throws a chair, or a skirt gets shorter, or someone ends up on the floor with a nosebleed. This school is on a ledge, Spectra.”
She took another step forward. “Second… because of you—you and that damn article—Monster High is in worse trouble than it’s ever been.”
Spectra’s face went pale, more than usual. “What… what do you mean?”
“I mean it was bad enough before, when parents didn’t know the full truth. When we could do damage control, say it was just some minor behavioral issue, maybe a prank gone too far. We had control, or at least the illusion of it. But now? After what you published?”
Bloodgood was seething, her voice trembling with a fury she had been feeling for days. “Do you have any idea how many emails I’ve gotten since last friday? How many phone calls from screaming parents? From reporters? From lawyers?! Dozens. Hundreds. And they all say the same thing—‘What the hell is happening at Monster High?’”
"But thats no-"
"NO BUTS!"
She inhaled sharply, then exhaled with clenched teeth. “Thanks to you, teachers are being called incompetent. There are rumors of firings. Of protests. The Council might be passive now, but my job? My position? My life is still hanging by a thread. And you think I’m going to give you any more leeway? You think I’m going to let you write another scandalous little exposé while this place is burning down around me?! ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
Spectra hovered in place, mouth open, trembling. Her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her laptop as if it were her lifeline.
“But… but it’s my blog. It’s the one thing that’s mine. You can’t—”
“You can either hand over the laptop willingly,” Bloodgood hissed, “or I will personally make sure that when all of this is over, you never step foot inside Monster High again!”
The silence fell like a guillotine.
Spectra’s shoulders sagged, her glow dimming.
Slowly, reluctantly, she reached for the keys. Her hands hovered above the touchpad for a long moment. She blinked hard, but the tears had already started to well up.
Click.
She logged out of Ghostly Gossip, the familiar logo fading from the screen like a dying whisper.
Then she closed the lid and handed the laptop over to Bloodgood, her hands shaking.
Bloodgood took it without a word.
“Phone too,” she added coolly.
Spectra recoiled. “WHAT?!”
“I can’t risk you accessing your website through your phone,” she said flatly. “Not now. Not with everything going on.”
The ghost stared at her, speechless, as if she’d just been told to surrender her soul.
But there was no arguing. No escaping.
With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket and handed over her phone.
Bloodgood took it. “You’ll get these back,” she said, turning sharply on her heel, “when there’s a cure… or when you graduate. Whichever comes first.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. Her boots echoed down the marble corridor as she vanished down the hallway, leaving behind a ghost girl standing still in the middle of the room, hollow and alone.
Spectra drifted out of the hallway in silence, eyes wet, lips pressed into a tight line.
She moved like mist through the corridor, slipping past the laughter and chaos, the couples clinging to each other in the stairwells, the moans behind closed doors, the wild pulse of a school spiraling into madness.
She found an empty classroom—one long abandoned, desks covered in dust, windows fogged with grime.
She floated inside and closed the door gently behind her.
And then, with her back against the cold wall, she sank to the floor and wept. Silent, heavy sobs wracked her translucent body, echoing in the empty room like a mourning wail.
Her glow flickered and dimmed, her hands covering her face as the weight of everything—her silenced voice, the betrayal, the helplessness—crashed down on her like a tidal wave.
She was a ghost.
But in that moment… she had never felt more invisible.
Everything she’d built… gone. Just like that.
But then, the door creaked open.
At first, she didn’t look. Probably another teacher coming to kick her while she was already down.
“Spectra?”
Her head snapped up.
Porter.
He floated inside casually, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a rolled-up drawing. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said with a smirk. “Thought we were gonna ditch class and get into some… personal activities.” He raised an eyebrow. Playful. Expectant.
But then—he saw her face.
Everything in him shifted.
Gone was the cocky smile. His eyes darkened with concern. He was by her side in seconds, kneeling in front of her, gently brushing her hair out of her face.
“Hey, hey—what happened? Did someone hit you? Are you hurt? Who do I need to bury?”
His voice was soft, but his energy said he’d throw hands with a teacher, a ghost, a councilmember—didn’t matter.
Spectra just shook her head, more tears spilling as she tried to speak. “It was Bloodgood…”
That name alone had Porter’s jaw clenching. “What did she do?”
Spectra sniffled, wiping her face. “She shut me down, Porter. Ghostly Gossip’s suspended. She took my laptop. My phone. Said I caused too much drama. Like I’m the villain here. Like I made everyone freaky. And now she’s using me as the scapegoat, just to cover her own ass…”
Porter sat down beside her, arm around her shoulder instantly. He didn’t interrupt. Just held her close.
“It’s not fair,” Spectra choked out, burying herself against her boyfriend’s chest. “Why is everyone mad at me for doing what I love? I didn’t know about the videos—I didn’t know my article would freak people out! I just wanted to share the fun I had…”
Porter gently patted her head, his face a mix between anger and understanding.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said after a beat. “You told the truth. You told their truth. That’s what you do, right? You shine a light on the things they don’t wanna admit are real.”
She leaned into him, quiet, but trembling less. “She made me feel like I’m dangerous… like I’m some ticking time bomb just waiting to screw things up.”
He shook his head. “You’re not dangerous. You’re a damn powerhouse, babe. That scares people like her. That’s why she’s trying to silence you.”
Spectra let out a small, bitter laugh. “So now I get punished for doing what I’ve always done. They were all fine with me spilling secrets—until it was their mess I exposed.”
Porter held her tighter. “Let them panic. That just means you hit the right nerve.”
Her lip trembled again, but this time it was because she felt seen. Like even with her whole world pulled out from under her, someone was still there, solid as ever. Porter didn’t flinch, didn’t judge, didn’t treat her like a liability. He treated her like she mattered.
And right now? That was everything.
Spectra shook her head. “But now I can’t even do anything. They stripped me of everything that mattered.”
Porter tilted her chin up gently, looking her dead in the eye. “No. They stripped you of your tools. Not your voice. Not your instincts. Not your spine. You’re not the gossip blog—you’re the mind behind it. You could get tossed into the freakin’ Underrealm and still find a way to break news.”
Her lip twitched—just barely. “Yeah, but they’re making me feel like… like I’m too much. Like I should’ve just kept quiet.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Because if they can get you to believe that? Then they don’t have to take responsibility for what’s really going on. But I know you. You don’t fold. You don’t go quiet. You don’t stop just because someone tells you to.”
He pulled back a little, looking at her straight on. “The Spectra I know? She doesn’t let anyone take her voice.”
Spectra bit her lip, staring at him. Then she looked at the dust on the floor, the sunlight through the grimy windows, the quiet stillness of the abandoned classroom.
Spectra looked down at her hands, quiet again. His words were helping… but something was still missing. Like the fire hadn’t quite come back yet.
Then Porter leaned back, just a bit. “Close your eyes.”
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me.”
She gave him a look—but did it. Slowly. Reluctantly.
She felt something placed gently in her hands.
“Open.”
Spectra peeked—and gasped.
A vintage polaroid camera sat in her palms. Old-school. Gorgeous. Her style.
Porter gave her a crooked smile. “Call it an early birthday gift.”
Her hands trembled a little as she held it. “Porter…”
“I know you love these. And yeah, maybe you can’t run the site right now. But you can still capture what’s happening. You can still be you.”
Tears welled in her eyes again—but this time, they weren’t out of frustration. They were full of something warmer. Gratitude. Hope. A spark starting to glow again.
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn't say anything.
He didn’t need to.
They stayed like that for a moment, quiet, just breathing together in the stillness.
Then Porter broke the silence. "So… we still sneaking off to the theater room for a little… stress relief?”
Spectra pulled back, wiping away her tears.
A grin crept across her face—sharp, wicked, feral.
Then, without warning, Porter was flung back onto one of the classroom tables, landing with a surprised “oof!”
Before he could move, Spectra was on top of him—pinning him down, straddling him like a storm that chose him as its next victim. Her eyes gleamed, wild and electric. That ruined mascara only made her look more dangerous… more predatory.
“Why waste time in the theater,” she purred, voice dripping with dark mischief, “When we’re already somewhere… perfectly haunted?”
Porter barely had time to breathe before her lips crashed into his—hard, hungry, grateful. She didn’t just kiss him. She took him. Every part of her kiss screamed "Thank you, I need you, mine."
It wasn’t about comfort. Not anymore.
This was gratitude laced with heat. Desire with a pulse.
She wanted him for comforting her.
She wanted him for believing in her.
She wanted him just because she wanted him.
Porter’s hands found her waist as she deepened the kiss, their bodies tangling like they'd waited too long.
The world dissolved, boundaries blurred, as Spectra's lips collided with Porter's. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a claiming, a desperate plea etched in the language of raw, untamed desire.
The force of it stole Porter's breath, leaving him gasping for purchase in the sudden, overwhelming storm. He tasted gratitude there, a desperate longing, and a possessive hunger that seared through him: mine.
His hands instinctively sought purchase, finding the curve of her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hauled her closer. The gesture was primal, a mirroring of her own fervent need.
Their bodies locked together, a desperate tangle in a dance of pure, unadulterated urgency. Spectra's kiss deepened, a whirlwind of sensation as her tongue explored his mouth, demanding and untamed.
He felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her want.
She pulled back, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp. Her eyes, usually shrouded in a subtle mystique, now blazed with a wild, electric fervor.
"I want you, Porter," she murmured, her voice a husky rasp that sent shivers down his spine. "I want you to make me feel alive."
The words were a spark, igniting a wildfire within him.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the primal rhythm surging through his veins. He could only nod, his own voice a mere whisper lost in the rising crescendo of desire.
"I'm yours, Spectra. Always."
A wicked grin, a fleeting glimpse of the playful spirit that often hid beneath her intense surface, flickered across her face.
And then she moved, the slow, deliberate grind of her hips against his setting off a chain reaction of pleasure that radiated through his entire being. She traced a fiery path down his neck with her lips, her teeth grazing his skin, eliciting a sharp, involuntary gasp.
Lost in the intoxicating whirlwind, Porter's hands roamed over her body, mapping every curve, every dip, every sensitive spot that drew a moan from her lips. He felt the subtle tremor that ran through her, the barely controlled eagerness.
Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed against the fullness of her breasts, her nipples hardening instantly beneath his touch. She arched her back, pressing herself closer, every inch of her body begging for more.
"Spectra," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You're so beautiful… so perfect."
The words ignited a fresh wave of passion in her. She pushed him back against the floor, her hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to explore the taut muscles beneath.
As the fabric fell away, her lips and hands explored his chest, his abs, her touch both reverent and hungry. She savored every gasp, every shudder that racked his body, her power over him intoxicating.
Spectra's fingers trailed down Porter's chest, her touch electric. She found his length, already hard and aching for her. Her hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, teasingly, drawing a deep, guttural groan from his throat.
"Fuck, Spectra," he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "That feels so good… I need you… now."
She smiled against his lips, a smile that promised both pleasure and torment. With a fluid motion, she straddled him, her wet core brushing against his erection, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through them both.
The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, their breaths mingling in ragged, desperate gasps.
Spectra's eyes locked onto Porter's, a wild, untamed hunger burning in their depths.
With a fierce, animalistic growl, Spectra positioned herself above Porter, her body poised and ready. She lowered herself onto him, her slick clit enveloping him in a tight, velvety embrace. Porter's breath hitched, his body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Spectra began to move, her hips rolling and bucking with a ferocious intensity that left Porter gasping for breath. Her nails dug into his chest, her body writhing above him as she rode him with wild abandon.
Porter's hands gripped Spectra's hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he met her thrusts with equal fervor. Their bodies moved in a chaotic, passionate dance, each movement fueled by a desperate, all-consuming need.
Spectra's breath came in short, sharp pants, her body trembling with the force of her pleasure.
"Porter… yes… fuck, yes… I'm so close… please…"
He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit. He stroked her with firm, circular motions, his touch both gentle and demanding.
Spectra’s world exploded into white-hot bliss. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tsunami, her body shaking uncontrollably as she rode the waves of ecstasy. She felt Porter tense beneath her, his own climax building to a fever pitch.
"Fuck… Spectra… I can't… hold back…"
Her only response was a wicked grin and a sharp nip at his ear. "Then don't… let go… give it to me… all of it…"
Her words were his undoing.
With a final, powerful thrust, Porter came, his release erupting into her with a fierce, primal roar. The sensation sent Spectra spiraling into a second orgasm, her body convulsing as the pleasure consumed them both.
As the last waves of their climaxes subsided, they lay there, tangled and breathless. Spectra’s head rested on Porter’s chest, listening to the rapid thunder of his heart. Neither spoke for a long time, content to bask in the afterglow of their passion.
After a while, Spectra raised her head and looked at Porter with a playful smirk.
"Well, that was definitely worth ditching class for."
Porter chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "Yeah, and we didn't even make it to the theater. I'd say we just found our new favorite spot."
Spectra nodded, her eyes sparkling with a renewed sense of mischief. "Definitely. And who knows? Maybe we'll start a new trend. 'Haunted Classrooms: The Ultimate Fuck Spots.'"
Porter laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Only you, Spectra, could turn a place of learning into something so deliciously sinful."
Spectra shrugged, her grin widening. "What can I say? I bring excitement to everything I do."
She leaned down, brushing her lips against his in a tender, lingering kiss.
"Thank you, Porter. For everything."
Porter's smile widened, his heart swelling with love for her. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his voice filled with sincerity. "Always, Spectra. Always."
The polaroid camera sat on the desk beside them, still and untouched—a quiet promise that no matter what was taken from her, she’d still find a way to remember. To record. To create.
Bloodgood may think she’s silenced Spectra…
…but all she did was light a fire she’ll never be able to put out.
2ND PERIOD
Art class was barely art class anymore.
The lights were low—except for a single spotlight in the center of the room, casting long shadows and giving everything a hazy, dreamlike glow.
The teacher had started with a lecture on “mood lighting and emotional tone,” but after five minutes of glazed-over eyes and whispered side chatter, they gave up and waved a hand in surrender.
“Just… express yourselves,” they sighed. “Whatever that means to you.”
The soft sounds of classical music played from a speaker in the corner—until someone swapped the playlist for slow, sensual R&B. No one complained. The new rhythm fit the atmosphere better anyway.
The room became a quiet storm of side projects. Sculpting clay into vaguely obscene shapes, charcoal sketches of half-naked lovers, students whispering dirty jokes as they pretended to paint something serious.
The air smelled like paint thinner and hormones.
Ryder sat near the back, brush in hand, pretending to focus on a watercolor portrait assignment. But the only thing his page held was Gigi—again and again, in increasingly suggestive poses. One leg bent, a teasing smile, her long curls spilling down her back. Every stroke was more indulgent than the last.
Across from him, Gigi twirled a damp paintbrush between her fingers and dragged the tip along his collarbone, leaving a soft trail of green. She giggled when he shivered, then pressed a second dot of color on the side of his neck.
“You missed a spot,” she whispered.
She was wearing one of his shirts—oversized, sleeves rolled up, hanging off one shoulder like it had no intention of staying on.
She had her own clothes, obviously. But his smelled like him. Felt like him. And wearing it was her favorite way to remind Ryder what kind of night they’d had.
Ryder looked up from his sketch, his grin lazy and satisfied. He didn’t need to say anything. Gigi’s eyes already told him she wasn’t planning on letting him concentrate.
Not that he was trying to.
Across the room, Iris was deep in concentration, sculpting a marble-colored bust with sharp precision. Her hands were slick with clay and her brow furrowed in focus. In front of her, Manny stood shirtless, flexing like he was born for the spotlight.
“You sure you’re not just using this as an excuse to stare at me?” he smirked, arms crossed behind his head, pecs pushed forward. “Could’ve just asked, babe.”
Iris rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “Please. I’ve seen your muscles a million times.”
“Then why are you biting your lip?” Manny teased, cocking an eyebrow.
She froze for a second—caught—then quickly resumed sculpting, cheeks flushed. “Hold still. Your jawline’s too perfect to mess up.”
Manny grinned wide, clearly pleased. “Damn right it is.”
She didn’t deny it. Her fingers moved more carefully around the angle of his chin, shaping the stone with tender exactness. Every now and then she’d glance up at him, shake her head like she couldn’t believe how annoyingly hot he was, and go back to her work.
Meanwhile, in the back corner, things were getting much messier.
Meowlody and Purrsephone had abandoned their canvases entirely. Instead, they were sprawled across a tarp, painting directly on each other’s bodies with bold, dripping colors. Orange swirls, black slashes, a splash of gold across Meowlody’s collarbone that Purrsephone traced with her tongue before licking it clean.
Romulus sat on a stool across from them, completely dazed. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, like someone had unplugged his brain.
“Romulus,” Meowlody purred, pressing a handprint to her sister’s hip, “does it make you nervous when we touch each other like this?”
“Or do you like it?” Purrsephone asked, licking a stripe of purple paint off her twin’s shoulder. “You’ve been staring for five minutes.”
“I—uh—” he stammered, leaning forward slightly like he couldn’t help himself.
They moved closer in perfect sync, paint-streaked and grinning. One of them slid a finger under his chin, tilting his head.
“Breathe, wolf boy,” Meowlody whispered.
Romulus made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
They laughed—low and wicked—as they returned to their self-declared art, dragging fingers across skin and paint, not bothering to hide what they were really doing.
And Romulus? Still frozen. Still hypnotized.
The art teacher didn’t even look up.
At a table near the windows, Frankie and Jackson were supposed to be working on a shared canvas. For the first few minutes, they were. Blues, greens, and purples blending into something abstract and a little chaotic—kind of like them.
But then Frankie’s brush started drifting.
“Hold still,” she said, her voice a little lower, a little slower.
Jackson blinked. “Uh... why are you painting on me now?”
Frankie grinned. “Because this blank canvas is nice,”—she dipped her brush in silver paint—“but this one’s mine.”
She trailed the cool brush across his chest, slow and deliberate, leaving shimmery streaks over his skin. Jackson let out a soft breath, eyes flickering down to watch her work.
“You’re not even pretending to paint the canvas anymore,” he said, voice dropping.
“I don’t want to,” she murmured, sketching a jagged bolt over his ribs. “I want everyone to see you the way I do.”
She leaned closer, whispering now, “You wear my favorite color. You pull me out of every bad mood. You’re the calm to my chaos. And you’re all mine, Jackson.”
His eyes fluttered half-shut, like he was under a spell. “...Keep talking like that and I’m never leaving this chair.”
Frankie smirked. “Good.”
A few feet away, things were even less subtle.
In the back corner, Rochelle had Garrott pinned against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair. Their canvas lay forgotten on the floor, splattered with accidental strokes from when they gave up pretending to care about it.
They were locked in a full-blown French kiss—lips moving slow, then faster, breaths heavy, Garrott’s hand sliding under the hem of her skirt.
“Rochelle. Garrott,” the teacher called out, only half-glancing up from her magazine. “Tone it down. Please.”
Neither responded.
They just kept going.
The teacher sighed and muttered, “Why do I even bother…”
Rochelle paused only long enough to toss her hair over her shoulder, look the teacher dead in the eye, and say with a breathless smile, “We are just… being expressive, Madame.”
Garrott just grinned against her lips, and they went right back to it.
But the biggest spectacle in the room was Catrine DeMew.
She sat in the back corner, curled over her sketchbook like a cat guarding a secret. Pages flipped quickly beneath her claws, each one filled with bold lines, sweeping shadows, and layered pencil strokes that looked more like raw emotion than simple art.
She wasn’t using paint this time—just graphite, ink, and whatever magic seemed to pour out of her fingertips.
No one knew what she was drawing.
Every time someone tried to get a glimpse, she’d snap the book shut or shoot them a warning glare sharp enough to draw blood. Even the teacher had stopped asking.
Eventually, though, curiosity clawed its way into the room.
“What are you working on back there?” someone asked.
“Yeah, come on, Catrine,” Purrsephone chimed in, lounging lazily on a stool. “You’ve been scribbling like a maniac since we walked in.”
Catrine let out a long, dramatic sigh, not even looking up. “Mon dieu…” she muttered. Then, slowly, she sat upright with the posture of a queen about to issue a decree. “If you are going to be so insistants…”
Her tail flicked as she turned to face them, sketchbook hugged to her chest, fingertips smudged with charcoal, and a quiet fire burning in her lavender eyes.
“Très bien. I will show you.”
And with a slow, practiced motion, she opened the sketchbook, turning it around so they could see what she’d done.
It started innocently enough. The first few pages showed standard anatomical studies—realistic, tasteful nudes sketched with a practiced hand and an artist’s eye. Muscles, bones, shading—each piece a study in balance and motion, beautifully done but not shocking. Nothing that would raise any alarms.
"Okay, wow," Manny said, leaning in. "I thought you were drawing monsters, but that’s actually kind of… elegant?"
"Merci," Catrine purred, flipping to the next page. "But we have not gotten to the… fun part."
The room grew quieter, anticipation building.
Someone turned the page.
And the collective gasp that followed could have knocked the windows off their hinges.
Eyes went wide. Mouths dropped open. Frankie clutched Jackson’s arm. Garrott froze mid-kiss. Even the teacher looked over, eyes bugging out of their sockets.
Because suddenly, it wasn't just art.
These weren’t just studies. They were scenes—intimate, bold, and detailed in a way that made everyone feel like they’d just stepped into Catrine’s private imagination.
There was Cleo, reclining like a divine pharaoh, adorned in gold bangles and silks, posed with her chin high and her eyes half-lidded. The lighting in the drawing seemed to shine with an impossible glow, casting shadows that framed her like a goddess straight out of ancient scrolls.
Clawdeen sat on a heart-shaped velvet bed, legs elegantly crossed, her hair cascading over her shoulders, partially draped in silky sheets that somehow made her look more exposed than if she’d had nothing on. Her expression was fierce—commanding—and very aware of the power she held.
Draculaura was on a throne, her legs artfully draped to one side, wearing a corset-styled dress that showed just enough to be scandalous. Fangs bared in a flirtatious smirk, her eyes sparkled with mischief. If her father ever saw this sketch, he’d drop dead—again.
Frankie was mid-twirl on a stripper pole—yes, a full-on stripper pole—looking impossibly fluid and confident, lightning bolts accentuating the curves of her body as she clung to the pole with one leg and reached out seductively with a wicked grin.
And that was just the beginning.
Because oh yes—it wasn’t just the girls.
Clawd was sprawled across a fur rug, shirtless, muscles on full display, his eyes smoldering like he knew what he was doing to anyone looking.
Deuce was caught in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt, snake hair coiling lazily in the air as his sunglasses dangled from one hand, like he was daring someone to tell him not to look that good.
Heath—to everyone’s shock—looked like an actual fire demon, rising from a pool of magma, shirtless and steaming, his body traced with glowing heat lines that accented every hard edge. It was hot. Literally and metaphorically.
Even Manny—hulking, massive Manny—was there, lounging on what looked like a Roman couch, grapes in one hand and a smirk on his face like he was posing for a centerfold.
And the detail. The detail.
Perfect shading, realistic texture, layered backgrounds—it was clear Catrine had spent hours, maybe days, crafting each of these. This wasn’t just sketching. This was art bordering on the erotic.
“Daaaaamn…” muttered Ryder under his breath, clearly impressed.
Catrine," Iris whispered, “why are you drawing my boyfriend shirtless?”
“Because he has a very nice physique, non?” Catrine shrugged, flipping to a page of Garrott looking suspiciously like he just crawled out of the ocean, hair slicked back, shirt clinging to his wet body.
Iris opened her mouth to argue but then quickly snapped it shut. Because damn—she couldn’t deny how sexy it looked.
Purrsephone laughed, flipping to Clawdeen's sketch again. "Girl if Toralei sees this she's going to flip. She's always wanted to see Clawdeen posed up like this."
Frankie just stared at her own drawing, wide-eyed. "Why am I on a pole?"
"Because you are a sexy girl, and you deserve to be drawn that way." Catrine said matter-of-factly.
"I can agree with that." Jackson muttered.
But not everyone was pleased.
A sharp, angry voice cut through the chatter.
“Catrine!” snapped their art teacher, her eyes burning holes through the stunned crowd. “What is the meaning of this?!”
Catrine blinked slowly, then met the teacher’s furious glare with a lazy, almost smug smile. “I am merely capturing the raw beauty of the monster form, Madame. Nothing more.”
The teachers eye twitched. “These are not studies. These are—these are pornographic fantasies!”
“They’re tasteful,” Catrine countered coolly. “And everyone seems to appreciate them.”
Manny, who was still admiring the way his muscles were rendered in charcoal, nodded slowly. “I mean… she made me look like a god. I’m not mad at it.”
Catrine turned toward him with a flirty purr. “And you are quite the muse, Manny.”
Iris stepped forward so fast her legs clacked against the floor like hooves. “HEY! He’s mine!”
Catrine chuckled softly and held her hands up in surrender. “Touché. I meant no offense. Your Minotaur is safe.”
“Damn right he is,” Iris huffed, pulling Manny a little closer by the arm.
The students were still fawning over their portraits, some joking, others genuinely impressed. But teacher had had enough.
Without another word, she turned her back to the class, stormed toward her desk, and grabbed her phone. Shielding it with her hand like a secret service agent, she dialed fast and low.
“Bloodgood,” she whispered urgently. "We’ve got a problem. A huge one. If these sketches get out, we’re going to have a full-blown scandal on our hands…”
She glanced over her shoulder at Catrine, who had her chin resting on her hand, smirking like the cat that had swallowed not just the canary—but the whole damn aviary.
Heath, Gil, Neighthan, and Johnny were posted up in one of the side hallways, chilling like it was recess in a mental asylum.
“Yo, Johnny,” Heath said, elbowing him. “How’s Operetta doing? She still dragging your ass around like a guitar case?”
Johnny smirked. “Pregnant as hell, moody as ever, and still somehow hot. I’m doing fine.”
“Bro,” Gil started, laughing. “These dorms? Best thing that’s ever happened to me. Lagoona barely lets me leave the room. Like, at all.”
Heath smirked. “Facts. Abbey’s been dragging me to bed the second the door closes. I tried to go to the vending machine yesterday—she locked the damn door with ice. Said, ‘If you want a snack, I’m right here.’”
Johnny leaned back against the wall, grinning. “Operetta’s still wild with it. I thought pregnancy might slow her down, but nah. She looked me dead in the eye yesterday and said, ‘Unless you want a whole gospel of angry moans echoing through this school, you better handle me proper, sugar.’”
Neighthan chuckled, one wing stretching. “I walked into my dorm Sunday night, and Isi was just… there. Sprawled on the bed. Nothing on but a smile. Said she was ‘prepping for a spiritual cleanse.’ Bro, I got purified.”
The boys all burst into laughter.
“Man,” Heath said, shaking his head. “If these dorms were here last week, half the school would’ve had kids by now.”
Then—a sudden rustling.
The boys froze.
Clink. Crash. Rattle.
Their heads snapped toward a nearby pile of trash bags and overturned bins shoved into a dark corner. The noise was getting louder.
Heath’s fists ignited with flame. “I swear to Ra, if it’s another tentacle locker—”
Gil rolled up his sleeves, cracking his knuckles. “I got hands and water pressure.”
Neighthan’s lone wing extended behind him as his eyes glowed faintly golden. “I knew I heard something weird.”
Johnny levitated a loose bench leg off the floor and narrowed his eyes. “One warning, bro. That’s all you get.”
Then—THUD.
The trash bags collapsed, and a figure scrambled out from beneath.
“Wait—hold up! DON’T HIT ME!”
It was Hoodude.
The boys all let out a breath at once.
“Hoodude?! Bro, what the hell are you doing in the garbage?” Heath asked, lowering his flames.
“I’ve been HIDING,” Hoodude snapped, wide-eyed and twitchy. His stitches looked loose. His clothes were wrinkled. The guy looked like he’d been through a week-long sleepover with a haunted sorority.
“Hiding from who?” Gil asked.
Hoodude looked around frantically. "EVERYONE! Ever since the Friday before last week, I’ve been waking up with kiss marks! The school, the dorms, the damn Monster Mash! One time it was glitter gloss—GLITTER, Gil. I even went home for a night! Slept in my own bed, locked every door, buried myself under laundry—still woke up with a note that said, ‘I found you, cutie.’”
Heath cracked up. “Ain’t no way. My boy got stalkers!”
"YES," Hoodude shrieked, looking like he could lose it at any moment. "I even slept in a damn locked TOOLBOX last night and still woke up with lipstick on my forehead! It’s like I’m being hunted!”
Johnny leaned in. “You sure you’re not just dreamin’ it?”
“NO!” Hoodude snapped. “Someone keeps leaving heart notes in my locker. One of them said, ‘You’d look cuter with fewer stitches.’ I think I’m gonna DIE.”
Gil laughed. “Sounds like someone just wants a piece of that ragdoll real estate.”
Heath clutched his stomach. “My dude got a fan club!”
Neighthan grinned. “Looks like somebody finally got some attention.”
Hoodude threw his arms up. “IT’S NOT FUNNY!”
Johnny wiped a tear from his eye. “It kinda is.”
Heath slapped Hoodude on the back. “Bro, just give in. One of ‘em might be hot.”
“I don’t want any of them!” Hoodude hissed, looking both ways. “You think this is FUNNY? I’m gonna get sewn to death in my sleep!”
Gil rolled his eyes. "Or maybe you’ll get lucky, idiot. What, you never had anyone into you before?��
Hoodude stared at him like he just grew a second head. "Into me?! Are you blind? I look like the lovechild of a burlap sack and a tornado! No one should want me like this!"
Neighthan sighed. “Look, dude, if someone likes you enough to leave you kiss marks, just embrace it. Take a chance. What’s the worst that happens?”
Before Hoodude could respond, A door creaked open down the hall.
“OH NO—” Hoodude gasped. “That’s them. I KNOW THAT SOUND.”
He took off screaming like a possessed doll, vanishing down the hall at top speed.
The boys watched him go, completely unfazed.
"What a damn shame," Johnny said.
“Hey,” Gil shrugged, “if he don’t wanna get pussy, that’s HIS problem.”
“Tragic,” Heath nodded solemnly.
“Waste,” Neighthan added.
They all casually turned and walked off, ready to have some fun elsewhere.
Unbeknownst to them, behind the corner, Viktor Stein was crouched low with his recorder on.
“Subject: Hoodude Voodoo. Heightened paranoia. Avoidant behavior. Severe fear of female interaction—possibly trauma-induced. May be worth further observation. Or therapy.”
He clicked it off with a sigh.
“This school’s a goddamn zoo.”
LUNCH
The lunch bell echoed through the halls, and the Creepateria roared to life.
Trays clattered. Chairs screeched. The air smelled like mystery meat mixed with mild chaos.
But no one was eating.
Not in the usual sense.
“I swear, you’re lucky I haven’t devoured you yet,” Clawd murmured into Draculaura’s ear, his voice low and teasing as he hovered behind her.
She smirked, turning just enough to toss a glance over her shoulder. “Mmm... you keep talkin’ like that, and I might let you."
“Bet.”
He wrapped his arms around her in a blur, lifting her straight off the bench. She squealed, laughing as he nuzzled into her neck and playfully nipped at her collarbone.
“Put me down, you animal!” she giggled, kicking her feet.
“Nah,” he growled, “I’m starving.”
A few tables over, Cleo lounged like a queen, legs crossed, one arm lazily wrapped around Deuce’s shoulder. She scooped up a bite of food and held it in front of his face.
“Open, darling,” she said, her tone pure command.
Deuce obeyed without hesitation, letting her feed him slowly, savoring it just for her amusement.
“Good boy,” she whispered, smirking as he licked his lips.
Meanwhile, tucked into a quieter corner of the cafeteria, Venus leaned in with a spoonful of food and a sly little smile.
“C’mon, gears,” Venus cooed, nudging a spoonful of whatever passed for lunch in Robecca’s direction. “You need to eat. Can’t have my girl running low on battery.”
Robecca blushed, eyes flicking around the cafeteria. “Venus, this is humiliating…”
“And yet, here you are. Open up.”
“I’m not a dog,” she muttered under her breath.
“No,” Venus agreed sweetly. “But you’re mine. And mine need to be taken care of.”
Robecca hesitated, then—grumbling under her breath—opened her mouth.
“That’s it.” Venus fed her gently, a soft smile playing at her lips. “See? Not so bad.”
Robecca chewed, cheeks burning. Then nodded.
Then opened her mouth again.
Venus leaned in closer, voice teasing. “There’s my good girl.”
And she fed her another bite, eyes gleaming.
At another table, Clawdeen was locked into a full-on flirt session with her girlfriend. She had both arms snug around Toralei’s waist, her nose buried in her neck.
“Oh, quit it,” Toralei moaned softly as Clawdeen’s teeth scraped gently along her skin.
“Mmm,” Clawdeen purred, “You say that, but you’re leaning into it.”
Toralei melted closer. “Because I like it, dummy.”
“Then stop stalling,” Clawdeen growled lowly, lips brushing her ear. “Let me take you somewhere private.”
Toralei smirked, voice sultry. “You sure you’re not the one who wants to be taken? You’re the one making a scene.”
Clawdeen let out a quiet laugh, then bit down slightly harder.
“Ah—!” Toralei gasped, her claws lightly digging into Clawdeen’s arms. “Y-You’re such a tease…”
Clawdeen pulled back just enough to smirk. “Come again?”
“You’re so… so…” Toralei breathed, eyes fluttering.
“So?”
“Sexy,” she whispered, her tail flicking.
Clawdeen was just about to go back in when a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Uh, hey… Clawdeen?”
She turned with a sigh, finding her younger sister, Howleen, standing nearby, looking incredibly awkward.
“I’m a little busy, runt.”
“I know, I know!” Howleen waved her hands. “It’s just… um… can I ask you something kinda personal?”
Clawdeen arched a brow. “You? Asking me something personal? This should be good.”
Howleen hesitated, then leaned in. “Okay, so like… how are you so good at… y’know…”
“...At sex?” Clawdeen finished bluntly.
Howleen turned beet red. “Y-Yeah! That!”
Toralei snorted.
“I mean,” Howleen stammered, “You’re just so confident and bold and—look at you! You’re biting her neck and she’s purring—how do you even get someone to let you do that?”
Clawdeen chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “Didn’t me and Cleo give y’all tips last week?”
“Yeah, but that was just like... flirting and technique stuff. I mean like, actual stuff. Like, how do you get there? How do you get your girl to stop being shy?”
Clawdeen tilted her head. “Let me guess… Twyla’s still acting all ghostly and nervous?”
Howleen nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. And I’m too embarrassed to bring it up. I figured… you’re the boldest girl I know. If anyone can give me help, it’s you.”
Clawdeen grinned wide. “Want me and Toralei to show you how it’s done?”
Howleen didn’t hesitate. “YES.”
Clawdeen smirked. “Locker rooms. After lunch. Bring Twyla."
“Got it!” Howleen gave a thumbs up and practically ran off like she’d just been given sacred knowledge.
As soon as she vanished, Clawdeen turned back to Toralei, licking her lips. “Now… where were we?”
Toralei tilted her head, already exposing her neck again. “You were about to bite me until I forgot my name.”
Clawdeen leaned in, growling softly. “Say less.”
And just like that, she was back to it—neck kisses, teeth, teasing—the works.
Howleen wasn't the only one seeking advice about sex.
Throughout the cafeteria, students were exchanging tips, tricks, and insights on how to 'spice up' their intimate lives.
It was as if the entire school had transformed into a vast forum for sexual exploration.
“You’ve got to work your tongue more!” Cleo declared with conviction. “It’s not just about the basics—up, down, whatever. You’ve got to mix it up, keep it interesting.”
“Totally!” Gigi chimed in, leaning closer. “When I’m with Ryder, I don’t just dive right in. I drag it out—tease him, toy with him a little. Drives him wild by the time we get going.”
“Deuce is the same way,” Cleo said with a smirk. "Until he can't help but get a little rough."
“But what if they’re, like, way bigger than you?” a girl piped up, curiosity lacing her voice.
“Easy,” Iris said with a mischievous grin. “You tease them until they’re dying to scoop you up and go feral. Manny acts all tough, but when I grab his crotch or twerk in front of him, he goes from composed to insatiable in seconds."
“Slo-Mo’s no different,” Ghoulia muttered, her messy hair and crooked glasses hinting at her own wild stories. “I love nudging him until he snaps and just takes over—turns me into his little plaything.”
“Exactly!” Cleo nodded. “It’s all about making them crave you.”
The girl scribbled down every word, her pen flying across the page. If she could nail these moves, her next night with her boyfriend was about to blow every other one out of the water.
Just as another round of teasing started to bubble up, their conversation screeched to a halt as a body—a full-grown dude—went flying across the cafeteria with a crash, slamming into a vending machine and sliding down it with a groan.
Every ghoul at the table froze.
“What the—?” Gigi sat up, her eyes widening.
They all turned in sync to see chaos erupting in the middle of the cafeteria. A circle had formed. Shouting, grunts, and crashing trays filled the air as several guys attempted to fight a lone girl in the center.
Glida Goldstag.
Tall. Muscular. Antlers sharp as blades and adorned with brown tips. Her long legs moved like coiled springs, her hooves clicking against the tiled floor as she demolished her opponents.
One poor troll boy swung at her with a tray like a shield. She ducked under it, spun, and kicked him in the chest so hard he flipped backward and landed with a thud.
“Sheesh!” Toralei whistled, still in Clawdeens grasp. “That girl’s going feral!”
Over another guy, Glida stood victorious, breathing steadily—not even winded. She pointed at the crowd, her voice powerful and clear.
“With all the excessive mating displays and public affection running rampant lately,” she declared, “I have decided I, too, desire a mate. A partner. A husband.”
Everyone in the cafeteria went dead silent.
Glida raised her chin, sharp and commanding. “If any of you males think you have the strength and dominance to take me on and have my children… Then step forward and claim me!”
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, of course, boys started pushing each other forward.
“Bro, let me go first—”
“No, I got this—she won’t last five seconds—”
One by one, they approached. And one by one, they got wrecked.
A vampire tried to get her with a teleport-dash punch combo. Glida saw it coming, sidestepped, and judo-flipped him mid-air.
A werecat pounced—Glida caught him and slammed him into the table.
Even a minotaur boy, big and brawny, went in horns-first—Glida leapt over him, grabbed his horns mid-air, spun around, and brought him crashing to the floor on his back.
“Daaaaaaang,” Clawd muttered, mouth half-open. “She’s not playin’.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Howleen said, peeking over the crowd. “She just suplexed that dude like he was a pillow.”
Then, stepping out from the crowd, came a confident challenger. A werewolf. Broad-shouldered, navy and black fur, gold eyes gleaming with determination.
Dee O’Gee. Romulus’s longtime friend.
Claws flexed. Back straight. Muscles rippling beneath his shirt. He cracked his neck.
“I’ll take her on,” he growled.
A few “ooohhhs” rippled through the onlookers.
Glida tilted her head and looked him up and down. Her antlers gleamed in the light.
“Hm,” she said thoughtfully. “You shall do nicely.”
She circled him slowly, tail flicking behind her. “Strong build. Good posture. I like the eyes.”
Then she stepped forward, mere inches from him. “I’ll take you.”
Romulus leaned on a pillar, arms crossed, watching with a lazy smirk. “My boy’s got this. Don’t even worry.”
Clawd shook his head. “I dunno, Romulus. Glida’s got moves.”
“Twenty fangs on Dee,” Romulus said.
“I’ll take that bet,” Howleen replied immediately. “He's gonna fold her in half.”
And then the fight began.
Dee lunged first—fast and strong, claws slashing with precision. Glida blocked with her forearms, hooves skidding slightly as she absorbed the force. He got in a few good blows—enough to make the crowd cheer.
But then she moved.
Not just fast. Blindingly fast.
Dee went in for a grapple—only to find air. Glida wasn’t there anymore.
Wham! She struck him from the side.
Dee spun and tried to retaliate—wham! She hit him again from the other side.
“She’s a speedster,” Draculaura whispered in awe.
Iris nodded. “No way—he didn’t even see that comin’.”
Dee growled, shaking off the dizziness. He lunged again, trying to fake her out, but Glida zipped behind him before he even finished his move.
“Too slow,” she said simply—then swept his legs, flipped him by his arm, and sent him crashing to the floor with a resounding boom.
Everyone gasped.
Dee didn’t get up.
Flat on his back. Chest rising and falling. Eyes spinning.
Glida stood over him, calm and composed. She wiped a nonexistent smudge from her antlers.
Then, without a word, she grabbed Dee by the arm and slung him over her shoulder.
“I still admire your strength,” she told his unconscious body. “You lasted longer than the others.”
Then, loud enough for the crowd to hear:
“I’ll be testing that strength further.”
And with that, she walked off, completely unfazed, carrying Dee like a bag of groceries.
The cafeteria was silent.
“Well…” Clawd blinked. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“She just took him!” Toralei said, eyes wide. “She just yoinked a whole werewolf!”
At a nearby table, Bonita Femur turned calmly to Isi Dawndancer, who was sipping her tea.
“Since when did Glida desire a strong mating partner?” she asked casually.
Isi shrugged, not looking the slightest bit surprised.
“She’s been watching a lot of romance dramas lately,” she said. “I think it finally got to her.”
Bonita just nodded. “Figures.”
And lunch went on.
At another table, Abbey was deep in conversation with Lagoona and Gil, casually sipping a glacier-blue slushie when a familiar mist floated up behind her.
"Abbey," Spectra said, appearing just over her shoulder with that usual calm-yet-nosy grin. "Can I ask you something?"
Abbey turned, curious. "Yes?"
Spectra floated down until she was level with her. "What’s your relationship like with Heath?"
Abbey raised a brow. "You mean… how do I handle him when he is being annoying?"
She cracked her knuckles.
Spectra blinked. "No, no—I mean your dynamic. In bed."
That made Abbey pause.
Then—slowly—she smirked.
"Ohhh. You want the real answer."
Spectra nodded, paper and pencil in hand like a true journalist.
Abbey crossed her arms, leaning back a little. “It is simple. I am strong. He is small. I dominate."
Spectra blinked again. “Wait—you what?”
"Dominate," she repeated with a shrug. "He is short king. But I am a tall queen. When we do the thing, it is me who bends him over. It is me who is on top. It is me he calls mommy."
Everyone froze in their seats.
Lagoona’s jaw dropped.
Gil stared like his brain was overheating.
Spectra laughed. “So, classic tall queen, short king?”
“Exactly. He tries to be the big wolf? I remind him he is my little puppy. I ride him until he whimpers and cries for more.”
Lagoona made a strangled noise in her throat. “Crikey—Abbey, I thought you guys were just… like… a normal couple. Not that you’re a… a… a dommy.”
“Dommy?” Abbey echoed, sounding confused. “No, no. I just take charge. He is not a mommy. I am.”
Gil looked like he needed a drink. Or some head. Or both.
“So,” Lagoona asked, voice a bit strained, “Does Heath… like that?”
Abbey shrugged, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “He loves it. When he is too rough, I bend him over my knee and punish him. He goes weak like melted snow."
Gil coughed out loud, nearly choking on his drink. "Holy shit."
Lagoona nodded, like she was suddenly understanding something for the first time. “O-Oh! So… you’re like… his mommy. But not like a mommy. You’re just… in charge. He’s the one being bossed around.”
Abbey sipped her slushie with one hand and casually added, “He pretends he is in control, but we both know who breaks the headboard.”
Gil—across the table—quietly scooted his tray a little farther away.
Lagoona just blinked. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“You were never on it,” Abbey replied with a small smirk.
Spectra, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, turned her attention to the couple sitting beside Abbey.
“What about you two?” she asked, pointing her recorder toward Lagoona and Gil. “What’s your dynamic like?”
Lagoona and Gil exchanged a glance.
Then they both shrugged in perfect sync.
“Honestly?” Lagoona said, grinning as she rested her chin on her palm. “We’re kinda… co-dominant?”
Gil nodded. “Yeah. We take turns, basically.”
“More like we wrestle for control,” Lagoona added, nudging him with her shoulder.
"Sometimes, I have her on her knees, begging for it," Gil said with a cocky smirk. "Next time, she's got me pinned down, calling her 'Mistress Lagoona' until I'm screaming."
“And it’s… a good dynamic?” Spectra asked, eyes wide.
“Oh, it’s a wild one,” Lagoona chuckled. “I love hearing him moan. And Gil loves it when i'm squealing his name—whether I’m riding him or being his personal sex toy.”
“Literally,” Gil chuckled. “One time we cracked a bed frame in half 'cause neither of us wanted to be on bottom.”
“Another time we almost knocked a lamp out the window.” Lagoona laughed. “I think the fishes thought we were fighting for our lives.”
Spectra blinked. “So… what I’m hearing is…”
Lagoona grinned, sharp and cheeky. “We bang like wild animals.”
"Oh, so yall just have hot, steamy sex then?" Spectra asked, scribbling furiously.
“Mhm," Lagoona nodded. "But we’re still a good couple. I like teasing him all day, then sucking him dry at night."
“Same,” Gil shrugged. “She’s my little sea monster in the water, but my queen—or fucktoy—in the bedroom.”
“True," Lagoona agreed, leaning over to peck him on the cheek. "And I like it that way.”
Abbey nodded thoughtfully. “I respect this.”
Spectra could barely keep it together as she floated up a few inches. “Okay. Yep. Gonna need a whole series on this.”
At another table, Heath was hunched forward, chin in his hand, looking absolutely defeated.
He turned to Slo-Mo with a groan. “Bro. Serious question. How the hell do you handle someone taller than you?”
Slo-Mo blinked. “Why are you asking me? Ghoulia shorter than I am.”
“I know!” Heath snapped, flailing one arm. “But you’re the chillest dude I know! I don’t got anyone else to ask!”
Slo-Mo gave him a long look, then shrugged slowly. “Wear them down first… then dominate.”
Heath blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“…That’s all you got?”
Slo-Mo leaned back, arms folded. “Takes effort, man. You ever try wearing down someone like Abbey?”
Heath paled immediately. “…She body-slammed me into the bed last night. I saw a light. I think I astral projected.”
Slo-Mo smirked faintly. “Then you’re halfway there.”
Heath groaned. “You’re no help at all.”
“Good luck, short king.”
At another part of the cafeteria, the chaos was... oddly cozy.
Down on the floor, nestled comfortably on a pile of gym mats someone had dragged in earlier, Marisol Coxi lounged like a jungle queen in her element. Her wild pink curls were fluffed to full volume, and her massive feet were kicked up lazily, one toe tapping to the distant thump of music still echoing from someone's portable speaker.
In her lap—squirming, wiggling, and quietly panicking—was Lothar, a stout goblin (or maybe troll?) with horns too small for his large head and ears that twitched every time Marisol giggled.
“Aw, mírate,” she purred, tracing a thick finger down the center of his forehead before dragging her tongue slowly up the side of his face. “Tan pequeñito en mis brazos… I could just eat you up, chico.”
“P-please,” Lothar whimpered, trying—and failing—to push himself upright. “I just… I just wanted to eat lunch.”
Marisol clicked her tongue at him and pulled him tighter against her chest, her biceps locking him in like a seatbelt made of solid affection. “Why sit on some cold, hard chair… when you got the best seat in the house?”
She gave him another long, theatrical lick on the side of the head, grinning wide.
Lothar sagged with a groan, realizing resistance was useless. His little tray of food was still on the table—just barely out of reach—mocking him with its untouched burger and fries.
He sighed. “I’m gonna be here a while, huh?”
Marisol giggled, nuzzling the top of his head. “Oh, cariño… you don’t even know.”
Lothar stared into the distance, dead-eyed, as a single French fry tumbled off his tray to the floor like a symbol of surrender.
Meanwhile, Spectra floated down beside Venus and Robecca’s table, her signature smirk already forming. “Mind if I ask a personal question?”
Robecca looked up, cautious. “That… depends.”
Venus grinned, already catching on. “Go ahead. Fire away.”
“What’s your relationship dynamic like?” Spectra asked, hovering a little closer.
Robecca immediately tensed. “That’s really none of your business!” she said, cheeks already beginning to turn pink.
“Oh come on,” Venus chuckled, slinging an arm around Robecca’s shoulders. “You act all shy, but you love it.”
Spectra raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“It’s simple,” Venus continued. “I lead. She follows."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Spectra asked curiously.
Venus smirked. "When I say ‘jump,’ she jumps. When I say, 'crawl,' she crawls. When I tell her to get on her knees—”
“VENUS!” Robecca hissed, her face burning.
“What? She asked,” Venus replied with a shrug.
Spectra leaned in, eyes shining with curiosity. “So you’re more dominant?”
“Oh, I’m completely dominant,” Venus corrected. “Robecca here is my cute little sub. She pretends she hates it when we’re in public—acts all prim and proper—but the second that door closes, she’s on her knees, wagging her ass like a good girl.”
Robecca groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Venus, please…”
Venus just laughed. “What? You’re my sweet little automaton puppy. You follow me around, let me wrap you up in vines when we’re having fun, you practically roll over when I scratch behind your ears.”
Spectra was clearly trying not to laugh. “Wait. Do you actually say, ‘roll over’?”
“Only when she’s being dramatic,” Venus teased, nudging her. "And those aren't the only things she likes to do."
Spectra’s eyes widened. “There's more?”
"Yep," Venus said nonchalantly. "She loves it when I choke her, spank her, take control. She melts when I use my vines to pin her down. Pretends she doesn’t like it when she can barely breathe."
Robecca was covering her face again. “Please stop. I can’t take it.”
Venus chuckled, voice softening. “Aww, my poor shy puppy. So cute when she gets all flustered.”
“You’re the worst,” Robecca muttered.
“But you love me.”
Robecca didn’t reply, but her cheeks were burning red.
Spectra watched the exchange with a knowing smile. “Sounds like you’re quite the dynamic duo. I’m guessing you use a lot of commands, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Venus said with a wicked smirk. “My favorite is ‘come.’ She goes nuts whenever I say it.”
Robecca let out a mortified noise, burying her face even deeper.
“Is she always like this?” Spectra asked with a laugh.
“Only when she’s being dramatic,” Venus teased, nudging her. “And don’t even get me started on our evening walks.”
Spectra’s eyes widened. “Evening walks?”
"Yep. When it gets late and everyone else is asleep, I put a leash on her and make her crawl around like the good pet she is. She hates it when I take her for long walks around our neighborhood. But when I tell her to roll over, she always obeys."
Robecca let out another pained sound. “…I hate you.”
“Nah. You love me. But it’s okay to be shy. I know you’re really a subby little slut at heart.”
Robecca just groaned again and dropped her head to the table, mumbling, “I’m never going to live this down.”
Venus smiled proudly, patting her girlfriend’s head. “Nope. And that’s why I love you.”
“Who knew the daughter of Hexiciah Steam would be such a...” Spectra trailed off, letting Venus fill in the blanks.
Venus chuckled. “Such a what?”
"A… well-trained companion?”
Venus began to laugh uncontrollably, while Robeeca just wanted it all to end.
Though secretly, she enjoyed it.
Meanwhile, hidden in various corners of the Creepateria—behind vending machines, half-closed janitor doors, tucked beneath camouflage cloaks, or seated at invisible observation tables—the parents watched.
And they were stunned.
Not just stunned.
Shell-shocked.
The group chat, originally titled “Parent Volunteer Observation Group,” had quickly devolved into chaos.
[Harriet Wolf 🐺]
Okay. I don’t care what Bloodgood says. Clawdeen is getting a stern talking-to the moment she gets back to the dorms!
[Clawrk Wolf 🧢]
Yeah, and then she’ll hate us. Like how Frankie hates Viktor.
[Viktor Stein 👨🔬]
I said I messed up ONCE.
[Harriet Wolf 🐺]
You didn’t “mess up once,” you stomped on her heart like a roach. I’m just saying.
[Dracula 🦇]
My daughter is being fed pickup lines over mashed potatoes. This is… barbaric.
[Boogeyman 👻]
I just heard a werecat use the phrase “pin me to the wall like a love letter.” I think my soul tried to leave my body.
[Viveka Stein 💅]
Deuce. Is. SMIRKING. You don’t smirk unless you’ve done something. Or plan to.
[Clawrk Wolf 🧢]
He’s a teenage boy. He’s always planning something.
From his shadowy hiding place behind the staff microwave cart, Viktor peered over the top of his clipboard, watching Frankie trace her fingers over Jackson’s chest with a look of full-blown possession.
He slumped.
“Maybe she does hate me…”
[Harriet Wolf 🐺]
Why is Toralei letting Clawdeen bite her neck like that in public?! I raised a lady!
[Clawrk Wolf 🧢]
You raised a werewolf.
[Dracula 🦇]
We are two seconds from an orgy over pudding cups.
[Boogeyman 👻]
If I see one more spoon go into one more mouth that isn’t their own, I’m throwing myself into a locker.
The silence that followed was filled with nothing but horror. Distant giggles, whispers too dirty to repeat, and the horrifying sight of students taking notes from each other like it was a workshop.
Eventually, someone broke the tension.
[Viveka Stein 💅]
…Anyone else kind of scared?
[Dracula 🦇]
Terrified.
[Viktor Stein 👨🔬]
Emotionally decimated.
[Boogeyman 👻]
Traumatized.
[Clawrk Wolf 🧢]
Horribly outnumbered.
[Harriet Wolf 🐺]
Planning to drink.
They all sat there, watching the strange new world their children now lived in—and wondering how the hell they were going to do to fix this.
Because this wasn’t school anymore.
This was the twilight zone.
And somehow… it was just the beginning.
3RD PERIOD
Coach Igor’s whistle sliced through the gym like a banshee’s wail, reverberating off the towering ceilings. The instant it sounded, students jolted into action, darting into their drills under the watchful, stern glare of the grizzled coach.
He wasn’t like the other teachers. No lounging around, no messing about, and absolutely no slipping away for “private moments.”
He’d made that crystal clear the second they stepped onto the court.
“One-on-ones! Drills! Push-ups! I want sweat!” he roared, stalking the floor like a drill sergeant. “This is gym class, not a comedy club!”
And sweat they did.
All over the gym, boys and girls threw themselves into the workout. Shirts plastered to their bodies like wet paint, hair tousled, faces glowing red from the rush of cardio and reps.
They looked like they’d stumbled off the pages of a monster-fueled fitness ad.
Up in the bleachers, the ghouls clustered together, hair swept into high ponytails, towels draped over their shoulders. They clutched water bottles, pretending to sip, but not a drop touched their lips.
Their eyes were locked on their boyfriends across the gym—glistening with sweat, muscles rippling, gym clothes hugging every curve just right.
Tongues darted out to lick their lips. A few fanned themselves with lazy hands. Others leaned against each other for support, their knees weak.
“By Ra, if he flexes one more time, I’m done for,” Cleo purred, her gaze fixed on Deuce as he powered through a set of squats.
“Is it, like, normal to feel this hot in a gym?” Frankie murmured, her eyes glued to Holt’s every move. “Like, scientifically?”
“No clue, mate,” Lagoona replied with a shrug, equally entranced.
“I’m this close to flinging my underwear onto the court,” Iris declared without a hint of shame.
“Same,” Gigi said, her stare predatory as it tracked Ryder.
Draculaura giggled, practically bouncing. “They’re not exercising—they’re putting on a show. I feel blessed.”
Ghoulia tapped her chin, musing. “If I pretend to twist my ankle, think he’d scoop me up like a bride?”
“Girl, he’d do way more than that,” Clawdeen shot back with a grin.
“The sweat’s rolling down his abs,” Iris squealed, clutching her chest. “I might pass out.”
Isi flicked her eyes from Neighthan to the group. “Is it weird if I want to lick the sweat off his collarbone?”
Not a single ghoul objected.
“Nope? Cool. Just making sure,” she said with a nod.
As the boys kept at their routines—oblivious to the hungry stares—the ghouls grew louder. Whispers morphed into snickers, snickers into smirks, and smirks into downright filthy daydreams.
“That’s all mine. That tall, sweaty, gorgeous disaster? Mine,” Cleo thought, smirking to herself.
“Just one more bench press my way, and I’m vaulting this railing,” Draculaura mused, trembling with excitement.
“Come on, babe, one more push-up,” Ghoulia whispered, nibbling her lip.
“Those big arms pinning me down? Yes, please,” Iris imagined.
“Sweat… muscles… brains… all mine,” Frankie chanted in her head, never breaking her stare at Holt.
“I could lap the sweat off those abs like it’s dessert,” Isi fantasized.
“He has no idea how hot he looks, does he? Clueless, sexy fool,” Abbey thought.
“He’s begging to get tackled, and I’m happy to oblige,” Lagoona schemed, a sly grin spreading.
Heat pooled within them as they watched their boyfriends grind through the workout, their hands inching slowly toward their shorts.
As the ghouls continued to swoon over their sweaty, hard-working boyfriends from the sidelines, they suddenly heard a cheerful voice behind them.
“Howdy, y’all!”
The ghouls all recognized that voice. It was Operetta's.
They turned to greet her—and immediately SHRIEKED.
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
"HOW DID IT GET THAT BIG?"
“RA’S BONES—OPERETTA?!”
There she stood, casually waving with a smile like nothing was wrong… except something was very wrong.
Operetta’s gym shirt was stretched within an inch of its life, clinging to a stomach that looked like she was six months pregnant. Her chest had ballooned too—full, heavy, and barely contained by the fabric.
It had only been 6 days.
Six. Since she got pregnant.
Five. Since she found out she was pregnant.
Four. Since THEY found out she was pregnant.
Now? She looked like she was ready to burst at any minute.
Draculaura’s jaw dropped. “Girl… how do you have a bump that big already?!”
Operetta blinked, then looked down at her belly. “Oh, this? Yeah, it just popped overnight. I rolled outta bed this mornin’ and—bam!”
Frankie took a step back, eyes wide. “No, no, no… that’s not possible. That’s movie magic!”
“You sure you’re not carrying twins?” Clawdeen asked, dead serious.
“I’m sure,” Operetta said breezily, like this was totally normal. “Woke up like this.”
Draculaura was squinting at her like she was hallucinating. “Operetta… are you okay?!”
“I feel great!” she chirped. “Little heavy, sure, but that’s normal, right?”
Frankie just gawked. “That’s not normal, honey—that’s a jump scare!”
“I mean,” Operetta shrugged, unfazed. “I am a phantom, arent I?”
Before anyone could recover, another voice chimed in.
“Hey, y’all.”
The ghouls turned again—and screamed again.
"YOU TOO?!"
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
“SCARAH?!”
Scarah stood behind the ghouls, looking just as casual… and just as massive. Her gym shirt was stretched tightly over her own bump, and her cheeks were flushed from walking over.
“Oh my Ra,” Lagoona whispered, eyes wide. “You too?!”
Scarah nodded. “Mhm. Woke up like this. Don’t ask me how—I haven’t a clue meself.”
“That’s not even the weirdest part,” Operetta added with a sly grin.
“Oh no,” Ghoulia muttered. “There’s more?”
"YEP!" They said in unison.
Cleo narrowed her eyes. “Okay, spill. How did your boyfriends react to… this?”
Operetta giggled. “Johnny nearly passed out, bless his heart. Said it made my chest look like I was hidin’ melons under my shirt.”
Scarah, surprisingly cool as ever, said, “He stared. Then whispered, ‘Thank ye, universe.’”
The ghouls howled with laughter.
“And you’re still…” Frankie wiggled her eyebrows, “you know…?”
“Still what?” Operetta smirked. “Sextually active? Oh, sugar, it’s better than ever. Sure, Johnny's a wee bit less darin’ these days, but that’s just him bein’ sweet. I’ll talk him outta worryin’, eventually. I know his limits.”
Scarah smirked too. “We’re not exactly sittin’ still, so we’re not.”
The ghouls shrieked again.
“YOU’VE ONLY BEEN PREGNANT FOR FIVE DAYS!!” Cleo screamed.
Scarah rolled her eyes. “An’ ye think I’m just gonna stop because o’ this?” She gestured to her stomach. “No chance. I’m still dead randy. I’m not lettin’ a wee thing like pregnancy get in the way.”
“Exactly,” Operetta agreed, a grin tugging at her lips. “If anythin’, it’s made things even more excitin’. The way Johnny looks at me now… it’s like I’m his queen.”
Scarah nodded, adding with a smirk, “Billy can’t keep his hands off me, so he can’t.”
“I love that for y’all,” Draculaura laughed, half covering her face. “I’m horrified… but I love it.”
"Why thank ya!" They both said in unison.
But before the conversation could go any further, Coach Igor’s voice boomed from across the gym.
“LADIES! THIS IS GYM, NOT A FREAKIN’ MATERNITY WARD! ON THE FLOOR!”
The ghouls scattered, trying to suppress their laughter as they grabbed their towels and made their way back to the court.
“Girl,” Cleo muttered as she passed Operetta, “You need to write a book or something.”
“Oh don’t worry,” Operetta grinned. “I’m takin’ notes.”
“And Scarah” Draculaura muttered to the banshee as they jogged off, “If you start glowing or levitating tomorrow, I’m calling a priest.”
Scarah just laughed. “No promises.”
Coach Igor paced the floor, bellowing orders like a general in war—but no one was truly focused on his drills. Not really.
Because while today’s gym class was about cardio, or strength, or stamina.
Secretly, it was about resistance.
And most of these students were losing.
Across the mats, Clawdeen was locked in a heated sparring match with Toralei. Literally.
Toralei had Clawdeen pinned on her back, knees straddling her hips, arms pressed down at the wrists. Their faces were close—too close. Both were panting, growling, their eyes locked in a tense stare-down that had absolutely nothing to do with combat.
Then, it happened.
A drop of sweat slid from Toralei’s temple and dripped—right onto Clawdeen’s forehead.
Everything stopped.
Clawdeen’s eyes narrowed. Toralei froze.
A beat passed.
Then Clawdeen spoke, low and challenging.
“Drip sweat on me one more time—I. Dare. You.”
Toralei’s lips twitched into a smirk, her voice mock-innocent. “Oops.”
Another bead of sweat slid down her brow.
Toralei didn’t blink.
She let it fall.
Clawdeen growled deep in her throat, fangs flashing.
Toralei licked her lips.
Yeah… this sparring session was going off the rails real soon.
And across the gym, it was the same story.
All eyes were on Manny Taur as he approached the bench press setup like a gladiator stepping into the arena. The weights were stacked absurdly high—honestly, it looked like he was about to lift a small car.
"You're gonna blow your back out!" Gil called from the sidelines.
"Blow it out looking damn good," Iris shot back, folding her arms proudly.
Manny cracked his neck, laid down on the bench, and with a deep breath, pressed. The weights lifted—smooth, clean form. Not a wobble. Not a grunt. Just raw strength.
As he racked the bar with a clank, the gym erupted into cheers and whistles.
Iris sauntered up like she owned the place, a proud smirk on her face. "Look at you," she purred, looping her arms around his neck. "My big strong champion."
Manny chuckled, face already a little red from the workout. “It was nothing—”
Iris slid her hand down, gave his dick with a very pointed squeeze, and whispered, “Bet you can bench me later.”
Manny’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. His blush hit critical levels.
"Iris!" he squeaked.
She just giggled, walking off with a wink, leaving him frozen mid-sentence like a statue.
In the sparring ring, Abbey Bominable had just finished flipping a student nearly twice as loud as she was. No ice powers. No frost tricks. Just skill, grit, and sheer power.
The gym burst into applause as she stepped down from the mat, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Queen behavior!" Cleo shouted.
As Abbey passed by, Heath—smirking like the devil himself—leaned in. "Damn, babe. That was hot."
Then, without thinking, he gave her a playful smack on the butt.
Bad idea?
Abbey froze mid-step.
Heath’s soul left his body.
She slowly turned around, towering over him, icy eyes locked on his now-pale face.
“I—uh—meant that respectfully!” he stammered, hands up in surrender.
But instead of slamming him through the gym floor, Abbey smirked, grabbed his backside, pulled him close, and whispered in his ear:
“Next time, I flip you. Onto the bed.”
Heath’s ears went red. Face redder. He just nodded, blinking in stunned silence.
Abbey winked and walked off like it was just another Tuesday.
And it wasn't just them.
Ryder was mid-set, curling a dumbbell with perfect form, sweat rolling down his brow. Gigi, beside him, was chatting between her own reps.
“You know,” she said, casually tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, “if we keep working out like this, we’ll be the hottest couple in Monster High.”
“We already are,” Ryder said, flashing his usual confident grin.
Gigi giggled, then paused. “Hold up, my shoe.”
She bent down to tie it.
And Ryder. Saw. EVERYTHING.
Legs. Curves. The smooth line of her back beneath the gym shirt that was just a little too loose. He froze mid-rep. Dumbbell stuck halfway. Mouth slightly open.
Gigi tied her laces slowly. Deliberately.
Then stood up with a sweet smile. “You okay, babe?”
Ryder blinked fast. “Yeah—yeah, just, uh… lost count.”
“Of your reps?” she asked innocently.
“…Sure.”
She walked away with a smirk, hips swaying just enough.
Frankie was working the resistance bands, but her eyes weren’t on the mirror. Or her form.
They were on Holt Hyde.
Shirt off. Body glistening. Muscles flexing like a live music video.
Her mind? Somewhere completely different.
If only Jackson and Holt could split into two separate bodies… the things I’d do…
She bit her lip, barely realizing her band had stretched too far. It snapped back, slapping her arm.
“OW.”
Holt turned. “You good?”
“Yep!” she squeaked. “Totally fine! Definitely not distracted! Nope!”
Holt raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. He went back to lifting.
Frankie stared again, brain cooking with thoughts she really shouldn’t be having in public.
"I'd definitely take one up the ass and one in my mouth."
Clawd was in the zone—shirt off, sweat rolling, muscles working overtime as he did shoulder presses.
Draculaura approached, her footsteps silent, eyes sharp with mischief.
He glanced over mid-rep. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped closer. Slowly. Teasingly. Fingers trailing along his shoulder.
“You’re really working up a sweat,” she murmured. “Looking… delicious.”
Clawd nearly dropped the weights. “Uh…”
He swallowed. “Thanks?”
“Mmhm.” She leaned in, breath tickling his ear. “You know what they say about working up a sweat…”
“They do?”
Draculaura nodded, her lips brushing his earlobe. “Yeah. They say… you’ve gotta cool down properly.”
“O-oh yeah?”
“Mhm.” Her tongue flicked out. “And I’m great with cooling down.”
Clawd’s knees nearly buckled. “L-Later?”
“Count on it.”
She sauntered off, hips swaying, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. "Catch me later, wolf boy.”
Then she vanished across the gym.
Clawd stood there, dumbbell frozen mid-air, eyes wide.
“…I am not gonna make it to the end of this class.”
Coach Igor shouted something about “discipline” and “form,” but it all blended into the background noise of hormones and heavy breathing.
This wasn’t gym class anymore.
This was a ticking time bomb.
And everyone knew it.
The teacher’s lounge felt colder than usual.
Dim light leaked through the half-closed blinds, casting thin lines across the floor like prison bars. The clock ticked, the old heater clanked in the corner—but otherwise, the room was silent.
The parents sat scattered, not speaking. Not even looking at each other.
Everyone had seen enough for one day.
Clawrk Wolf sat at the edge of a folding chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “How,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “did a simple experiment… turn our kids into this?”
Harriet leaned against the windowsill, arms wrapped tightly around herself like a shield. “I used to find Howleen's attitude funny,” she said, her voice thin and distant. “Even when she cussed us out for the smallest things... she always had this spark. She was tough, but she was still our baby. Now…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Now I don't even recognize the girl walking those halls.”
The Boogeyman said nothing. Just stared at the floor, one hand rubbing the other like he was trying to wring out the tension. “…Twyla won’t look me in the eyes anymore. Not for more than a second.”
Viktor hadn’t spoken at all.
He sat in the corner, his coat still on. Palms clasped. Eyes bloodshot. Staring into nothing.
Dracula finally broke the silence. “She still won’t talk to you?” he asked gently.
Viktor shook his head, slowly. “Not a word.”
Viveka sat beside him, a hand on his arm. “We tried to reach her last night,” she added, voice strained. “She said she was tired. Closed the door. That was it.”
“She used to come to me for everything…” Viktor said, voice cracking as he stared at the floor. “Science projects. Relationship advice. Even when she got scared of thunderstorms… she’d crawl into bed and hold onto my hand like she’d never let go.”
His jaw clenched, the pain visible on his face.
“And now she won’t even look at me. I told her to give us time. She thought I was telling her to let go.”
No one spoke.
Harriet stepped forward, her voice quieter now. “They were our babies. Every scraped knee, every bedtime story… we built them from the ground up. Taught them right from wrong. Kindness. Compassion. Control.” Her lip trembled. “Now I see them… biting, clawing, sneaking off with each other like it's normal. Like it's survival instinct. And all we can do is watch.”
Clawrk ran a hand down his face. “It’s like someone flipped a switch in their brains and left us behind.”
The Boogeyman finally spoke, gravel in his throat. “Maybe they didn’t leave us behind. Maybe… maybe they just can’t see us through the fog anymore.”
Dracula exhaled deeply, eyes closed. “We can’t punish them for being lost in something they didn’t ask for. But damn… it doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Viktor turned away slightly, brushing his face with a sleeve. “She hates me,” he murmured. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back.”
Viveka held his hand tighter.
They were strong parents. Proud parents.
But right now?
They were just tired monsters, sitting in a quiet room, mourning the loss of who their children used to be.
And dreading the question that haunted all of them:
What if they never come back?
The gym was a pressure cooker, teetering on the edge of chaos. Everyone was trying to stick to their workouts, but the heat, the scent of sweat, and the way clothes clung to bodies made it nearly impossible to focus.
Manny had reined in his wandering thoughts and was now assisting Iris with her stretches. She lay flat on her back, legs extended, while he stood over her, gently holding her ankles to guide the stretch.
“Want me to push further?” he asked, his tone casual.
“Nah,” Iris replied, fighting to keep the flush from creeping up her cheeks. “This is good.”
Manny nodded, keeping her steady for the next rep, completely unaware of where her eyes were locked.
From her angle below, Iris had a front-row view of everything.
Including the clear outline of his bulge.
It was… impressive. Even through loose sweatpants, there was no mistaking his size.
The gym was sweltering, but a shiver ran through her anyway.
“Alright,” Manny said, clueless as ever. “You holding up?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah,” she stammered, snapping out of her daze. “Totally fine.”
Every passing second made it harder to resist the urge to lean up and press herself against him.
And Manny, sweet, oblivious Manny, didn’t have a clue.
Over by the weights, Invisi-Billy had abandoned his dumbbell entirely, his gaze fixed on Scarah. Pregnant and excused from Igor’s relentless drills, she was taking it easy with a set of squats.
With each dip, her shirt rode up, exposing her glistening, rounded belly. Eventually, she gave up adjusting it, letting her sweaty skin shine under the gym lights.
The slicker her belly got, the more Billy fought the wild impulse to drop to his knees, crawl over, and lap up every bead of sweat.
That’s what a devoted boyfriend would do, right?
'Go on. Stroll up to your girl and give her a tongue bath she’ll never forget.'
'Trace every inch until she’s glowing like a star.'
'Show her she’s a queen.'
'Prove your tongues ready to worship her, body and soul.'
Billy shook his head, wrestling with the thoughts. He was worked up, sure, but he wasn’t about to make a spectacle in front of the whole gym.
He grabbed his weights again, forcing his eyes anywhere but Scarah. But as the clock crawled toward the end of class, that battle got tougher.
'All you’ve got to do is say the word, love.'
Billy froze, whipping around to find Scarah—mid-squat pause—grinning at him with a devilish glint in her eye.
Her hand tapped her temple lightly. Telepathy. Of course.
'If you’re feeling brave, come over here and get to work. No one’s gonna care.'
Billy bolted from the spot, his face screaming panic like he’d just seen a ghost.
The tension wasn’t just his. All over the gym, restraint was crumbling.
Clawd was faltering under Draculaura’s playful taunts and subtle lip-bites.
Cleo’s mind was lost in Deuce’s frame, her tongue darting out as she imagined all the ways she’d unravel him later.
Gigi let out soft gasps every time Ryder powered through a deadlift.
Toralei’s pulse raced with every drip of sweat rolling down Clawdeen’s skin. Romulus couldn’t tear his eyes off Meowlody and Purrsephone’s skintight shorts, his willpower stretched thin to keep from tearing them apart right there.
It was only a matter of time before the gym turned into something far less… athletic.
Heath was lounging one step below Abbey, head tilted back as he looked up at her. She sat with her arms folded, legs casually swinging — though the tension between them was anything but casual.
They were talking. Kind of.
Mostly it was just flirty side-eyes, heavy silence, and every now and then one of them would sigh like they were holding back from jumping the other.
“Y’know,” Heath said, “if you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna catch on fire. Literally.”
Abbey rolled her eyes, but her smirk gave her away. “You are always on fire, Heath. In brain, maybe not so much. But in body? Constantly overheating.”
Heath clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. That’s cold, babe. Ice cold. Just the way you like it.”
Abbey laughed softly, but before she could fire back, a voice interrupted from nearby.
“Am I interrupting something spicy?”
They both looked up to see Kjersti TrollsØnn, Monster High’s resident gamer ghoul, strolling over with her ever-present tablet clutched in her arms and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Abbey blinked. “You do not have gym this period.”
Kjersti shrugged. “Consider this extracurricular. I’m… monitoring something.”
Heath raised an eyebrow. “Monitoring what? Our love life?”
Kjersti grinned. “Basically.”
She flipped her tablet around and held it out. On the screen was what looked like a live leaderboard, complete with couple names, heart emojis, time stamps, and... questionable titles.
“Couples have been getting real active around here,” she said matter-of-factly. “So I started tracking it. Made a little scoreboard. For fun.”
Heath leaned in, squinting. “What the heck is Fastest Lap Collapse?”
Kjersti scrolled. “Oh, that one’s when someone gets so worked up during lap-sitting, their legs give out. Super competitive category, surprisingly.”
Abbey tilted her head. “Scoreboard?”
“Yup.” Kjersti tapped through the tabs. “Fastest Kiss. Longest Lap-Sit. Most Public Displays of Affection. Thigh Action Thursdays. Sweetheart Submission Rankings. You name it, I got stats.”
Heath’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Hold up. Thigh Action?”
Kjersti grinned. “Most time spent trapped between thighs. Bonus points for elevated heart rate, flushed faces, and losing the ability to speak in full sentences.”
Heath looked horrified. And intrigued. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I'm thorough.”
Abbey raised an eyebrow, slowly glancing at Heath. “So… you want to try earn few points, da?”
Heath blinked. “Wait, what—?”
Abbey didn’t say a word.
She just stretched her leg out with slow, effortless grace—like she was adjusting her posture—and then snap—
Heath let out a sharp yelp as Abbey’s powerful thighs clamped around his neck like a vice, locking him in a perfectly executed headscissor.
“Like this?” she asked, tilting her head with an almost innocent look on her face. She wasn’t even applying full pressure—just enough to make a point. And that point was apparently devastation.
“ACK—!” Heath flailed dramatically, arms scrambling like a cartoon character, his hands flapping helplessly at his sides. “ABBEY, BABE, I CAN’T FEEL MY EVERYTHING—!”
Heath’s voice came out in a strangled wheeze, his face already turning a shade redder than his usual fiery glow. “ABBEY—PLEASE—AIR—I NEED AIR!”
His hands slapped frantically at her thighs, which were locked around his neck with the precision of a steel trap.
Those smooth, powerful legs—sculpted like they were carved from ice and fire—squeezed just tight enough to make him see stars, her grip unrelenting but teasingly controlled.
Abbey tilted her head, her snowy hair cascading over one shoulder as she gave him a mock-innocent smile. “What is wrong, Heath? You look… comfortable.”
She flexed her thighs slightly, and Heath’s eyes widened as he let out a garbled yelp, his fingers tapping her legs like he was sending an SOS signal.
“COMFORTABLE?!” he croaked, his voice barely squeezing through. “THIS IS—A VISE! A SEXY, TERRIFYING VISE!” His hands pawed at her thighs again, slipping against the taut muscle, but there was no budging her. She was a fortress, and he was hilariously, hopelessly trapped.
From the side, Kjersti was doubled over, cackling like a gremlin who’d just pulled off the prank of the century. Her tablet was propped against her hip, recording every second of the chaos.
“Oh, this is gold! GOLD!” she howled, wiping a tear from her eye. “Abbey, girl, pose for the camera! Show off that hourglass power!”
Abbey didn’t hesitate. Still holding Heath in her thigh-lock, she arched her back slightly, one hand resting on her hip as she struck a pose that screamed confidence. Her muscular frame—curves sharp enough to cut and strength that could crush—gleamed under the gym lights, her hourglass figure practically glowing with dominance.
The crowd around the bleachers gasped, some whispering in awe, others shouting encouragement.
“GET HIM, ABBEY!” Clawdeen hollered from a few rows down, pumping a fist.
“Is he… okay?” Frankie muttered, wincing but unable to look away.
“Go for the record!” Toralei yelled, smirking like she was taking notes.
Heath’s flailing slowed, his breaths short and ragged, but something shifted in his eyes. The panic gave way to a wild, almost manic gleam. He stopped tapping out and instead grabbed her thighs—not to escape, but to hold on, like he was staking a claim.
His voice, though strained, boomed with sudden, dramatic conviction.
“TO DIE BY THIGHS IS THE WAY OF A WARRIOR!” he bellowed, his head tilting back as if he were shouting to the heavens. “IF THIS IS MY END, I WELCOME IT! CRUSH ME, MY ICE QUEEN! MAKE ME A LEGEND!”
The gym erupted.
Half the crowd roared with laughter, some cheered like they were at a wrestling match, and a few just stared, jaws dropped, unsure if they were witnessing a breakdown or a performance for the ages.
Abbey’s smirk widened, clearly delighted by his theatrics. “You are ridiculous,” she murmured, but her tone was fond. She gave one last playful flex—drawing another exaggerated groan from Heath—before finally loosening her grip.
Her thighs parted, and Heath collapsed backward onto the bleacher step, gasping for air like he’d just sprinted a marathon.
“Free… I’m free…” he panted, one hand clutching his chest, the other raised triumphantly. “But what a way to go.”
Kjersti, still snickering, tapped her tablet and spun it around to show them the results. “Congrats, you two! You just set a new record for ‘Thigh Action Thursdays’—two minutes, seventeen seconds of pure chaos. Elevated heart rate? Check. Flushed faces? Double check. And Heath, you definitely lost the ability to speak in full sentences.”
Abbey leaned forward, inspecting the screen with a satisfied nod.
Then, without a word, she turned to Heath, grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t a quick peck—this was a full-on, minute-long smooch, deep and unapologetic. Heath’s eyes widened for a split second before he melted into it, one hand tangling in her hair as he kissed her back with equal fire.
The bleachers went wild. Catcalls and whistles echoed from Clawd and Ryder, while Draculaura squealed and clapped like she was watching a rom-com climax.
Cleo raised an eyebrow, muttering, “Show-offs,” but even she couldn’t hide her grin.
A few ghouls fanned themselves, and Manny just shook his head, muttering, “They’re gonna break the scoreboard next.”
When Abbey finally pulled back, Heath looked dazed, his lips still tingling. “Worth it,” he wheezed, shooting her a lopsided grin.
Abbey just chuckled, patting his cheek as the crowd’s cheers rang in their ears.
“Next time, we go for number one.”
He blinked, dazed. “There’s… a next time?”
Kjersti nodded. “Always is.”
Before they could get too cozy, Coach Igor’s voice blasted across the gym.
“THIS IS GYM CLASS, NOT A LOVE STREAM! GET BACK TO WORK, OR I’LL HAVE YOU DOING PUSH-UPS UNTIL YOU PUK—TrollsØnn! GET OUT!”
Kjersti zipped off, muttering something about data collection.
Heath and Abbey returned to their exercises.
In the far corner of the gym, Jinafire Long stood silently, arms crossed, golden eyes locked on the scene unfolding between Abbey and Heath. Her jaw was tight, her posture rigid, and the flick of her tail betrayed the tension rippling through her.
She narrowed her eyes at Abbey, then let her gaze drift—slowly, hungrily—to Heath.
Under her breath, in a whisper sharp as a blade, she muttered:
“Jìnqíng xiǎngshòu ba, Àibǐ. Hěn kuài, tā jiù shì wǒ de le.”
A slow smirk curled on her lips as she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the gymnasium, her heels echoing behind her like the promise of something coming.
The low hum of machinery filled the room as glowing beakers bubbled softly across the lab’s cluttered workbenches. Hackington stood hunched over a microscope, eyes bloodshot, scribbling frantic notes. He muttered under his breath, barely coherent—half talking to himself, half trying to drown out the screaming silence in his head.
Vials clinked. Screens flickered. A centrifuge spun endlessly in the background, processing yet another round of corrupted samples from the affected students.
He paused.
Exhaled.
Rubbed his temples.
It was working.
Sort of.
Piece by piece, he was mapping the gas’s molecular structure. The way it bonded to the limbic system, how it bypassed traditional hormone regulation entirely. How it didn’t just enhance desire—it rewrote it.
And worse… how it was evolving. On its own. No catalyst. No direction.
The data from the parents had been invaluable. Every voice recording, every bodycam angle, every clip of unfiltered chaos—it was all feeding the equation. Letting him see how the gas responded, how it learned.
But none of it calmed him. Not anymore.
No matter how hard he worked, no matter how deep he buried himself in molecular chains and behavioral patterns, one thought refused to leave his mind.
What happens when they find out?
He stopped writing.
His fingers clenched so tight around the pen that it snapped in his grip.
“This was supposed to be a morale booster…” he whispered, shaking. “Not a goddamn breeding frenzy.”
He stumbled backward, breathing hard. The screen to his right looped a new report from one of the parents. A video, timestamped two nights ago. Toralei and her gang, holding some kind of workshop in a locker room, teaching other girls how to manipulate their boyfriends.
Dracula’s voice narrated the footage, trembling and furious:
“Toralei’s crew is taking notes on how to ‘take control’ of their partners. They’re not just chasing pleasure, they’re chasing power. Dominance. They’re… hunting for prey.”
Hackington flinched and backed away—but the screen behind him came to life with another feed.
This time, a grainy gym recording: Manny Taur, shirtless, panting, his eyes glowing pink, as Iris crawled on top of him in front of half the wrestling team. She wasn't shy, wasn't embarrassed—she was teasing him, gripping his horns and whispering into his ear like a queen on her throne.
“Iris Clops has never acted like this,” the father’s voice growled over the footage. “She’s got straight A’s. Has the potential to be one of the best scientist out there. And now she’s… grinding on that boy in front of a crowd. Like she wants them to watch.”
Hackington’s breath hitched.
He turned—but the third monitor lit up on cue. The library. Silent. Empty. Except for one couple: Lagoona and Gil, sprawled across a table, their limbs tangled, knocking over stacks of books.
But it wasn’t just the PDA that got to him.
It was the way Lagoona stared at the camera—dead on—like she knew she was being recorded. And didn’t care.
“She’s not blinking," Viveka whispered shakily over the video. “She’s not talking. She’s not even smiling. That’s not my Coraline's daughter. She looks… hypnotized.”
He spun toward the main console, fumbling for the kill switch to stop the feeds, but the headlines were already flashing behind his eyes:
“Creeper Teacher at Hauntington Prep Disappears After ‘Love Potion’ Scandal – Students Traumatized”
“Chemical Romance: Who’s Protecting Our Teens from Rogue Alchemists?”
“He Said It Was For Science. Now He’s Missing.”
Hackington tried to breathe through it, but the room felt smaller with every second.
He’d seen what happened to other teachers who messed up.
Didn’t matter if it was a mistake.
Didn’t matter if they were “trying to help.”
Once you were seen as a predator—especially one with access to kids—your life was over.
Monster or human.
They didn’t see nuance when it came to their children.
They saw red.
And it didn’t help that Bloodgood had covered for him. Lied through her teeth. Claimed the gas came from a scientific mishap. Took the heat. Bought him time. Bought his family time.
But it was borrowed time. And the clock was ticking.
Viktor Stein. The Wolfs. The Boogeyman. Dracula.
If any of them connected the dots—
“They’re going to find out,” he said out loud, voice hollow.
And when they did?
He could already see the pitchforks. The claws. The angry mobs.
He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But that didn’t matter now.
Intentions didn’t mean shit when the whole school had become a walking porno.
His eyes dropped to the glowing vial in his hand—the latest prototype of the cure.
Still unstable. Still not ready. Still nothing compared to the speed of the gas’s mutation.
He swallowed hard.
Set it down.
And began scribbling faster.
He didn’t have time to panic.
He didn’t have time to sleep.
Because if he didn’t stop this? If he didn’t fix it?
He wasn’t just out of a job.
He was a dead man walking.
A few minutes after the thigh-action spectacle, the gym was back to its usual grind. The boys were spread out across the floor, grunting through their sets—dumbbells clanking, sweat dripping, muscles flexing under the fluorescent lights.
The energy was high, the air thick with exertion and the faint scent of teenage bravado.
The girls, still lounging on the bleachers, were catching their breath from laughing at Heath and Abbey’s display, occasionally tossing flirty glances or playful jabs at their boyfriends below.
It was business as usual—until a single comment lit a match in a room full of dynamite.
“Yo, Ryder,” Invisi-Billy called out mid-bicep curl, a sly grin creeping across his face. “That bulge in your shorts is lookin’ serious today, man. You packin’ or what?”
The gym didn’t stop, not right away. A few guys chuckled, Ryder smirked and kept lifting, but the seed was planted. Eyes darted. Postures shifted. And then Clawd, mid-squat with a barbell that looked like it could crush a car, let out a casual laugh and dropped the bomb.
“Now, we all know I got the biggest pole here,” he said, tossing a smug glance around the room. He set the barbell down with a clang, straightening up like he’d just claimed the throne.
The gym froze. For one glorious second, it was dead silent—except for a faint snort from the bleachers where Clawdeen was already covering her mouth.
Then, like a dam bursting, the floodgates tore wide open.
“Excuse me?!” Manny roared, dropping his kettlebell with a thud that echoed. His massive frame loomed as he stepped forward, chest puffed out. “Clawd, you wish! I’m carryin’ a cannon down here, and you know it!”
“Pfft, a cannon?” Deuce shot back, wiping sweat from his brow as he leaned against a weight rack. “Bro, my shit’s elastic. I can stretch it like a damn rubber band. Length, girth, whatever—name a stat, I’m winning.”
“Elastic?!” Holt jumped in, tossing his towel over his shoulder with a scoff. “That’s cute, Deuce, but I’m packin’ heat that’d make you rethink your whole life. Ain’t no stretchin’ needed when you’re already maxed out.”
“Maxed out?” Romulus growled, his voice low and dangerous as he paused his deadlifts. “Holt, I’d snap you in half with what I’m workin’ with. Ask the twins—they’ll vouch.” He nodded toward Meowlody and Purrsephone, who were watching from the bleachers with matching smirks.
The girls, by now, were fully invested. Perched like a council of chaos gods, they leaned forward, some giggling, others whispering, a few tossing in their own commentary to stoke the fire.
“Clawd’s got a point,” Draculaura chirped, twirling a strand of hair. “He’s got that alpha energy. Probably matches downstairs.”
“Oh, please,” Cleo snapped, fanning herself with a perfectly manicured hand. “Deuce’s got the edge. Elasticity? That’s versatility. Game-changer.”
“Versatility?” Gigi countered, her voice teasing as she nudged Iris. “Ryder’s got pure muscle. No tricks needed when you’re built like that.”
Iris just grinned, her eyes locked on Manny. “Y’all are cute, but Manny’s walking around with a third leg. Facts.”
Back on the floor, the argument was escalating into pure madness. No one was lifting anymore. Dumbbells lay forgotten, benches abandoned. The boys were circling like they were about to throw down in a Monster High version of a rap battle, except the topic was… well, dicks.
“Length ain’t shit without girth,” Heath piped up, still a little red from Abbey’s earlier stunt. He crossed his arms, trying to look serious but failing miserably. “And I’m bringin’ both to the table. Fire and size, baby.”
“Fire?!” Billy laughed, nearly dropping the water bottle he was holding. “Heath, you’re out here sparking, not packing. I’m invisible, sure, but what I got down there? Visible from space.”
“Visible from space?!” Clawd barked, throwing his hands up. “Billy, sit down. I’m the king of this pack, and my pole’s the damn scepter.”
Manny wasn’t having it. He stepped right into Clawd’s space, towering over him with a glare. “King? Bro, I’d make your scepter look like a toothpick. I’m the whole damn forest.”
“Forest?” Deuce cackled, slinging an arm around Holt like they were suddenly allies. “Manny, you’re big, but you ain’t elastic. I can go six inches, twelve, twenty—whatever Cleo’s in the mood for. HELL, I can even turn into a pile of snakes!"
“Twenty?!” Holt shoved Deuce off, looking personally offended. “Man, I don’t need to stretch. I’m walkin’ around with a full-on battering ram. Ask Frankie—she’ll tell ya.”
Frankie, from the bleachers, just giggled. "It's true!"
The girls were losing it. Clawdeen was doubled over, wheezing. Toralei was straight-up howling, her tail flicking as she leaned into Lagoona. “This is better than reality TV,” she gasped. “They’re really out here measuring egos!”
Lagoona nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oi, but Gil’s got nothin’ to worry about. My man’s got the deep-sea advantage—long and strong.”
“Deep-sea advantage?” Abbey said coolly, arching a brow. “Heath burns hot, yes—but I keep him under control. Size is good. But control? Is better.”
“Spill it, Abbey! How’s Heath measuring up?” Toralei asked with a grin.
Abbey just smirked, refusing to elaborate, which only made Heath puff out his chest more on the floor below. “See? She knows what’s up!” he shouted, pointing at her. “I’m a legend!”
“Legend?” Romulus snorted, flexing his arms like he was proving a point. “Heath, you’re a sparkler. I’m a damn volcano. Meowlody, Purrsephone—back me up!”
The twins exchanged a glance, then giggled in unison. “Oh, Romulus,” Meowlody purred, “you’re definitely… eruptive.”
Purrsephone nodded, batting her lashes. “But we don’t kiss and tell. Much.”
The boys kept going, voices overlapping, each trying to outdo the last. Porter, who’d been quiet until now, finally chimed in, paintbrush in hand like he was about to illustrate his point. “Y’all are loud, but I’m subtle. Spectra knows I got the finesse—size don’t matter when you got artistry.”
“Artistry?!” Manny bellowed, looking like he was about to bench press Porter just to shut him up. “I’m a whole damn monument down there! Ask Iris—she’ll tell you I’m a national treasure.”
Iris just winked from the bleachers, blowing him a kiss. “Oh, you’re something, alright.”
The boys were too deep in their war of words, throwing around claims that got wilder by the second.
“I got length and girth!” Clawd insisted, jabbing a finger at Manny. “Alpha stats, bro.”
“Alpha stats?” Deuce scoffed. “I’m bendy, stretchy, and stone-cold solid. I’m a triple threat.”
“Triple threat?” Holt yelled. “I’m a one-man apocalypse! Frankie’s lucky she can keep up!”
“Keep up?” Billy countered. “Scarah’s pregnant, and I’m still out here delivering!”
“Delivering what? Invisibility?” Romulus shot back, and the whole floor roared with laughter.
The girls were eating it up, tossing in their own quips like they were seasoning a stew. Cleo clapped slowly, smirking at Deuce. “Keep talking, snake boy. You’re digging a hole you’ll have to stretch out of later.”
Draculaura giggled, nudging Clawdeen. “Clawd’s so confident, it’s kinda hot.”
“Kinda?” Clawdeen snorted. “He’s gonna trip over that ego and cry to me later.”
Gigi leaned back, fanning herself. “Ryder’s not saying much, but he doesn’t need to. I know what’s good.”
Toralei grinned wickedly. “This is why I love gym class. It’s a circus, and we’ve got front-row seats.”
Amid the chaotic dick-measuring contest consuming the gym, Slo-Mo, off in his own corner, was methodically pumping iron.
His massive frame heaves with each rep, sweat rolling down his gray skin, his face set in a determined grimace. The barbell groans under the weight of plates stacked like they’re defying gravity.
He’s in the zone, tuning out the shouting match between Clawd, Manny, Deuce, and the rest—until a familiar figure saunters into his orbit.
Ghoulia, her glasses slightly askew and her plaid skirt swaying, strides up with a wicked grin that screams trouble. She’s been poking at Slo-Mo all day, winding him up with sly glances and teasing whispers, even after he left her a trembling mess in a supply closet during first period.
Now, she’s back for round two, and she’s not playing subtle.
“Hey, big guy,” she purrs, leaning close enough that her breath tickles his ear. “You look tense. Don’t you wanna loosen up with me again?”
Slo-Mo’s grip tightens on the barbell, his jaw clenching. He’s not falling for it this time. No way. He’s got control, he’s got focus, he’s not gonna let her break him in the middle of gym class.
He keeps lifting, eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending she’s not there.
Ghoulia’s grin widens. "Oh, he wants to play hard to get? Game on."
She steps closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “What’s the matter, Slo? Don’t you wanna fuck me raw again? Pin me down like you did this morning? I can still feel you…” She drags a finger along his bicep, slow and deliberate.
Slo-Mo’s rhythm falters for a split second, but he grits his teeth and powers through the rep.
Focus. Lift. Ignore.
His face is a mask of determination, but his knuckles are white around the bar.
She’s not deterred. Ghoulia circles him like a shark, her teasing relentless. “You were so rough in that closet,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his sweaty shoulder. “Thought you’d split me in half. Wanna try for a new record?” She presses herself against his side, one hand grazing his thigh, inching dangerously close to his crotch.
Slo-Mo’s breath hitches, but he forces himself to keep going, hoisting the barbell like it’s his lifeline. His mind betrays him, though—a flash of memory hits hard:
Flashback.
Ghoulia in the closet, her moans echoing off the walls, her nails digging into his back as he fucked her senseless, her legs shaking as she begged for more.
"HARDER, MOE!" She shouted in ecstasy.
His muscles tense, and a low growl rumbles in his chest, but he still doesn’t break.
Ghoulia’s done playing coy. She leans in, her tongue flicking out to lick a bead of sweat from his neck, slow and provocative. “Mmm, you taste like you’re ready to snap,” she whispers.
Her hand slides lower, boldly cupping his bulge through his shorts. “Come on, big boy. Let go.”
Slo-Mo’s eyes flicker, his resolve cracking, but he’s still fighting it. He’s Slo-Mo, damn it—he’s got iron will.
Ghoulia, though, is a force of nature.
Her hand slips inside his shorts, fingers wrapping around him with a slow, deliberate stroke. She keeps talking, her voice a filthy melody. “You know you want to wreck me again. Fuck me till I can’t walk. Right here, right now.”
The gym fades away for him. Her hand moves faster, her grip tight and teasing, and every word she says chips away at his control. He’s trembling now, the barbell shaking in his hands.
Ghoulia leans up to his ear, her lips brushing the shell as she whispers, “Break for me, Slo. I want it.”
That does it.
With a guttural roar, Slo-Mo *snaps*. He hurls the barbell—weights and all—across the gym like it’s a toy.
It crashes into a rack of dumbbells with a deafening *BOOM*, the impact so violent it sends a shockwave through the floor.
The entire gym goes silent.
The dick-size argument screeches to a halt.
Every head turns—Clawd, Manny, Deuce, all of them frozen mid-brag, staring wide-eyed.
Slo-Mo doesn’t notice. He’s already moving.
In one fluid motion, he scoops Ghoulia up, tossing her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. She squeals in delight, her laughter wild and triumphant as he marches toward the exit.
Her hands grip his back, and she’s not subtle—she shakes her chest for the crowd, sticking out her tongue and throwing up a victory sign like she’s just won the Olympics.
The bleachers explode with cheers from the ghouls.
“GO GHOULIA!” Clawdeen hollers, clapping like a hype woman.
“Get that D!” Draculaura giggles, bouncing in her seat.
Cleo smirks, muttering, “She’s got him trained.”
Iris just whistles, impressed.
Even Abbey nods approvingly, muttering, “Good hunt.”
Coach Igor, who’d been distracted yelling at a kid for improper form, snaps to attention.
“YELPS! MORTAVICH GET BACK HERE!” he bellows, charging toward them like a runaway boulder.
But Slo-Mo’s done with interruptions.
Without breaking stride, he swings one massive hand and slaps Igor clean across the gym. The coach flies into the bleachers, crashing into a pile of towels with a groan, out cold before he even hits the ground.
Slo-Mo doesn’t stop. He carries Ghoulia through a side door into what looks like a storage room. The door slams shut behind them, and within seconds, the unmistakable sound of Ghoulia’s moans echoes through the walls, loud enough to make a few kids blush.
Clawd blinked, muttering, “Well… damn.”
Manny crossed his arms, looking almost impressed.
Deuce just shook his head, while Heath whispered, “Respect.”
The ghouls were still buzzing, some fanning themselves, others giggling uncontrollably.
Cleo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Ghoulia’s got him trained.”
“Trained?” Frankie laughed. “She’s got him wrecked.”
All eyes lingered on the closed door, the moans growing louder, as the gym collectively decided no one was getting any more reps in today.
The universal “all clear” had been sounded, and restraint went out the window faster than Slo-Mo’s barbell. The air crackled with pent-up energy, and the remaining students didn’t waste a second seizing the moment.
Cleo, her golden eyes glinting with intent, sauntered over to Deuce, who was still catching his breath from the dick-size debate. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his chiseled frame, and his snakes hissed faintly, sensing the shift in her vibe.
She grabbed his wrist, nails digging in just enough to make him flinch, and yanked him close, her lips curling into a predatory smirk.
“Hope you’ve got plenty of gas left, snake boy,” she purred, her voice dripping with challenge. “Cause you’re gonna need every ounce of it to keep up with me.”
Deuce’s grin was instant, his green eyes flashing with heat. “Oh, I’m ready, princess. Let’s see if you can handle me.”
Not far behind, Draculaura and Frankie were already on the move.
Draculaura, her pigtails bouncing, skipped over to Clawd, who was wiping sweat from his brow, still puffed up from his alpha boasts.
She didn’t say a word—just grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the exit, her fangs peeking out in a mischievous smile.
Clawd didn’t resist, his wolfish grin saying he knew exactly where this was headed.
Frankie, meanwhile, looped her arm through Holt’s, her stitches sparking faintly with excitement.
“C’mon, DJ,” she said, her voice teasing but firm. “Time to crank the volume up.”
Holt’s headphones were still blasting faint beats, but he yanked them off, his eyes locked on her like she was the only thing in the room.
“Girl, you know I’m always loud,” he shot back, letting her lead the way.
Across the gym, Manny was already looming over Iris, who’d been stealing glances at him all period. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail slightly askew, and she froze as he stepped closer, his massive frame casting a shadow.
He leaned down, his voice low and rumbling. “Caught you starin’ at my bulge earlier, didn’t I?” he said, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
Iris didn’t bother denying it. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with a bold grin. “Guilty. Hard not to when you’re… y’know, advertising.” Her eyes flicked downward, unapologetic.
Manny laughed, a deep, booming sound that made her shiver.
Without warning, he scooped her up in one fluid motion, her legs dangling as he held her against his chest. “Let’s go settle this then,” he said, already striding after the others, Iris giggling in his arms like she’d just won a prize.
Romulus stood near the weight racks, his massive frame still glistening with sweat from the earlier workout, his chest heaving slightly from the lingering adrenaline of the dick-size argument.
His eyes, dark and predatory, were locked on Meowlody and Purrsephone, who were sauntering toward him with their signature catlike grace. Their gym shorts hugged their curves, their cropped tops barely containing their assets, and their tails swished in sync, practically screaming mischief.
The twins had been tormenting him all day—flirty whispers, suggestive winks, brushing against him “accidentally” during drills—and now, with Igor out cold and the gym a free-for-all, they clearly thought they had the upper hand.
“Oh, Romulus,” Meowlody purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness as she leaned against a nearby bench, her tail flicking toward him. “You were talkin’ so big earlier. Got anything to back it up, big bad wolf?”
Purrsephone giggled, circling to his other side, her claws grazing his arm just enough to spark a reaction. “Yeah, all that barking about being a ‘volcano’—we’re waiting for the eruption, puppy,”
she teased, batting her lashes as her tail curled playfully around his wrist.
The twins were relentless, their words a coordinated assault designed to unravel him.
Meowlody leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Bet you can’t handle both of us at once,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to flick his earlobe.
Purrsephone matched her, pressing herself against his side, her hand sliding down his chest toward his waistband. “Come on, Rom,” she murmured. “Show us what that alpha’s really got.”
Romulus’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. He’d taken their teasing for hours—days, even—letting them think they were in control, letting them poke the beast.
But now? Now he was done.
The gym was a lawless jungle, and he was ready to remind these cats who ran the pack.
Without a word, Romulus moved like lightning.
His hands shot out, grabbing both their tails in a single, iron grip. He yanked—hard.
The twins let out matching yelps, sharp and startled, their smug expressions crumbling into shock as pain and surprise jolted through them.
“Ow—Romulus!” Meowlody gasped, her claws digging into the bench for balance.
“What the—!” Purrsephone started, but she didn’t get to finish.
Romulus didn’t give them a chance to recover. With a low growl that vibrated in his chest, he hoisted both twins up like they were weightless—one over each shoulder, their legs kicking uselessly as they squirmed.
“You wanted the wolf?” he rumbled, his voice thick with dominance. “You’re gettin’ him.” Their tails were still trapped in his grip, ensuring they couldn’t wriggle free, and their yelps turned to half-laughing protests as he marched straight out of the gym, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the few stragglers left behind.
He didn’t head for the locker room—too crowded, too public.
Instead, he stormed into a nearby equipment room, the kind filled with spare mats and forgotten dodgeballs, kicking the door shut behind him.
Toralei, leaning against a nearby weight rack, had been watching the whole scene unfold, her sharp green eyes narrowed. She straightened up, her striped orange tail flicking with irritation, ready to pounce on Romulus as he passed by. Sex or no sex, you don’t just yank a cat’s tail—especially not friends of hers.
“Hey, wolf boy!” she called, her voice cutting through the din, claws flexing as she stepped forward. “You think you can just—yow!”
Her taunt turned into a high-pitched shriek as a hand shot out, grabbing her tail and yanking it hard enough to make her stumble.
Toralei whipped around, fur bristling, only to find Clawdeen standing there, her golden eyes blazing with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous.
Clawdeen’s gym clothes were soaked, her curls wild, and her lips curled into a smirk that promised trouble.
“Worry about yourself, stripes,” Clawdeen growled, giving Toralei’s tail another teasing tug, just to drive the point home. “You’ve been teasin’ me all damn day, gettin’ your sweat all over me, actin’ like you run this show. Time to pay up.”
Toralei’s ears flattened, but her shock quickly melted into a defiant grin, her fangs peeking out. “Oh, puppy wants to play rough?” she purred, stepping closer, thinking she could flip the script.
“What’s it gonna be, Clawdeen? Gonna grab that dildo from your bag and try to tame me?”
Clawdeen’s laugh was low, almost feral, and it sent a shiver down Toralei’s spine.
She leaned in close, her breath hot against Toralei’s ear, voice dripping with wicked promise.
“Naw, kitty. I got somethin’ way better than that.”
Before Toralei could fire back, Clawdeen grabbed her wrist, her grip like iron, and dragged her toward the far end of the gym.
Toralei stumbled at first, caught off guard by the sheer force, but her protests were half-hearted, laced with a laugh—she knew Clawdeen, and she knew this was about to be a wild ride.
The other ghouls barely glanced their way, too caught up in their own post-chaos recovery, but a few smirks followed the pair as Clawdeen hauled Toralei into the girls’ locker room, the door slamming shut with a bang.
Heath’s heart was pounding as he edged backward, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the gym floor.
The chaos around him—Ghoulia and Slo-Mo’s exit, the locker room turning into a den of debauchery, Romulus and the twins disappearing, and now Clawdeen and Toralei's romp—had him on high alert.
After Abbey’s thigh-crushing stunt earlier, his pelvis was still screaming nope at the thought of round two. He loved her, sure, but he wasn’t about to let those yeti thighs turn his bones to powder.
His eyes darted toward the gym doors, calculating his escape route. Just a quick sprint, and he’d be free to hide out in the cafeteria or… anywhere less likely to end with him limping.
But before he could bolt, a shadow loomed over him, blocking his path like a glacier.
Abbey stepped in front, her towering frame casting him in shade, her icy blue skin still shimmering with sweat from her workout. Her tank top clung to her curves, her massive chest heaving slightly, and—oh, damn—her nipples were hard, poking through the fabric like they were daring him to stare.
A predatory smirk curled her lips, her violet eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and hunger that made Heath’s stomach flip.
“Fire boy,” she purred, voice low and teasing, thick with her mountain-born accent.“Where you think you sneak off to, mm?”
Heath swallowed hard, his face igniting with a blush that rivaled his own flames. “Uh, y’know, just… gonna catch up with a buddy,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes flicking anywhere but her face. “Guy stuff. Totally innocent.”
Abbey’s smirk widened, and she crossed her arms under her chest, deliberately pushing her boobs up until Heath’s brain short-circuited.
“Innocent?” she said, stepping closer, boots thudding against the floor. “No more ‘guy stuff,’ Heath. I have better plan for that mouth of yours.”
His blush went nuclear, his voice cracking as he tried to deflect. “Whoa, snowflake, love the enthusiasm, but, like, we’re in gym—kinda public, y’know? Maybe we should—”
“I do not repeat myself,” Abbey cut him off, her tone like a glacier cracking, leaving no room to argue.
“Get over here and kiss me—before I bend you over and melt your brain with tongue alone.”
She leaned in, her smirk turning wicked. “Besides… I need someone to lick every drop of sweat off my skin.”
Heath’s internal scream was deafening, but he knew he was cornered.
Abbey was sweet most days—shy smiles, gentle touches—but when she flipped the switch like this?
She was a force of nature, and he was just a spark in her storm.
Part of him was terrified—she was a yeti, for fuck’s sake. One wrong move, and she could snap him like a twig, leaving him dickless and in traction.
But another part—the part that made his shorts feel tighter—loved this side of her. The raw, commanding power. The way she made him feel like prey and prize all at once.
With a shaky sigh, he mumbled, “Alright, alright, I’m comin’,” and shuffled toward her, his sneakers dragging like he was marching to his doom.
The second he was in range, Abbey’s hands clamped onto his waist, her fingers digging in with an icy grip that made him yelp.
She hauled him toward the showers, her stride purposeful, like she was claiming territory. The gym’s chaos faded behind them as they crossed into the steamy, tiled room, the door swinging shut with a clang.
Amid the madness, Gil stood near the gym’s edge, his webbed hands fidgeting as he tried to keep his cool.
His diving helmet gleamed under the lights, but it couldn’t hide the growing bulge in his gym shorts—a dead giveaway that Lagoona’s relentless teasing all day had him on edge.
She’d been at it since first period: brushing against him during stretches, whispering filthy promises in his ear, letting her tail graze his thigh just to watch him squirm.
Gil glanced at Lagoona, who was leaning against a nearby bench, her teal-blue skin glistening with sweat, her blonde curls wild and damp.
Her gym clothes—a cropped tank and shorts—clung to every curve, her tail flicking with a restlessness that screamed trouble.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual despite the heat crawling up his neck. “lagoona, maybe we should hit the pool room,” he suggested, nodding toward the exit. “Y’know, get some… privacy.”
Lagoona’s ocean-blue eyes locked onto him, and her lips curled into a grin that was equal parts playful and predatory.
Privacy?
After hearing Cleo’s gasps, Draculaura’s moans, Ghoulia’s victory cries, and now Abbey’s commands from the showers?
After watching Gil’s bulge grow with every passing minute of gym class chaos? She wasn’t waiting another second, pool room or not.
She wanted him now.
“Privacy?” she laughed, her Aussie accent thick with mischief. “Mate, I’m not trekkin’ across the school when I’ve got you right here.”
Before Gil could react, she lunged, shoving him hard in the chest. His sneakers skidded on the polished gym floor, and he slid backward a few feet, arms flailing for balance. “Whoa—Lagoona, what—?!”
He didn’t get to finish. Lagoona tackled him like a tidal wave, her body crashing into his as they hit the floor with a thud.
The impact knocked the breath out of him, but she didn’t pause, straddling his hips and grabbing his diving helmet with both hands.
With a quick, practiced twist, she yanked it off, tossing it aside where it clattered against a weight rack. Gil’s hair spilled free, his gills flaring as he gasped, but Lagoona was already on him, her lips slamming into his in a kiss that was all hunger and salt.
The make-out was ferocious—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, her hands gripping his face as his webbed fingers dug into her hips. Lagoona tasted like seawater and adrenaline, her moans vibrating against his mouth as she ground herself against his bulge, drawing a choked groan from him.
“Fuck,” he mumbled into the kiss, his voice rough, “you’re gonna kill me.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” she shot back, nipping his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.
But Gil wasn’t going down without a fight. He bucked his hips, catching her off guard, and rolled them over in one fluid motion, pinning her beneath him.
Lagoona’s back hit the floor, her tail thrashing as she laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Oh, you wanna play that game, fishboy?”
The gym floor became their arena, a sweaty, slippery battleground for dominance. Lagoona pushed back, hooking her legs around his waist and twisting, trying to flip him again. Gil resisted, his arms caging her as he pressed his weight down, their lips still locked in a messy, desperate kiss.
Near the edge of the chaos, Ryder sat in his wheelchair, his dark hair damp from the workout, his gym tank clinging to his lean, muscular frame.
His eyes were locked on Gigi, who stood before him, her creamy skin shimmering faintly, her pink and gold hair cascading over her shoulders.
She’d been eyeing him all period—flashing sultry smiles, letting her hands linger on his shoulders during “stretches,” moaning whenever he finished a rp the works.
Ryder tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he caught her gaze. “So, what’s it gonna be, Gigs?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. “You teleportin’ me to that pocket dimension of yours again? Y’know, that freaky glowy place where no one can hear us?”
Gigi’s golden eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a hunger beneath it that made his pulse jump. She stepped closer, her hips swaying, her gym shorts barely containing her curves.
“No,” she said simply, her voice a sultry hum that sent a shiver down his spine. “I want you here.”
Before Ryder could fire back, Gigi moved, swift and decisive. She climbed into his lap, straddling him in the wheelchair, her thighs pressing against his tail as the chair creaked under their combined weight.
Her hands cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss that was all heat and urgency—lips crashing, tongues tangling, her moans vibrating against him.
Ryder groaned, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into her soft skin as she ground against him, the friction sparking fire in his veins.
Gigi didn’t hold back. She tugged at his tank, yanking it up to expose his chest, her nails raking lightly as she kissed him deeper.
Ryder matched her intensity, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, the other guiding her movements as she rocked against his growing bulge.
The wheelchair rolled slightly, bumping a nearby bench, but neither cared—they were too lost, fucking right there in the open gym, Gigi’s gasps and Ryder’s growls blending into the chaotic symphony around them.
Operetta, stood near the bleachers, her red hair swept into a high ponytail. She’d been watching the chaos unfold with a mix of amusement and impatience, her Phantom roots itching to join the fray.
But there was a problem: Her boyfriend didn’t have gym this period, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember where he was.
“Alright, time to track down my man,” Operetta muttered to herself, scanning the gym for someone who might know Johnny’s schedule.
Her eyes landed on Isi. Perfect. She probably knew.
Operetta started toward her, ready to ask, “Hey, Isi, you seen Johnny this period?”—but the words died in her throat when she got a good look at what was happening.
Isi wasn’t standing calmly. She was on the ground, her spirit radiating a wild, hungry energy, pinning Neighthan to the floor like a predator who’d finally caught her prey.
Neighthan’s shirt was gone, his sweat-covered chest heaving as he squirmed under her, his wrists trapped in her firm grip. His usual shy and quiet expression was now a mix of panic and reluctant arousal, his eyes wide as Isi leaned over him, her long, flowing hair spilling across his skin.
She was licking him—licking him—like he was a damn ice cream cone, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate across his collarbone, leaving a trail of glistening saliva.
"Hold still, Neighthan," Isi purred, her voice a sultry growl that sent a shiver through the air. "I’m gonna eat you up." She lapped at his neck, then his shoulder, her lips smacking with exaggerated relish.
"Every inch of you’s gonna have my saliva, baby. Not a single spot left dry."
Neighthan squirmed harder, his voice cracking. "Isi, c’mon, this is—fuck—you’re insane!" But she just giggled, tightening her grip, her tongue swirling over his chest now, catching every bead of sweat like it was a delicacy.
"Don’t worry, sweetie," she cooed, her eyes glinting with wicked delight. "You’re in Mommy’s hands now. Be a good boy and give Mommy a sweet, sloppy kiss." She dove back in, licking a long stripe up his jaw, and Neighthan groaned, his resistance crumbling as she overwhelmed him.
Operetta froze, one eyebrow raised, her lips twitching between a smirk and a grimace.
Isi wasn’t stopping—her tongue darted toward his ear, and she murmured, "I’m gonna push my tongue into all your holes, you slutty boy."
Neighthan’s face went red, his body jerking as she licked his horn, then his lips, purring, "Open wide, Neighthan. Mommy’s gonna make out with you."
"Isi—!" he tried, but she silenced him with another lick, her laughter echoing like a haunting melody. "Mommy’s gonna eat you up whole, sweetie," she teased, "no side left unlicked, fufu~"
She was relentless, using her deer spirit strength to keep him pinned, her tongue working like a sweat rag, cleaning every inch of his trembling body with obsessive fervor.
Neighthan was fighting it—barely—but it was clear Isi wasn’t letting him go until she’d licked him raw.
Operetta shook her head, muttering, “Well, that’s… a choice.” She pivoted, deciding Spectra was a lost cause, and scanned for someone else.
Her gaze landed on Scarah, sitting calmly on a bench near the water coolers, her pregnant belly glowing softly. Maybe she’d know where Johnny was.
But as Operetta stepped closer, her boots froze mid-stride, and she nearly choked on her own breath.
Scarah was not just chilling. Invisi-Billy was knelt before her, his face buried against her sweat-slicked, rounded belly, licking it with a devotion that bordered on worship.
His hands rested gently on her hips, his tongue tracing slow, reverent paths across her skin, catching every drop of sweat like it was sacred.
Scarah’s eyes were half-lidded, a soft moan slipping from her lips as her fingers roamed through his hair, guiding him with a tenderness that contrasted the raw intensity of the act.
“That’s it, Billy,” she murmured, her Irish lilt soothing but firm. “Right there.”
Billy’s form flickered, his instinct to turn invisible kicking in, but Scarah’s hand tightened in his hair, keeping him grounded.
“No hiding, love,” she said softly, her telepathic voice brushing his mind. “You’ve no reason to fade. I want you here.”
Billy let out a muffled whimper, his tongue working faster, more eagerly, his submission to her complete as he lapped at her belly, lost in the act of pleasing her.
Scarah’s moans grew louder, her head tipping back as she arched slightly, her free hand resting on her bump.
Billy was greedy, his licks almost frantic now, and Scarah’s gentle guidance turned into possessive tugs, her pleasure evident in every shudder.
The sight was intimate, raw, and so damn intense that Operetta felt like she’d stumbled into something she shouldn’t have.
“Sweet screams of Memphis,” Operetta muttered, running a hand through her hair. “This place is a freakin’ zoo.”
She wasn’t judging—hell, she was itching to get in on the action herself—but she needed Johnny, and she needed him now.
Her body was practically humming with need, her Phantom blood screaming for another round with her man.
Pregnancy be damned—she’d had two kids already, and she was ready for him to put another baby in her, consequences be damned.
With a frustrated sigh, she pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen as she shot Johnny a text:
'Where u at? Gym’s a madhouse, and I need u BAD.'
She didn’t wait for a reply, already striding toward the gym doors, her boots clicking with purpose. The moans, licks, and gasps faded behind her as she left the chaos in her dust, a southern belle on a mission.
Johnny better be ready, because when Operetta found him, she was gonna make sure he felt every ounce of her pent-up fire—and then some.
Back in the gym, Igor comes to, rubbing his head and blinking groggily.
He stumbles to his feet, only to freeze at the sight before him. Most of the students were missing and the room around the gym were filled with the sounds of moans, dirty talk and screams.
The vibe is electric, and it’s spreading.
Igor’s eyes dart around. Kids are starting to peel off—couples sneaking toward the locker rooms, the equipment closet, even the shadowy corners of the gym.
A boy and a ghoul slip behind a weight rack, giggling.
Another pair ducks out the side exit, hands already wandering.
The air’s thick with hormones, and the gym’s one spark away from turning into a full-on free-for-all.
“Oh, hell no,” Igor mutters, his face paling. He knows what’s coming.
His precious gym—his temple of sweat and discipline—is about to become a damn adult film set.
“BLOODGOOD!” he roars, sprinting for the door like his life depends on it, desperate to get the headmistress before the whole place goes feral.
The ticking of the grandfather clock was the only sound in the room, aside from the soft scratch of a fountain pen gliding across paper. Bloodgood sat hunched over her desk, eyes scanning yet another complaint email from a furious parent.
She’d just hit “send” on her carefully worded response when—
BANG.
The office door slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges. Coach Igor barreled in, his tracksuit wrinkled, face red, hair sticking up in odd directions like he’d been electrocuted.
Bloodgood didn’t flinch. She merely set her pen down and looked up from her paperwork.
“…Coach?”
“We have a problem,” he panted, eyes wide with panic.
She gave a tired sigh. “Coach, we always have a problem. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“The gym,” he wheezed. “It’s— It’s GONE.”
Bloodgood blinked. “Gone?”
“Gone as in no longer a place for sports. Gone as in it looks like an audition reel for—something else,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “It was supposed to be a casual co-ed open gym day. I turned my back for two minutes and—”
She held up a hand. “Start from the beginning. Slowly.”
Coach Igor took a breath, then launched into it. “Ghoulia was teasing Slo-Mo. You know—whispers, hands where they shouldn’t be. That sort of thing. He tried to stay composed, I’ll give him that, but then she—grabbed him. Next thing I know, he lets out a noise like a beast and throws her over his shoulder. Marches straight into the storage room!”
Bloodgood rubbed her temples. “And you attempted to stop them, didn’t you?”
“I tried,” Igor groaned, rubbing his jaw. “Told him to cut it out, told her this wasn’t the place—WHAM. One backhand, and I’m flying into the bleachers like I’m in a wrestling match.”
She stared at him for a beat.
“You got hit?”
“Oh, yeah,” he grumbled. “Woke up three minutes later to an empty gym. Bleachers half-collapsed. And all the secondary rooms? Locked. With noises.”
Bloodgood’s face did that slow, exasperated shift from passive to deeply done. She reached for her riding crop but stopped herself halfway, tapping the desk instead.
“I gave you and the other staff very clear instructions,” she said tightly. “Do not intervene when the students sneak off for… activities.”
“I didn’t want them to ruin the gym!” Igor threw his hands up. “Do you know how hard it is to clean up bodily fluids? And we just installed new bleachers!”
Bloodgood stood slowly, walking over to the coat rack and grabbing her cloak. “Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s go see how bad the damage is.”
Igor blinked. “Should I call in the parents? We could use extra hands—"
“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “The last thing we need is someone’s dad stumbling upon their child’s… moment of self-discovery in the equipment room. No. We clean it. Quietly.”
He nodded, slightly pale. “Right. Quietly.”
She grabbed a roll of paper towels from behind her file cabinet.
“…And bring the Febreze,” she muttered darkly.
The group converged on the boys’ locker room, the heavy door swinging shut behind them with a thud that felt final. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat, metal, and lingering body spray, the fluorescent lights casting stark shadows across the tiled floor.
Benches lined the walls, lockers stood like silent sentinels, and the space was theirs—no Igor, no rules, just raw, unchained desire.
Things didn’t just heat up; they exploded from zero to a hundred in a heartbeat.
Clawd was done playing. All day, Draculaura’s teasing—her flirty glances, her lip-bites, her “accidental” brushes against him—had chipped away at his patience.
He was a wolf, not a saint, and his fuse had burned out.
The second they hit the locker room, he grabbed Draculaura by her pigtails, his grip firm but not cruel, and pushed her down to her knees.
“You’ve been askin’ for this,” he growled, his voice rough with need as he unzipped his shorts, freeing his cock—thick, heavy, and already hard from the day’s tension.
Draculaura’s eyes widened, a faint gag escaping her as the musky scent hit her first, raw and overwhelming.
“Clawd—!” she started, but he didn’t give her time to protest, guiding himself to her lips. She hesitated for half a second, then leaned into it, her fangs grazing lightly as she took him in, her hands bracing against his thighs.
She gagged again, the size and smell catching her off guard, but then she found her rhythm, sucking him eagerly, her tongue swirling as she bobbed her head.
Clawd’s head tipped back, a low groan rumbling from his chest, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Fuck, D… that’s it.”
Nearby, Frankie and Holt were already tangled in a different kind of chaos.
They’d hit the floor almost instantly, clothes half-on, half-off, locked in a feverish 69 that left no room for teasing.
Frankie straddled Holt’s face, her thighs trembling as his tongue worked her over, his hands gripping her hips to keep her in place. She moaned against his cock, taking him deep, her lips and tongue moving with a mix of precision and desperation.
Holt’s muffled groans vibrated against her, his hips bucking slightly as she sucked him harder, sparks literally flying from her stitches with every jolt of pleasure. The bench beneath them creaked, threatening to give way under their frenzy.
Cleo and Deuce were a storm of their own. They’d started with a make-out session so intense it was practically a fight—lips crashing, tongues battling, hands clawing at sweaty gym clothes.
Deuce, fed up with the fabric in his way, grabbed Cleo’s shorts and ripped them open at the seam, the sound sharp in the humid air.
Cleo gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding—“Those were designer, you snake!”—but she didn’t stop him, shoving him down onto the tiled floor and climbing on top.
Now she was riding him, her ass bouncing with every thrust, his cock buried deep as she moved. Deuce’s hands gripped her waist, guiding her rhythm, while their mouths stayed locked, kissing through moans and gasps, her nails raking his chest.
“Harder,” she demanded against his lips, and he obliged, snapping his hips up to meet her, the slap of skin echoing off the lockers.
Manny and Iris were a slower burn, but no less intense. He set her down near a row of lockers, his massive hands steadying her as she caught her balance.
“Alright, Iris,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle despite the heat in his eyes. “What do you want?”
Iris didn’t hesitate. With a wicked grin, she turned around, planting her hands on the floor and arching her back.
Then she started twerking—slow at first, her hips rolling, her ass shaking right in front of him, the tight gym shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.
“This answer your question?” she teased, glancing over her shoulder, her eye winking with challenge.
Manny’s grin was pure hunger. “Oh, you’re speakin’ my language.”
He stepped forward, one hand grabbing the waistband of her shorts and tearing a jagged hole—straight through to her skin.
Iris yelped, but it melted into a laugh as he took her hands, pinning them above her head against the cold metal. He lined himself up, easing in slow, careful despite his size.
Iris tensed, a soft cry slipping out as he stretched her, the initial sting making her bite her lip.
“You good?” he murmured, pausing, his voice rough but concerned.
“Yeah,” she breathed, nodding. “Keep going.”
That was all he needed.
Once she adjusted, Manny let loose, thrusting with a steady, relentless rhythm, each movement drawing a moan from her lips. Iris pushed back against him, meeting his pace, her hands flexing under his grip as the lockers rattled behind them.
“Fuck, Manny—” she gasped, her voice breaking as he hit just the right spot, their bodies locked in a dance that was all instinct and fire.
The space was a pressure cooker, and every couple was pushing the limits of what the benches, lockers, and their own bodies could handle. It wasn’t just wild—it was feral, a collision of pent-up tension and reckless abandon that showed no signs of slowing down.
Clawd’s grip on her pigtails tightened as he thrust into her mouth, his low growls mixing with her muffled moans. Draculaura had found her groove, her initial gags giving way to eager enthusiasm.
Her fangs grazed him just enough to send shivers up his spine, her tongue swirling with a skill that made his knees buckle.
“Fuck, D, you’re killin’ me,” he rasped, his hips rocking slightly to match her rhythm.
She pulled back for a split second, gasping for air, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock as she grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Good,” she teased, before diving back in, taking him deeper, her hands digging into his thighs to pull him closer.
Clawd’s head tipped back, a guttural “Shit!” escaping as he fought to keep control, his wolfish instincts screaming to let go completely.
Frankie and Holt were a tangle of limbs and electricity, their 69 position pushing the bench to its breaking point.
Frankie’s thighs quivered around Holt’s face, his tongue relentless as it flicked and teased, drawing sharp cries from her that vibrated against his cock.
She sucked him with a mix of hunger and precision, her lips tight around him, one hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Holt’s hands roamed her hips, pulling her down harder, his muffled groans sending jolts through her core.
Sparks crackled from Frankie’s stitches, tiny arcs of light dancing across her skin with every surge of pleasure.
“Holt—fuck—don’t stop,” she gasped against him, her voice breaking as she ground herself against his mouth.
Holt’s response was a low, rumbling chuckle, his tongue doubling down until her whole body shook, her moans turning to desperate whimpers.
The bench groaned under them, one leg wobbling dangerously, but neither noticed, too lost in the feedback loop of pleasure.
Cleo and Deuce were a storm of dominance and defiance, their bodies locked in a rhythm that was as much a power struggle as it was passion.
Cleo rode him hard, her fat, jiggly ass slamming down with every thrust, the ripped remnants of her shorts dangling around her thighs.
Deuce’s cock filled her completely, each movement sending waves of heat through her core, but she wasn’t giving him an inch of control.
Her nails raked his chest, leaving red trails, and she broke their kiss to nip at his jaw, her voice a husky command.
“Faster, Deuce—don’t you dare hold back.”
He grinned, his snakes hissing faintly as he gripped her hips tighter, thrusting up to meet her with enough force to make her gasp.
“You want it all, princess? You got it,” he growled, his hips snapping harder, the slap of skin against skin loud enough to rival the locker rattles.
Cleo’s head tipped back, a moan tearing from her throat as she bounced faster, her body glistening with sweat, her gold jewelry glinting with every move.
She leaned down, biting his lip hard enough to draw a groan, and whispered, “That’s more like it. FUCK ME RAW!"
Manny and Iris were building to a crescendo, their slower start now a distant memory.
Iris’s hands were still pinned above her head, Manny’s grip like iron as he fucked her against the lockers, each thrust deep and deliberate.
Iris had adjusted to his size—after HOURS of practicing with a dildo—her initial cries turning to moans that grew louder with every hit.
She pushed back against him, her ass grinding into his hips, urging him deeper.
“Manny—fuck, right there,” she gasped, her voice raw, her single eye half-lidded with pleasure.
Manny’s grin was feral, his free hand sliding down to grip her hip, holding her steady as he picked up the pace.
The lockers shook with every thrust, a rhythmic banging that echoed through the room, and Iris’s moans turned to breathless curses as he hit that perfect spot again and again.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he rumbled, leaning close, his breath hot against her neck. “Been teasin’ me all day.”
Iris laughed, the sound breaking into a moan as he thrust harder.
“Guilty—now make it worth it,” she shot back, her body arching as she chased the edge.
The room was a symphony of chaos, each couple lost in their own frenzy but feeding off the collective energy.
No one was slowing down.
If anything, they were spiraling higher, pushing harder, chasing release with a desperation that turned the locker room into a crucible.
Benches creaked, lockers rattled, and the air itself seemed to pulse with the heat of it all. It wasn’t just wild—it was apocalyptic, and they were all riding the wave, no brakes, no regrets, just the raw, messy thrill of giving in completely.
Clawd’s grip on Draculaura’s pigtails tightened, his breaths ragged as her tongue and lips pushed him over the edge.
“D—fuck—” he growled, his voice breaking into a deep groan as he came, his hips jerking.
Draculaura took it all, her muffled scream vibrating against him, her eyes fluttering as she swallowed, a triumphant glint in her gaze when she finally pulled back, licking her lips.
Frankie and Holt hit their peak in sync, their 69 a chaotic dance of give and take. Frankie’s thighs clamped around Holt’s face, her cry sharp and electric as sparks shot from her stitches, her body shuddering with release.
Holt groaned into her, his own climax hitting hard, his hands digging into her hips as Frankie’s lips worked him through it, her moans mingling with his in a feedback loop of pleasure.
Cleo’s rhythm on Deuce became relentless, her ass bouncing harder, her nails biting into his shoulders.
“Deuce—now!” she demanded, her voice a queen’s command, and he delivered, thrusting up with a grunt as he came, filling her.
Cleo’s head tipped back, a scream tearing from her throat as her own orgasm crashed through, her body trembling, gold jewelry glinting with every pulse.
Manny and Iris were a force of nature, the lockers denting behind them. Iris’s moans turned to desperate gasps, her body arching as Manny’s deep thrusts pushed her over.
“Manny—fuck, I’m—” she cried, her voice breaking as she came, her walls clenching around him.
Manny followed with a low, rumbling groan, his grip tightening as he spilled into her, their bodies locked together, shaking with the aftershocks.
But they weren’t done. Not even close.
Panting, sweating, and still buzzing with adrenaline, the couples barely paused to catch their breath. The air was electric, their bodies still humming with need, like the first round had only stoked the fire instead of putting it out.
Draculaura wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her fangs peeking out as she grinned at Clawd.
“You think that’s all I’ve got?” she teased, crawling up to straddle his lap, her hands already tugging at his shirt.
Clawd’s eyes flashed, his wolfish grin returning as he flipped her onto a bench, pinning her wrists.
“Oh, we’re just gettin’ started, babe,” he growled, kissing her hard, her giggles turning to moans as he pressed himself against her.
Frankie slid off Holt, her legs shaky but her eyes blazing with mischief. “
Round two, DJ?” she asked, sparks still flickering across her skin. Holt was already up, grabbing her waist and pulling her against a locker, his lips crashing into hers.
“Girl, I’ve got a whole playlist left,” he murmured, lifting her thighs around his hips, her back slamming against the metal with a clang as they dove back in, her gasps muffled by his kisses.
Cleo shoved Deuce onto his back, her torn shorts long forgotten as she climbed over him again, this time facing away, her hands braced on his thighs.
“You’re not tapping out yet, are you?” she taunted, lowering herself onto him with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips. Deuce’s hands found her ass, squeezing hard as he groaned.
“Tap out? I’m just warmin’ up,” he shot back, his snakes hissing faintly as he thrust up, matching her pace, their rhythm picking up where they left off, fiercer now.
Iris caught her breath, still leaning against the lockers, but her grin was pure challenge as she glanced at Manny.
“You got more in you, big guy?” she asked, her voice husky, her body still tingling.
Manny’s laugh was deep, almost dangerous, as he stepped closer, turning her to face him.
“Iris, I’m a fuckin’ tank,” he said, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist. He pressed her against the lockers, kissing her neck as he eased back in, slower this time but no less intense, her moans starting soft and building fast.
"Wait!"
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face Holt.
He then proceeded to grin. "I got an idea!"
One by one, they transitioned, bodies rearranging with a fluidity born of need. The ghouls dropped to their hands and knees, the tiled floor cool against their palms, while the boys positioned themselves behind, ready to unleash everything they had left.
Clawd tugged Draculaura’s pigtails, pulling her head back slightly as he lined up, her ass arched high, her fangs biting her lip in anticipation.
“Ready, D?” he growled, his voice thick with want.
She nodded, a shaky “Fuck, yes” escaping before he thrust in, deep and hard, setting a punishing pace that made her gasp. His hand cracked against her ass, the sharp smack echoing, and she yelped, the sound melting into a moan as he pulled her hair tighter, driving into her with relentless force.
Frankie, already trembling from Holt’s earlier work, braced herself on the creaking bench, her stitches sparking as Holt gripped her hips.
“You’re mine, Sparks,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, before slamming into her, each thrust rocking her forward. He smacked her ass, the sting drawing a cry that turned into a desperate moan, her hair falling messily over her face.
Holt’s fingers tangled in it, yanking just enough to make her arch further, her body shaking as he pounded her senseless.
Cleo, never one to fully surrender, still managed to look regal even on all fours, her golden accessories glinting as Deuce positioned himself behind her.
“Don’t keep me waiting!” she snapped, though her voice wavered with need.
Deuce grinned, ripping what was left of her shorts clean off before thrusting in, hard enough to make her cry out.
His hand came down on her ass, the smack loud and sharp, and Cleo’s moan was half-outrage, half-bliss. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling as he fucked her, each thrust a challenge she met with a roll of her hips, cursing his name between gasps.
Iris, her hands now free, dug her fingers into the floor as Manny loomed over her, his massive frame casting a shadow.
“Show me what you got,” she teased, wiggling her ass against him once more, her voice dripping with defiance.
Manny didn’t need to be told twice. He gripped her hips, tearing her shorts further, and thrust in with a slow, deliberate force that made her moan loud enough to rattle the lockers.
He smacked her ass, the sound reverberating, and pulled her hair, tilting her head back as he picked up speed, each thrust deeper, harder, her cries growing wilder as she pushed back against him.
The room was a cacophony of smacks, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
The boys were relentless, hair-pulling and ass-smacking punctuating every thrust, the ghouls’ bodies rocking under the onslaught.
Draculaura’s pigtails bounced as Clawd fucked her into oblivion, her moans turning to breathless screams.
Frankie’s sparks lit up the dim space, her cries sharp and desperate as Holt drove her over the edge.
Cleo’s regal composure cracked, her moans loud and unfiltered as Deuce pounded her, her nails scraping the floor.
Iris’s gasps were raw, her body trembling as Manny fucked her silly, her voice breaking with every smack and tug.
The tension built to a breaking point, the air itself seeming to tighten as they all hurtled toward the same cliff.
It was like a chain reaction—Clawd’s growls grew feral, Holt’s thrusts erratic, Deuce’s grip bruising, Manny’s rhythm faltering.
The ghouls were right there with them, bodies shaking, voices rising, every nerve on fire.
Then, in one explosive moment, it hit.
They all came at once, a unified release that shattered the room’s last shred of restraint.
The ghouls screamed like they’d lost their minds—raw, braindead wails that bounced off the lockers and drowned out everything else.
Draculaura’s cry was high and frantic, her body collapsing forward as Clawd groaned behind her.
Frankie’s scream crackled with static, sparks flying wildly as Holt shuddered, his hands still gripping her hips.
Cleo’s moan was a regal roar, her body trembling as Deuce cursed through his own release.
Iris’s wail was pure ecstasy, her legs giving out as Manny’s low rumble shook the air, his grip steadying her through the aftershocks.
The aftermath was a symphony of heavy breathing, trembling bodies, and scattered clothes. The locker room was silent now, except for the occasional groan or a soft, sated chuckle.
Clawd flopped onto his side next to Draculaura, his chest heaving, her pigtails still loosely wrapped around his fingers.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice rough. She giggled weakly, nudging him with her foot. “That was… a lot.”
Across the room, Frankie lay on her back, her shirt haphazardly pulled down, sparks fading from her stitches. Holt sat nearby, his head tipped back against a locker, a dazed grin on his face.
“Sparks, if you want round three, I might need to recharge my batteries first,” he joked, though his eyes already had a new glint of mischief.
Cleo sat cross-legged on the floor, her gold jewelry askew, some pieces missing altogether. Deuce sprawled nearby, his shirt still askew, snakes all drooping.
“Note to self,” Cleo mused aloud, “never underestimate a cobra boy.”
Deuce chuckled, raising his arm weakly in a salute. “At your service, princess.”
Manny leaned against the lockers, one of his massive arms around Iris, who was still catching her breath.
“That… was something,” she admitted, her voice still shaky.
Manny smirked, kissing the top of her head. “Told you I had it in me.”
The air hummed with the afterglow, a mix of satisfaction and disbelief hanging over them like steam.
The space was dim, lit only by a flickering bulb, but it was private enough for what he had in mind. He dropped the twins onto a stack of mats, not gently, their bodies bouncing slightly as they landed. Meowlody and Purrsephone scrambled to sit up, their eyes wide but glittering with a mix of defiance and excitement, their tails lashing behind them.
“You think you can just—?” Meowlody started, but Romulus cut her off, looming over them like a predator cornering prey.
“Enough games,” he snarled, pulling down his shorts with a deliberate slowness that made both twin's freeze. When he freed himself, their jaws dropped in unison—his cock was as intimidating as the rest of him, thick and heavy, already hard from their teasing.
It looked like it could split you in half the moment it entered.
“You wanted to play? Now you’re gonna learn what happens when you poke the beast.”
The twins exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them—part challenge, part surrender.
Then, as if on cue, they both smirked, crawling forward on the mats, their movements fluid and feline.
“Oh, we’re ready,” Purrsephone said, her voice husky as she licked her lips.
“Question is, can you keep up with us?” Meowlody added, her claws grazing his thigh as she positioned herself beside her sister.
But Romulus wasn’t about to let them take the lead. He grabbed Meowlody first, pulling her against him and kissing her hard, his tongue claiming her mouth while his hand yanked Purrsephone closer by her waist.
The twins moaned into the chaos, their hands roaming his chest, his arms, his cock—stroking, teasing, trying to regain control. But Romulus was the alpha wolf, and he wasn’t playing their game anymore.
He pushed them both down onto the mats, side by side, their bodies pressed together as he knelt between them. “You’re mine,” he growled, and the twins shivered at the raw authority in his voice.
In one swift motion, he grabbed their shorts and ripped them clean off.
He didn’t waste time—grabbing Meowlody’s hips, he thrust into her, deep and unrelenting, her cry echoing in the small room. She clawed at the mats, her tail thrashing as he set a brutal pace, each movement drawing gasps and moans from her lips.
Purrsephone wasn’t left out. Romulus reached for her, his fingers finding her clit, working her with a rhythm that matched his thrusts into her sister. Purrsephone arched against his hand, her moans blending with Meowlody’s, their voices rising in a desperate harmony.
“Romulus—fuck!” Meowlody gasped, her eyes rolling back as he hit just the right spot.
“Yes—yes!” Purrsephone echoed, her claws digging into his arm as she rocked against his fingers.
He didn’t let up, fucking them both at once—Meowlody with his cock, Purrsephone with his hand—driving them to the edge with a precision that left no room for their usual teasing. The twins were unraveling, their smug confidence replaced by raw, pleading need.
“Romulus!” they cried in unison, their voices breaking as pleasure crashed through them, their bodies trembling under his control.
But he wasn’t done. When Meowlody’s climax hit, shaking her to her core, Romulus lifted her off the mats and positioned her atop Purrsephone, their sweaty bodies pressed together, tails twitching wildly.
With a guttural growl, he thrusted his cock into Purrsephone’s ass, her sharp scream echoing as her legs trembled, her claws digging into the mats.
At the same time, he buried his face in Meowlody’s ass, his tongue plunging deep, ravaging her asshole with relentless intensity.
The twins were a mess—flushed, moaning, their cries of “Romulus!” blending into a desperate mantra as he drove them both to climax, their bodies shaking under his unyielding assault.
Finally, when both twins were trembling, spent, and barely coherent, Romulus slowed, his own breath ragged but triumphant.
He pulled back, standing over them as they lay sprawled on the mats, their chests heaving.
“Clean it,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding, nodding toward his cock, still glistening from their juices.
Meowlody and Purrsephone didn’t hesitate. They crawled forward, their movements sluggish but eager, and took turns licking him clean, their tongues working in sync as they lapped at him, their eyes locked on his.
Meowlody’s claws grazed his thighs, Purrsephone’s tail brushed his leg, and Romulus groaned, his hand resting on their heads as they worshipped him, putting them firmly in their place—under his cock, exactly where he wanted them.
“Don’t miss a single spot,” he growled, his voice low and edged with warning. “One slip, and you’re both gettin’ spanked. Hard.”
The twins froze for a split second, their eyes widening at the threat, but then they redoubled their efforts, their tongues moving with desperate precision. Meowlody’s claws grazed his thighs as she licked along one side, her breath hot against him, while Purrsephone’s tongue swirled carefully, her tail curling nervously behind her.
They were trying—really trying—but the task was daunting, and Romulus’s piercing gaze didn’t make it any easier. Every flick of their tongues felt like it was under scrutiny, and the pressure was palpable.
Despite their focus, mistakes were inevitable.
Meowlody’s tongue skipped a small patch near the base, her mind hazy from the intensity of it all. Purrsephone, distracted by her sister’s rhythm, missed a spot higher up, her lips grazing too quickly.
Romulus’s eyes narrowed, catching both slip-ups instantly. He didn’t say a word at first, letting them think they’d gotten away with it, letting the tension build as they worked.
Then, without warning—SLAP!
His hand came down hard on Meowlody’s ass, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. She yelped, her body jolting forward, her tail shooting straight up as a sharp sting radiated across her skin.
“Rom—!” she gasped, but he wasn’t hearing excuses.
“You missed, slut” he said simply, his tone flat but commanding.
Before Purrsephone could react, his other hand swung—SLAP!—catching her ass with equal force.
She squealed, her claws digging into the mats, her face flushing as the burn set in. “So did you,” he added, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The twins whimpered, their cheeks as red as their now-stinging asses, but they didn’t dare stop.
They dove back in, licking with renewed urgency, their tongues overlapping in their panic to please him. Romulus watched, unyielding, his hands poised like a warning.
Another slip—a tiny one from Meowlody, barely noticeable—earned her another SLAP!, this one harder, making her cry out and grip the mats tighter.
Purrsephone tried to be perfect, but her nerves betrayed her, and a rushed lick left a spot untouched—SLAP!. Her moan was half-pain, half-something else, her tail curling tightly around her leg.
By the time they finally finished, their asses were redder than Heath’s flames, glowing with the evidence of Romulus’s discipline.
Meowlody’s breaths came in shaky gasps, her claws flexing against the mats, while Purrsephone’s eyes were glossy, her body trembling from the mix of pain and lingering arousal.
They looked up at him, equal parts chastised and desperate for his approval, their tails drooping submissively.
“Good,” Romulus said, his voice gruff but satisfied. “But I'm done with you yet.”
The twins barely had time to process his words before he moved.
He grabbed Purrsephone first, his hands like steel as he yanked her up, spinning her around so her back was to his chest. Before she could react, he hooked his arms under hers, locking them behind her head in a full nelson that left her completely exposed. Her legs dangled, her body arched, and her tail thrashed wildly as he held her in place, her red ass still stinging against his hips.
“Romulus—!” she gasped, her voice breaking as he positioned himself, thrusting into her without preamble.
Her scream echoed off the walls, sharp and raw, her body shuddering as he filled her.
The full nelson kept her pinned, her arms useless, her chest thrust forward as he fucked her with a steady, punishing rhythm.
Her moans came fast, incoherent, her claws flexing in the air as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation.
“Fuck—Rom—yes!” she managed, her voice trembling with every thrust, her tail curling around his leg like an anchor.
"You thought you could fucking tease me and get away with it?" He shrieked into her ear, his voice thick with a heady mix of lust and possessiveness. "Well, now you know what it's like to be dominated."
Meowlody watched, her own breath catching in her throat as she saw her sister so completely at Romulus’s mercy. She wanted to be next, wanted to feel that same intensity, that same helpless pleasure coursing through her.
But when Romulus released Purrsephone from the full nelson, letting her crumple to the mats with a trembling whimper, he didn’t immediately grab her sister. Instead, he stood, his chest heaving, his eyes wild.
“You’ve both been bad, really bad,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Teasing, taunting… I bet you like getting punished, don’t you?”
The twins froze, their hearts racing at the darkness in his tone. Meowlody opened her mouth to protest, but Purrsephone beat her to it.
“Yes,” Purrsephone gasped, her voice shaky but defiant, her cheeks still flushed from her own punishment. “We love it. We want more.”
Romulus’s gaze darkened, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“Good. Because I'm not stopping until both of you are nothing but a pair of fucking messes,” he said.
Before Meowlody could move, he grabbed her, pulling her up and locking her into the same full nelson—arms trapped, back arched, completely at his mercy. She squirmed, her tail flicking nervously, but there was no escaping him. He thrust into her, deep and deliberate, and her scream was immediate, her body tensing as he stretched her to her limits.
“Romulus!” Meowlody cried, her voice breaking as he set a brutal pace, each thrust driving her closer to the edge.
Her red ass pressed against him, the lingering sting amplifying every sensation, and her moans blended with Purrsephone’s panting breaths from the mats below. Romulus was relentless, his grip unyielding, fucking her until her cries turned to pleas, her body shaking under his control. “Please—fuck—Rom!”
Purrsephone, still catching her breath, crawled closer, her eyes locked on her sister’s unraveling. Without a word, her tongue darted out , licking at Meowlody’s clit as Romulus fucked her. The sensation was too much—Meowlody’s body jolted, a sharp cry ripping from her as pleasure surged through her.
“Purr—fuck!” she sobbed, her hips jerking, her claws flexing wildly.
Romulus groaned, feeling her tighten around him, her orgasm taking her whole body. He released the full nelson as she came down, letting her drop onto Purrsephone, the twins’ sweaty bodies melding together. They panted, trembling, their tails curled around each other like lifelines.
He wasn’t done. Not even close.
“You think you’re done?” Romulus snarled, yanking both the twins up by her hair. “We’re just getting started.”
The werecats braced themselves, already knowing that this time, there would be no escape.
“Take us,” Meowlody begged, her voice breathless. “Use us both.”
“Make us scream,” Purrsephone added, her eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and anticipation.
Romulus grinned like a kid holding a new toy.
"With pleasure!"
Inside, the air was humid, thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, the tiles cool underfoot but doing nothing to temper the heat sparking between them.
Clawdeen didn’t waste time. She shoved Toralei against a row of lockers, the metal rattling as Toralei’s back hit it, her tail lashing wildly.
“You’ve been pushin’ my buttons all day,” Clawdeen said, her voice low and commanding, hands pinning Toralei’s shoulders.
“Rubbing up on me during drills, drippin’ sweat all over my fur, actin’ like you’re untouchable. Not anymore.”
Toralei’s smirk didn’t falter, even as her heart raced.
“Big talk, wolf girl,” she shot back, arching her body just enough to brush against Clawdeen, testing her. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”
Clawdeen’s eyes darkened, and without breaking eye contact, she spun Toralei around, pressing her chest-first against the lockers. Toralei gasped, the cold metal a shock against her skin, but she didn’t fight it—her claws scraped the surface, anticipation coiling in her gut.
Clawdeen’s hands were everywhere—ripping Toralei’s gym shorts down to her thighs, exposing her, then sliding up to grip her hips.
“You’re about to find out,” Clawdeen murmured, her lips grazing the back of Toralei’s neck, fangs teasing the skin.
What Toralei didn’t expect—what hit her like a bolt—was Clawdeen dropping to her knees behind her.
Before Toralei could process it, Clawdeen’s hands spread her cheeks, and her tongue dove in, hot and relentless, rimming her with a hunger that made Toralei’s legs buckle.
“Fuck—Clawdeen!” Toralei yelped, her voice cracking as she clawed at the lockers, her tail jerking upward.
The sweat from their gym session only seemed to spur Clawdeen on—she growled against Toralei’s skin, savoring the salty tang, her tongue working with a precision that was both punishing and worshipful.
Toralei’s bravado shattered. She moaned, loud and unfiltered, her body trembling as Clawdeen’s mouth claimed her in a way she hadn’t seen coming.
“You—oh shit—you’re insane,” she gasped, her head tipping back, orange hair spilling over her shoulders.
Clawdeen just hummed, the vibration sending another jolt through Toralei, who was quickly learning that Clawdeen had a particular obsession with rimming—especially when her partner was slick with sweat, the rawness of it driving her wild.
Clawdeen didn’t let up, her hands gripping Toralei’s thighs to keep her steady, her tongue swirling and probing until Toralei was a writhing mess, her moans bouncing off the locker room walls.
“Thought you could tease me and walk away?” Clawdeen murmured between licks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Not today, kitty. You’re mine.”
Toralei’s knees nearly gave out, her claws leaving scratches on the metal as she surrendered completely, her body rocking back against Clawdeen’s mouth.
The heat between them was electric, a clash of claws and tongues, dominance and defiance, and it was clear Clawdeen wasn’t just punishing Toralei—she was devouring her, claiming every shudder and cry as her own while her tongue worked her sweaty ass with relentless hunger.
The rimming had Toralei’s legs shaking, her claws gouging marks into the metal, but Clawdeen wasn’t anywhere near done. She was on a mission to make Toralei pay for every tease, every drop of sweat, every smug glance thrown her way all day—and she was just getting started.
Clawdeen pulled back, her lips glistening, a feral grin spreading across her face as she stood.
Toralei, panting, barely had time to catch her breath before Clawdeen spun her around again, shoving her back against the lockers.
“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Clawdeen growled, her voice low and dangerous, her golden eyes blazing.
Without warning, her hand came down hard on Toralei’s ass, a sharp crack ringing out. Toralei yelped, her tail jerking, but the spark in her green eyes said she wasn’t entirely hating it.
“Clawdeen—fuck!” Toralei gasped, half-laughing, half-moaning as another spank landed, Clawdeen’s palm leaving a stinging heat across her skin. “You’re such a—”
“Keep talkin’,” Clawdeen cut her off, delivering another smack, this one harder, making Toralei’s hips buck against the lockers. “You’re gonna learn to shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
But Clawdeen wasn’t content with just spanking. She grabbed Toralei by the shoulders, pulling her down to the tiled floor, the cool surface a shock against their overheated skin.
Clawdeen straddled her chest, her gym shorts already half-torn from their earlier tussle, and yanked them down further, exposing herself.
“Lick,” she ordered, her voice thick with command as she lowered herself onto Toralei’s face, her pussy slick and demanding.
Toralei didn’t hesitate—she was too far gone to play coy. Her tongue darted out, lapping at Clawdeen’s folds, tasting the mix of sweat and arousal as Clawdeen groaned above her, one hand gripping Toralei’s orange hair to guide her.
“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” Clawdeen moaned, rocking her hips, grinding against Toralei’s mouth.
Toralei’s claws dug into Clawdeen’s thighs, pulling her closer, her lips and tongue working with a fervor that had Clawdeen trembling, her moans growing louder, more desperate.
But Clawdeen wasn’t one to let Toralei get comfortable. She slid off, flipping their positions so she was on her back, pulling Toralei between her legs.
“You’re not done,” she said, smirking as she hooked her legs around Toralei’s waist, dragging their bodies together.
She ground her pussy against Toralei’s, the slick friction sending sparks through both of them. Toralei gasped, her hips moving instinctively, matching Clawdeen’s rhythm as they scissored, their moans blending into a chaotic symphony.
The tiles were slick with sweat, their bodies sliding against each other, claws raking skin, tails thrashing as they chased the edge together.
“Goddamn, kitty,” Clawdeen panted, her hands gripping Toralei’s ass to pull her tighter, their cores grinding harder. “You’re takin’ this like you want it.”
Toralei’s laugh was breathless, her eyes glinting with defiance. “Maybe I do, wolf girl,” she shot back, but her voice cracked as Clawdeen angled her hips just right, sending a jolt through her that made her head tip back, a moan tearing from her throat.
But Toralei wasn’t the type to take a beating lying down—or at all.
She’d been bitten, pushed, spanked, and fucked into submission, but her fire wasn’t out.
With a sudden burst of strength, she twisted, catching Clawdeen off guard and flipping her onto her stomach. Clawdeen grunted, her claws scraping the tiles as Toralei pounced, pinning her down with a knee between her shoulder blades.
“My turn,” Toralei hissed, her voice dripping with vengeance and hunger.
Clawdeen laughed, half-muffled against the floor, but it turned into a gasp as Toralei’s claws tore through her shorts, ripping them open to expose her ass, already glistening with sweat from their frenzy.
"Toralei," Clawdeen gasped, shocked. "The hell are you doing!"
Toralei didn’t hesitate—she leaned down, spitting directly onto Clawdeen’s asshole, the act bold and filthy, making Clawdeen’s whole body tense.
“You little—fuck,” Clawdeen groaned, but there was no real protest in her voice, only a tremor of anticipation.
Toralei dove in, her lips crashing against Clawdeen’s sweaty rim, kissing it like it was her last meal. Her tongue swirled, teasing and probing, making out with Clawdeen’s ass in a way that was both worshipful and vengeful.
Clawdeen’s body shuddered, her claws digging into the tiles as Toralei’s mouth worked her over, her tongue relentless, drawing gasps and curses that echoed off the walls.
“Toralei—damn—you’re gonna regret this,” Clawdeen panted, but the pleasure in her voice betrayed her, her body arching back to meet Toralei’s lips.
Toralei grinned against her skin, her claws grazing Clawdeen’s thighs as she doubled down, her tongue plunging deeper, making Clawdeen writhe beneath her.
“Regret?” she purred, pulling back just enough to speak, her breath hot against Clawdeen’s skin. “Bitch, I’m just gettin’ started.”
She dove back in, her lips and tongue a whirlwind, leaving Clawdeen a trembling mess, her moans a mix of pleasure and chagrin—she loved it, hated how much she loved it, and Toralei knew it.
The power had shifted, and Toralei was making damn sure Clawdeen felt every second of it, their bodies locked in a battle of dominance that neither was willing to lose.
Inside, the air was thick with humidity, the faint drip of a leaky showerhead echoing.
Abbey didn’t give Heath a moment to catch his breath. She grabbed his collar, yanking him close until their faces were inches apart, her breath cool against his flushed skin. Then she crashed her lips into his, the kiss fierce and unrelenting, her tongue plunging in to claim him.
It was a battle—sweat, strawberry lip gloss, and raw hunger mixing as their mouths fought for dominance. Heath moaned, deep and desperate, his hands instinctively grabbing her waist, fingers sinking into her curves as the kiss set his blood on fire.
But Abbey wasn’t here for make-outs. She broke the kiss abruptly, shoving him backward with enough force to send him crashing to the concrete floor. He hit with a grunt, pain shooting through his tailbone as he yelped,
“Ow, what the—?!” His words died as he looked up, his brain flatlining at the sight before him.
Abbey had ripped her tank top clean off, the fabric tearing like tissue to reveal her glistening blue skin. Her muscular shoulders flexed, her chest heaving, her massive boobs free and shimmering with sweat under the dim lights.
She raised her arms, locking her hands behind her neck, the motion exposing the dark, musky hollows of her armpits. They were slick, a mix of raw yeti scent and workout grit, and Heath’s eyes locked onto them, his mouth going dry as every filthy thought he’d ever had roared to life.
She smirked, catching his stare, her eyes glittering with wicked amusement. “You’re not walking out of here,” she said, her voice a low, icy challenge, “until you’ve licked every inch of me clean. Starting here.” She tilted her head slightly, emphasizing her armpits, daring him to hesitate.
Heath gulped, his heart hammering as her sheer presence overwhelmed him.
He could say no, could try to talk his way out, try to set boundaries—
Oh who was he kidding?
He loved Abbey, loved her strong spirit, her giggles whenever he made her laugh, but this?
This feral, commanding goddess towering over him? It lit something primal in him, even if it scared him shitless. She was a yeti, and he was her willing victim, caught between terror and a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.
With a shaky breath, he scooted closer, still on his knees, and leaned in.
His tongue darted out, tentative at first, brushing against the slick, salty skin of her armpit. Abbey hummed in approval, her hand tangling in his hair to hold him there, guiding him.
“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice softening just enough to make his chest ache. He licked again, bolder now, the taste of her sweat and raw musk flooding his senses, dizzying him as he pressed himself closer.
The shower room became their battlefield, Abbey’s moans mixing with Heath’s muffled groans as he worked, his tongue tracing every curve and hollow she demanded. She wasn’t gentle—tugging his hair, directing him with a grip that left no room for slacking—but Heath didn’t care.
He was lost in her, in the sticky, sweaty mess of it all, knowing full well he’d be a wreck by the end.
Soon, her armpits were clean, but Abbey wasn’t done.
She tilted her head, her violet eyes glinting with that wicked amusement that always meant trouble.
“Everywhere, Heath,” she said, her voice low, dripping with icy authority. “You’re not stopping until I’m clean. All of me.” She stepped back slightly, giving him a full view of her towering, muscular frame—sweat-slicked, powerful, and unapologetic.
Her boobs, freed from the torn tank top, shimmered under the dim lights, her abs flexed with each breath, and her thighs looked ready to crush him all over again.
Heath’s eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “E-everywhere?” he croaked, his voice cracking with a mix of nerves and something he didn’t want to admit was excitement.
His mind raced—her armpits were one thing, intense but doable, but everywhere?
He could still taste the raw grit of her workout, and the thought of going further made his stomach twist. He gagged slightly, just from the anticipation, his hands twitching at his sides.
“Abbey, I mean, that’s… a lot of, uh, territory.”
Her smirk didn’t waver. She crouched down, leveling her gaze with his, her face close enough that he could feel the coolness of her breath.
“You’re not scared, are you, fire boy?” she teased, her tone soft but laced with challenge. “You love me. You love this. Don’t fight it.”
She reached out, cupping his chin, her thumb brushing his lips. “Make me feel good. You can do that, yes?”
Heath’s blush flared; his face practically glowing. He did love her—her strength, her confidence, the way her arms wrapped around him whenever they hugged.
But this Abbey, this feral goddess who could snap him in half and make him beg for it? She terrified him in the best way, and he was already half-lost to her.
A voice in his head piped up, uninvited but insistent:
'Nothing wrong with being her nice little sweat-rag, right?'
'After all she's done, she needs a well-deserved SLOPPY TONGUEBATH!'
He gagged again, shaking his head to clear it, but Abbey’s grip tightened in his hair, pulling him gently but firmly toward her chest.
“Start here,” she ordered, arching her back to emphasize her massive boobs, sweat pooling in the valley between them. Heath hesitated, his breath hitching, but her encouraging nod—half command, half reassurance—pushed him forward.
He leaned in, tongue darting out to trace the curve of her breast, the taste of salt and yeti musk hitting him like a wave. He gagged at first, the intensity overwhelming, his throat tightening as he fought the urge to pull back.
“Easy, Heath,” Abbey murmured, her voice softening, one hand stroking his scalp. “Breathe. You’re doing so good.”
Her encouragement was like a lifeline, grounding him, and he pressed closer, licking more boldly now, his tongue gliding over her skin, cleaning the sweat from her chest. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating through him, and it flipped a switch in his brain.
The gagging eased, his tension melting as he leaned into it, savoring the way her body responded to every flick of his tongue.
Abbey didn’t let him linger too long. She tugged him downward, guiding him to her abs, then lower still, until he was kneeling at her feet.
“Toes,” she said simply, lifting one foot and resting it on his thigh, her nails painted a frosty blue.
Heath stared, his face a mix of panic and fascination. Her feet were strong, calloused from training, slick with sweat, and the thought of licking them made his stomach lurch.
“Abbey, c’mon, that’s—” he started, but her raised eyebrow silenced him.
“You want to please me, don't you?” she asked, her tone gentle but unyielding. “Then do it.”
The voice in his head was louder now:
'Sloppy tonguebath, Heath! She deserves it! Be her good boy!'
He groaned, half in defeat, half in surrender, and leaned down, his tongue brushing her big toe.
He gagged hard, the earthy taste hitting him like a punch, but Abbey’s soft chuckle and the way she wiggled her toes kept him going.
“There you go,” she cooed, and he pushed through, licking each toe, his reluctance fading as her moans grew louder, her approval fueling him.
But she wasn’t done pushing him. After he finished licking her toes, Abbey stood, towering over him again, and turned around, her hands reaching back to spread her cheeks, revealing the sweaty, musky hollow of her asshole.
Heath froze, his eyes wide, his breath catching as another gag rose in his throat.
“Abbey, whoa, that’s—uh—” he stammered, his voice high-pitched, his mind screaming abort mission. But she glanced over her shoulder, her smirk pure mischief, her eyes daring him to back down.
“Everywhere,” she repeated, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down his spine. “You’re not finished until I say so.” She shifted, spreading herself wider, the sweat glistening under the lights, and Heath’s brain was a tug-of-war between panic and a growing, shameful thrill.
'She needs you, man! Dive in!'
'Be her sweat-rag hero!' that damn voice urged, and Abbey’s encouraging hum sealed his fate.
“Come on, fire boy. Make me feel good,” she said, and there was something so tender in her command that he found himself inching closer, his resistance crumbling.
He leaned in, tentative, his tongue barely grazing her skin, the taste of raw sweat and musk making him gag hard. But her moan—deep, guttural, pleased—hit him like a drug.
“Yes, Heath,” she breathed, her hand reaching back to hold his head in place. “Just like that.” Her encouragement was everything, pulling him past his hesitation.
He licked again, bolder, his gags fading as he gave in, his tongue working with growing confidence, cleaning every inch of her sweaty skin. The taste was intense, but her reactions—her shudders, her gasps—made it worth it, made him want to keep going.
Abbey guided him everywhere else—her ears, where he nibbled and licked until she giggled; the curve of her neck, where sweat pooled and her pulse raced under his tongue; back to her boobs, where he lingered, sucking and lapping until she was panting.
Each spot was a new challenge, and Heath’s initial tension dissolved, replaced by a reckless devotion. He wasn’t just licking her clean—he was worshipping her, lost in the sticky, messy chaos of her body, her moans and commands driving him deeper and deeper into surrender.
By the time Abbey leaned back against the shower wall, her body trembling with satisfaction, Heath was a wreck—hair disheveled, face flushed, lips swollen, but grinning like he’d conquered a mountain.
But as they laid on the ground, Abbey’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.
She dominated Heath most of the time—thigh-locks, hair-pulling, barking orders—and while he clearly loved it, she knew she’d been running the show for too long. Today, she wanted to give him something different, something to balance the scales. She wanted to let him take charge, even if just for a moment.
Without a word, Abbey spun around and dropped to her hands and knees on the tiled floor, her powerful body a striking contrast to the submissive pose. Her snowy hair spilled over her shoulders, and she glanced back at Heath, her smirk playful but inviting. She smacked her ass hard, the sound echoing in the small room, her blue skin rippling slightly.
“Come get it, fireboy,” she purred, her voice low and teasing, smacking her ass again for emphasis.
Heath blinked, his brain still fuzzy from the tonguebath marathon. He saw her on all fours, ass up, and his first thought—conditioned by her earlier demands—was that she wanted more rimming.
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, his voice shaky but eager. His body moved on autopilot, submissive instincts kicking in as he crawled toward her, tongue already darting out, ready to dive back in.
Abbey’s laugh was sharp, and she wagged a finger at him, stopping him dead in his tracks. “No, no, Heath,” she said, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Not your tongue this time.” She arched her back, making her intentions crystal clear, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I want the D.”
Heath’s jaw dropped, his blush reigniting as his brain caught up. “Oh—oh,” he stammered, a grin spreading across his face, equal parts nervous and thrilled.
He scrambled to his feet, fumbling with his shorts as he yanked them down, his cock already hard from the sight of her—Abbey, the yeti queen, on her hands and knees, offering herself up.
She was bigger than him, stronger, a fucking force of nature, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck her silly. He’d damn well try.
He lined himself up behind her, his hands gripping her hips, fingers sinking into her firm, cool skin. With a deep breath, he pushed in, slow at first, groaning as her heat enveloped him, tight and overwhelming. Abbey moaned, low and approving, her head dipping as she rocked back slightly, encouraging him.
“That’s it, Heath,” she murmured. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Heath didn’t need to be told twice. He started thrusting, steady at first, his hips snapping against her, the slap of skin echoing off the tiles. Abbey’s moans grew louder, her hands clawing at the floor, her body shuddering with each stroke.
He may have been smaller, but he was relentless, pouring every ounce of pent-up lust into fucking her, his hands roaming her back, her ass, gripping her like he was claiming her for once.
“Fuck, Abbey,” he gasped, his voice rough, “you feel—so damn—good.”
She laughed, breathless, pushing back to meet his thrusts, her tailbone flexing under his palms.
“HARDER,” she demanded, and he obeyed, picking up the pace, his cock driving deeper, her moans turning into sharp gasps that spurred him on.
The shower room was their arena now, and Heath was giving it everything, determined to prove he could match her fire with his own.
But the intensity was taking its toll.
His breaths grew ragged, his thrusts slowing as exhaustion crept in—hours of PDA, running around, the thigh-lock, the licking marathon, and the exercise—it was all catching up. His movements faltered, his grip loosening, and Abbey felt it.
Her head snapped back, eyes blazing with a mix of amusement and ferocity.
“DO NOT PASS OUT ON ME YET, FIRE BOY!” she roared, her voice booming like a blizzard, shaking him to his core.
Heath jolted upright, eyes wide, adrenaline surging. “I’M NOT, I’M NOT, I’M NOT!” he yelped, panic and determination kicking him into overdrive.
His hair ignited, flames flickering along his scalp to show he was all in, no holding back.
He grabbed her hips tighter, fucking her faster, harder, his thrusts a blur as he poured every last shred of energy into her. Abbey’s laughter turned to moans, her body rocking with his rhythm, her nails scraping the tiles as she surrendered to the frenzy.
“Fuck—yes—Heath!” she gasped, her voice breaking as he hit just the right angle, her muscles clenching around him. Heath gritted his teeth, his whole body burning—literally and figuratively—as he pushed them both toward the edge.
With a final, desperate thrust, he came, spilling inside her with a groan that echoed off the walls, his vision sparking white. Abbey shuddered beneath him, her own climax hitting hard, her moan deep and satisfied as she collapsed forward onto her elbows.
They both crashed to the floor, a tangled heap of sweat and heat, the tiles cool against their overheated skin.
Heath was out like a light, his chest heaving, flames in his hair flickering out as he lay sprawled, utterly spent.
Abbey, still catching her breath, propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a mix of pride and amusement. “Not bad, firebug,” she whispered, brushing a hand over his cheek, her voice soft now, almost tender. “You did good.”
She let her head rest on his chest, her snowy hair fanning out, a quiet smile on her lips.
She must admit, she's impressed. Heath might be a scrawny little fire starter, but he’d given it everything he had. He's a good fuck, even if he could use a little more stamina.
She chuckled softly, her eyes drifting closed, the thought of a nice, long nap after their marathon tempting her to just rest for a while.
But the moment they woke up, they were going at it again. No if's, and's, or but's
Maybe she'd let him top her again or she'd dominate him like how she always does.
Either way, they weren’t leaving this shower room until she’d wrung every last spark out of him.
For now, though, she let him rest, her yeti heart content, knowing she’d pushed her fireboy to his limits and he’d burned bright for her.
The moment Headmistress Bloodgood stormed into the gym, she regretted not barricading herself in her office with a bottle of wine and a good book.
The gym—once a proud arena for casketball triumphs and grueling drills—had devolved into a scene straight out of a raunchy fever dream. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, lust, and poor decisions, and the overhead lights cast a harsh glow on the debauchery unfolding below, making every detail painfully vivid.
Couples had staked out every corner, turning the space into a symphony of moans, wet kisses, and the unmistakable slap of skin on skin. From frisky make-outs to full-on “get a damn room” escapades, the students were going at it like the gym was their personal pleasure palace.
Yoga mats, weight benches, even Igor’s precious stability balls were being repurposed as props for more… comfortable encounters.
It was less Monster High and more monster brothel.
Igor stood frozen near the entrance, his whistle dangling uselessly from his neck, his face a mask of horror. His beloved gym—his temple of discipline—had been defiled, transformed into a hormone-fueled free-for-all.
“My gym,” he whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes. “My precious gym!”
Each moan, each cry of “I’m cumming!” pushed him closer to a full meltdown, his hands trembling like he was about to start ripping out his own hair.
Bloodgood gripped her can of Febreze like a weapon, her eyes sweeping the room with the cold precision of a general surveying a battlefield gone to hell. She wasn’t shocked—decades of running Monster High had numbed her to teenage chaos—but she was dissapointed.
This was a new low, even for her students.
But she couldn't blame them. After all, this was the gas fucking up their brains.
In one corner, Gil and Lagoona were locked in a display that could’ve headlined a scandalous romance novel.
Gil had clearly won their wrestling match for dominance, and now Lagoona was on her knees, her sea-green nails digging into his thighs as she took him deep into her throat. Her face was flushed, wet curls clinging to her cheeks as she bobbed her head, her tongue working him with a fervor that made Gil’s knees buckle.
His hands were tangled in her hair, guiding her with a low, guttural moan that cut through the gym’s noise.
“Fuck, babe,” he gasped, his gills flaring as she pushed him closer to the edge.
Lagoona’s moans vibrated around his cock, tears prickling her eyes as he hit the back of her throat. She pulled back for a split second, gasping, a string of drool connecting her lips to his tip, only for Gil to pull her back down, his grip firm but not cruel.
But her mouth wasn’t the only thing he was claiming.
With Lagoona bent forward, Gil had free rein over her ass, his fingers teasing her cum-slicked entrance—evidence of an earlier round still dripping onto the floor. He massaged her, slipping a finger in to keep her squirming, while she sucked him off with reckless abandon.
She was his playground, mouth and ass fully surrendered, and the glassy look in her eyes said she was loving every second of it.
Bloodgood’s grip on the Febreze tightened, her instinct screaming to march over and douse them both. But Lagoona’s water powers were no joke—one wrong move, and she’d be wearing that Febreze like a bad perfume.
“Not worth the flood,” Bloodgood muttered, forcing herself to move on.
Her gaze landed on Isi and Neighthan, sprawled across a yoga mat like they were auditioning for a porn remake of a fantastical opera.
Isi had finished her saliva-soaked licking spree, leaving Neighthan’s skin gleaming like he’d been polished.
Now they were buck naked, locked in a make-out session so intense it was practically a brawl. Hands groped and clawed—Isi squeezing his ass, Neighthan tugging her long, flowing hair—as their tongues battled with loud, sloppy smacks that echoed off the walls.
Isi straddled him, grinding her hips against his cock, each roll drawing a groan from Neighthan, who’d long since abandoned any pretense of resistance.
"Told you I’d lick you clean, dear," Isi murmured, breaking the kiss to nip his neck, her teeth leaving faint marks. She dove back in, their bodies rocking in a rhythm that made the mat slide across the floor.
"I want you so fucking bad," Neighthan panted, his hands kneading her curves as he thrust up to meet her.
Isi’s laugh was wicked, her lips brushing his. "Good. You’re mine now." Her hips didn’t stop, relentless and hungry, driving him wild beneath her.
Bloodgood’s jaw tightened, her shock giving way to exasperation. “At least no one's livestreaming this,” she said dryly, trying to find a silver lining.
Near a weight rack, Gigi and Ryder were going at it like the world was ending. Both naked in his wheelchair, they were a blur of motion—Gigi’s skin slick with sweat as she bounced on his cock, her fiery hair whipping with each thrust.
Ryder’s hands gripped her ass, guiding her as he buried his face in her chest, groaning against her skin. The chair creaked under their intensity, but it held firm, Gigi’s moans rising like a siren’s song, otherworldly and raw.
"I'm so fucking glad Howleen wished for my sister to take my place," she cried out, her voice breathless. "Who would've thought I'd end up with a cock like yours?"
Ryder grinned, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Always happy to be of service, Gigi."
Bloodgood cringed at the overshare, her Febreze hand twitching, but she stayed back. She did not want to end of like the water elemental.
Then her eyes caught Invisi-Billy and Scarah near the bleachers, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.
“Good grief,” she muttered, her composure cracking.
Billy was nestled between Scarah’s legs, his face buried in her pussy, licking with a submissive devotion that left Scarah trembling.
Her pregnant belly gleamed, still faintly slick from his earlier worship, and her hand rested in his hair, guiding him gently as she moaned, soft and breathy. Her telepathic voice whispered encouragements, while Billy lapped at her clit, his body practically vibrating with need.
“So good, love. Just like that.”
Billy's invisible tongue lapped eagerly at her clit, his form flickering with pleasure as he worshipped her with every flick and swirl.
But when he noticed Bloodgood's gaze, he panicked. His skin flickered as he started to turn invisible, desperate to hide from the authority figure.
But Scarah's hand tightened in his hair, grounding him.
"Shh… it's okay, baby," Scarah cooed through their link, her voice a velvet whisper in his mind. "You don’t have to hide from me."
"But Bloodgood—"
Scarah’s tone turned silkier, laced with warmth and heat. "Forget her. That uptight bitch can’t touch you. Not when you’re with me."
"But Scarah—"
She cut him off, soft and commanding all at once.
"Hush now. Just focus on me, baby."
"I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re mine."
Her voice curled around him like a warm fog. "Let everything else fade away."
Billy slowly relaxed, his form becoming visible again as he continued to eagerly lap at Scarah's pussy.
"Good boy." Scarah said soothingly.
Bloodgood’s stomach churned—she was pregnant, for crying out loud!
Scarah looked like she could go into labor at any moment, yet here she was, legs spread, getting eaten out like there was no tomorrow.
Didn’t Scarah care that her mother was losing her mind over this?
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Bloodgood hissed under her breath, rage coiling in her chest.
She stormed forward, weaving through sweaty, writhing students, determined to shut it down.
“Scarah Screams!” she snapped, loud enough to momentarily drown out the slap of skin on skin nearby. “What the hell do you think you’re—”
Scarah didn’t even look up. She lifted one finger in the air like she was conducting a silent orchestra.
Her voice floated out, gentle but commanding, laced with that lilting Irish sweetness.
“Hush, now. Ye’re scarin’ him.”
Bloodgood blinked, jaw clenching. “He needs to stop that right now. You’re pregnant, Scarah—very pregnant! This is absolutely insane!”
Under Scarah’s belly, Billy’s shimmering outline began to flicker again—he was trying to go invisible, panic gripping his mind.
But Scarah’s hand slid lovingly into his curls, grounding him.
“No, baby,” she murmured inside his mind, voice like warm honey. “Don’t worry about that bítch over there. Just focus on me. Ye’re safe.”
Billy slowly began to relax, but Bloodgood wasn't having it.
“Scarah, I swear, if you don’t get him off of you right now—” Bloodgood pushed forward, her voice rising above the moans echoing off the gym walls. “Billy! Stand up! Get away from her!”
That did it.
Scarah’s gaze slowly lifted, locking onto Bloodgood with icy calm. Her white eyes shimmered—not with fear, but with warning.
A banshee’s warning.
“I told ye once.”
Her voice was silk over steel.
“Hush. Ye’re scarin’ him.”
Bloodgood scowled, her hands clenched into tight fists. “You’re going to go into labor if this keeps up! This isn’t safe for either of you!”
Students nearby started turning their heads. Even mid-thrust or mid-moan, they paused to watch the rising tension. One couple paused their lap dance to whisper, “Damn, Scarah about to scream for real.”
Billy’s breath trembled against Scarah’s thigh.
She brushed his cheek. Then looked back at Bloodgood—this time, her tone dipped like a blade into ice water.
“Do ye know what happens when ye push a banshee too far, Headmistress?”
She didn’t raise her voice.
She didn’t have to.
Even over the heat and the grind of gym-floor lust, her words landed like thunder under breath.
“I scream. And when I scream…”
A pause. Her Irish accent thick as cream.
“...people die.”
The silence that followed wasn’t pure—but it was noticeable. Just long enough to make everyone still watching hold their breath.
Bloodgood stood frozen. Her face was pale. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked around.
The gym was a mess of teenagers too far gone to care—except now, they were all watching her.
And no one wanted to be the one to trigger the wrath of a banshee.
Not even her.
So Bloodgood straightened, jaw clenched tight. She spun on her heel.
And walked away.
Because a banshee’s wrath was the last thing Bloodgood wanted to provoke.
The rest of the gym was a fever dream. Couples were everywhere—sloppy make-outs on the bleachers, hands groping under shirts; doggy-style over benches, grunts and gasps filling the air; one pair tangled in a position that looked like it violated both physics and the gym equipment manual.
The sounds of skin slapping, climax cries, and heavy breathing buzzed like static, and Igor was now openly sobbing, muttering about “sanitizing everything.”
Bloodgood’s eyes narrowed as a new realization hit.
“Where’s half the class?” she said, her voice sharp.
Too many students were missing—The ghouls, Operetta, Romulus, the twins, Clawdeen, Toralei.
Bloodgood’s eyes swept the gym like a hawk.
Her gaze locked on the side rooms: the locker room, the showers, the equipment closet.
Igor followed it—and immediately paled. His face twisted like he’d just seen the gates of hell crack open.
“Please, no,” he whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the doors. “Not in there.”
Bloodgood exhaled slowly, lifting the Febreze like a drawn blade.
“Let’s go,” she said, already marching toward the boys’ locker room. Her tone was clipped, sharp enough to cut through drywall.
Igor shuffled behind her, muttering about “biohazards” and “early retirement,” but Bloodgood didn’t slow. Her heels clicked like war drums on the tile.
She knew what she told the staff. No interference. Just observation. Let the students burn themselves out, let the madness run its course.
But that rule had its limits. And this? This crossed the line.
With a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the boys' locker room.
And immediately regretted it.
The boys' locker room was a scene straight out of a chaotic nightmare or a wildly inappropriate party.
Draculaura and Clawd were entangled on a bench near the lockers, her disheveled hair flying as she rode him with wild abandon.
"Oh, Clawd!" Draculaura moaned breathlessly, her lips brushing against his. "You feel so good inside me!"
Her petite frame shook with each powerful thrust, her claws digging into his chest as she held on tightly. Clawd's hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements, his expression a mix of pleasure and intense focus.
“Damn,” he groaned, his hips meeting hers with each thrust. “Keep riding me just like that, baby!”
Draculaura gasped, her hips moving in sync with his. "Yes! Oh, fuck, yes!"
The sound of their bodies colliding filled the locker room, mingling with the creaking of the bench beneath them.
Bloodgood was torn between disgust and astonishment. She settled for a deep breath and a mental note to have Igor disinfect that bench thoroughly.
Frankie and Jackson were engaged in an even more explicit display. Holt had transformed back into Jackson, and Frankie was taking full advantage of the situation.
Jackson was bent over, his pants pooled around his ankles, as Frankie took her time exploring his body with her tongue. Her hands gripped his cheeks, spreading him wide, while her other hand stroked his cock, eliciting soft moans from him.
"Fuck, Frankie," Jackson gasped, bracing himself against the lockers. "You're driving me crazy."
Frankie hummed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.
"Tell me, Jackson," Frankie said, pulling back slightly, making him whine. "Who owns this ass?"
"You do," he answered quickly, eager to please.
“Good boy,” Frankie purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “And this?” She squeezed his cock gently, making Jackson moan.
“Yours too,” he breathed out. “Every inch of me is yours, Frankie. Please, just... just keep licking me.”
“Damn right,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips. With that, she dove back in, her tongue resuming its dance around his rim.
Jackson let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing as Frankie resumed her ministrations. "Oh, fuck, Frankie... right there... yes..."
Across the room, Iris was a quivering mess in Manny’s powerful arms.
He had lifted her effortlessly, her legs dangling as she clung to his neck, her body pressed tightly against his massive chest.
She leaned back against him, her arms hooked around his shoulders for support, as he thrust into her with slow, deliberate strokes.
"MANNY!" she cried out, her voice bouncing off the tile walls. "Oh god, yes! Right there!"
Her eyes were glazed over, her mouth open wide as Manny fucked her relentlessly, his cock sliding in and out of her with each powerful thrust.
Manny's face was buried in the crook of her neck, his teeth gently nipping her skin as he held her up with ease, his strength evident in every movement. The sound of their bodies meeting was loud, punctuated by Iris's cries and Manny's growls.
“You’re mine, Iris,” Manny growled, his hips slapping against hers, making her scream. “Say it.”
“I’m yours!” Iris wailed, her voice breaking. “Breed me, Manny, fuck me like your bitch!”
Manny obliged, thrusting harder, making Iris scream with each powerful pump, her voice raw and wild.
Bloodgood felt her resolve crumbling with each scream.
She turned to Igor, whose face was now buried in his hands.
"It's gonna take hours to clean this mess!" he muttered.
Bloodgood sighed as she shifted her gaze to Cleo, the sight making her eyes widen in shock.
In the years she had known Cleo de Nile, she had always seen her as a stubborn yet wise young woman. Sure, she had her moments, but she always carried herself with a sense of self-respect that made her seem almost untouchable.
And when it came to sex, Bloodgood knew that Cleo always preferred to be in control, always dominant.
She was also aware of Cleo's snake-charming abilities but had never seen her use them in such an intimate and shocking manner.
So imagine her shock when she saw a giant, python-like snake wrapped around Cleo's naked body, from her shoulders to her hips, making her look like a willing victim of a serpent ready to devour her.
And if that wasn't enough, its tail had wrapped around her hips, with its tip slithering in and out of her ass like a living, breathing dildo.
And to top it all off, she was making out with the snake!
Cleo De Nile, daughter of Ramses, heir to the throne of Egypt, was passionately kissing a snake while its tail fucked her ass.
And she was enjoying it! Literally moaning and gasping into the snake’s mouth as it devoured her tongue. She seemed to be melting into the sensation, her body undulating against the snake's scales in a rhythmic dance.
"Ah, yes!" Cleo moaned, her voice muffled by the snake's mouth. "Eat me out, you scaly beast!"
The snake seemed to comply, its forked tongue battling with hers for dominance.
Bloodgood was at a loss for words. She didn’t even know what to say. What do you say when you catch one of your students making out with and being pleasured by a giant snake?
Igor was frozen, his eyes wide as he stared at the scene in horror.
But as they took in the scene, Clawd finally noticed Bloodgood, letting out a long sigh as he pulled away from Draculaura.
"For fuck's sake, Bloodgood," Clawd sneered, his voice dripping with irritation. "Can you not interrupt us for one damn day? You've got the worst timing ever."
Draculaura quickly joined in. "This is the third time I've been with my boyfriend, and a teacher walks in to ruin it! Do you have nothing better to do?" she asked angrily.
Before Bloodgood could respond, Manny chimed in.
"How many more teachers do I have to beat down before you finally get the message? We don’t give a damn about your rules or interruptions!" He sneered.
Iris, still in Manny's grasp, looked over at Bloodgood with pleading eyes. "Please, just let us have our fun. We're not hurting anyone."
Frankie pulled away from Jackson, her face flushed with anger. "Can I not have one fucking moment in this school without you being a nagging bitch about it?!"
Jackson whined, upset that Frankie had stopped.
"Franki-"
"Hush, Jackson! Give me a second." She said, her voice stern yet soothing.
Bloodgood quickly regained her composure. "I understand you're upset at me for interrupting your... activities. But can someone please explain to me why Cleo is making out with a giant snake?!"
Clawd calmly looked at the snake, then back at Bloodgood. "That's not just any snake. That's Deuce."
Bloodgood looked like she had seen a ghost.
"You're saying that thing is Deuce?" she mumbled, pointing at the snake.
Cleo broke away from her serpentine partner and glared at Bloodgood.
"Yes, it's Deuce!" Cleo shrieked, her voice filled with rage and frustration. "He's got some new... abilities. Now can you please just get the fuck out of here and let us enjoy ourselves?!"
Bloodgood was even more shocked than before.
"Deuce, is that really you?" she asked hesitantly.
The snake hissed at her, its eyes glowing briefly with a familiar green light.
"See? It's Deuce," Frankie said, still holding Jackson's cock in her grasp. “Now can you leave? I’ve got an ass to eat here!”
"Frankie!" Jackson whined even more, his desperation palpable. "Please... I can't take it anymore. I need you."
"Just give me a sec, baby," Frankie replied, her voice softening slightly. "This bitch is just being annoying."
Frankie then noticed the spray bottle Bloodgood was holding in her hands.
Then Frankie’s gaze dropped to the Febreze can. “You spray that shit even once, and I’ll zap you so hard you and Igor’ll be doing the electric slide!”
Bloodgood looked shocked. "Frankie, that is no way to-"
"GET. OUT!!!" Everyone shouted in unison, even Jackson.
At this point, Bloodgood realized that no amount of reasoning would work with these kids. Not while they were under the influence of the gas.
No problem. Just another note to give to Hackington for the cure.
She sighed, her voice resigned and weary. "Fine. Just... just make sure to leave when the period is over. And for god's sake, clean up after yourselves."
And with that, she closed the door.
"I swear, that woman can't take a hint," Clawd muttered, shaking his head.
"Tell me about it," Frankie muttered.
"FRANKIE!" Jackson shouted, his patience having reached its limit.
"Sorry, sweetie. Mommy's back now," she purred as she returned to licking his ass.
Jackson let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing as Frankie resumed her ministrations. "Fuck yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Right there. Oh god, right there!"
"Hush, baby," she soothed. "Just let me take care of you now."
"Please, Frankie," he moaned. "Fuck me with your tongue. I can't wait any longer."
"Anything for you, my little human," she replied, diving back in with a vengeance.
Cleo resumed making out with her boyfriend-turned-snake, while Clawd and Manny resumed fucking their girlfriends with renewed vigor.
Cleo smirked, her eyes locked on Deuce as she resumed making out with her boyfriend-turned-snake, their tongues battling for dominance once more.
Clawd and Manny exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them as they resumed fucking their girlfriends with renewed vigor, the sounds of their passion filling the locker room once more.
Bloodgood exited the boys' locker room, Igor trailing behind her like a man marching to his inevitable doom.
"Well, that was an absolute disaster," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"IT'S GOING TO TAKE HOURS TO SCRUB THAT MESS CLEAN!" Igor roared, his face flushed with frustration.
"That's why we have janitors, Igor," Bloodgood reminded him as they made their way to the ladies' locker room.
The air was thick with a mix of sweet perfume and the unmistakable scent of arousal. Yet, the room was surprisingly tidy. No sign of any bodily fluids or mess that would require hours of cleanup. Everything seemed... normal.
Well, aside from the discarded gym clothes scattered across the floor.
And the unmistakable sounds of moans and wet licking echoing through the room. Clawdeen, naked and shimmering with sweat, was sprawled on the floor with her legs spread wide, writhing in pleasure.
Toralei, on the other hand, was nestled between Clawdeen's thighs, feasting on her with an enthusiasm that made the werewolf squirm and buck her hips. Toralei's hands gripped Clawdeen's legs firmly, holding her in place and preventing any attempt to escape her skilled tongue.
"OH FUCK, YES!" Clawdeen cried out, her paws tangled in Toralei's hair, grinding her hips against her mouth. "LICK ME CLEAN, YOU SEXY LITTLE BITCH!"
Toralei obliged, her tongue flat against Clawdeen's clit, lapping and sucking with fervor. Her grip on Clawdeen's thighs tightened, holding her steadfast as she devoured her.
"I'm so close, Tor!" Clawdeen panted, her hips moving in sync with Toralei's tongue. "Don't you dare stop now!"
"Wouldn't dream of it, sweet cheeks," Toralei purred, her voice muffled as she doubled her efforts, determined to push Clawdeen over the edge.
Clawdeen's back arched sharply as she reached her climax, a scream of pure ecstasy tearing from her throat. Her body shook with the force of her orgasm, her pussy pulsing against Toralei's lips.
"Oh god, oh god, YES!" she cried out, her juices gushing against Toralei's mouth.
Toralei greedily lapped up every drop, her face glistening with Clawdeen's release as she looked up at her with a satisfied smirk.
"Good?" she asked, her voice dripping with pride and a hint of cockiness.
Clawdeen collapsed onto the floor, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. "Amazing," she panted, a lazy grin spreading across her face.
Toralei then leaned in, and the 2 girls locked lips, sharing a passionate kiss that lasted a few seconds.
It was then that Toralei noticed Bloodgood and Igor standing in the doorway, their expressions a mix of shock, disgust, and sheer embarrassment. Igor looked like he was about to be sick, while Bloodgood seemed torn between horror and exasperation.
Toralei placed her hands on her hips, eyeing Bloodgood with a defiant smirk.
"Gonna toss me in a cell again, teach?" she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm and challenge.
Clawdeen, still panting, began to rise from the floor, her claws flexing menacingly. She looked ready to pounce and shred Bloodgood to ribbons right then and there.
Nope. Not worth the paperwork or the potential mauling.
Bloodgood sighed, "Just get out when the periods over!"
She immediately slammed the door shut, her heart pounding in her chest.
The girls' locker room? Absolutely not.
The boys' locker room? Hell to the no!
Bloodgood had ventured in there, armed with a bottle of Febreze, hoping she could at least dampen the hormonal frenzy and prevent the students from turning the gym into a den of iniquity. But after witnessing the sheer debauchery within? Nope. Not a chance.
Not if she valued her sanity and wanted to avoid any of her students deciding to viciously assault her.
"This school is a goddamn madhouse," Bloodgood muttered under her breath as she stormed towards the equipment room.
She prayed that the students had left it untouched, that it remained a sanctuary amidst the chaos.
Once again, she was sorely mistaken.
The equipment room had been transformed into a scene straight out of a smutty power fantasy. Romulus sat on a bench, posed like a king on his throne, his muscular frame exuding an aura of dominance and command.
His eyes were closed, his head tilted back in pleasure as Meowlody and Purrsephone knelt before him, their twin tongues working in perfect synchronization to worship his cock.
Meowlody and Purrsephone had always been known for their teasing and flirtatious nature, but this time, they had finally met their match.
They lapped and sucked at Romulus' cock with an eagerness that bordered on desperation, their asses red and marked with multiple handprints—a testament to the alpha wolf's aggression.
Romulus gripped their tails in both his hands, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like you little bitches finally learned your place," he sneered, giving their tails a firm tug. "Ain't that right, kitties?"
Meowlody and Purrsephone moaned in response, their tongues resuming their dance around his cock, the sensation driving Romulus wild with pleasure. He bucked his hips, forcing his cock deeper into their mouths, making them gag slightly as they struggled to take him.
"That's it," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "Worship your fucking alpha. Show me what those pretty little mouths can do."
The symphony of slurping and sucking noises filled the equipment room, a testament to their enthusiasm and skill. Bloodgood watched in disbelief, her mouth agape at the sight before her.
Romulus had never shown any interest in the twin sisters before. But now, with the love gas turning Monster High into a veritable fuck fest, everything had changed.
Not that any of them seemed to mind. They were happy, lost in their own world of pleasure and desire.
Romulus finally noticed Bloodgood and Igor standing in the doorway, their expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth in a snarl.
"I'm only gonna say this once, Bloodgood," he growled. "Fuck. Off."
Meowlody and Purrsephone broke away from his cock just long enough to hiss at the intruders, their claws flexing menacingly.
"Get out of here, you prudes!" Meowlody spat, her eyes gleaming with defiance.
"Yeah, unless you wanna get your face fucked!" Purrsephone added, her voice dripping with malice.
Bloodgood didn't need to be told twice.
She closed the door, turning to Igor with a weary expression.
"Is there any other room I need to check for... amorous activities?" she asked, her voice laced with exhaustion.
Igor pointed towards the shower room, his expression grim. Bloodgood braced herself, steeling her nerves for whatever debauchery awaited her within.
Bloodgood cautiously entered the shower room, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
To her surprise, the scene before her appeared remarkably ordinary. She let out a small sigh of relief, thinking for a moment that perhaps the students had chosen to spare this one sanctuary from their hormonal escapades.
"I guess they didn't want to have sex here," she murmured to herself, allowing a glimmer of hope to spark within her.
But then, her ears picked up the faint sound of running water. She turned her head, listening intently as soft, muffled noises joined the steady stream.
Her curiosity piqued, Bloodgood approached the occupied shower stall, her heart pounding in her chest.
She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just inches from the curtain. The last thing she wanted was to stumble upon another scene that would scar her psyche. But with a deep breath and a silent prayer, she grasped the edge of the curtain and pulled it aside.
The sight that greeted her was both tender and unsettling.
Abbey and Heath, fully naked and very much awake, were entwined in an intimate embrace beneath the cascading water. Abbey sat with her legs crossed, her muscular frame cradling Heath's petite form as he suckled at her breast like a newborn baby.
Abbey's strong hands stroked Heath's wet hair, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered filthy promises and endearments.
“That’s it, my little firestarter,” she cooed, voice like a soft rumble of a distant avalanche. “Just relax. Let me handle everything now.”
Heath moaned softly, his mouth never leaving her breast as he continued to nurse. His small hands clutched at her broad shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin with a desperate need.
"Mmm, Abbey," he mumbled, his voice muffled against her chest. "Your boobs feel like marshmallows."
Abbey chuckled, a deep sound that resonated in her chest. “Well… they are pretty big, da?” she teased, giving his hair a gentle tug.
Heath nodded, his eyes closed in contentment as he continued to suckle at her breast. Abbey sighed, a look of adoration on her face as she watched him nurse.
"I never knew you had such a thing for big boobs," she said, a playful smirk on her lips.
Heath broke away from her breast just long enough to respond. "It just feels so good. Stuffing your face with something soft and warm. It makes me feel all gooey inside."
Abbey smiled, her eyes softening with affection. “Good, fire boy. You know you can always come to me… when you want real woman to take care of you.”
Heath nodded enthusiastically, his mouth returning to her breast as if it were his favorite toy.
Bloodgood watched the scene unfold, her initial shock giving way to a strange sense of curiosity. She had never imagined Abbey and Heath in such an intimate context before.
It was almost... heartwarming in its own weird way.
As if sensing the intrusion, Abbey's piercing blue eyes snapped up to meet Bloodgood's gaze. There was a challenge in her stare, a silent dare for the teacher to intervene and face the consequences.
"Something you need, Bloodgood?" Abbey growled, her voice laced with a threatening undertone. "Or are you just here to watch?"
Bloodgood, however, had no intention of disrupting their intimate moment. She knew all too well what had happened the last time someone had attempted to separate Heath from Abbey, and she had no desire to repeat that particular incident.
With a calm and measured demeanor, Bloodgood slowly released the curtain, allowing it to fall back into place.
"Carry on," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water.
With that, she bolted out of the shower room, not wanting to spend another second in there.
Igor scrambled to catch up, his face pale and panic written all over it.
“W-What do we do, Headmistress? You saw that! It’s—it’s chaos! What’s the plan?”
Bloodgood let out a long, steady breath. She could march back in, threaten suspension or expulsion. She could storm the gym floor and drag every tangled pair apart by their ears.
But what good would it do?
They were too far gone. Deep under the gas’s influence. Any attempt to stop them now would only result in injury.
Hers, most likely.
So instead, she just sighed again. Then said calmly—
“Tell them to clean up before they leave.”
Igor’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Clean up?! That’s it?! You’re not going to do anything?!”
Bloodgood pulled out her iCoffin, holding it up in front of his face.
“It’s ten minutes until the last period, Igor. Once the bell rings, they’ll clear out. I’m not marching back into that hellscape with a megaphone and a detention slip. Let it ride. They’ll burn out.”
She turned on her heel and started walking away.
“But—but the mats! The bleachers! The stench!” Igor sputtered, practically chasing after her. “You expect me to clean up all that? Do you know what kind of biohazard that is?!”
Bloodgood stopped. Slowly turned. Her stare could’ve flash-frozen magma.
“Alright. You want me to do something?”
“Yes!” Igor pleaded, practically on his knees.
She gave a dry shrug and resumed walking. “Then lock the damn doors and let them finish.”
Igor froze. “Wait… what?!”
“Let them get it out of their systems,” she called over her shoulder, voice tired but tinged with grim amusement. “With any luck, they’ll be passed out by the bell. Then we clean up the wreckage.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Leaving Igor alone in a warzone of hormones and ruined gym mats.
As if on cue, the storage room door burst open. Out strolled Slo-Mo, calm as ever, carrying a dazed, disheveled Ghoulia in his arms. Her limbs hung loosely around him, eyes half-lidded, hair a wreck.
Igor opened his mouth to scream—
But Slo-Mo shot him a look. A look that said, don’t. Just don’t.
Igor’s mouth clamped shut.
Slo-Mo turned and walked out, Ghoulia still draped around him like a prize.
And Igor?
Igor sighed. Then dragged himself toward the supply closet and grabbed a mop.
“…I’m too old for this.”
4TH PERIOD
The bell rang with a distant, echoing clang—more like a warning bell than a class change—and the baking room slowly filled with students.
It was a cozy space on most days: long counters lined with flour-dusted mixing bowls, shelves stacked with cookbooks and cupcake trays, windows that let in lazy sunlight. The scent of sugar and cinnamon usually clung to the walls like a warm blanket. It was supposed to be the calmest period of the day.
But not today.
The substitute teacher stood near the front, clutching a clipboard in front of her like a shield.
She was tall, wiry, and wearing a name tag that read "Miss Bellmore – Temp Faculty."
Her suit was crisp. Her heels clicked nervously as she shifted her weight.
Behind her, the chalkboard read “Mrs. Kindergrubber’s Advanced Baking: Period 8” in neat cursive.
She offered a bright, hopeful smile as the last few students trickled in.
“Alright, everyone,” she said, clapping her hands lightly. “I know I’m a new face, so let’s start with the basics. I’m Miss Bellmore, and I’ll be your substitute for today. Mrs. Kindergrubber is taking a personal day—something about 'needing to lie in a dark room with earplugs'?”
A few students chuckled.
She relaxed slightly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“I checked the syllabus before you all arrived,” she continued, flipping through a few pages on her clipboard, “and… well, it looks like you don’t have any assigned work for today.”
Some students perked up. A few exchanged glances.
Miss Bellmore chuckled awkwardly. “So… I guess that means you’re free to do whatever you like. Quietly, of course. Catch up on homework. Read. Just… keep things low-key, alright?”
The words had barely left her mouth before the atmosphere shifted.
It was subtle at first.
The sound of chairs scraping the floor. The low murmur of hushed voices. The way several heads snapped up all at once, their eyes glowing faintly with interest.
And then the floodgates opened.
A boy near the front leaned across his workstation and immediately began making out with the girl beside him. Their lips crashed together with the kind of hunger that felt completely out of place in a baking class. Another couple behind them followed suit—hands tangled in hair, bodies pressed too close.
Three girls near the back didn’t even hesitate. One of them grabbed a boy’s hand and dragged him toward the door, giggling like a siren. Another simply climbed onto her desk, spreading her legs invitingly for the boy sitting opposite.
The room filled with gasps, giggles, and the sound of zippers being undone.
Miss Bellmore watched in horror, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping.
“What are you doing?” she shouted, but it came out more like a squeak.
No one paid her any attention.
They were too busy ripping clothes off, exploring, biting, licking…
And then—
“Robecca, stop squirming.”
Venus’s voice cut through the chaos, low and sharp.
Miss Bellmore turned just in time to see Robecca—wide-eyed, cheeks burning—being shoved down into Venus’s lap. Her hands flailed uselessly, but Venus had her by the hair, fingers locked like vines.
“Venus, please!” Robecca exclaimed, squirming.
Venus didn’t respond. She simply leaned back in her chair, grinning with all the satisfaction of someone who knew she was in control.
Across the room, Twyla blinked once—and disappeared into a ripple of shadow. One second she was in her seat, the next she was gone, dissolving into black mist that slithered along the wall.
She was already searching for Howleen.
Sirena, sitting at a workstation by the window, pulled out her phone and started typing rapidly. Her expression was calm—almost too calm. Like this wasn’t surprising at all. Like this was just routine.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Miss Bellmore tried again, louder this time, her clipboard clutched to her chest. “You can’t just—this isn’t how students are supposed to behave!”
Another chair squeaked loudly as a werecat leapt onto the counter and purred at a vampire boy below her, tail twitching with predatory excitement.
Miss Bellmore’s voice cracked. “You’re free to do whatever—yes—but not like this!”
But they didn’t hear her.
Or worse, they didn’t care.
The room had already turned into something else entirely—not a class, not even a free period. It was a jungle. A heatwave. A chemical pressure cooker of desire and dominance where the rules no longer applied.
And Miss Bellmore?
She was completely unprepared.
She looked around, panic rising in her chest, searching for anything—anyone—who might offer some explanation, some anchor.
But all she saw were glowing eyes, flushed cheeks, and teeth sinking into lips. The sweet, sugary scent of the baking room was gone now—replaced by something far more primal. Musky. Dangerous.
Clearly, no one had told her what Monster High was going through.
Not the administration.
Not the other teachers.
Not even the students.
Not a damn soul.
Her mouth opened again to shout something—anything—but she froze when the overhead speakers let out a soft crackle.
Bloodgood’s voice came through the intercom, calm but clearly exhausted:
“Attention students: if you absolutely must screw, please avoid classrooms, labs, and anywhere with fire hazards. Thank you.”
For a moment, Miss Bellmore thought she misheard. She blinked. Slowly.
Then—chaos.
More students bolted from their seats with purpose now. Before, they’d been hesitant, looking for openings. But now? Now it was officially sanctioned.
A trio of werewolves fist-bumped before dashing out the door. A ghoul grabbed her vampire boyfriend by the tie and dragged him down the hallway like prey. A banshee screamed in excitement as she vanished through the wall with a ghost boy in tow.
“No—no, wait! You can’t just—!” Miss Bellmore rushed toward the door, arms flailing, trying to corral them.
But it was too late.
They moved like a tide, flowing around her, past her, completely ignoring her. She was shouting into the wind.
Within thirty seconds, over half the class was gone.
Miss Bellmore leaned against a counter, breathing heavily. Her clipboard was bent. Her hair was frizzing. Her eyes were wide, and her voice came out in a dry rasp.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. This is fine.”
She scanned the remaining students. A few were still present—either uninterested, waiting their turn, or just too lazy to leave. Some sat on counters. Some on desks. Venus was still smugly coiled around Robecca like a snake protecting its kill. Sirena sat by the window, humming faintly.
Miss Bellmore took a shaky breath, then squared her shoulders.
“If I can’t stop it,” she muttered, “then maybe I can at least… understand it.”
She walked cautiously across the room toward Sirena, who was seated on the counter, her phone in hand, gaze focused and lips curled into a smirk.
The sub opened her mouth to ask a question—what the hell is going on here?—but as she got close enough, her gaze dropped.
Just a glance.
Over the shoulder.
That was all it took.
Sirena’s screen was lit up with a flurry of blue and green emojis, hearts, and messages laced with salt and scandal.
Vandala Doubloons [12:45 PM]: "Miss me, did ye? I’ve been dreamin’ o’ your slick, shimmery tail wrappin’ round me waist like a siren’s snare. I ain’t slept proper since our last little hauntin’."
Sirena Von Boo [12:45 PM]: "You think that was haunting? Babe, I floated through your walls, climbed into your hammock, and nearly drowned you in my love 💦👻"
Vandala Doubloons [12:46 PM]: "Aye, and I’d let ye drown me again. I still got scratches on me ghost thighs from yer claws. Ghost thighs, Sirena. You marked me soul."
Sirena Von Boo [12:47 PM]: "You love it. Don’t act like you didn’t beg for more while I had you pinned to that splintery wall, moaning like the ship was sinkin’ 😘"
Vandala Doubloons [12:48 PM]: "Come to me tonight. I’ll have rum on the windowsill, ropes hangin’ from the rafters, and no one in the dorm but us lasses. I want to hear ye sing, sea witch."
Sirena Von Boo [12:49 PM]: "If that hat’s not the only thing you’re wearing when I arrive, I’m turning right back around 😏💀"
Vandala Doubloons [12:49 PM]: "Then it’s settled. I’ll be bare as the day I died. And ye? You best be ready to ride me till the timbers creak and the dorm howls our names."
Sirena’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, still grinning with a flushed, dreamy glow, when her eyes caught the reflection of Miss Bellmore behind her.
She snapped around like she'd been caught doing something illegal—and maybe she had.
“It’s not nice to eavesdrop!!” she snapped, voice shrill and fierce.
Miss Bellmore jumped back like she’d touched a hot stove. “I—I wasn’t—!”
Sirena clutched her phone to her chest and hovered higher, drawing her tail in close like a shield, glaring daggers.
Miss Bellmore backed off immediately, hands raised, her brain absolutely fried.
“O-okay,” she mumbled, stumbling over her own feet as she returned to the desk. “Okay. Definitely not asking you anything…”
But then she heard it.
A soft whimper. Muffled.
Her head snapped to the side. One of the front row desks. Robecca…?
The girl’s head was twitching, her shoulders shifting, as though she were trying to rise up from something—but couldn’t. Her metallic fingers clawed at the desk’s edge, only to be pulled back down by a firm grip tangled in her thick coils of hair.
Venus McFlytrap was seated right beside her, lounging in the desk like she owned it, her expression utterly relaxed—except for one hand, which was buried in Robeeca’s dark locks, keeping her head firmly pressed between her thighs.
And Venus? She wasn’t wearing any pants.
Her black skirt was bunched up around her waist, her underwear long since discarded and lying carelessly on the floor beside her boots. Her exposed hips flexed slowly, possessively, while Robeeca whimpered against her folds—muffled, but not muffled enough.
Miss Bellmore froze. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
And then she watched it happen.
Robeeca stopped struggling.
Her twitching slowed… then shifted… until her arms moved not to push away, but to hold on. She clutched Venus’s thighs like a lifeline, her shoulders slumping as if surrendering. Embracing. Accepting.
Venus smiled smugly and cooed, brushing the girl’s hair with her free hand like she was petting a prized animal.
“Good girl…” she murmured, her voice low and husky, laced with arousal and power.
Miss Bellmore snapped.
“You—You have to stop this right now!” she shouted, charging forward. “Robeeca, sweetheart, come with me. Get away from—"
She reached out to pull her up—only to stop when the floor lurched beneath her.
Vines burst from the tile like striking snakes, thick and green with razor-tipped leaves. Some aimed directly at her chest and face, poised like spears. Others grabbed the legs of nearby chairs, a pair of scissors, a sharp paring knife from one of the baking stations—and held them ready.
Miss Bellmore gasped, stumbling back, arms raised in terror.
Venus turned her head and glared, her expression now cold and deadly.
“Touch my pet,” she growled, “and I’ll feed your corpse to the compost and use your bones to mulch the greenhouse.”
Robecca moaned against her, louder now, eyes closed and face pressed firmly between her legs. Venus’s smile returned instantly—hungry, possessive, satisfied.
She leaned back, hand still fisted in Robecca’s hair, and let out a low, throaty moan. “Oh, Robecca, darling, that’s perfect… right there, baby, that’s so good…”
Miss Bellmore stood frozen, sweat prickling at the back of her neck. Her throat worked in silence, trying to form words, but nothing came out.
Slowly… shakily… she backed away.
“Okay,” she whispered. “O-okay…”
Venus said nothing. Just resumed stroking Robeeca’s hair, like nothing had happened.
Bloodgood sat stiffly at her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. The events in the gym still clung to her like sweat—students dry humping on bleachers, couples grinding in the locker rooms, and that one werewolf couple who’d tried to get too creative in the goal net.
“Why me?” she groaned.
The door slammed open.
Her head snapped up.
Viktor Stein stormed in, eyes wild and electric with fury, with Viveka, Dracula, Harriet Wolfe, Clawrk Wolf, and the Boogeyman marching in right behind him like a pack of angry prosecutors. Each of their expressions ranged from outraged to disgusted.
“What the hell was that announcement!?” Viktor bellowed, his thick hand slapping down on her desk so hard her paperweight rattled. “You basically told them to screw in the hallways! Do you have any idea how many students we just saw going at it?!”
Viveka crossed her arms, looking furious and betrayed. “We passed three girls getting railed against the vending machine, and one of them winked at me!”
Dracula threw his hands up. “And two of them were biting each other! That’s not even about the gas anymore—that’s just unsanitary!”
Harriet stepped forward, her voice sharp but measured. “Now look. We understand that you told us to leave discipline to the school. That you would be the ones handling them. But this?” She gestured toward the chaos just outside the office window. “This is the opposite of handling.”
Clawrk growled low in his throat. “They’re still acting freaky, no matter who’s watching. Parents, staff, it doesn’t matter. The second you turn your back, they’re grinding against walls like animals.”
The Boogeyman simply shook his head, muttering, “This place is a breeding ground…”
Bloodgood held up a hand. Calm. Collected. The perfect contrast to their rage.
“I am trying to manage it,” she said coolly. “I don’t want them doing it in the classrooms anymore. The janitors are tired of mopping up condoms, bras, and… fluids."
A beat. Harriet gagged softly.
“And if the students are too busy running around screwing in random corners all day,” Bloodgood continued, “they’ll wear themselves out by nightfall. Which makes them easier to control tomorrow. Fewer hormones. Less energy. Less chaos.”
The parents looked at her like she’d grown a second head.
“That’s your plan?” Viktor growled. “Let them burn themselves out? Run the batteries down? This isn’t a rave, Bloodgood—this is a school!”
“And a cursed one at that,” Dracula muttered.
“It’s not a curse,” Bloodgood said, wearily. “It’s a chemical reaction.”
“That’s so much better,” Viveka snapped sarcastically.
The argument flared.
Viktor jabbed a finger. Harriet raised her voice. Clawrk and Viveka argued over whose child was more unhinged—Clawd or Frankie. Dracula said something about bringing a priest. Even the Boogeyman started yelling. Everyone talked at once.
Until—RING. RING. RING.
Bloodgood held up a hand again. Silence. She picked up the receiver.
“Bloodgood. Make it quick.”
A voice crackled through the speaker. Mr. Where.
“Headmistress,” he said, tension audible even through the static. “Remember how some students were reported missing? On the way to classes or meet-ups?”
Bloodgood straightened. “Yes…”
“We found them.”
Her eyes lit up. “Good. Where—?”
“Only there’s one problem.”
A pause.
Bloodgood’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “What problem?”
A long beat.
Then:
“You may wanna come and see for yourself.”
CLICK.
The line went dead.
Bloodgood slowly lowered the phone, staring at it for a heartbeat. Then she stood, gathering her riding crop from her chair.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this chat later,” she said to the room, her voice cool but grim. “We’ve got a situation on our hands.”
She didn’t elaborate.
She didn’t need to.
As she left the office, the parents stared at one another, a cold chill creeping down all of their spines.
They found Mr. Where standing in the main hall, just past the second-floor atrium where several wings of the school connected. The air smelled faintly of pollen and bark, earthy and wet, as if a thunderstorm had recently swept through.
Bloodgood, still holding her head in place after Batsy's earlier twig assault, arrived with Viktor, Harriet, Viveka, Dracula, Clawrk, and the Boogeyman in tow.
"Alright, Where," Viktor said gruffly. "What the hell are we looking at?"
Mr. Where didn't respond immediately. He simply raised a finger and pointed to the ceiling.
They followed his gaze.
Up near the rafters, tangled in vines, leaves, and sheets of old gym mats, was a massive nest. It pulsed with life—dozens of boys stuck in the webbed maze, moaning softly or swaying in a dreamy daze. Some were shirtless. Some barely clothed. All clearly enchanted.
And at the center, hanging upside down like a queen in her throne, was the White Vampire Bat of Costa Shrieka herself.
Batsy Claro.
White wings spread lazily, her pale skin glowing against the moss. She wore a torn-up version of her outfit—jungle chic—with her top tied tight across her chest and her skirt replaced with a wrap of leaves. Her lipstick was smeared, her fangs gleaming. And her pink eyes were glowing.
Not from makeup.
Not from lighting.
From the gas.
They glowed like neon jungle fruit.
Her wings were wrapped around her like a shawl, and her long silver hair flowed down toward one of the boys she was hovering over. She slowly uncurled, dropping to his level, and pressed a slow, wet kiss onto his lips.
Her voice was thick with a sultry, exotic accent as she whispered:
“Shhh, cariño… No luches contra mí. Just let me enjoy you… poquito a poquito.”
The boy shivered under her attention, his eyes glazed over.
Everyone below stood in shocked silence.
Bloodgood looked ready to scream.
“Batsy Claro?” Bloodgood’s voice trembled but held firm. “What in the Monster World are you doing?! Let them go—NOW!”
Batsy opened one eye lazily. She raised her head and peered down with a coy, wild smile.
“Ah, directora... tan aburrida como siempre. Why would I let them go?” She spread her wings, stretching. “They came to me. Alone. Desperate. Mmm… smelling so needy. And I? I welcomed them. This is mi selva now. My little jungle in the sky.”
Bloodgood stepped forward, more sternly. “You’re hoarding students like prisoners. You do not get to claim them. Let them down before I—”
“¡NO!” Batsy suddenly snapped, her voice a blend of growl and song. “These are my chicos, mi cielo. They are safe with me. Warm, fed… pleased.”
Then, with a flick of her wrist, she grabbed a sturdy twig from her nest, reeled back, and hurled it like a javelin.
CRACK.
It struck Bloodgood square in the neck—her head went flying off, bouncing twice before Viktor caught it in sheer reflex.
“Well, she had that comin’,” Clawrk muttered.
Dracula stepped forward, attempting a softer route.
“Batsy, please,” he said with authority. “I know how tempting this is, but this isn’t the way. You’re a noble vampire from a proud jungle clan—”
“Oh, spare me your speeches, viejo,” Batsy hissed, her accent sharp now. “Your castles and coffins bore me. These boys want more than rules and shame—they want me. And some of them?” She smiled wickedly. “They asked to stay.”
Down below, one of the boys in the nest weakly waved. “I’m good.”
“You see?” Batsy grinned. “They love it here. And if you dare to try and take them...”
She let out a sharp whistle.
All at once, buzzing erupted from the vents. The cracks in the walls began to shift and squirm. Beetles, spiders, wasps, and all manner of jungle insects began to pour out like water.
“Aw hell,” Clawrk groaned. “NOPE.”
“RUUUUUUN!” yelled Viveka.
They bolted as the swarm came descending. Bloodgood clutched her floating head and ducked behind a pillar.
Bloodgood’s body snatched her head back from Viktor as they all sprinted down the hallway.
Clawrk kicked a giant beetle off Harriet’s shoulder.
Viveka screamed as a moth the size of a textbook flapped against her face.
Dracula shouted something about burning the school down.
The Boogeyman teleported ahead, leaving a scream-shaped hole in the air.
Finally, they burst through a pair of emergency doors, panting, sweating, brushing bugs off their clothes.
"QUICKLY," Mr. Where shouted, his voice filled with panic. "CLOSE THE DOOR!"
They did.
Then they stood there. Panting. Staring at each other.
“Soooo,” Clawrk started slowly, “I guess we’re not saving them.”
“Not a chance in hell,” said Viktor, his eyebrow twitching with anger. “She’s got an army of creepy crawlies and a bunch of boys who don’t want to leave.”
“And I’d rather be eaten alive than get my hair infested,” Viveka said.
Dracula rubbed his temples, clearly stressed. “Well… that sucked."
Twyla hurried down the hallway, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
She spotted Howleen waiting by the locker room door, her girlfriend's eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. Twyla approached her, a questioning look on her face.
"Howleen, what are we doing here?" Twyla asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Howleen grinned, taking Twyla's hand and leading her towards the locker room. "We're here to spice things up, Twyla. Trust me, it'll be fun."
Twyla's eyes widened, and she felt a wave of panic. "Spice things up? Did I do something wrong? Are you not happy with—?"
Howleen quickly cut her off, turning to face her and taking both of Twyla's hands in hers. "No, no, Twyla, you're perfect. This isn't about anything you've done wrong. It's just... I thought it would be nice to try something new, you know? For our 'personal time' together."
Twyla blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh... okay. But we've never really done anything like this before. We've just... made out and stuff."
Howleen smiled reassuringly. "I know. And that's why we're here. To explore a bit more."
With that, Howleen pushed open the locker room door, revealing Meowlody and Purrsephone standing just inside. Despite their earlier escapades with Romulus, the two were surprisingly energetic, their eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Welcome, welcome!" Meowlody purred, gesturing for Twyla and Howleen to enter. Purrsephone grinned, her tail swishing behind her as she helped Meowlody usher the two girls inside.
The locker room was dimly lit, the air filled with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Clawdeen and Toralei were waiting for them, seated on a bench in the center of the room. They stood up as Twyla and Howleen entered, their expressions serious yet inviting.
"Have a seat, you two," Clawdeen said, gesturing to the bench. Twyla and Howleen exchanged a glance before complying, sitting down side by side.
Toralei leaned forward, her eyes locked on the two girls. "So, it's pretty clear that you two are... well, you suck at being intimate. And that's okay! We're all here to help you spice up your love life."
Howleen shifted uncomfortably, her nervousness evident. "But... we've never really done anything like this before. I don't know if—"
Clawdeen interrupted her, a confident smile on her face. "That's exactly why we're here. Howleen, you've had a demonstration before, right? And clearly, you didn't learn a damn thing. So, it's time for a real crash course."
Twyla's eyes widened, her heart racing. "A crash course? What do you mean?"
Toralei grinned, her fangs glinting in the dim light. "We know the perfect way to teach you. Clawdeen, if you would?"
Clawdeen stood up, her movements fluid and graceful. She turned to Twyla, a commanding look in her eyes. "Twyla, stand up. And start taking off your clothes."
Twyla's breath hitched, her eyes darting to Howleen, who looked just as nervous as she felt. But there was also a spark of curiosity in Howleen's eyes, a desire to see where this would lead.
Meowlody, Purrsephone, and Toralei gathered behind Howleen, their hands on her shoulders, offering silent support.
"Watch closely, Howleen," Toralei murmured, her voice soothing. "Clawdeen is about to show you what you've been missing."
Howleen swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "But... isn't this basically cuckolding? Watching someone else with Twyla?"
Toralei leaned in, her voice soft and reassuring. "Don't think of it like that, Howleen. Think of it as... an educational experience. A way to learn and grow together. This is about expanding your horizons, exploring new pleasures. It's about making your bond with Twyla even stronger."
Twyla, who was now standing, her fingers trembling as she began to unbutton her shirt. As it fell to the floor, the locker room grew quiet, the air thick with anticipation.
Clawdeen's grin was downright sinful, like a dominatrix ready to school her eager pupils. "Oh, this is gonna be fucking hot!"
For the remainder of the period, Howleen and Twyla were thrown into a whirlwind of education on lesbian sex.
They were taught how to lap dance, how to finger each other to the brink of ecstasy, how to scissor until they were both dripping with sweat and desire, how to eat each other out until they were screaming each other's names, how to use toys to drive each other wild, and even how to dirty talk for those rare moments when they wanted to put on a show.
Throughout it all, Twyla was used as a willing test dummy. While Toralei supplied the information, Clawdeen did the demonstrating, her hands and mouth exploring every inch of Twyla's body. Howleen watched with a mixture of shock, curiosity, and intense arousal as Clawdeen rimmed Twyla's ass, made her cum from the use of just her hands, and scissored her until Twyla was a writhing, moaning mess.
Clawdeen kept up a running commentary, explaining every move she made and why. At one point, she grabbed Howleen's hand and placed it on Twyla's breast, guiding her movements.
"Feel her up, Howleen," Clawdeen growled, her voice thick with lust. "Learn what makes her fucking melt."
As they neared the end of their 'lesson,' Twyla and Clawdeen were locked in a passionate scissor, their bodies grinding against each other.
As Clawdeen expertly scissored Twyla, her hips grinding relentlessly against Twyla's, Twyla let out a desperate, breathy moan. "Fuck, Clawdeen... don't stop... I'm so close... make me cum all over your pussy!"
Howleen watched from the sidelines, her eyes wide and her face flushed with desire. Clawdeen's moans filled the air, and it was clear she was enjoying herself immensely.
Toralei sat next to Howleen on the bench, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched the two girls on the floor.
"See, Howleen," Toralei purred, her voice dripping with lust. "That's how you make a bitch feel good. You gotta take control, be fucking dominant. Make her beg for your touch, your tongue, your fucking everything."
Howleen bit her lip, her eyes fixed on Twyla and Clawdeen. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the sight in front of her was making her incredibly turned on.
As Clawdeen finished scissoring Twyla—leaving the girl a moaning, messy-haired wreck—a predatory grin spread across her face. She turned towards Howleen and curled her finger.
"Sis," Clawdeen growled, her voice a mix of commanding and lustful. "Get your ass over here."
Howleen obediently walked towards her naked and grinning sister, wondering what would happen next.
"Close your eyes and hold still," Clawdeen ordered.
Howleen followed her instructions, and the next thing she felt was her pants falling down and something being pulled around her waist.
"Now open them," Clawdeen said.
Howleen opened her eyes to find a massive pink dildo securely strapped around her waist.
Clawdeen grinned like a villain watching their protégé catch their first body. "I've been fucking Twyla senseless this whole time. Now it's your turn to make her scream."
Howleen looked back at Twyla, who was now getting her ass cheeks spread open by the werecat twins, both grinning wickedly.
"Come on, Howleen," Meowlody urged, her voice a sultry purr. "Come show your girlfriend what a naughty little student you are. Make her scream your name."
Purrsephone slapped the spot between Twyla's legs, her eyes gleaming with lust. "Right here."
Howleen hesitated, a bit unsure. She had never done something like this before. Clawdeen may have done it to Toralei plenty of times, but she had never worn a strap-on, and she was unsure if she could pull it off.
That was, until Twyla spoke up, her voice breathy and eager.
"Howleen, please," Twyla begged, her eyes locked on Howleen's. "I need you. I want to feel you inside me. Please fuck me with it."
Clawdeen let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Damn, Twyla. You're getting bold."
Twyla's face flushed slightly, but her desire was evident in her voice. "I… I just want to make Howleen happy."
Howleen's eyes widened, her lust overcoming her hesitation. She nodded and approached Twyla, her heart pounding with anticipation.
Twyla lay on the bench, her legs spread wide. Purrsephone and Meowlody held her in place, their eyes filled with lust as they watched.
Howleen positioned herself between Twyla's thighs, the massive pink dildo strapped around her waist poised at Twyla's entrance. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
"Come on Howleen," Twyla begged, her voice filled with need. "Fuck me!"
With a determined look, she began to push the dildo into Twyla, inch by inch, watching as Twyla's eyes rolled back in pleasure.
She gave her girlfriend a moment to adjust. Then, quickly, she started thrusting, pounding Twyla as if she was a jackhammer.
"Fuck, Howleen," Twyla moaned, her hips bucking to meet each thrust. "More... give me more."
Howleen complied, her confidence growing with each thrust. She gripped Twyla's hips tightly, driving the dildo deeper and harder, the sound of their flesh slapping together filling the room.
"I can't get enough of your moans, Twyla." Howleen growled. "They drive me fucking wild."
Clawdeen and Toralei stood nearby, their eyes gleaming with approval as they cheered her on.
"That's it, Howleen!" Clawdeen shouted, her voice thick with excitement. "Fuck her good and hard. Make her scream your name!"
Toralei leaned in, her breath hot against Howleen's ear. "Show her who's in charge, Howleen. Make that bitch BEG for it!"
Howleen obliged, her moans and grunts mixing with Twyla's. She thrust relentlessly, feeling Twyla's walls clench around the dildo with each stroke.
Howleen leaned down, stroking Twyla's hair with a wild grin on her face. "I want to hear you scream my name, baby. Let everyone know who's making you feel this good."
Twyla's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath Howleen as she begged for more. "Yes, Howleen! Fuck me harder! Please, don't stop!"
Howleen's thrusts became more urgent, her hips moving in a relentless rhythm as she drove the dildo deeper into Twyla. The room was filled with the sounds of their panting breaths, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, and Twyla's desperate pleas for more.
As Twyla's orgasm approached, Clawdeen and Toralei moved closer, their voices low and intense, like pastors about to wed a bride and groom. Clawdeen leaned over Twyla, her eyes locked on the girl's flushed face.
"Twyla," Clawdeen murmured, her voice a sultry purr. "Think you can handle my little sister like this for the rest of your life? Can you take her fucking you, pleasing you, making you scream every night?"
Twyla's eyes fluttered open, her breath hitching as she tried to form words.
"Y-ye-y-"
"Ye what? Say it!" Clawdeen barked.
"Y-yes," she slurred, her voice thick with desire. "I... I want her... a... always."
Toralei turned to Howleen, her voice a low growl. "Howleen, do you think you deserve Twyla? Do you think you can make her happy, satisfy her every need, every desire?"
Howleen's thrusts slowed slightly as she met Toralei's gaze, her voice steady and sure.
"Yes," she said, her eyes filled with determination. "I want to make her happy. I want to be everything she needs."
With those words, Howleen's thrusts became even more intense, her hips moving in a frenzied rhythm as she drove the dildo deeper and harder into Twyla. Twyla's moans turned into screams of pleasure, her body trembling as she neared the edge.
"How bout it Twyla," Howleen said, her voice raspy as she continued her onslaught. "Wanna be mine, till death do us part?"
"Yes, Howleen!" Twyla cried out, her voice raw with desire. "I'm yours... always... fuck, I'm gonna cum!"
And with a final, deep thrust, Twyla's orgasm exploded through her, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her. Howleen held her close, her own breath ragged as she watched Twyla ride out her orgasm, the dildo still buried deep inside her.
As Twyla's tremors subsided, Howleen slowly pulled out, her eyes locked on Twyla's flushed and satisfied face. Clawdeen and Toralei stepped back, their grins wide and approving.
"Good job, sis," Clawdeen said, her voice filled with pride. "I'm impressed. Never scene you get rough like that before."
Toralei nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "And Twyla, you've found yourself a keeper. Remember this moment, both of you. This is what true intimacy looks like."
Howleen helped Twyla sit up, her arms wrapping around her girlfriend as they shared a deep, passionate kiss. The room was filled with a sense of completion, a promise of a future filled with love, lust, and endless pleasure.
As they pulled away from the kiss, Twyla looked into Howleen's eyes, her voice soft and sincere. "I love you, Howleen. And I want you, always."
Howleen smiled, her heart swelling with love and desire. "I love you too, Twyla. And I promise, I'll always be here to make you happy, to satisfy you, to love you forever."
And then—
CLACK.
The door swung open with a metallic creak that sliced through the cozy atmosphere like a knife. Every head in the room turned toward the entrance, expecting maybe another student, a janitor, or even a staff member.
But instead, standing tall in his tattered cloak, deep violet eyes peeking out from the shadow of his hood, was none other than the Boogeyman.
The same father Twyla hadn’t spoken to much this week, the one she assumed was too busy helping Bloodgood or lurking in closets to worry about his daughter’s school drama.
And yet here he was—summoned no doubt by the substitute who couldn’t handle what she’d seen. Probably told him about kids ditching class left and right… probably described the exact chaos Bloodgood’s announcement had unleashed.
The Boogeyman stared for a long moment. His glowing eyes took in the entire room—every girl, every discarded article of clothing, every flushed face and tousled head.
And then, he landed on Twyla, her naked body barely covered by a towel she clutched with trembling hands.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She scrambled, trying to sit up straighter, her voice quivering. “Dad, I—this isn’t what it looks like! I—It’s not—We didn’t—”
He held up a hand.
Silence.
The way he looked at her—it wasn’t angry. It wasn’t furious or wrathful.
It was disappointed.
“I was hoping,” he said slowly, his voice low and even like the hush before a nightmare, “You’d have more self-control.”
His eyes dimmed slightly.
“I guess I was wrong.”
And just like that, without another word, he turned around and shut the door behind him with a click.
Twyla crumpled.
Her whole body caved in on itself, her face buried in her hands as sobs ripped out of her like thunder. Her entire form flickered between translucent and solid as her emotions spiraled out of control.
“He hates me,” she sobbed. “He saw everything… he thinks I’m disgusting…”
Howleen immediately wrapped herself around Twyla like a shield, the dildo still strapped to her waist, forgotten in the rush of emotion. “No, no, Twy—he doesn’t hate you. He’s just… he’s just being a parent. He’ll come around—”
“I ruined everything!” Twyla cried, her body shaking with sobs.
Clawdeen knelt beside her, hugging both girls tightly, her naked body pressing against theirs in a comforting embrace.
“Hey, you didn’t ruin anything, Twyla. You were learning. You were living. That’s not a bad thing.”
Still, the sobbing didn’t stop.
Toralei rolled her eyes, stepped forward, and sat cross-legged in front of Twyla. She placed a hand on her knee and said, “Listen. Parents? They see the world through the rearview mirror. Always looking backwards. They’re scared of change. But this thing you’re doing—trying to spice up your relationship—it’s forward. It’s bold. It’s something he doesn’t understand right now. But you do. And you know what? That’s enough.”
Twyla sniffled, her violet eyes shimmering with tears, but the words landed.
She stared at Toralei, stunned that the catty ghoul could be so… wise.
Toralei smirked. “Besides, it’s your life. Not his. You’re not some little shadow in his corner anymore. You’re your own ghoul.”
Twyla blinked. Her breathing slowed. She looked around the room—at Clawdeen, at Howleen, at the girls who didn’t flinch when things got awkward, who didn’t leave her to cry alone, who didn’t judge.
And then she straightened her shoulders, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and said—voice trembling, but fierce:
"...You know what?" she growled through her teeth. “Fuck him.”
Howleen and Clawdeen both grinned.
“That’s my girl,” Howleen whispered, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.
Purrsephone and Meowlody gave a respectful little clap.
Toralei chuckled. “Told you she had it in her.”
The Boogeyman may have walked out disappointed—but Twyla? Twyla had finally walked into who she truly was. She stood tall, her naked body no longer a source of shame but a symbol of her newfound strength and confidence.
And with Howleen by her side, still wearing the dildo like a badge of honor, there was no turning back.
They were ready to face the world together, bold and unapologetic.
The sun dipped low behind the spires of Monster High, casting long, golden shadows across the courtyard as students trickled toward the exits. The air buzzed with exhausted chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional sigh of relief.
Some were still high off the day’s madness. Others just wanted a shower and a nap.
Off to the side, a cluster of parents stood stiffly, visibly shaken. Pale faces, twitching lips, tight grips on purses and briefcases. They had come hoping for progress—some semblance of control. Instead, they’d walked straight into a hormonal battlefield.
When they agreed to help Bloodgood create the cure, they expected the students to be rowdy, maybe flirtatious. But manageable. Salvageable.
They’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, after all the announcements, emotional talks, and heartfelt goodbyes, the students would finally get it—that their behavior had consequences. That the madness would settle.
They were wrong.
The entire day had been nothing but gasps, groans, gags, and utter silence from the adults as they watched their children—their babies—make out in hallways, grab each other's asses, kiss in full view, and in some cases… go further.
Some even had the audacity to do it right in front of them, not giving two shits who was watching.
Headmistress Bloodgood exhaled sharply through her nose, pinching the bridge of it with the weight of a thousand regrets pressing down on her shoulders.
“Today has been a nightmare,” she muttered. “But at least it’s finally over.”
Dracula, arms crossed like a disapproving statue, grunted. “I always saw Monster High as a symbol of change. Equality. A beacon of progress for monster societies around the world. And all it took to tarnish that legacy... was one chemical mistake.”
Clawrk, looking even greener than usual, shook his head. “This is... a disaster.”
Harriet clutched her purse like it was her last line of defense. “I didn’t know our children could be like this. I mean, I heard the rumors—but seeing it? It’s just... too much.”
Bloodgood turned to the group, pleading in her voice. “You must remember—it’s not really them. The gas is driving this behavior. We have to remind ourselves of that.”
“We know, Bloodgood,” Viktor said, staring off into the middle distance. “Still doesn’t make it easier to see.”
Viveka reached out, gently patting his back. “It’s okay, Vik. We’ll talk to her soon. We’ll clear things up.”
Viktor sighed, voice thick. “I hope you’re right.”
Meanwhile, the staff corralled students toward their dorms like frazzled zookeepers trying to herd drunk animals. They were desperate to salvage what little order remained.
The students, however, could not have cared less.
“Hey,” Frankie whispered in Jackson’s ear, her breath hot against his skin. “The second we get back to the dorms... you’re gonna fuck me, right?”
Jackson blinked, his lips curling into a grin. “Oh, you bet I will.”
“Good,” Frankie smirked. “So, am I rimming your asshole, or are you rimming mine?”
Jackson’s eyes widened. “WH— I— WHAT?!”
Frankie giggled at his expression.
“I-I still don’t know if I’m into that yet!” he stammered.
“Aww, come on,” she pouted. “It’ll be fun.”
Jackson sighed, rolling his eyes with a flustered smile. “Fine... but I’m doing you first.”
Frankie beamed, planting a kiss on his cheek.
Nearby, Clawd groaned as he dragged himself toward the exit. “Honestly, after everything today, I’m spent.”
Draculaura pouted beside him. “What? Already? But we were just getting started!”
Clawd stopped, turning toward her. “Lala, I love you—but even werewolves have limits.”
She huffed. “Ugh, fine! Can we still cuddle?”
He smiled. “Yeah. We can do that.”
Across the hallway, Abbey turned to Heath. “Do you want to suck my tits again when we get back?”
Heath nearly choked. “WHAT?!”
Usually he was the one asking for that sort of thing.
“Um—Abbey—I-I—”
“It is simple question, Heath,” Abbey said flatly. “Yes or no?”
Heath’s face burned. “O-oh! Uh... yeah! I’d love to!”
Abbey smirked and patted his head like a good boy. “Good choice.”
Bloodgood, observing all of this, let out a long, weary sigh. At least last week, they kept their dirty talk behind closed doors. Now? They flaunted it like badges of honor.
“This cannot be real...” she muttered.
Viveka tried to offer optimism. “Look on the bright side—with everything we’ve seen today, Hackington will have plenty of data to fine-tune the cure.”
“Yep,” Clawrk added, trying to lighten the mood. “And with all the ingredients arriving soon, we’ll have everyone back to normal in no time.”
“You’re both right,” Dracula agreed. “But some of the rarer ingredients are still in transit. So, unfortunately... we’ll be dealing with this for another week.”
The Boogeyman groaned. “Let’s hope that’s all it is.”
“Have faith,” Bloodgood said. “Monster High has survived many crises. If we made it through those, we’ll make it throu—”
“So listen to me, ladies.”
The hallway froze.
Students. Staff. Parents. Every monster in earshot turned toward the nearest speaker.
Bloodgood’s face drained of color.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Not again…”
They had nearly made it. Nearly escaped this day without that happening.
But of course, out of all the goddamn moments… it had to be now.
The girls turned toward the intercom, ears perked, eyes narrowing.
“This is to any bitch.”
A collective gasp rippled through the halls.
Most of the girls stiffened in surprise—but instead of outrage... a few bit their lips. A few tilted their heads. A few straight-up smirked.
“Someone’s got a dirty mouth,” Cleo purred.
“Not like our boyfriends don’t,” Gory added, flipping her hair.
Venus paused mid-step, her hand still on Robecca’s waist. “Why is that kinda hot?”
The fathers looked simultaneously furious and horrified.
“Did that person just call my child a bitch?” Clawrk muttered.
“You didn’t hear that wrong,” Viktor replied flatly.
Harriet blinked. “Who let this on the intercom?!”
“Bloodgood,” Dracula said, eyes wide. “What is going on?!”
The headmistress paled. “It’s the same thing you all saw in those videos...”
The parents paled even more.
“I got forty dollars. Forty. DOLLARS. TODAY!”
The students looked around, confused—then the beat dropped.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
“And if ya nasty, I’ll throw in sixty!”
The effect was instantaneous.
Girls’ hips began to move in rhythm. Boys stepped back instinctively, giving their partners space like it was second nature. A few already started clapping.
Bloodgood clutched her clipboard like it was a lifeline. This was the worst possible thing the parents could’ve witnessed. Videos were one thing. But live?
Dracula’s panic returned full-force. “BLOODGOOD! What is happening?!”
And over the speakers, the chant continued:
“SO WHAT POPPIN’, LADIES? LAAAAADIES!!”
Bloodgood’s voice was hollow. Defeated.
“...Close your eyes.”
(Song : Classy or Nasty by Lil Shay)
And just like that... the twerking began.
Lagoona strolled forward, curls bouncing with every step, and without a word, spun around, bent low, and dropped it.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Each bounce was ocean-smooth—hips snapping like waves slamming into rock, her tail fins flaring with every hit. It was water-borne violence.
The hallway exploded.
A shriek tore through the crowd.
“BY THE NILE!” Cleo gasped, clutching her pearls like a Victorian auntie.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Spectra giggled, floating a few inches off the floor, absolutely vibrating with joy.
Clawdeen's jaw dropped so hard she nearly dropped her lip gloss. “Girl, you betta WERK THAT ASS!”
But Lagoona wasn’t alone.
Frankie’s eyes sparked—literally. She skipped forward, her bolts sizzling like firecrackers, flashed a wild grin, and planted. Feet wide. Back arched.
She started spinning that thing like she was generating electricity with her own hips. Hair flying, bolts humming.
“GO FRANKIE! ELECTRIFY 'EM!” Venus screamed, jumping in place.
Clawd was speechless. “Yo…”
“Is—IS SHE DOING THE TURBINE?!” Jackson blurted, voice cracking like glass.
Mid-spin, Frankie shot him a wink while blowing a kiss, mentally teasing, “That’s right, baby. Burn this image into your brain.”
CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
Venus jumped in, throwing it back like she was summoning forest gods. One hand on her hip, the other slicing the air like a conductor of chaos. Her vines twisted around her arms, snapping like whips.
Robecca clanked up beside her, heels clicking, metal joints hissing. With a smirk, she dropped low, her mechanical hips moving with supernatural speed—vibrating like a jackhammer.
Every bounce made her gears whirl faster, threatening to pop clean out.
Then the hallway exploded.
Girls poured into the open space like warriors entering an arena. They threw themselves into the beat like it was a rebellion, a revolution, a full-body “F.U.” to anyone who tried to stop them. Twerking wasn’t just dancing anymore—it was a declaration of independence.
And just like that, the hallway turned into a warzone—only instead of fists, it was hips. Instead of screams, it was cheers. Instead of shame, it was glory.
Despite the chaos. Despite the tears. Despite the pleas and cries from their parents…
Nobody. Cared. Anymore.
This was their truth now. Their kingdom. Their beat.
This was their new reality. And no one was turning back.
On the sidelines, Bloodgood stared in horror, eyes wide and voice caught in her throat—until finally, she stood and roared:
“ENOUGH! NO MORE TWERKING! CEASE THIS MADNESS!”
But it was far too late.
The twerk gods had already descended.
Cleo De Nile, unwilling to be outdone, strutted forward with all the grace of royalty. She threw her arms behind her head like she was being arrested and unleashed the royal bounce.
“KNEEL BEFORE YOUR QUEEN!” she commanded, her golden bangles jingling with every slap of impact.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
The crowd screamed louder. Her twerk had a gravitational pull.
“NOT THE ARRESTED TWERK!” Deuce choked out, taking pictures like he was at Fashion Week.
“DEUCE, PUT THAT PHONE DOWN THIS INSTANT!” Bloodgood barked.
Meanwhile, the parents were in full meltdown mode.
Viveka’s hands trembled, stitches fraying. “FRANKIE STEIN! GET OFF THE FLOOR! WE DID NOT BUILD YOU FOR THIS!”
Frankie’s only response was a smug grin and a hip roll that crackled with lightning. Holt appeared behind her and started grinding on her like they were at a damn rave.
Viktor clutched his head. “I need a drink… or possibly exorcism.”
Clawdeen remained the centerpiece, her twerk a masterclass of raw control and dominance. She mixed split-twerks, sideways hops, hair whips, and even a bounce so powerful it knocked a poster off the wall.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
Toralei strutted in like she owned the place, flipping her hair like a runway model. Her tail snapped side to side as she dropped low, her sharp catlike moves cutting through the crowd.
Meowlody and Purrsephone flanked her like mirrored devils, ass-smacking in perfect rhythm. One clapped, the other echoed. Back and forth. Chaos incarnate. Each sister slapping the other’s ass every few beats.
“We run this whole damn school,” Toralei growled, fangs glinting.
Romulus looked like he’d seen God.
Then out of nowhere, Howleen and Twyla appeared like summoned spirits. They dropped low—syncing in perfect twin formation—side-bouncing in diagonal harmony.
Twyla’s shadows followed her like smoke on a club floor.
“Let’s give ‘em a show, bae!” Howleen yelled.
Twyla’s eyes gleamed. “Bet.”
Harriet watched from the side, stone still, mouth open.
“MY DAUGHTERS… MY BABIES ARE—ARE—TWERKING?!”
The Boogeyman collapsed into a crouch. “Bloodgood… what have you done to my little girl?”
Twyla didn’t even look at him. She just kept shaking, laughing in total rebellion. “Should’ve thought about that earlier, Dad!”
Draculaura entered the fray, light as air, bouncing with bunny hops, making heart hands with every pop.
“This is so cuuute!” she giggled, spinning as her pigtails bounced.
“WORK THAT ASS, DRACULAURA!” Frankie screamed.
Clawd let out a guttural howl. “THAT’S MY GIRL!”
And Dracula? Dracula looked like he’d just watched his castle burn down.
“MY… MY LITTLE BAT! WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!”
“I SAID STOP TWERKING!” Bloodgood roared again. “YOU ARE DISGRACING YOUR SCHOOL!”
Iris Clops slammed down with one eye focused, dropping with controlled fury.
Manny banged on the lockers like a personal drumline. “LET’S GO, BABY!”
Gory snapped off her glasses, threw them aside, and hit it like she was born for it. Graceful. Sharp. Precision-twerking. Her dark hair swung like a guillotine.
“GORY, YOU’RE ENDING ME!” Bram screamed, hands in his hair.
Batsy was unhinged—her wings flapping, ass dropping, fangs flashing.
“¡MÍRAME, AMOR!” she shrieked, wild and unholy.
Her earlier captives were now her biggest fans, losing their minds.
Marisol was an earthquake—each slam of her butt a natural disaster.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Lockers rattled. The ground trembled. Even the ceiling tiles looked nervous.
“¡DALE, MONSTRUAS! SHAKE THE WHOLE DARN SCHOOL!” she roared.
Abbey strutted over, glacier-thick, slapped Marisol’s ass three times, and said, “You are power. I respect that.”
“Gracias, prima!” Marisol shouted.
Abbey returned to her spot and unleashed her own avalanche of ice-cold twerking. Frost dusted the lockers behind her.
“PLEASE,” Bloodgood begged. “I’M BEGGING YOU—STOP TWERKING!”
But it was far too late. The hallway had become a nightclub.
Rochelle dropped into a split, stone thighs trembling, wings fluttering with every bounce. Jane grinned beside her, ass-shaking like she was trying to summon a demon of chaos.
Even Operetta and Scarah joined the madness—pregnant and proud.
Operetta bounced on the walls, yelling, “This is MY opera now!”
“You better believe it!” Scarah shouted, her ghostly voice harmonizing with the bassline.
The boys were losing their collective minds.
“YOU’RE A QUEEN, LAGOONA!” Gil cried.
“CLEO, YOU’RE TOO DAMN HOT!” Deuce shouted, ducking a lightning bolt.
“YEAH, BABY!” Johnny howled, air-guitaring.
“GET THE EXTINGUISHER!” Heath fanned himself. “THIS WHOLE SCHOOL’S ON FIRE!”
“WORK IT, SCARAH!” Billy yelled. “KILL ‘EM DEAD!”
Was he concerned? Maybe. Would he still be supportive? Always.
Meanwhile, the parents were unraveling.
“This is the apocalypse,” Dracula muttered.
“How do they even know these moves?” Viveka gasped.
“I—I THOUGHT THE VIDEOS WERE FAKE!” Clawrk cried. “I THOUGHT IT WAS CGI!”
“That’s not editing,” Harriet murmured, horrified. “That’s our daughter. Hands on her knees.”
Viktor dropped to his knees. “This… is what our world has become.”
The Boogeyman gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to hell, friend.”
“STOP. TWERKING!” Bloodgood wailed, on the verge of tears.
But it was no longer her hallway.
It belonged to the beat. To the girls. To the madness.
The beat peaked, the music roared, and every single student screamed in unison:
“IS YOU CLASSY OR ARE YOU NASTY?!”
SLAP! CLAP! DROP! BOUNCE!
Then—everything stopped.
Spectra Vondergeist floated forward.
Heels clicking. Hips rolling. Eyes locked in.
“Oh no…” Bloodgood whispered, heart sinking.
Spectra turned. Dropped.
And unleashed a twerk so powerful it distorted reality. Hair flips. Butt smacks. Skirt shaking like pom-poms in a hurricane. She even floated mid-air and bounced against the hallway.
Bloodgood sagged. For one brief moment, she regretted confiscating Spectra’s laptop.
But it wasn’t over.
As the final beat ended, Holt—ever the DJ—grinned and threw on another track from his phone.
(New Song: Bounce by M row)
The girls weren’t done.
The beat dropped again.
And the hallway ERUPTED.
Only this time? It was worse.
There were combos. Team moves. Group choreography.
Everywhere you looked, ghouls were teaming up, syncing bodies and forming lines, pairs, and circles as if it were second nature.
Howleen, Twyla, Gigi, and Kjersti were the first to fully commit to a chain-style routine. They slipped into formation with barely a glance exchanged—like they’d practiced it in secret.
Gigi led the line, Her wild pink and gold ponytail snapped with every shake.
Twyla pressed up right behind her, chest to Gigi’s back, her smoky arms wrapped loosely around Gigi’s waist while she matched the rhythm perfectly.
Howleen was next, her compact, high-energy moves making her bounce like a spring. Her pink hair bouncing with every aggressive drop of her hips.
And then came Kjersti—yes, Kjersti—in the back of the line, her purple hair bobbing beneath her horned headset, face focused like she was logging into a high-difficulty rhythm game.
But her hips? They moved like she’d been born for this.
Each girl twerked hard against the one in front of her, a cascading ripple of synchronized motion flowing backward through their bodies like a choreographed shockwave.
Every time the beat hit, their backs arched, their legs spread just a little further, and the crowd roared in disbelief. They weren’t just dancing—they were stacked, locked into a sexy, flawless human rhythm machine.
Even the ghouls on the sidelines paused to watch them, hypnotized.
Not to be outdone, Jinafire and Skelita made their way to the center floor with their own brand of chaos. Dropping down to hands and knees, they lined up parallel to each other—close, but pointed in opposite directions, like perfectly inverted batteries.
Jinafire’s golden scales gleamed under the strobe lights as she threw her hips back with slow, dangerous precision. Skelita’s patchwork bones clacked softly as she joined in, her painted skull grinning wildly with each twerk. And then—SLAP!
Jinafire smacked Skelita’s rear with a crack that echoed, and Skelita gasped in laughter.
She retaliated instantly with her own hit, and suddenly the two were locked in a back-and-forth, smacking each other’s asses between every powerful bounce.
They were laughing, wild and unhinged, treating the whole thing like some kind of sexy sparring match. The way they turned their heads to smirk at each other between strikes—flirty, competitive, hungry—only fueled the insanity around them.
It was impossible to look away.
And then… came the fish girls.
Lorna, Kala, and the conjoined twins Perri and Pearl slithered through the crowd like sea creatures rising from the depths. Their watery scent and glistening skin drew attention like a magnet, and all four ended up behind Lagoona, who was already in a low squat, arching and bouncing like her body was made of ocean waves.
She looked over her shoulder when she felt the hands—all of them—smack her cheeks in unison.
Her yelp of surprise turned into a wicked grin, and she started bouncing harder, welcoming every spank like it fueled her.
The fish girls doubled down, cheering and slapping, one after another, creating a rhythmic slap-slap-slap between every bounce of Lagoona’s ass.
“GO, LAGOONA!” Perri and Pearl shouted in unison, completely hyped as they switched arms and smacked from different angles.
Lorna was giggling uncontrollably, trying to keep pace, while Kala—ever the chaos agent—used her long tail like a whip, flicking Lagoona’s back as she moved.
The floor itself felt like it might break beneath them.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
No, the moment that really shattered any remaining illusion of control came when Clawdeen, Draculaura, Cleo, and Frankie stormed the center stage, forming a perfect diamond formation.
The crowd collectively gasped—like they knew something world-ending was about to happen.
And then… they all dropped.
One by one, they fell into the splits—full splits—legs extended to impossible lengths as they hit the floor with synchronized precision.
The crowd howled. It was a quadruple split, side-by-side, ass-to-ass, like an interdimensional cheer routine from the horniest universe ever imagined.
The floor vibrated. The crowd screamed. It felt like a ritual. Like a summoning.
And through it all, the adults—the Monster High parents—had officially lost the last shred of restraint they had. They weren’t even standing anymore. Most of them had fallen to their knees at the edge of the floor, begging. Some were sobbing. Others just sat there, hands clasped, praying to gods that had long stopped answering.
“Please make it stop…” Viveka whispered.
“Or don’t,” Clawrk whimpered. “I don’t even know anymore…”
And the boys?
Forget it. They were animals now.
Deuce had ripped his shades off, eyes glowing, petrifying one of the columns nearby by accident. Manny had to physically restrain Heath, who was practically foaming at the mouth.
Slo-Mo, usually calm, had jumped up and down, roaring like he’d seen the gates of heaven open.
Even Jackson—Submissive and Bottom Bitch Jackson—was standing on a table, arms outstretched, shouting, “IS THIS REAL LIFE?!”
Romulus fainted. Porter vanished into the walls, only to reappear in five different places at once like his ghost powers couldn’t decide where to look. Invisi-Billy had gone completely visible—completely.
He wasn’t even trying to hide the tent in his pants anymore. It was mayhem.
And the music still played.
Relentless. Unstoppable. Like it knew it was the soundtrack to the end of reason itself.
The music finally reached its grand, bone-rattling finale—one last earth-shaking beat that echoed through the gym like a war drum signaling the end of battle.
And just like that, silence fell. Not a peaceful silence. A heavy, lingering quiet that seemed to vibrate in the air, thick with leftover adrenaline and the aftershocks of what could only be described as a twerkpocalypse.
Every ghoul was out of breath. Everybody glistened with sweat. The hallway was a jungle of heat, pheromones, and wild, residual energy.
The disco lights slowly faded out, leaving only the flickering school lights and the occasional crackle of static electricity in the air from Frankie’s last move.
And then—chaos of a different kind erupted.
The boys moved like they’d been snapped out of a trance, their brains barely able to form thoughts beyond “Get. Her. Now.”
One by one, they lunged into motion, grabbing their girlfriends with primal urgency. Gone were the jokes, the hesitation, the goofy smiles. This was survival instinct. This was need.
Clawd, who’d been half-asleep earlier in the evening, was now practically vibrating with energy. His eyes glowed faintly, fangs peeking from his lips as he reached for Draculaura.
“We’re going. Now,” he said, voice low and commanding.
Draculaura giggled, fangs flashing, and pressed against his chest, totally on board.
Jackson didn’t even wait for Frankie to grab his hand—he took hers, pulling her toward the exit like a man on a mission. The hallways of Monster High were about to be filled with the sound of doors slamming, boots thudding, and very little else.
But then… a wall of authority formed near the double doors.
The parents.
None of them looked angry. Not quite. They looked… haunted. Pale. Confused. Some of them were still sitting on the bleachers, heads in hands, trying to make peace with the trauma of what they had just witnessed. The teachers and security had finally stood up, shaky but determined, blocking the exits like bouncers at a club of questionable legality.
And they all had one question—some shouted, some whispered, some begged:
“WHERE AND HOW DID YOU LEARN THIS?”
It wasn’t rhetorical. It wasn’t exaggerated parental concern. These were real, terrified, genuinely confused adults who had just watched their children perform twerk routines that could make grown monsters weep.
The kind of dancing that spoke of hours of practice. Passion. Commitment.
A level of experience no parent wants to admit their child might possess.
"I know for fact that none of us nor any of the other parents, taught you those moves!" Viktor exclaimed, eyeing Frankie in particular.
"And I also know for a fact that Monster High's dance classes don't teach ANYTHING related to twerking!" Harriet exclaimed, her voice filled with rage. "We've only got ballroom dancing and ballet!"
"And those moves! Those moves weren't just twerking! Those were full-on, professional moves! Like... like something you'd see in a strip club or a very, VERY adult rap video!" Clawrk cried.
"So, start talking," Viveka said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Who taught you this?"
The room echoes, but no one answers.
Eyes dart from one ghoul to another, some smirking, some terrified. A few try to pretend they don’t know what the adults are even talking about.
Frankie, still vibrating with leftover energy from the music, raises her hand. Her stitches seem to pulse with electricity, like she’s still connected to the bassline that just shook the room.
“I started practicing last Monday night.” she blurted out, hands up. “After Cleo told us about her plans for Tuesday, I wanted to see if I could do it. So, I looked up a few videos and started practicing."
Viktor blinked at her like she’d just spoken in riddles. “You… started this?”
“Heck no!” Frankie laughed, taking Jackson’s hand. “Compared to everyone else, I'm still a beginner."
"Wait," Dracula chimed in, looking like he came to a horrific realization. "So, you're telling me that you've only just started doing this?"
"Yep." Frankie said.
"Oh god!" Bloodgood exclaimed as she turned to face the other female students. "Please don't tell me you all already knew how to do this dance, BEFORE this madness started?"
There’s an awkward shuffle of shoes behind her.
Then, the girls clear their throats.
“Yep.”
“Same here.”
“Been doin’ it for years.”
“My vines have rhythm, thank you very much.”
“I… practiced in the mirror."
“I once twerked on top of a runaway train. It was a wild Tuesday.”
“Okay but can we not pretend twerking didn’t exist before last week? Like, it’s been around since at least the 2000s.”
“Oh please. I invented twerking.”
“You did NOT.”
The parents are stunned—because the unthinkable has dawned on them.
This has nothing to do with the gas.
Their kids… knew how to do all this… before the gas.
The gas just gave them the confidence to go all out with it.
Harriet, who had been standing stiff as a board through most of the dance, marched directly up to Clawdeen, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.
“DID YOU TEACH YOUR BABY SISTER HOW TO TWERK?!”
Clawdeen blinked. She flinched. She opened her mouth… closed it. Then opened it again.
“…No! Well… maybe a little?”
The room gasped. Jackson lowers his head and mutters, “Yikes."
Harriet’s nostrils flared. “Clawdeen Lucia Wolf!” she roared. “What the hell does ‘maybe a little’ even mean?!”
"Uh…" Clawdeen stammered, backing away from her mother's rage. "It's just… Howleen asked me if I'd teach her a little bit of how to dance, so I showed her a few basic moves…”
“And how does that make you feel, huh?" Harriet exclaimed. "Watching your little sister throw her butt around like that in public?! Do you support this?!”
Clawdeen turned red under her fur, ears folding slightly.
Everyone nearby went quiet—especially Howleen, who looked up at her big sister, lips pressed tight, waiting for the answer.
Clawdeen swallowed. “Okay. Look,” she started, voice uncertain. “Yeah, I… I’m a little uncomfortable with it, okay? I don’t like the idea of my baby sister twerking in front of the whole school. I don’t like watching guys look at her like that. I didn’t like seeing her on the floor tonight going full chaos. It made my fur stand on end.”
Harriet nodded sharply, like finally, someone was being reasonable.
“But,” Clawdeen continued, “I also get it. I mean—I do it. All the time. I’ve been dancing like that for a week now. And I love it. It makes me feel powerful. Hot. Confident. I can’t pretend like it’s not fun or that it’s wrong just because it makes me uncomfortable when she does it. That’d be hypocritical. If I get to enjoy myself and express my body however I want, she should get to do the same.”
There was silence.
Long, heavy, loaded silence.
And then Howleen ran into her big sister’s arms, hugging her tight. Her bright eyes were wide and grateful, her voice a muffled whisper against Clawdeen’s chest. “Thanks for saying that.”
Clawdeen hugged her back, a little awkwardly at first, but then with full big-sis love.
Harriet let out a long, tired sigh. She looked ten years older than she had at the beginning of the night.
“…We’re gonna have a very long family meeting tomorrow.” She said calmly.
"I second that." Clawrk chimed in.
One by one, the rest of the students began to slip past the dazed adults. Nobody had the strength to stop them. Not now. Not after what they’d just lived through. The war was over. The battlefield was silent. All that remained was the ghost of the bass and the burned images seared into every parent’s brain.
Viktor tried to speak to Frankie, but she gave him a sheepish wave and let Jackson whisk her away toward the doors.
And so, the ghouls and mansters left the gym floor behind—tired, hot, energized, overwhelmed. Some were still laughing. Some were heading straight for their dorms, already tangled in each other’s arms. Others, like Cleo and Deuce, barely made it out before launching into heated make-outs in the hallway.
But the parents… stayed behind.
Broken. Confused. Traumatized. United in one simple truth.
They would never look at any of their kids the same again.
Bloodgood sits her office, looking like she just watched a train crash in slow motion. There's a small bottle of whisky on her desk, untouched since the dance started.
But before she could pour herself a glass, the door slams open.
Bloodgood barely has time to raise her head before they’re on her.
Not just one parent. All of them. A room full of tall, fearsome monsters—immortals, legends, beings whose names carried weight through centuries. Now, they look less like dignitaries and more like raging storms held together by skin. Their fury has been simmering all day.
And now? Now it erupts.
Viveka is the first to speak, eyes ablaze, her long stitched fingers trembling as she points directly at Bloodgood.
"Do you have ANY IDEA, what you've started?"
Bloodgood sighed. "Mrs. Stein, please I-
“Do you have any idea how happy it makes you feel when you hear your child’s accomplishments?” she snaps, voice warbling between sorrow and rage. “Ever since we made Frankie… we knew. We knew she’d grow up to be someone special. She had that spark, even when she was a DAY OLD. When she was two weeks old, she rewired our coffeemaker to speak German. We’d sit up at night dreaming about what she’d become.”
Viktor puts a hand on his wife's back, trying to ground her, but his jaw is clenched so tight the muscles are popping through the stitches on his neck.
Viveka takes a shaking breath, her voice soft for a single moment.
“And then she came to Monster High.” Her eyes gloss over, recalling the pride in Frankie's calls, the letters, the headlines in the Monster Gazette. “She made peace with humans in New Salem. She sacrificed herself for her friends. She showed empathy in ways we never could’ve imagine. We started to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could bridge the gap between monsters and humanity. That she’d become a symbol of change. A voice for a better future.”
Her voice cracks. “We even had a nickname for her… ‘My Little Professor X.’” Her lip quivers. “Because I knew—I knew—she was going to do big things.”
The words fall from her mouth like glass.
Then her whole demeanor changes.
Her fists ball. Her voice hardens.
“But because of you and your STUPID experiments, my daughter’s life is RUINED.” She slams her palm on the desk, the room shaking with the impact. “No one will ever accept her now. Not the humans. Not the monsters. Not anyone. You’ve taken a symbol of progress and turned her into a goddamn meme.”
Bloodgood tries to open her mouth—to apologize, to explain, to do something—but she doesn’t get the chance.
Dracula steps forward next. His cape swishes behind him like a wave of judgment, his crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. There’s no trace of the sophisticated nobleman he usually presents as.
He looks like a father on the verge of breaking something.
“I’ve spent decades preparing for the day when Lala would join the Vampire Council.” His fangs glint as he speaks, his voice full of pain. “She and Elissabat, together—they were going to change our entire culture. Make vampires better. Not just politically, but morally. I thought… with all the experiences she’s had, the friendships she’s made across species, she’d inspire others to turn away from the old ways.”
He steps closer, baring his teeth. His voice drops to a deadly whisper.
“But do you know what I’m hearing now?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “That the council wants to marry her off. Force her into some ancient binding pact. Because the footage of her twerking and making out at your school went viral. She’s a scandal now. A disgrace. And they’re talking about shipping her off to some old bloodline—locking her in a marriage she doesn’t want—just to preserve their precious reputation.”
He slams his fist on the desk. “I’ve spent two centuries protecting her from that bullshit. And now?” He growls lowly. “Now I’m fighting tooth and nail just to keep her free. And it’s ALL YOUR FAULT!”
Bloodgood tries again. “Please, if you just let me—”
“NO!”
This time, it’s Harriet who screams, her voice sharp and wild and cracked with fury. Clawrk is beside her, arms crossed, expression thunderous.
But Harriet doesn’t need backup. She’s the eye of the storm—and she’s tearing into Bloodgood with nothing held back.
“Do you think ANYONE will wanna work with my babies now?!” she shouts, voice shaking. “Do you think any college, any employer, any fashion house is gonna look at Clawdeen and say, ‘Yeah, that’s the girl I want to represent my brand’? Huh?! Do you?!”
Her claws dig into her own scalp as she paces. “My daughter—my beautiful, talented, brilliant daughter—has spent YEARS building up her fashion portfolio. She works day and night to sew, to sketch, to dream. She’s poured her heart into this—her soul! And now?! Now no one will take her seriously. Not when the first thing that comes up when you search her name is her shaking her ass in a hallway like she’s on some stripper pole!”
Clawrk growls beside her, cracking his knuckles.
"Mrs. Wolf, please-" Bloodgood tried to say.
But Harriet’s not finished.
“And Howleen?!” she howls. “My baby girl might have to settle for a damn 9-to-5, because no institution is gonna want a girl who spent the last week dry-humping air and grinding on her girlfriend in a cafeteria!”
Bloodgood flinches.
Harriet doesn’t stop. Her eyes are blazing now. Full of motherly fire, full of heartbreak.
“And Clawd?” she breathes, trembling. "My big, soft-hearted Clawd, who’s been working towards a basketball scholarship since he was five years old?! Coaches are texting me already. Canceling meetings. Asking questions. Because my son spent the last week licking faces and carrying his girl around like she was a weight. You’ve taken the dreams of these children and burned them to the ground.”
Clawrk’s jaw clenches so hard his teeth squeak.
“Do you know how many college scouts were planning to come watch Clawd play this season?” he snarls, finally stepping forward, his claws out. "Eight. Eight scouts. Now they’re all telling me they have ‘concerns’ about his ‘character.’ That his ‘public image’ is a problem. That a ‘player who behaves that way on camera’ might be a ‘distraction to the team.’”
He laughs bitterly. “A distraction. Because of this gas. Because of you. My son’s whole future—his passion, his talent, everything he’s worked for—and it’s all crumbling because YOU couldn’t keep your goddamn science experiments in check.”
He points a claw directly at Bloodgood’s chest, his voice quieter, but no less dangerous.
“You didn’t just ruin your school’s reputation. You ruined their lives.”
The room is silent for a moment, the air so thick with rage it’s suffocating. Bloodgood opens her mouth again—
And this time, it’s the Boogeyman who steps forward.
He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t wave his arms.
But the air goes cold.
The shadows flicker on the walls. The overhead light dims for just a second.
His voice is calm. Slow. Like the closing of a coffin lid.
“You know what the worst part is?” he says, folding his hands. “I trusted you. All of us did. We sent our children here to learn, to grow. We thought they’d be safe. But instead… instead you locked them in with a ticking bomb, and let it go off in their faces.”
He shakes his head.
“You didn’t just betray our trust. You shattered it.”
Bloodgood looks around.
Every parent in the room is staring at her like she’s a monster worse than any they've faced.
And right now?
She feels like one.
The screaming was reaching its crescendo.
Harriet’s voice cracks as she rants about how Clawdeen will never find a job. Dracula’s pacing the room like a lion ready to pounce, throwing threats like daggers. Viveka has gone back to tears, chest heaving, her husband Viktor silently rubbing her back but looking one second away from snapping. The Boogeyman’s eyes glow faintly, his shadows creeping along the walls as if his powers are reacting to his rage.
And Bloodgood?
She’s just standing there.
Tight-lipped. Pale. Silent.
Her hands shake slightly at her sides. Her shoulders are tight as piano wire. Her head — always held high with regal grace — now hangs slightly lower. There’s a sheen in her eyes. Whether it’s fury or shame, no one knows. Maybe even she doesn’t.
And just when it seems like someone is going to flip her desk or punch her lights out—
“Enough.”
The room stills.
It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t shouted.
But it cuts through the chaos like a scythe. Crisp. Commanding. Tired.
All heads whip toward the doorway.
Mr. Rotter.
He stands there with his arms crossed, his eyes dark and sunken, but full of something deeper than anger — disappointment. Exhaustion. Disgust. He closes the door behind him and steps inside.
“Enough,” he says again, more firm this time. “We get it. Bloodgood fucked up. No one’s denying that.”
Bloodgood flinches. But she doesn’t look at him. Or anyone.
Rotter continues, voice low but sharp.
“She didn’t tell anyone about the gas until last weekend. You’re angry? I’m furious. I’ve spent the past week trying to manage these kids, while she sat on her ass and did nothing.
I had to watch students—children—have sex in my classes and act like total deviants while their teachers did nothing, out of fear they'd be assaulted. You don’t think we understand how you all feel?”
He starts pacing the edge of the room, throwing glares like darts.
“But standing here screaming at her like some kind of pitchfork-wielding mob is not going to fix anything. You’re not helping your kids—you’re just lashing out.”
Dracula opens his mouth, but Rotter cuts him off with a raised hand.
“Your kids have gone WILD! They’re confused, overwhelmed, turned inside out by a hormonal storm that we still don’t fully understand. They’re not just twerking and grinding for attention. They’re feeling things. All the time. Intense things. And none of us—none of you—are sitting down and talking to them about it.”
He stops. Stares each of them in the eyes, one by one.
“You wanna blame Bloodgood? Fine. She deserves it. But don’t pretend like she’s the only one who’s failed these kids. Because right now, every single one of you is more concerned with your reputation than your children’s mental health.”
Harriet scoffs. “Don’t you—”
“No. You don’t.” He glares at her. “You called your daughter a whore. Do you even hear yourself? And Frankie?” He points towards Viktor and Viveka. “She already hates her parents for the things they said about Jackson and Holt. You’re so busy screaming about twerking, you didn’t even notice how hurt she was. They’re watching you. All of them. And if you keep treating them like mistakes instead of people? They’re gonna hate you when this is over. All of them.”
Silence.
No one dares to speak. The air is heavy.
Rotter sighs.
“Look. Maybe the cure works. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes them hornier than ever. We don’t know. We’re flying blind here. So instead of betting everything on a miracle and shaming them for something they can’t control, maybe—just maybe—we start teaching them how to handle it. Like parents. Like teachers. Like adults.”
He gestures toward the door.
“Now kindly get the fuck out of Bloodgood’s office before I call security to have you escorted out and banned from campus permanently.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for the threat to register.
And then, slowly, one by one, the parents turn and leave.
Viveka is still shaking. Viktor supports her as they exit, both too stunned to say anything more. Dracula mutters something under his breath in a language long dead. Harriet looks ready to bite someone, but Clawrk pulls her gently by the elbow. Even the Boogeyman vanishes in silence, the shadows around the room seeming to slink after him like smoke.
The door slams shut.
Finally, the office is quiet again.
Rotter stands there for a long moment. Watching Bloodgood. Studying her.
She doesn’t move.
She still hasn’t looked up.
After a while, he exhales through his nose and mutters, quietly but not kindly—
“Don’t take this as an olive branch. I still hate you.”
Bloodgood doesn’t respond.
He walks past her, toward the filing cabinet, grabbing a few papers and flipping through them.
“Some of the other parents—Ramses, Lagoona’s folks, a couple others—they want one-on-one meetings with their kids. Apparently, there’s stuff they need to say.”
Still no reply.
Finally, she speaks. Her voice is hoarse, but level.
“Set up meeting rooms for tomorrow.”
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t say anything. Just walks to the door, opens it—
Pauses.
“They’re monsters, y’know.” He doesn’t look back. “But they’re still teenagers.”
Then he’s gone.
Bloodgood is alone.
She stares down at her desk.
The words echo around her head.
They’re monsters. But they’re still teenagers.
The corridor is dimly lit, silent save for the soft echo of heavy footsteps against the polished stone floor.
Viktor Stein marches with purpose, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed dead ahead like a man on a mission. Every muscle in his broad frame is tight with emotion—anxious, desperate, angry, hopeful. Behind him, Viveka hurries to keep pace, her voice a strained whisper of concern.
"Viktor, please," she says, clutching her coat tighter around herself. "We shouldn't be here. It's late. And what if she's asleep? What if—"
"I need to talk to her," Viktor cuts her off, not slowing down. "I need to fix this."
"But the school—"
"To hell with the school!" he growls under his breath, stopping just short of shouting. His voice trembles with urgency. "You heard what they said. Hackington. That Lazarus bastard. We made a mistake, Viveka. We… we may have ruined our relationship with our daughter, over nothing.”
Viveka falters at that. Her lips part to speak, but no words come.
Because he’s right.
The words echo in her head:
"You basically just told Frankie that you’re a bunch of bloody close-minded hypocrites!"
“Frankie probably despises you now.”
That last part especially stings.
Viktor exhales shakily, running a large hand through his hair as they approach Frankie’s dorm room. He pauses before knocking, hand hovering over the door like it weighs a thousand pounds.
He glances at Viveka.
She nods, albeit reluctantly.
He knocks.
Moaning. Heavy breathing. The rhythmic creaking of bedsprings.
Frankie is tangled in bed with Holt, her bare limbs wrapped tightly around him. Her messy hair fans across the pillow, electricity still crackling off her skin like residual lightning. Holt’s hands are gripping her hips as their bodies move together in frantic unison.
“F-fuck, babe,” Holt mutters between clenched teeth. “I’m so—close—”
“Me too—don’t stop—” Frankie gasps.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
They both freeze.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” Frankie groans, forehead falling against Holt’s chest.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
This time, a little louder. A little more urgent.
Holt groans and flops back onto the mattress, arms splayed. “Who the hell is knocking at this hour?”
Frankie sighs deeply and rolls off him, grabbing a pillow to cover herself for the walk over. Her hair is a tangled halo of static, cheeks flushed, lipstick smeared. She doesn’t even bother to fix herself beyond shoving the pillow under her arm and cracking the door open.
Just a sliver.
Her eyes land on the very last people she wants to see.
“What do you want?” she snaps, voice instantly hard.
Outside the door, Viktor looks startled at first, then a little ashamed.
“Frankie. I… I just want to talk. About what happened Saturday. Please.”
Frankie narrows her eyes. “If this is another lecture about how Jackson and Holt are ‘bad for me’ because of some dead serial killer, I’m not listening.”
“It’s not about that,” Viktor says quickly, taking a half-step forward. “I’m not here to criticize. I just… I want to clear things up.”
Frankie scoffs. “You had the whole weekend to clear things up, but you didn’t. You barely said a WORD. You let me sit there and feel like your disappointment.”
Viveka chimes in, her voice hesitant but sincere. “We called. Many times. You didn’t answer.”
Frankie glares at her. “Well then maybe you should’ve tried harder.”
There’s venom in her words—not just anger, but deep, aching hurt. The kind only parents can inflict.
She begins to close the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a boyfriend to get back to. Good day—”
Viktor’s hand catches the door.
Not forceful. Not aggressive. Just… desperate.
“Please.”
His voice cracks on that word.
“Just give me a chance to talk. One chance. Please, Frankie.”
Frankie stares at him for a long moment. Long enough for her expression to waver.
Then—
“Fine.” Her tone is short, clipped. “Tomorrow.”
Viktor nods. It’s small. It’s not forgiveness. But it’s something.
SLAM.
The door shuts in his face.
Frankie leans back against the door and lets out a long breath.
“Fucking hell.”
Holt, now pulling on a pair of boxers as he sits up, glances over at her, eyebrows raised. “So… your parents hate me?”
Frankie snorts, still not fully calm, but trying.
“Oh, they hate you, alright. They hate both of you. But especially you.”
Holt looks slightly offended. “Rude. I’m a delight.”
Frankie laughs. It’s tired, but real.
She tosses the pillow aside and strides back to the bed, hair still wild, confidence returning.
“Now where were we?”
She tackles him playfully, and they tumble back into the sheets with laughter and renewed heat.
Outside the door, Viktor stands frozen.
The words. The tone. The look in her eyes.
She’s still angry.
He failed her.
He clenches his fists, trying to steady his breathing—but a tear slips down his cheek. Then another.
He doesn’t wipe them away.
Instead, he stares at the floor, feeling them fall. One by one.
Viveka reaches out and places a hand gently on his shoulder.
No words. Just presence. Quiet understanding.
They turn, and walk slowly down the hall.
Side by side.
Both weighed down by the knowledge that there’s still so much work to do.
To be continued.....
Notes:
The next chapter is gonna be one that tugs on the heart strings. But you're probably not gonna see it for a minute.
Also, if any of you used google translate to find out what Jinafire was saying and got something like, "I'm grateful to god for this..' or something like that.
Type this in, instead.
“尽情享受吧,艾比。很快,他就是我的了。”
Or if you're up for a challenge, decode these letters.
5 14 10 15 25 25 15 21 18 20 9 13 5 23 9 20 8 8 9 13 1 2 2 5 25. 2 5 3 1 21 19 5 19 15 15 14 8 5 23 9 12 12 2 5 13 9 14 5.
The choice is yours.
Chapter 15: The Meetings Part 1
Summary:
We finally get to see the parents talk one on one with their horned up children.
Naturally, drama ensues.
Notes:
This was gonna be one part, but it got so long I decided to do 2.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The great meeting hall of Monster High, usually reserved for dignified gatherings and special ceremonies, had been utterly transformed overnight.
Rows of long tables filled the space, each separated by tall, opaque dividers—sturdy enough to block sightlines, thick enough to muffle conversation. Small placards labeled with student names and scheduled meeting times sat neatly atop each table, alongside fresh stacks of forms, feedback sheets, and a school-branded pen at every seat.
At the front of the hall, Headmistress Bloodgood moved briskly from station to station, clipboard in hand, rattling off instructions like a general preparing for battle.
“All dividers must stay up until dismissal. No exceptions,” she barked to a custodian ghoul smoothing out the fabric along a partition.
“Security personnel—one stationed at every exit, two inside the hall, and two outside at the front gate. I want eyes on every hallway. If any confrontation breaks out, you are to intervene immediately, no hesitation.”
She turned on her heel, surveying the room with sharp, critical eyes.
This had to be perfect.
Because Bloodgood knew exactly what she was walking into.
Today was Parent-Student Conference Day—a day traditionally reserved for check-ins, proud discussions of student progress, warm hugs, and maybe a light scolding over grades.
But this year? After everything that had happened—the gas, the chaos, the rumors—it was going to be an absolute powder keg.
She knew some parents would not be understanding about what their children had been up to. PDA in the hallways. Skimpy outfits. Shameless, hypersexual behavior. Some kids even getting publicly cozy with students they'd never shown interest in before.
And she also knew, from her long experience as an educator, that teenagers do not react well when they feel attacked in front of authority figures.
Hence the security. Hence the dividers.
And most importantly—hence the strict new rule that parents and students would only be allowed to meet one-on-one in a semi-private cubicle. No roaming. No group discussions. No peeking into other meetings.
Bloodgood wasn’t just protecting the students' privacy.
She was also trying to prevent the gas—still thick in the school's air like a seductive perfume—from affecting the parents. Because the last thing she needed was for some poor mother or father to suddenly start acting like they were in a cheap monster romance novel.
Monster High barely survived the students falling to their impulses.
There was no way it would survive the parents.
“Madam Bloodgood.”
A deep voice cut through the soft murmur of last-minute preparations.
She turned to see one of the hired guards—a hulking stone gargoyle in a smart black uniform—approaching. His wings were tucked neatly behind him, and he carried himself with military precision.
“All parent attendees have arrived at the front gates. Awaiting your orders.”
Bloodgood allowed herself a small nod of approval. At least something was going according to plan.
She adjusted her riding jacket, straightened her clipboard, and said in her calmest, most professional tone:
“Good. Start bringing them in. Groups of ten at a time. Direct them to the holding area until their appointments are called.”
The gargoyle saluted smartly and turned on his heel, stomping off toward the entrance.
Bloodgood watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the vast hall.
The dividered tables.
The checklists.
The security stationed at every corner.
It was all ready.
And yet—
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, steeling herself, pressing the cool metal of her clipboard to her forehead.
"Please," she murmured under her breath, almost a prayer. "Let today go smoothly. Just once."
She exhaled slowly, setting her jaw in grim determination as the first murmurs of parental voices floated into the hall.
The battle was about to begin.
Meanwhile, in the school, the students went about their usual business, whether it was skipping classes, making out in hallways or classrooms, or just trying to find an empty space to get freaky. The air was thick with a mix of hormones and rebellion, a heady cocktail that fueled the chaotic energy of Monster High.
In an abandoned hallway, Frankie had Jackson pinned to the wall, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she licked her lips with glee.
"Drop your pants," she commanded, her voice a sultry purr.
Jackson's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?"
Frankie leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Because your cock and asshole are in need of a thorough cleaning," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "And I want every inch of you inside me. Don't you want to feel how good I can make you feel, Jackson?"
Jackson's breath hitched, and he could feel his manhood stirring at Frankie's dirty words. He loved it when she talked like that, her voice a mix of dominance and desire. He obediently pulled his pants down, his cock springing up to attention, hard and ready.
Frankie's eyes widened hungrily as she took in the sight of his erection, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
"Good boy," she purred, her voice a low growl.
But before she could pin him to the wall and fuck the daylights out of him, Jackson's skin began to change color, shifting to a deep blue as steam rose off his body. Frankie's eyes widened in surprise as Holt suddenly appeared, pinning her to the wall with a grin that was equal parts handsome and devilish.
"Sorry, Sparky," Holt said, his tone playful and his voice gruff. "But I need some attention right now."
Frankie's smile turned sultry as she looked up at him. "I'm always ready to give you attention, Hot Stuff."
In a random teacher's classroom, Clawd had Draculaura bent over the desk, his eyes dark with lust and frustration.
"You just love to push my buttons, don't you?" he growled, his teeth grinding.
Draculaura giggled, her ass wiggling provocatively in the air. "You know I love making you crazy. It gets me so hot."
Clawd let out a deep, primal growl as he began to pull his pants down, his cock already hard and throbbing. "That's it. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you'll feel it for days."
Draculaura giggled again, shaking her ass in his direction, daring him to make good on his threat. "Come on, big boy. Show me what you've got."
Clawd's grin was feral as he positioned himself behind her, ready to claim her.
But before he could, the teacher, now sporting a black eye from trying to stop them earlier, finally found his voice. "Um, can you two please take that elsewhere—"
The teacher didn't get to finish his sentence as Clawd let out another growl, turning to face him with a threatening glare.
"Keep quiet, or you'll lose your tongue," he snarled.
The teacher nodded quickly, his eyes wide with fear, and didn't say another word.
But before either couple could start messing around, the speakers blared to life, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife.
"ATTENTION STUDENTS OF MONSTER HIGH!"
Everyone quickly stopped what they were doing and turned to face the speakers, their hearts pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread.
"THIS IS HEADMISTRESS BLOODGOOD. YOUR PARENTS ARE HERE FOR DISCUSSIONS REGARDING YOUR RECENT BEHAVIOR! WE WILL BE CALLING DIFFERENT GROUPS OF STUDENTS THROUGHOUT EACH PERIOD FOR ONE-ON-ONE MEETINGS WITH YOUR PARENT OR GUARDIAN. PLEASE LISTEN FOR YOUR NAMES."
Bloodgood then began to rattle off a list of names, some familiar, some not well known. Clawd, Frankie, and Draculaura grimaced as their names were called, their hearts sinking with the realization that their fun was about to be cut short.
"ALL STUDENTS WHO WERE JUST CALLED, PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE MEETING ROOMS AT THIS TIME."
With that, the announcement ended, and a heavy silence fell over the school. Clawd let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Looks like we'll have to cut our time together short."
Draculaura began to whine and pout, shaking her ass even harder in a desperate bid to entice Clawd into staying. "But we haven't even done anything yet! Come on, baby, just fuck me once before we go!"
Clawd's heart melted at her pleading words, but he knew he had to be responsible. "Babe, I would love to, but if I don't go, I know my mom will tear this school apart to find me."
Draculaura sighed dramatically, finally getting up off the desk and pulling her skirt back down. "Fine. But you owe me big time!"
Clawd gave Draculaura a soft kiss on the cheek, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Don't worry, babe. I'll make it up to you. Promise."
The injured teacher let out a sigh of relief, thankful that his classroom would not be turned into a porn film after all.
Back in the hall, Frankie let out a long, frustrated sigh. She didn't want to talk to her parents, but she knew she had to face the music eventually.
She had promised yesterday she'd meet them, and now she had to follow through.
"Let me down, Holt," Frankie demanded, her voice firm. "I have to go see my parents."
Holt, still pinning Frankie to the wall, gave a deep, throaty chuckle. "Well, if you insist, Sparky," he said, his grip still tight around her.
Frankie tried to push him away, but Holt's hold was unyielding. "Holt!" she cried out, her voice filled with frustration and a hint of desperation. "I need to go!"
Holt finally relented, letting out a sigh as he released her. Frankie quickly steadied herself, her eyes flashing with determination.
As she began to walk off, she suddenly turned back to face Holt. "Stay here until I get back," she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And tell Jackson that he's still getting his asshole eaten out as soon as I get back. I will not be interrupted again."
With that, she turned and walked off towards the meeting rooms, her steps quick and purposeful.
Holt grinned, watching her go, and started to move as if to follow.
Frankie spun around, her eyes glowing with a fierce green hue, electricity crackling along her arms. "
AH! I said stay!" she snapped, her voice sharp and commanding.
Holt stopped in his tracks, but he slowly began to raise his foot, testing her resolve.
"Stay," Frankie repeated, her tone firm and unyielding.
The foot lifted higher, now at a 90-degree angle, and Holt's grin remained firmly in place, a mix of amusement and defiance.
Frankie's eyes narrowed, the green glow intensifying as lightning danced across her skin.
"I. Said. Stay," she growled, her voice deathly serious.
Holt sighed and finally stopped moving, his foot dropping back to the ground.
"Good boy," Frankie said, her voice softening slightly as she turned to walk away, leaving Holt standing obediently in the hallway.
As the students begrudgingly made their way to the meeting rooms, the school was filled with a mix of disappointment and anticipation, the promise of consequences hanging heavy in the air.
The heavy oak doors at the far end of the hall creaked open, letting in the first wave of parents.
Some strode in confidently, puffed up with anger or righteous indignation. Others shuffled in hesitantly, anxiety etched deep into their faces. A few looked outright shell-shocked, as if the mere thought of confronting their child today had drained every ounce of their energy.
Bloodgood stood tall at the front, clipboard clutched tightly in her gloved hands, as she watched them file in.
Parents like Ramses De Nile, the Steins, Lagoona's mother and father, and even Invisi-Billy's grandparents took their places at the waiting area tables.
The chatter was a low, nervous hum—grumblings of frustration mixed with quick, whispered prayers that their sons and daughters weren’t too far gone.
Bloodgood rapped her clipboard sharply against the podium to call for attention.
The room immediately fell into a tense, uneasy silence.
Her voice, as always, was clear, firm, and commanding, but today there was an unusual undertone—something between exhaustion and fierce insistence.
“Welcome to Monster High’s Family Conference Day.”
She gave them all a sweeping glance, her hollow eyes locking onto each and every parent as if daring them to challenge her authority.
“Before we proceed, you will each be assigned to an individual meeting room. Your child will join you there during their scheduled period. Meetings are private. Discussions must remain confidential. No wandering between rooms. No unauthorized contact with other students or faculty.”
Bloodgood flicked her clipboard, and a series of security guards began handing out assignment cards, each with a meeting room number and time slot.
As the parents began reading their cards, some faces hardened with resolve, others crumpled into worried frowns.
Bloodgood continued, raising her voice slightly, pressing over the rising buzz of nerves.
“And before you step through those doors—”
She paused, letting the tension stretch until every eye was glued to her.
“I ask that you remember this: your children are under the influence of a substance they did not ask for. Their behavior is not a reflection of your parenting, nor is it a declaration of rebellion. It is chemical corruption.”
A low ripple of murmured discomfort swept through the room.
Bloodgood’s voice sharpened.
“Please speak with care. Choose empathy. And... for your sake and theirs... do not get too close."
There was a chilling weight to her words.
"Security is posted outside each room in the unlikely event of escalation.”
She gave a tight, grim smile.
“But do note—if the gas reaches you... it won’t be the guards you need to worry about. It’ll be your own behavior.”
That left the room utterly silent.
A few parents shifted nervously on their feet.
One mother clutched her husband’s arm a little tighter.
Ramses crossed his arms, his golden jewelry clinking softly, his expression unreadable.
Bloodgood took a step back, sweeping her arm toward the hallway leading to the meeting rooms.
“You may now proceed. Good luck.”
With a mixture of reluctance, dread, and false bravado, the first group of parents slowly began filing toward the meeting rooms, their footsteps echoing sharply against the polished stone floor.
As the last of them disappeared through the hallway, Bloodgood remained standing at her podium, watching like a sentry.
Waiting.
Dreading.
Praying.
This day was going to be a nightmare.
Frankie stormed down the hallway, fists clenched at her sides, a permanent scowl etched onto her pretty face.
She was beyond pissed.
They had pulled her away from her “private fun” with Jackson to attend this bullshit?!
Some parent-student meeting nonsense that—if the screams echoing through the building were any indication—was already going to hell faster than Holt could strip off a shirt.
As Frankie crossed the threshold into the hall containing the designated meeting rooms, the first thing she noticed was the absolute pandemonium.
Even with the heavy partitions, the chaos inside was undeniable. Shouts, screams, sobbing, and crashing furniture all overlapped in a cacophony of teenage angst and parental fury.
The walls trembled as something—or someone—hit them from the other side.
THOOM!
Frankie barely had time to react before a security guard came hurtling through one of the divider walls, crashing into the ground just a few feet away from her with a heavy grunt.
Her mouth dropped open.
“What the actual fuck?!” she blurted, staggering back a step.
The guard lay on the floor, groaning in pain, one wing bent at an awkward angle. He weakly raised a thumbs up, but Frankie wasn’t reassured.
From one of the nearby meeting rooms, a door slammed open with a violent bang.
A girl—probably a senior Frankie vaguely recognized from swim team—stormed out, shoulders stiff and eyes brimming with rage.
“I DON’T REGRET A DAMN WORD I SAID!” she screamed back over her shoulder.
A parental voice roared after her, female and furious:
“YOU’LL REGRET IT WHEN YOU’RE PREGNANT AND ALONE!"
The girl flipped the unseen speaker off over her shoulder without slowing down.
Frankie blinked, wondering if maybe she should’ve just ignored the announcement. She had a feeling she was going to need that endorphin boost to survive this.
Before she could decide whether to bolt back to her dorm or not, two familiar figures joined her side:
Clawd Wolf and Draculaura.
Clawd’s ears were pinned flat against his head, his golden eyes wide as he took in the scene.
“Dude, this is way worse than what I pictured.”
Draculaura nodded, pale as a sheet. “I’m pretty sure someone’s going to get eaten alive by the end of this.”
Frankie crossed her arms and huffed. "We could just… turn around, pretend we didn’t see anything, and go back to what we were doing."
Clawd gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I vote for that plan."
He barely finished the thought before two voices shouted from down the hall:
“Clawd! Over here!”
“You’re up next, bro!”
It was Clawdeen and Howleen, peeking their heads out of their assigned meeting room. Clawdeen was waving him over impatiently, Howleen bouncing on the balls of her feet with restless energy.
Clawd winced. "Guess I'm stuck."
He shot Frankie and Draculaura an apologetic shrug, then jogged off toward his sisters.
Frankie sighed and reluctantly made her way further into the chaos.
She hated that they’d split up, but she needed to find her parents, get this over with, and get back to the important stuff.
Important stuff being rimming Jackson and blowing Holt until they couldn’t walk straight.
As Frankie disappeared into the maze of screaming and shattering relationships, Draculaura was left standing alone.
She swallowed hard, tightening her fists.
"You can do this."
Squaring her shoulders, she wandered down the aisle of divided tables, scanning for her family name.
She passed by a few rooms where voices rose loud enough to make her wince:
"YOU’RE GROUNDED FOR A THOUSAND YEARS!"
"Maybe if you hadn't been such a controlling witch, I wouldn't be out TWERKING in the first place!"
“I HATE YOU, I’M NEVER COMING HOME, I’M DROPPING OUT OF SCHOOL, I’LL—”
"I'M PREGNANT, OKAY?! STOP YELLING AT ME!"
"STOP BEING A DRAMA QUEEN! WE JUST WANT TO TALK!"
Draculaura squeezed her eyes shut and moved faster.
Finally, she found it.
The room with the neatly written sign: "Draculaura – Mr. Dracula."
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, bracing herself for whatever emotional hurricane awaited her.
Cleo de Nile stalked through the halls with a scowl plastered on her flawless face.
Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, and every stomp of her heel echoed off the walls like a warning shot.
She hadn’t been called up yet, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t already grinding her teeth in frustration.
If the school was calling parents for one-on-one meetings today, then that meant he was here.
Her father. Ramses.
And Cleo already knew exactly how this little reunion was going to go.
It wasn’t going to be about her grades. It wasn’t going to be about her well-being. It wasn’t even going to be about how she was feeling with the gas going around.
Nope.
It was going to be about him.
About his reputation. About how her behavior made him look.
About how embarrassing it was for the great Ramses de Nile to have a daughter who couldn’t keep her lips off her “good-for-nothing boyfriend.”
Cleo rolled her eyes so hard she swore she almost pulled something.
It's always about him. Always.
Not about how she felt. Not about what she wanted.
Just his precious public image.
She picked up her pace, her nails clicking impatiently against her phone as she clutched it like a weapon.
Running away sounded damn tempting right about now.
But Cleo knew how this worked.
If she didn't show up for her meeting, security would be sent to find her.
And while she could easily make a fool out of those rent-a-cops if she wanted to, the real problem would be her dad.
Because Ramses de Nile would not rest until he found her.
And Cleo really didn’t feel like hearing a two-hour lecture about “shaming the family name” when she could be spending that time sneaking off to fuck Deuce instead.
With a frustrated grunt, she scanned the hallway for options.
Then her eyes landed on it: The Lost and Found.
Small, dusty, and jammed between two lockers like a forgotten memory.
Cleo smirked to herself.
If her dad wanted to find Cleo de Nile, he wouldn’t recognize her if she looked like some peasant who just crawled out of a sewer.
Without hesitation, she threw the door open and practically dove inside.
The smell of mildew and old gym socks hit her immediately, but she powered through it, digging through the junk pile with a mission.
She yanked out a tattered hoodie that smelled faintly like swamp water.
Pulled on a pair of dark sunglasses, even though one of the lenses was cracked.
Snagged a trucker hat that said “BITE ME” in glittery letters across the front.
She threw it all on without a second thought, cinching the hoodie strings until only her nose and lips were visible.
The look was absolutely disgusting. An insult to her royal bloodline.
But it was a small price to pay to avoid dealing with her father’s self-centered whining today.
Cleo tucked her hair into the hoodie, hunched her shoulders, and gave herself one last quick look in a broken mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.
She didn’t look like a princess.
She didn’t even look like a background extra.
Perfect.
"Good luck finding me now, old man."
And with that, she slunk out of the Lost and Found like a shadow, determined to avoid this whole mess as long as monsterly possible.
In the shadowed heart of Monster High’s meeting room, Dracula stood, a monument of brooding sorrow, his face carved with disapproval that stung sharper than any fang. His blood-red suit clung to him like a vow, his black cape a heavy shroud of unspoken fears.
The room was austere, its bare walls adorned only with the school’s insignia, a mute witness to the tempest brewing within. But the stark surroundings were irrelevant to him.
His heart, weighed by centuries, throbbed with dread for his daughter, Draculaura. The viral spread of her Monster Mash Dance videos had unleashed a torrent of scorn from vampire elders and nobles, their venomous critiques ringing in his ears:
"Unbefitting a lady."
"Vampires uphold dignity, not debauchery."
"She defiles our legacy!"
"The heir of the world’s most dreaded vampire should never appear so... unrestrained."
Dracula had tried to quell their fury, explaining the chaos at Monster High and even enlisting Headmistress Bloodgood to defend Draculaura’s spirit.
But it wasn't enough for them. Soon, his friends in the council were telling him about rumors they'd heard—whispers, proposals, petitions—all aimed towards his daughter.
"Marriage."
"Exile."
"Imprisonment."
He knew it was all just talk, but it worried him nonetheless.
Draculaura burst into the room, a whirlwind of defiance, her scent a vibrant mix of rebellion and youthful fire—likely fresh from time with that werewolf, Clawd.
Her annoyance crackled in the air, her eyes alight with a spirit that refused to be tamed.
“You summoned me?” she asked, dropping into a chair with restless energy.
Dracula inhaled deeply, steadying the storm within. “Lala,” he began, his voice a measured cadence, “I’m afraid for you.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering in her gaze. “Afraid? I’m thriving, Dad! No drama, no school stress—just me, my friends, and Clawd, living our best lives!” Her words were a banner of joy, her confidence a radiant shield. To her, this was liberation—pure, unshackled bliss.
But to Dracula, it was a prelude to ruin.
“That’s precisely what terrifies me,” he said, his voice heavy with unspoken dread.
Draculaura’s exuberance dimmed, her gaze sharpening. “Terrified of what? Me being happy?”
“No,” he replied, his tone firm yet laced with anguish. “Of what your happiness might cost. Whispers are spreading through Transylvania, Lala—dark, dangerous whispers about you.”
Her radiant smile faded, replaced by a shadow of unease. “What kind of whispers?” she asked, her voice trembling like a fragile thread.
Dracula rose, his towering form casting a long, ominous shadow. “Talk of your recent... exuberance. I’ve held it at bay, but their patience wanes, and I fear I cannot shield you forever.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation.
“I know,” he said softly, his heart twisting at her pain. “But the elders see only scandal. You may call them relics, but their power binds us still. They believe you’re shaming our kind.”
Draculaura scoffed, tossing her head defiantly. “That’s absurd! I’m not shaming anyone—I’m just enjoying myself! You’re all so rigid, Dad. You need to loosen up!”
Dracula sighed, the weight of ages pressing down.
“I understand you’re embracing life,” he said, striving for calm. “But your joy is stoking their wrath. There are murmurs—grave ones—of banishing you or forcing you into a marriage to silence their outrage.”
Her eyes widened, her face paling as if drained of blood. “Banishment? Marriage?” she whispered, the words fragile as glass.
“Yes,” Dracula pressed, his voice rising with urgency. “They care not for your reasons or your heart. To them, you’re a stain on our honor, and they’ll stop at nothing to erase it!”
A tremor shook Draculaura, her world crumbling under the weight of her father’s words. Her carefree dances, her laughter—how could they ignite such dire threats? The thought was a cold blade against her heart.
“Elissabat is battling fiercely to protect you,” Dracula said, his voice raw with frustration. “But even her strength has limits, and I fear she cannot hold them back indefinitely.”
Draculaura blinked, stunned. “Elissabat’s fighting for me?”
“Yes!” he roared, the sound reverberating through the room. “But her efforts may soon falter!”
Panic clawed at Draculaura’s chest, her breath hitching. She knew the elders’ cruelty—vampire women branded “wayward” were often dispatched as trophies to ancient lords, their fates grim. She thought of Clawd, her friends, her vibrant life at Monster High. She wouldn’t lose them—not to appease a council of fossils who loathed her fire.
Her jaw clenched, she glared at her father. “So what am I supposed to do?” she demanded, her voice sharp with defiance.
Dracula’s gaze softened, though his eyes remained stormy. “I’m not asking you to dim your light,” he said quietly. “Just... temper it. Don’t give them more reasons to tear you from me.”
But Draculaura’s fear ignited into fury, her heart pounding with betrayal.
She had expected concern, not a lecture on DECORUM.
“I get it now!” she snapped, her voice a rising storm. “This isn’t about me—it’s about your precious image! You’re scared I’ll ruin your reputation!”
Dracula recoiled, stung by her words. “Lala, that’s not—”
“You’d let them ship me off as long as your name stays untarnished!” she shouted, leaping to her feet, her petite frame quaking with rage.
“Lala!” Dracula’s voice thundered, his hands seizing her shoulders. “You’re twisting my words! I’m trying to show you the danger you’re in!”
“Danger? From living my truth?” she shot back, her eyes ablaze.
“No!” he roared, his desperation breaking through. “From parading your freedom like a mortal reveler! It’s enraging those who hold your future in their claws!”
“So what? It’s fun, Daddy!” she cried, her voice a mix of defiance and heartbreak.
“It’s reckless!” Dracula bellowed, his tone cracking with fear. “It’s brazen, and it’s going to rip you away from me! Please, Lala, I’m begging you to see—”
“NO!” Draculaura screamed, stepping so close their breaths mingled. “You’re trying to chain me to your rules! You don’t care that I’m happy—you just want me to obey!”
“I care more than you know!” he shouted, his voice a raw plea. “But the council doesn’t! They already mock me for letting you run wild with that werewolf—”
“Don’t you DARE bring Clawd into this!” she warned, her eyes narrowing to slits. “He’s not the problem!”
“He’s a WEREWOLF!” Dracula roared, his patience fraying. “Our sworn foe! Do you realize the scandal of you flaunting him in public?”
“But he cares about me,” she said, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking. “He loves me, and—”
“I know he cares!” Dracula cut in, his voice a tempest of rage and sorrow. “But he’s pulling you into a firestorm you can’t see! A werewolf, Lala—our enemy by blood!”
“BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM!”
Dracula froze, his words choking in his throat.
The sight of his daughter—her makeup streaking, her shoulders slumped, her eyes drowning in pain—pierced him like a stake.
She was no longer the defiant rebel; she was his little girl, shattered by his failure to hear her.
He had crossed a line.
Memories of Viktor surged forth—his friend, broken on Monster High’s steps, weeping over his daughter’s pain.
FLASHBACK
Viktor sat on the steps of Monster High, staring into the night sky, wondering how he had managed to fuck everything up.
Dracula walked up to him, looking concerned. "You okay?"
Viktor didn't even look at him, just continued to stare into space. "I fucked everything up."
"She knows you didn't mean it like that," Dracula said softly.
Viktor spun around, his eyes moist with tears. "Did you see the way she looked at me, Vlad? There was no love! No understanding! Just anger! She probably thinks I'm racist!"
Dracula sighed, patting Viktor on the shoulder. "You didn't mean it like that, Viktor. She knows that."
Viktor turned back around, his voice filled with regret. "I'm a horrible father."
Dracula just stood there, trying to reassure his friend, knowing that sometimes, words weren't enough.
END OF FLASHBACK
Dracula had sworn to avoid that path, yet here he was, repeating the same sin.
Draculaura wrenched free, storming toward the door. “I’m through!” she cried, her voice thick with tears. “Through with this, with everyone trying to cage me, with you, Dad!”
Dracula’s heart fractured, but he couldn’t let her go. With vampiric speed, he blocked her path, his hand gently catching her arm. “Lala, please!” he pleaded, his voice raw. “Don’t leave like this.”
“LET ME GO!” she screamed, struggling against him. “You’ll never get me!”
“Then make me understand!” he begged, his eyes searching hers. “What is it about this life—dancing, flirting, being so bold—that you love? Is it the thrill? The freedom? Tell me, Lala!”
Draculaura froze, her tear-streaked face a mask of shock. For a moment, she seemed lost, as if no one had ever cared to know her heart. Then, her voice trembling, she spoke.
“Ever since I became your daughter, I’ve lived in fear of disappointing you,” she said, her words soft but heavy with buried pain. “I had to be perfect—elegant, obedient, always proper—terrified you’d reject me if I wasn’t. I was so scared of letting you down.”
Dracula’s heart shattered, each word a wound. “Lala—”
“I wanted to be your flawless princess,” she continued, staring at the wall as if it held her past. “But I was exhausted from pretending. I love dancing, teasing, feeling alive. But I hid it, afraid you’d punish me for it.”
Dracula’s hand covered his face, horror dawning. He’d fought to be more than a legend’s monster, yet his daughter had lived in terror of his judgment. The pain was a silver blade, slicing deep.
“But now...” She turned to him, her eyes gleaming with defiant hope. “I’m free. I’m not afraid to want things, to be me. I’m done hiding.”
Dracula’s throat tightened. “I never meant to make you hide,” he whispered. “I only wanted to shield you from harm.”
“You taught me to be good, Daddy,” she said, her voice firm yet soft. “But ‘good’ felt like a prison. I’m not wicked for dancing or... loving life. I’m just me. And I’m tired of pretending otherwise.”
Dracula straightened, understanding blooming. “Is that why you cherish this with Clawd?”
She nodded, a faint smile breaking through her tears. “Before everything spiraled, Clawd and I were drowning in stress—school, duties, everything. But that Saturday, when he came to see me while you were away... it was like the world paused. We were just us, no burdens.”
Her gaze softened, lost in memory. “We held each other, and it felt like home. Then... things escalated, and...”
Dracula raised a hand, wincing. “You had sex in my living room?”
“Basically,” she admitted, a blush tinting her cheeks.
FLASHBACK
Clawd had Draculaura bent over the living room couch, driving into her at a breakneck pace, their bodies slick with sweat.
She moaned shamelessly, her hands pinned behind her back by his strong grip, every thrust filling her to the brim with delicious, toe-curling pleasure.
Clawd wasn’t wearing a shirt — just a pair of hastily pulled-down boxers — his toned muscles flexing with every powerful movement. His eyes were locked on Draculaura’s bouncing ass as he relentlessly pounded into her.
"I’m cumming," he growled, the strain evident in his voice. "Oh god, Laura, I’m cumming!"
"Do it, Daddy!" Draculaura cried out, her pink eyes wide and desperate. "Fill me up! I want it all!"
With a final, bone-deep thrust, Clawd released inside her, flooding her with his hot seed — and the sensation was so overwhelming that Draculaura lost control of her form, bursting into a flurry of pink-tinged bats.
The sudden explosion of bats startled Clawd, who yelped and tumbled backward off the couch, landing on his head with a loud thud.
Draculaura hastily reformed, stumbling toward him on shaky legs.
"Clawd!" she shrieked, crouching over him, panic etched across her face. "Are you okay?!"
Clawd opened one eye, grinned mischievously, and sat up, pulling her into a crushing hug.
"Better than okay," he laughed, holding her tight. "You were amazing."
Draculaura blinked at him in stunned silence — then, blushing furiously, she hugged him back.
"Thank you," she murmured into his neck.
"I love you," he said without hesitation.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
END OF FLASHBACK
Dracula gazed at his daughter, seeing not a reckless teen but a woman claiming her truth. He’d been so consumed by fear, so blind to her heart, that he’d missed how his protectiveness had fueled her rebellion.
Tears welled in Draculaura’s eyes. “I don’t want you to despise me,” she whispered. “I just want to be loved, even if I’m not your perfect daughter.”
Dracula’s heart broke into a thousand shards. He’d failed her, just as Viktor had failed his own. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking.
“What?” she gasped, startled.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears glistening in his eyes. “I let my fear of losing you cage you. I made you feel you couldn’t be yourself. I’m truly sorry.”
Draculaura stared, speechless, as he continued. “I want your happiness, Lala. Live your truth, whatever it is. Just... be cautious. Be safe.”
Shock gave way to joy, and she flung herself into his arms. He held her tightly, her tears of pain turning to tears of relief. After the storm of shouts and tears, they had found each other.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice trembling with joy.
“You’re welcome, my little bat,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “But one promise.”
“S-sure,” she said, pulling back slightly.
He met her gaze, stern yet warm. “Use protection.”
Draculaura’s face flushed scarlet. “DAD!”
“I mean it!” he insisted, half-laughing, half-commanding. “You’re young, and I’m not ready to face the elders over a fanged wolf cub.”
She giggled, the tension dissolving. “Fine, Dad, I promise.”
They hugged again, their bond mending with every heartbeat. No more pain, just understanding.
“Daddy?” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“You said they’re plotting against me. What if they succeed?”
Dracula’s jaw tightened, his resolve unyielding. “They won’t,” he vowed. “I’ll fight them to my last breath.”
As their meeting ended, Draculaura stepped into the hallway, her hips swaying with defiant grace. She’d feared this would end in rage, but her father’s tentative blessing warmed her heart.
Yet, doubt slithered in like a cold mist. The elders’ threats, Elissabat’s desperate stand, the looming peril—it pressed against her mind, heavy and relentless.
She was done with her father’s lectures, but the elders’ vendetta loomed large.
The thought of being ripped from Monster High, from Clawd, twisted her stomach.
What if they succe—
No.
She loved Monster High with every fiber of her being — and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she was going to let a bunch of stuck-up, power-hungry fossils rip it away from her just because they didn't like the way she danced.
No. They would have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.
But that was a problem for another day.
Right now, she had a werewolf waiting for her.
And nothing—not even the Elders—was going to take that away.
Abbey strode through the hallways of Monster High, her boots making soft thuds against the floor. Her breath was visible in the air from the cold aura she naturally carried, but today, there was a little more weight behind it. The meeting with her parents had gone well—mostly—but it still left a lot swirling in her mind.
Just as she passed by the open courtyard, a massive fireball hurtled down from the sky, crashing into the ground just a few feet in front of her. The heat that rolled off it was intense, but Abbey didn't flinch. She just narrowed her eyes.
From within the smoldering crater, a familiar figure emerged—shirt slightly scorched, hair smoking at the tips, and a huge grin stretched across his face.
"Hey, babe!" Heath Burns called out, throwing up a hand to wave as if he hadn't just made an entrance loud enough to wake the dead.
Abbey didn't say a word.
Instead, she stormed over to him, grabbed him by the collar, lifted him several inches off the ground like he weighed nothing, and kissed him hard.
Heath yelped in surprise at first, but quickly melted into it, letting his arms dangle loosely before eventually wrapping them around her icy shoulders.
When she finally set him down, a thin trail of frost clung to his shirt, but Heath was grinning from ear to ear.
"I missed you too, Snowflake," he chuckled.
Abbey just gave him a look—one that said "you have no idea"—before grabbing his hand and tugging him along for a walk.
As they strolled, weaving through the halls filled with rowdy students, they caught up.
"So, how'd your chat with your folks go?" Abbey asked, voice low and a bit cautious.
Heath scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly. "Ehh... not bad. They, uh... thought you were abusive at first."
Abbey stopped mid-step, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"What?" she demanded, blinking at him.
"Yeah," Heath said with a sheepish shrug. "Guess they heard stuff about you—y'know, big, strong, scary—so they figured you were tossing me around like a chew toy."
Abbey folded her arms, frowning, but deep down, she couldn't exactly be that mad. It wasn't the first time she'd heard things like that. Bigger girls dating smaller guys always seemed to attract that kind of worry.
"I told them the truth, though," Heath added quickly. "I told them you treat me great. Sure, you’re strong, but you don’t hurt me. Well... unless I ask for it."
He waggled his eyebrows playfully.
Abbey smirked despite herself, rolling her eyes.
"And your parents?" Heath asked, getting a little more serious now. "What did they think about... us?"
Abbey hesitated, her boots slowing just a fraction.
"They approve," she said finally. "Mostly. They wish I picked someone more... 'fitting.' Someone large, strong. Someone who could wrestle me into the snow."
Heath chuckled nervously.
"And," she added dryly, "they also wish I was not constantly indulging in... what did they call it? Carnal excess."
Heath burst out laughing.
"But," Abbey continued, squeezing his hand, "in the end, they approve. They see how you make me happy. That is enough."
Heath let out a huge, relieved sigh. "Man, I was sweating bullets for a second there."
They kept walking, eventually stopping outside a nearby classroom.
"I need to grab something for a friend," Abbey said, giving Heath a brief pat on the cheek. "Wait here."
Heath nodded, leaning casually against the wall as Abbey disappeared inside.
A few seconds passed.
Then—tap, tap—someone lightly tapped his shoulder.
Heath turned around and found himself looking up at Jinafire Long.
She was tall. Taller than him, in fact, her golden scales gleaming slightly under the hall lights, her long, sleek green hair cascading down her shoulders like molten silk. And she was smiling at him—a slow, deliberate smile.
"Hello, Heath," she purred, her voice like warm honey. "It has been too long."
Heath grinned politely. "Hey, Jinafire. What's up?"
They made small talk for a few moments—how classes were going, how hot the day was, the usual nothing conversations.
"So," Jinafire said with a pleasant smile, her golden eyes locked onto him, "how are your studies going, Heath?"
He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "Eh, same old, same old. Trying not to blow up the science lab again, you know how it is."
Jinafire let out a soft, musical laugh—one that seemed a little too delighted for such a lame joke. She leaned closer, arms casually crossed under her chest. "Mmm, but it is your fire that makes you so... interesting."
Heath chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess. Kinda hard to go unnoticed when you’re leaving scorch marks everywhere."
"You should not hide your fire," Jinafire said, voice dropping into something almost sultry. "It is part of your beauty."
Heath blinked. Beauty? No one had ever called him beautiful before. Cute, funny, sometimes a hothead—but beautiful?
"Uh, thanks," he mumbled, rubbing his arm.
Jinafire's gaze drifted down to that very arm. She reached out and lightly, lightly traced a finger along his forearm. "You have strong arms," she commented, voice dripping with admiration. "Do you train?"
Heath almost jumped out of his skin at her touch, though he tried to play it cool. "Uh, well, I mean, I guess lugging around propane tanks counts as a workout?"
Jinafire giggled again, a soft, melodic sound that lingered a little too long. "Strength... and fire... such a powerful combination," she mused, her eyes practically eating him alive.
Heath shifted uncomfortably. Something about her tone made the back of his neck prickle. "Yeah, I guess," he said, taking a small step back. "Uh, so... uh, what about you? How’s, um, dragon class going?"
Jinafire smiled knowingly, as if she could see right through him. "Challenging. Many of the younger ones cannot control their flames yet," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But control is overrated. Passion... wildness... these are things we should nurture."
Heath forced a chuckle, praying Abbey would come back already. "Yeah, haha... sounds... fiery."
Jinafire tilted her head at him, studying him like a piece of art she intended to steal. "You are very handsome when you are nervous," she murmured.
Heath’s heart practically jumped out of his chest. His cheeks flamed—not from his powers, but from pure embarrassment. "I-I’m not nervous," he lied pathetically.
She stepped closer again, so close now that he could smell the faint scent of incense and spice on her skin.
"Do not be afraid," she said in a low, soothing tone. "We are not so different, you and I. Fire needs fire."
Heath’s mouth opened and closed uselessly like a fish out of water.
Jinafire was standing just a little too close. Her eyes lingered a little too long. She laughed at things he said that weren't even jokes. She tilted her head in that classic I'm-interested-in-you way.
And when she lightly touched his forearm, Heath felt a bead of sweat form at the back of his neck—not from her fire, but from sheer awkwardness.
"Uh, I, uh, I have a girlfriend," he said, trying to keep things friendly but firm, pulling his arm back slightly.
Jinafire's golden eyes sparkled mischievously. "She does not have to know," she whispered, her voice like silk wrapping around a blade.
Heath blinked, stunned, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. "N-No, seriously. Abbey and I... we're, uh, kinda serious."
Jinafire smiled sweetly, circling him like a lioness eyeing prey. "Serious can become... dull," she purred. "You are fire, Heath. You should not be caged by cold hands."
Heath tried to step back, but she moved with him, a graceful shadow matching his every retreat. Her tail flicked with excitement.
"Uh—look, you're cool, Jinafire, don't get me wrong," he stammered. "But Abbey's my—"
"You deserve better," she interrupted, stepping even closer—mere inches from his face now, her breath warm against his skin. "You deserve someone who can handle your heat. Someone who will not melt you into nothing."
Heath's eyes darted around, hoping someone was watching this, but the halls were unfortunately empty.
"Uh," he tried again, "I think you're misunderstanding—"
"I'm not misunderstanding," Jinafire hissed, her tone suddenly cold, sharp. "I know what you need. What you want. And I can give it to you."
Heath stiffened, panic flashing across his face. His mouth opened to respond—
But then—a firm, crushing grip clamped down on Jinafire’s shoulder.
Jinafire stiffened and turned, only to find herself staring straight into the icy, furious eyes of Abbey Bominable.
Abbey pulled her sharply away from Heath, stepping between them like a wall of permafrost.
"Touch him again," Abbey said, voice low and dangerously calm, "and I will freeze your tail into popsicle."
Jinafire jerked her shoulder free, tossing her hair arrogantly.
"You act like you own him," she snapped, voice dripping disdain. "But fire cannot belong to ice."
Abbey’s expression didn't change, but the hallway temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
"I do not own Heath," Abbey said, voice like grinding glaciers. "He chooses me."
Jinafire chuckled—a sharp, mocking sound. "Poor boy. Shackled to a glacier in boots." She leaned in closer to Abbey, lowering her voice to a deadly whisper. "If you cannot handle him... someone else will."
Abbey's fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned whiter than snow.
"And if you do not back off," Abbey growled, stepping closer so their faces were almost touching, "someone will have to thaw your sorry ass out of the ice block I put you in."
Jinafire tilted her head, smirking provocatively. "I welcome the challenge, snowflake."
Heath, seeing the frost build on Abbey's arms, quickly grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her away before things escalated into full-on battle.
"Come on, babe," he said quietly. "She’s not worth it."
Abbey glared at Jinafire one last, burning second before finally grabbing Heath by the wrist, yanking him protectively toward her.
"Stay. Away. From. My. Man," she hissed, each word slamming into the air with the force of an avalanche.
Without another word, Abbey stormed off down the hall with Heath in tow, her expression thunderous.
Jinafire stood there, watching them go, her arms crossed. Her gaze lingered long on Heath—hungrily, calculatingly.
Slowly, her eyes began to glow a deep, eerie pink.
And then, in a whisper so soft only she could hear it, she spoke.
"Xī sī·bó ēn sī, nǐ jiāng shǔyú wǒ" (For translation: 希斯·伯恩斯,你将属于我)
With a slow, predatory smile curling her lips, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.
In the cramped, warmly lit meeting room, tension clung to the air like humidity before a storm. The school crest on the walls felt oppressive now, as if even the building itself were listening in. Every breath, every glance, every silence stretched painfully long.
Harriet and Clawrk stood before their children—Clawd, Clawdeen, and Howleen—their postures rigid, fur slightly bristling, not from anger, but from a deep, ancestral fear. A fear not just for what had already happened… but for what could.
The conversation had started with love—stern, terrified love.
Harriet’s voice, usually the firm anchor of their family, trembled at the edges as she explained their worry. “We’re not mad at you,” she’d said, her gaze moving between each of them. “We’re scared for you.”
She listed off their dreams, like precious heirlooms at risk of being shattered. Clawdeen’s hard-earned momentum in the fashion world. Clawd’s hopes of rising as both an athlete and a future pack leader. Howleen’s fight to forge her own name in the world, away from the shadows of her older siblings. They were all bright futures—now dimmed by online clips showing too much skin, too little care.
Twerking. Grinding. Public hookups. Shocking outfits. Headlines. Hashtags.
“This gas—it’s done something to all of you. We see that,” Clawrk said, his deep voice struggling to stay steady. “You’re hormonal, impulsive, emboldened. And we’re not going to shame you for that. But you need to understand the long-term impact. Clawdeen, you’ve built a reputation—and right now, it’s one bad tweet away from being burned to the ground. Clawd, people want strength in a leader, not scandal. And Howleen…”
He hesitated.
Howleen had already curled in on herself, legs pulled up on the chair, arms wrapped tight around them. Her vibrant energy was gone, replaced by something raw and twitchy. Her claws picked at the edge of her sleeves. Her gaze flitted around the room like a trapped animal’s, looking for a way out.
“…you’re still finding yourself,” Clawrk finished, his voice softer, almost apologetic. “You’re so smart, so sharp, but if people see you as a wild card now, they won’t give you a second glance later. You’re not like the others, Howleen. The world’s less forgiving when you're still climbing.”
Clawdeen’s arms slowly dropped from their usual crossed stance. Her claws fidgeted with the fabric of her shirt, the edges of a sketch just visible in her pocket.
Clawd’s jaw flexed, but not from defiance—from reflection. His gaze drifted to the floor, then the door, as if picturing a court, a crowd, a future he could feel slipping away.
Even Howleen, so quick with sarcasm and shade, found herself rooted to the spot, her bright eyes suddenly stormy, darting everywhere but her parents' faces.
For a moment, it worked.
For a moment, the room was full of raw vulnerability, the kind that says: We’re not yelling because we’re angry. We’re begging because we love you.
But then...
Their parents made the worst move they could’ve.
They brought up the one thing that made it feel like all of this was about control, not care.
Their partners.
“We’re not prejudiced,” Harriet said quickly, as if rushing to cut off an accusation that hadn’t even been made. Her voice shook now, barely clinging to calm. “We love you, and we want you to love whoever you choose. But we have to talk about this. Not because of who they are, but because of what comes with them.”
Clawrk exhaled slowly, his massive arms crossed—not defensively, but protectively, like he was bracing for impact. “Clawd, Draculaura isn’t just a student. She’s Dracula’s daughter. That paints a target on your back you don’t even see. Some of their kind—ancient ones—don’t want unity. They want bloodlines to stay pure. And with the way the two of you have been acting…” His voice cracked. “It only takes one vampire with a grudge.”
“Clawdeen,” Harriet said softly, her gaze flickering. “Toralei has a past. She’s...”
“An ex-convict,” Clawdeen snapped, voice low but razor-sharp.
“Yes,” Harriet nodded, no denial in her tone. “And while we see how she looks at you, and we trust that you see something real in her—she’s volatile. If she makes one wrong choice, gets tangled in some old grudge, you could go down with her. You don’t have to pay for her chaos.”
“And Howleen,” Clawrk added, turning to his youngest, “Twyla’s family... they’re a whole different kind of dangerous. We know the Boogeyman’s not just a story. He hurts people, Howleen. You’ve seen the reports. You’ve heard the survivors. He may smile now, but what happens if he decides he doesn’t approve? Or worse—what if she inherits more of his power than even she knows how to handle? What if she pulls you into something you can’t come back from?”
He looked at her like she was still his baby girl, and his voice cracked around the edges. “We’ve seen what the Boogeyman does. It’s not a bedtime tale—it’s a warning.”
Howleen flinched like she’d been slapped.
Her claws dug into her arms. Her throat felt like it was closing. Her chest heaved with short, frantic breaths. She remembered Twyla’s arms around her. How safe she felt. How warm. But now all she could think of were stories… legends… whispers of the Boogeyman dragging souls into nightmares that never ended.
"She wouldn’t do that," she croaked.
"But what if she did?" Clawrk whispered.
And just like that, everything shattered.
Clawd and Clawdeen shot to their feet, rage igniting in their eyes like twin wildfires.
“EXCUSE ME?!” Clawdeen snarled, her voice a whipcrack that echoed through the room. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH WHO WE’RE DATING?!”
“Yeah!” Clawd barked, stepping forward, his shoulders squared, hackles raised. “Why the hell should it matter who we love?!”
Howleen didn’t rise. She stayed frozen in her chair, arms crossed tightly across her chest like a shield. Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “Y-you think Twyla’s dangerous?” Her words cracked at the edges, like they were trying not to break. “You think she’s gonna... do something to me?”
Harriet’s ears flattened in horror. “No, sweetie, no. That’s not what we’re saying—”
But Clawdeen’s growl sliced through her. “Yes, it is what you’re saying. You’re saying Toralei’s a walking red flag, and Twyla’s some kind of horror story waiting to happen!”
“We’re not blaming them,” Clawrk tried, voice raised in defense. “We’re blaming the risks. We’re trying to protect you!”
“Protect us?!” Clawd snapped, his voice low and dangerous now. “You sound like you’re preparing our funerals. Draculaura isn’t a danger—she’s my girlfriend. And if some ancient-ass vampire wants to fight me for loving her, bring it on.”
Clawdeen's eyes flashed as she jabbed a finger toward her mother. “You think I don’t know Toralei’s got a past? She told me everything! I’m not some clueless cub you need to warn—I chose her, knowing exactly who she is!”
Howleen curled in tighter, fingers digging into her sleeves, breathing fast. Her voice came out in stutters, full of dread. “I-I saw Twyla’s dad watching us yesterday. After… after we... well 'banged'. He was just standing there. Barely said anything. What if he tells her to stop seeing me? What if she listens? What if he... makes her?!”
“Hey, hey,” Clawdeen crouched beside her, her anger softening into a protective urgency. “Don’t go there, baby sis. You know Twyla. You know she wouldn’t just drop you because her dad got moody. And he’s not—he’s not some shadowy monster waiting to drag you off in the night.”
But Howleen didn’t look convinced. Her eyes were glassy, haunted. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s the Boogeyman. The actual Boogeyman. What if he’s just biding his time?”
Harriet flinched like she’d been struck. “Howleen, I’m so sorry. We never meant to scare you.” Her voice cracked under the weight of guilt. “You’re right to be afraid. This world is full of people who judge first and ask questions never. But we’re not trying to tear you apart—we just want you to live. Not wind up on some missing poster.”
“We’re not paranoid,” Clawrk added, stepping forward, his voice rough with emotion. “We’re old enough to know how this world works. Wolves who step out of line—who love the wrong person, dance the wrong way, wear the wrong thing—they get punished. We’ve seen it. And we’re scared you will be next.”
“Then be scared, but don’t take it out on the people we love!” Clawd snarled. “You think hiding is the answer? It’s not. We don’t run. We lead. We fight. I’m not giving up Draculaura because some bitter old bloodsucker might come after me. I love her.”
“And I’m not dumping Toralei to make you feel safer!” Clawdeen said fiercely, standing tall. “She’s my girl. And you think I’m gonna let you demonize her because of where she’s been instead of where she’s going? You raised us better than that!”
Howleen whispered again, eyes wide and darting like she was searching the corners of the room for unseen threats. “What if the other wolves see those videos? What if they say I’m not safe to be with Twyla? What if they make me choose between her and pack?”
Her breathing hitched, shallow and panicked.
Clawdeen pulled her into a fierce hug. “No one is taking her from you. You’re okay. I promise. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Clawrk raised his hands again, defeated and weary. “We’re not here to judge your partners. We just want you to think. To understand that the world is cruel—and it doesn’t care how pure your love is. It sees a wolf and a vampire and thinks danger. It sees Toralei and thinks criminal. It sees you with Twyla and thinks trouble. You don’t have to believe us, but please… just be careful.”
Clawd’s eyes darkened, voice full of restrained fury. “You mean be quiet. Be invisible. That’s what you want. You’re not telling us to be careful—you’re telling us to be less.”
Clawdeen stood, tugging Howleen up with her. “You want us to keep our heads down, date who you approve of, act like the world’s not watching. But we’re done living scared.”
Howleen, trembling but defiant, wiped her eyes. “I’m not giving up Twyla. Not unless she tells me to. And she won’t. She loves me.”
Harriet stepped forward, eyes glistening. “We’re not trying to take that from you. We love you too much to sit back and say nothing. We just—”
“Then trust us,” Clawd thundered, slamming his palm on the table. “Trust us to choose our own lives, even if that means mistakes. You think you're protecting us, but all you're doing is driving us away.”
“THEN STOP ACTING LIKE A BUNCH OF RABID DOGS AND LISTEN TO US!” Clawrk roared, his voice booming with desperation.
A cold silence fell.
Clawdeen’s eyes shimmered—not with fear, but disappointment. “We’re done here,” she said quietly. “You’re not listening. You’re just shouting over the people you raised to think for themselves.”
“Clawdeen—” Clawrk started, reaching for her.
“SHUT UP!” she snapped, jerking away. “Just shut up.”
Clawd didn’t even look back. “We’ll make our own future. With or without your approval.”
Howleen lingered for a heartbeat, eyes flicking between her parents and her siblings—between fear and freedom. Clawdeen’s hand found hers again, anchoring her.
“Let’s go,” Clawdeen whispered.
And just like that, the three of them turned and walked out, the door slamming behind them like a gunshot. Final. Unforgiving.
Harriet sank into a chair, covering her face as her body shook with silent sobs. Clawrk stood rigid, staring at the door as if it had betrayed him.
Just like Viktor, he’d gone too far.
Their intentions had been love, pure and burning. But their words—sharp, fearful, misjudged—had severed something fragile.
Outside, the Wolf siblings walked in silence under the moonlight.
Clawdeen held Howleen close, her voice low and steady. “They don’t know Twyla. They don’t know you. But I do. And you’re okay.”
Howleen nodded, but her steps were hesitant, her eyes scanning every shadow. “But what if something does happen?” she whispered. “What if they’re not just being dramatic?”
Clawd placed a hand on her shoulder, firm and grounding. “Then we face it together. We protect each other. No matter what.”
Clawdeen nodded in agreement. “We’re wolves. We don’t fold. We fight for what matters.”
But even as they spoke those brave words, the air around them felt different—heavier. The sting of their parents’ fear had taken root, and it would take more than bold declarations to shake it off.
They were determined to blaze their own trail.
But now… they couldn’t help but glance over their shoulders.
Deuce leaned casually against a wall just outside the commons area, phone pressed to his ear, smiling softly.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m eating. I promise.”
The voice on the other end crackled a little, but it was sharp and unmistakably his mother’s.
“I don’t wanna hear that you’re eating, I wanna see that you’re eating. You got friends, right? Why ain’t one of them sending me pictures? I’m this close to calling Jackson and having him livestream your lunch tray!”
Deuce chuckled, tipping his head back. “Mom, please. Jackson's got enough going on without being my personal food photographer.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, unimpressed. “I don’t want you passing out from some protein deficiency while you’re out there… doing God-knows-what.”
Deuce coughed, suddenly uncomfortable.
She zeroed in immediately. “Uh-huh. That cough. What’s that supposed to mean, huh? You are doing God-knows-what, aren't you? You better not be knockin’ up your girlfriend and turning me into a grandma before I even finish my dating profile!”
He flushed. “Mom! Come on, don’t say it like that!”
“I will say it like that!” she snapped. “You ain’t slick, Deuce. I know what’s going on at that school. Gas or no gas. You think I was born yesterday? You think I don’t know what a sudden rise in cologne use and laundry frequency means?!”
He groaned. “Okay, okay, look—I’m being careful. No one’s pregnant. Everyone’s consenting. No scandals. Cross my heart.”
There was a beat of silence. Then: “…Good. Because if I get a call from Cleo saying she’s raising your snake babies, I will show up with a slipper and a scroll of child support papers.”
Deuce laughed, unable to help himself. “You really think I’d be dumb enough to let something like that happen?”
“You’re exactly dumb enough,” she muttered, though there was a fondness in her voice.
More silence. This one longer. Quieter.
“You okay, Mom?” he asked, voice softer.
“I’m fine. Just wish I could’ve made it. I know parents visiting is important.”
“Hey,” Deuce said firmly. “It’s okay. You got work, you got responsibilities. I’m a big boy.”
“You’ll always be my baby.”
He smiled again. “Love you.”
“I love you too, Deuce. Stay safe, okay?”
“Always. Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket, exhaling. That familiar warmth from talking to her always stayed in his chest a little longer. She was a whirlwind, but she was his whirlwind.
He pushed off the wall and turned down the hall—only to collide with someone.
“Oh—sorry,” he started, instinctively stepping back. “Didn’t see—”
He stopped.
The person was wearing an oversized black hoodie, the hood pulled up, dark shades covering their eyes. But the smell—rich, perfumed, expensive—and the posture, the air of supreme confidence trying too hard to look invisible—it clicked.
Without thinking, he reached out and snatched the sunglasses off.
“Cleo?” he asked, dumbfounded.
She hissed and snatched the glasses back immediately, shoving them onto her face and re-pulling the hood even tighter. “Shhh! What is wrong with you?!” she snapped.
“Me?! What are you—why are you—what is this?” Deuce waved his hand at her like he was trying to swat away a disguise.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, voice low and urgent. “I’m hiding, genius.”
“Hiding from what? The paparazzi?”
“My father,” she said with a sharp bite.
That stopped him. “Ramses? He’s here?”
She nodded, eyes flicking nervously toward the hallway. “Apparently there’s some big parent conference or whatever. And knowing him, he came early, demanded a red carpet, and is now storming through the school yelling at everyone like he owns the place.”
Deuce blinked. “Okay, yeah… that does sound like him.”
“He knows I’m here,” she hissed. “But I DO NOT want to talk to him. Not today. Not ever, if I can help it.”
“Is it really that bad?” he asked, not unkindly. “I mean, yeah, Ramses is... intense, but—”
Cleo opened her mouth to answer—but froze.
Down the hall, a booming voice thundered:
“Who is in charge here?! You! You there, with the clipboard! I demand to see my daughter immediately! Where is she?!”
“Oh crap,” Cleo whispered, and before Deuce could say another word, she shoved herself behind him, clutching his hoodie like a shield.
Deuce stood tall, trying to look casual as the king of ancient Egypt himself stormed past the hallway, flanked by two poor staffers who looked on the verge of tears.
“I’ll give you ten minutes to find her or I raze this institution to sand!”
His booming voice echoed as he disappeared around the corner.
There was a long silence.
Cleo slowly peeked out from behind Deuce, eyes wide.
“…Okay,” Deuce muttered, “I stand corrected. You are absolutely not overreacting.”
“Told you,” she said, exhaling in relief. “He’s unhinged.”
“You can crash in my dorm if you want to lay low,” Deuce offered. “He won’t think to check there.”
Cleo arched a brow, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Deuce. You know that’s the first place he’ll check.”
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Right. Because of… y’know…”
“Because I was planning on going there anyway,” she said smoothly, stepping a little closer, voice low and sultry. “Soon as I walk through that door, I’m dropping to my knees and sucking you dry.”
Deuce blinked, hard. “Oh.”
“Ohhh,” she echoed mockingly, dragging a finger down his chest. “Yeah. Don’t look so surprised, Snake Boy. You know I’m addicted.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes a little glassy. “I guess I’m honored.”
“Good,” she purred, turning to leave.
But then, she paused.
“…Your hoodie.”
“What?”
“I need it.”
“My—why?”
“For disguise, obviously,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Now hand it over.”
He sighed and pulled it off, offering it reluctantly.
She snatched his hoodie, yanking it from his hands. She raised it to her face and didn’t just sniff it—she devoured the scent, burying her nose in it with a greedy, indulgent moan.
“Mmm… gods, I love the way you smell,” she murmured. “I swear, I could get off just wearing this.”
Deuce just stared, totally stunned as she pulled it over her head. It was way too big on her, hanging past her hips and swallowing her arms, but it did the trick. She looked nothing like herself now.
Deuce just watched her, blinking.
“You really sniffed it?” he asked, baffled.
“I need to become the hoodie,” she said seriously, and then turned on her heel. “Thanks, babe.”
And just like that, she vanished into the hall, hips swaying under his oversized hoodie.
Deuce stood there for a moment, watching her go. He exhaled a slow laugh, shaking his head.
Then, with a smirk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned the other way.
“She’s crazy,” he sang under his breath, “but she’s mine. Damn I lose my mind.”
Headmistress Bloodgood stood in the doorway of the meeting hall, and for a long moment, she simply breathed.
The room was a disaster.
Two guards were being carried out on stretchers—one unconscious, the other nursing a broken wrist after trying to intervene in a “disagreement” between a vampire father and his hybrid son. Parents were shouting, some in denial, others in hysterics. A banshee mom had to be sedated after she screamed loud enough to crack a mirror. And two warlock fathers had gotten into a spell-slinging match over whose kid had started the hallway twerking circle.
Several parents had already been escorted off campus for being “overly aggressive” with their children.
And that was putting it mildly.
Bloodgood watched as another chair sailed across the room and embedded itself in the drywall. She didn't even flinch anymore.
At least a dozen students didn’t show up at all. Mr. Where had already sent her a list of the names—most of them weren't even at school, or worse, students who had stopped pretending to be fine and simply started doing whatever they wanted.
And then there was the gas.
The way it twisted emotions, distorted perceptions—it meant every emotional input the students received today was going to amplify their corrupted behavior.
Anger. Sadness. Fury. Disappointment. All of them.
By the time tomorrow rolled around, their kids would be even WILDER.
Bloodgood pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath, “They’re not going to calm down after this. They’re going to escalate.”
Of course they were. These meetings weren’t helping. If anything, they were making things worse. What was meant to be a check-in had become a bomb detonator. Students were either humiliated, enraged, or emboldened. No one was walking away from this feeling “heard.”
And as if things weren’t bad enough, she had Ramses de Nile stomping around the halls like a pissed-off pharaoh, barking orders and scaring the hell out of every student he passed.
“Where is my daughter?!” he’d shouted earlier, slamming his fist into a locker so hard it left a dent.
Someone had cried. Someone had fainted. A gargoyle had tried to stand up to him and got knocked flat on his tail.
Bloodgood sighed again, deeper this time.
Today officially sucked.
She looked around at the broken furniture, the crying parents, the overwhelmed staff trying to calm the chaos, and whispered to no one in particular:
“I went to school to teach, not to survive an emotional war zone.”
She straightened her spine, adjusted her coat, and marched toward the nearest group of still-arguing parents.
Because someone had to try to hold this madhouse together.
And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Mr. Ramses Goddamn de Nile.
Frankie stormed into the meeting room, her stitches flickering with static, a low current of frustration humming beneath her skin.
She muttered to herself, “I’d rather be screwing Holt than sitting through another guilt trip,” as the door slammed behind her.
Her mismatched eyes were defiant, arms crossed, back stiff like she was bracing for a fight.
Viktor and Viveka stood when she entered. Both looked exhausted—older somehow—but their eyes lit up with a fragile hope. Viktor took a step forward, arms open, his deep voice laced with strained warmth.
“Frankie… it’s good to see you. I can’t tell you how—”
“Nope,” Frankie cut in sharply. “If this is another lecture about my ‘bad decisions’ or some ambush about Jackson and Holt, save it. I’m not here to be judged again.”
She didn’t yell—but the edge in her voice was a scalpel, cold and precise.
Viktor’s shoulders fell. He’d been prepared for anger, but hearing it still hurt. “That’s not what this is,” he said quietly. “We’re here because I need to say something I didn’t make clear last time.”
Frankie rolled her eyes, already turning toward the door. “Yeah, I’ve heard enough. I’m not sticking around for a sequel.”
But Viveka moved swiftly, placing herself between Frankie and the exit. Her hands were gentle, her voice softer still. “Please, just stay. Just for a minute. I know we didn’t react the way you needed us to. But we’ve had time to think. And we’re not here to attack you.”
Frankie hesitated. She wanted to leave. But her mom’s sincerity gave her just enough pause. With a deep, frustrated breath, she dropped into the chair across from them, arms crossed like a shield. Her glare dared them to break her heart again.
Viktor sat down carefully, hands clasped tight. His voice came low, steady—stripped of the anger that had once snapped out of him like lightning. “When you told us about Jackson and Holt, I didn’t react well. That wasn’t about them. Not really. It was about fear.”
Frankie’s brow furrowed, suspicious.
“I’ve read the histories,” Viktor continued. “I’ve seen what the Hyde bloodline has done to good people. I didn’t flip out because I hate them—I panicked because I love you. And the idea of you being hurt by something we didn’t see coming... scared the hell out of me.”
Frankie’s voice was tight, defensive. “So what? You think they’re just like their grandfather? That they’re gonna lose it and kill me in my sleep?”
“No,” Viktor said firmly. “Not even close.”
“Then why did you lose it the second you found out who they’re related to?” she snapped, voice rising. “Why did you look at me like I was broken? Like I’d made a disaster of myself?”
Viveka flinched at that, visibly pained. Viktor didn’t look away.
“Because I reacted like a father, not a scientist,” he said. “I let fear speak louder than love. I forgot that you know them—not some history book. You’ve seen them at their best. I should’ve trusted you.”
Frankie’s arms loosened slightly. She didn’t reply, but the rage in her eyes dimmed.
“We’ve always told you to look beneath the surface,” Viveka said, her voice trembling. “To see the soul, not the shell. And then when it was our turn to do that for your boyfriends, we failed. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”
Frankie blinked, her posture slackening even more. “So… you’re not mad anymore?”
“We were never mad at you,” Viktor said gently. “We were scared. And confused. But not mad.”
Frankie’s expression softened, but suspicion lingered. “Then what is this really about? You’ve done a full 180, but I can still feel it—there’s something else you’re upset about. Is it the videos? The twerking? The fact that I’m not your perfect little science project anymore?”
Viktor didn’t flinch this time. His jaw tightened, not with anger—but with the weight of love and worry. “No. It’s about your future. About what’s happening to you—and to all the students.”
Viveka reached for Frankie’s hand, gently squeezing it. “The gas is changing people, sweetie. You’re not the only one. It’s making everyone act on impulse, act bolder, riskier. That doesn’t mean it’s not real—but it does mean we’re worried you’re being swept up in something that could hurt you in the long run.”
Frankie didn’t pull away immediately. But her voice was still clipped. “So you are judging me.”
Viktor shook his head. “No. We’re not here to shame you for expressing yourself, or for loving them. But those videos… the dancing in public, the way you’ve been putting yourself out there—it’s not just about you. The world is watching, Frankie. And the world isn’t kind.”
Viveka’s voice cracked slightly. “You’re brilliant. Creative. Compassionate. You could do anything, be anything. But if people see you as just a… spectacle? They’ll never look past it. They’ll never see the scientist, the leader, the amazing girl we see every day.”
Frankie’s mouth twisted. “So it is about my reputation.”
“It’s about your choices,” Viktor said. “And making sure they’re really yours—not something the gas is whispering into your instincts.”
He leaned forward, his voice quieter now. “We’re working on a cure. Not because you’re broken. But because you—and everyone else in this school and across the world right now—deserve the right to feel things naturally. To fall in love because you choose it. To dance because it brings you joy, not because something in your bloodstream is telling you to strip off your top in front of a crowd.”
Frankie let out a shaky breath. She didn’t speak. But the sparks in her stitches faded. Her eyes no longer looked like they were searching for a fight.
Just… understanding.
She looked between them. Her voice, when it came, was small. “So… you’re not ashamed of me?”
Viveka squeezed her hand. “Never.”
Viktor’s voice cracked. “We are so proud of you, Frankie. And we just want you to be okay. To know that we see you. Not just the wild videos. Not just the names you're connected to. You.”
Frankie blinked, and for a moment, she looked so young again. She leaned back in her chair, still guarded, but no longer fortified.
“Okay, fine,” Frankie said at last, folding her arms but no longer bristling. Her voice had lost its edge, replaced by wary curiosity. “Let’s talk about Jackson and Holt, then. If you don’t hate them... what do you really think of them?”
Viktor let out a quiet breath, and for the first time in the conversation, he smiled—genuine and unguarded. “I think they’re good boys. Jackson… he’s careful with you, respectful. The way he looks at you, like you’re made of lightning and gold. And Holt—he’s wild, yeah, but he listens to you. He hears you, even when no one else can. That kind of balance? It’s rare.”
Viveka chuckled softly. “Bloodgood told us a few stories, you know. About Holt singing to you in the courtyard. About you stepping in when some jerks went after Jackson. How the three of you took down that sheriff together.” Her eyes glistened, her voice full of quiet pride. “That wasn’t gas. That was love, Frankie. Real love.”
Frankie’s expression softened, the blush creeping up her stitched cheeks. “They can be a chaotic duo sometimes,” she murmured, a grin tugging at her lips. “But they’re my duo.”
Viktor leaned in, resting his large hands on her knees—not to restrain, but to ground. “And you’re perfect for them. But this isn’t just about them being good to you. We want to make sure you're still being good to yourself.”
Frankie hesitated. Her voice was smaller now, vulnerable. “So… you’re not mad about the videos? Or the dancing? Or the, y’know... twerking in the library?”
Viveka gave her a look that was half stern, half amused. “We’re not thrilled, no. But that’s not why we asked to talk. You’re not in trouble, Frankie. We just want to make sure you still feel like you.”
Viktor nodded. “You’ve always been a masterpiece to us. But even masterpieces can get caught in the wrong lighting. That gas—it’s not just enhancing feelings, Frankie. It’s bending them. It’s making the loudest voice in your head the only one you can hear.”
Frankie looked down, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair. “So you’re scared I’m not thinking straight. That I’m just… acting out.”
“No,” Viktor said gently. “We’re scared that you’re losing yourself without realizing it. And we don’t want to pull you back—we want to stand with you, help you push forward. Freely. Not under some chemical spell.”
Frankie’s eyes shimmered. “You’re not trying to control me.”
“We never were,” Viveka said, brushing a loose bolt of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “We just didn’t know how to protect you without hurting you. We got scared and forgot that you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a young woman. And you get to choose your path.”
Frankie exhaled slowly, the tension finally leaving her shoulders. “Okay. I hear you. I get it now. You don’t hate Holt or Jackson. You’re just scared I’ll lose myself in all this chaos.” She stood, nodding to herself. “Thanks. Really. I needed to hear that.”
Viveka rose and wrapped her in a hug, whispering into her daughter’s neck, “We love you. That never changes.”
Then Viktor joined them, his arms enveloping both. “And we’re going to fix this. No matter what it takes.”
As they pulled apart, Frankie smiled—but it was faint, distant. Her eyes shimmered pink, subtle but unmistakable. The glow pulsed once, like a heartbeat made of neon, and her voice turned dreamy.
“There’s nothing to fix, Dad,” she said, almost too softly. “Everything’s... perfect now.”
For a moment, the air seemed to still. Viktor saw it in her expression—that eerie calm, that too-even cadence—and his blood ran cold. It wasn’t Frankie speaking. Not entirely.
That soft shimmer behind her eyes—it wasn’t hers.
"She’s ours now," something seemed to whisper. "And we take good care of what’s ours."
Viktor kept his face neutral, but his heart pounded. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Frankie nodded once, then turned and walked away. Her steps were fluid, too fluid, like she was gliding instead of walking—buoyed by a force just beneath the skin.
The door closed behind her with a quiet click, leaving Viktor and Viveka in the silence she’d left behind.
They had won her trust back—for now.
But the gas hadn’t let her go.
And in that silence, it was clear:
The real fight hadn’t even begun.
You'd think after the first warning, Jinafire would get the message.
Heath Burns belonged to Abbey Bominable. And she did not play nice.
But it seemed like jinafire hadn't gotten it. The gas awoke something primal inside of her, and she wouldn't rest until she'd claimed what was hers.
Because Heath Burns was her prey.
It started in second period, a shared class between him, Abbey, and—unfortunately—Jinafire. The dragoness had been relentless today, but right now, she was on another level entirely.
From the moment she slid into her seat two rows over, she didn't look at the board once. Not even a glance at the teacher. Her eyes locked onto Heath like a predator tracking her prey, and her smirk practically oozed smug satisfaction.
He tried to ignore it. Really, he did.
But it was hard to ignore Jinafire when she was literally blowing kisses across the room.
And not the cutesy, playful kind either—these were slow, exaggerated kisses, complete with her running her forked tongue along her lower lip as if she were sampling something sweet.
Her fingers traced shapes in the air toward him, sharp claws glinting in the fluorescent lights as they drew hearts—or flames, depending on her mood.
Abbey’s body language told the story without words. She was seething. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her pen, and ice crystals were forming along the edge of her desk.
She didn’t even bother pretending to take notes; her glacier-blue eyes were locked on Jinafire like she was calculating exactly how much power it would take to freeze the smug grin off her scaled face.
Heath, sensing disaster, kept his hand firmly on Abbey’s forearm, applying steady pressure—not enough to restrain, but enough to ground her.
"Deep breaths, babe," he whispered, eyes flicking back to his notebook. “Let it go. She's just messing around.”
Abbey didn’t look at him. “She’s about to be messed up, is what she is,” she muttered, her Russian accent thickening with every syllable. “One more kiss blown at you and I will make her lips freeze shut. Permanently.”
Heath chuckled nervously and leaned in. “Seriously. Chill. You know I only want you. She’s not worth it.”
But Jinafire caught that glance. She batted her lashes dramatically and mouthed something indecent at him.
Abbey twitched.
Heath physically had to reposition her chair an inch away from the desk to keep her from springing up.
Things got worse in gym.
The moment they walked into the locker-lined room, Abbey already had her guard up. She stuck to Heath like a glacier creeping over warm land, and he didn’t complain.
Especially not when Jinafire strutted in wearing gym shorts that defied physics.
Her tail swayed with every step, flicking up just high enough to show off a dangerous amount of scale.
Abbey noticed.
She noticed everything.
And unfortunately for her mental health, so did Heath.
The tipping point came during stretches. The coach had them partner up—Heath with Abbey, of course—and everyone was directed to warm up before a round of dodgeball. Simple enough, right?
Not today.
Jinafire conveniently dropped her water bottle near Heath’s feet, then bent over to pick it up, right in front of him. Slowly. Dramatically.
Her shorts tightened with every centimeter she bent down, and to make matters worse, her tail gave a sudden, cheeky flick and slapped her own ass.
SMACK.
Loud enough to turn heads. Bold enough to feel like a challenge.
Heath’s jaw dropped for a split second. He wasn’t trying to stare—but Jinafire knew exactly what she was doing.
Abbey’s reaction was instantaneous.
Before he could even process what he saw, she grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head away from the scene, and shoved his face straight into her massive breast.
“Focus on these,” she hissed, her voice like a blizzard. “Not hers.”
He muffled something in her chest, arms flailing in surprise, but Abbey didn’t budge. She held him there for a good ten seconds before letting go, letting him stumble back with his cheeks burning.
Even Coach Igor raised an eyebrow—but wisely said nothing. No one wanted to get between Abbey Bominable and her man when she was in this kind of mood.
After gym, things didn’t improve.
Heath went to his locker to grab his water bottle—only to find something unexpected.
Tucked into the top shelf was a small red envelope with golden dragons embossed on the edges. There was no name, but he didn’t have to be a detective to figure out where it came from. The scent of incense and fire clung to it like perfume. His heart skipped. Oh no.
Inside was a short note, written in delicate, sinuous calligraphy:
“When you're ready to stop playing with snowflakes... come find out what real heat feels like." —J
Beneath the note was a single piece of red candy. He didn’t even know if it was edible. It looked like something that would either turn him into a dragon or make him hallucinate colors.
He slammed the locker shut with a groan.
When Abbey saw the note—he didn’t even need to show her, just the smell of it clinging to him like smoke—she looked ready to commit a felony.
“She left you gifts now?” Abbey snapped, her voice low and dangerously calm. “Oh, wonderful. Next time maybe she’ll leave her tail in your locker. See how fast I snap it off and mail it back to her.”
Heath put his hands up, backing away like she had a spear made of ice. “I didn’t even touch it! I was gonna throw it out!”
“Good,” she said sharply, yanking the note from him and crumpling it in her palm. Frost immediately formed over the paper, freezing it into a solid shard that she snapped in half with one hand. “Because if you had tasted it, I’d have to taste her blood.”
By halfway through the day, Heath was shell-shocked.
He hadn’t asked for any of this. He loved Abbey. He was with Abbey. And Abbey was everything he wanted—powerful, confident, beautiful, and terrifying in all the right ways. But Jinafire wasn’t making it easy. And Abbey’s patience was visibly cracking.
Between the icy tension, the gym class faceplant, and the cursed locker note, he was seriously considering skipping the rest of his day and hiding in the janitor’s closet.
Meanwhile, Abbey walked beside him, silent and stormy, her eyes locked straight ahead. Her fury was ice-cold now—controlled, contained, but unmistakably lethal.
Anyone watching her could practically feel the pressure drop around her as she stalked the halls.
“Next time she so much as winks at you,” Abbey muttered, “I’m not going to hold back. I don’t care who’s watching. I’ll freeze her tail to the ceiling and leave her there.”
Heath gulped.
And Jinafire? She was still watching. Still smirking.
She had no idea how close she was to getting turned into a popsicle.
Or maybe... she did know.
Which made it so, so much worse.
The meeting room at Monster High felt more like a detention dungeon than a family intervention zone. Drab walls, a creaky wooden table, and the kind of stale air that screamed “somebody’s in trouble.”
Lagoona’s webbed feet made soft slapping sounds as she stepped in, each one matching the dread curling in her gut like a nervous eel.
Across the room, her mum, Coraline, was pacing like a barracuda on espresso. Her usually sleek coral-colored hair looked like it had been in a blowfish fight and lost.
Wade, her dad, sat at the table wearing the expression of a man who’d rehearsed several disappointed-dad speeches in front of the mirror but couldn’t decide which one to open with.
Coraline spotted her daughter and launched forward like a torpedo with maternal hysteria. “Lagoona Blue! Are you alright?! Have you been using protection? Do you even own protection?! Oh, holy Poseidon’s nipples—tell me you haven’t been letting some boy cannonball into your reef without a wetsuit!”
She grabbed Lagoona by the shoulders, nearly knocking over a chair in the process, her voice rising an octave with every sentence. “Do you know what’s out there?! STDs! Unplanned egg clutches! You are NOT ready to be a seahorse mama!”
“Mum!” Lagoona squawked, her gills flaring and her cheeks turning a mortified shade of lavender. “Crikey, calm your barnacles! I’m not some spawning salmon—I’m being careful, alright?”
She wiggled out of Coraline’s death grip and flopped dramatically into the nearest chair. “You’re making it sound like I’m handing out room keys to my kelp bed!”
Wade finally spoke, voice calm and low like the deep current before a riptide.
“Coraline, let’s not capsize the boat.” He turned to Lagoona, his dad-sense fully activated.
“Look, guppy, we’re worried. Not just about your fins doing the tango. This gas—it’s not just spicy air. It’s messing with your heads, with your judgment. One minute you’re thinking about coral conservation, the next you’re twerking on a lunch table.”
“Off course?!” Coraline wheeled around, arms flailing like a sea witch mid-hex. “Wade, she’s not off course—she’s on a collision course! She’s one bad decision away from becoming a teen reef tragedy! I don’t care if she’s with that freshwater drip or some dashing merprince—she is TOO YOUNG! What if she catches something? What if she lays a whole school of eggs before she’s even got her diploma?!”
Lagoona groaned, pulling her hood over her face like it might shield her from the embarrassment tsunami. “Mum, no one’s laying anything! We’ve got protection. We’ve got school nurses. We’ve got full-on abstinence lectures from Rotter, and lemme tell ya, that kills the mood faster than cold kelp soup.”
Wade nodded sagely. “I trust you, guppy. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders—even with all the hormone hurricanes floating around. But think long-term. You wanna be a marine biologist, right? Maybe run a reef sanctuary? Protect endangered sea critters? Be an underwater dancer? Those dreams get harder to chase when the world’s too busy replaying slo-mo footage of you twerking like a jellyfish on Red Bull.”
Coraline gasped like someone had just told her the ocean was drying up. “Twerking?! Don’t get me started! I saw that video, young lady! You were out there shaking your bum like a siren on spring break! Do you know how many creeps are out there? You’re practically sending out sonar to every barnacle-brain with a screen and a lotion bottle!”
Lagoona peeked from under her hood with a groan. “It was just a dance, Mum! Everyone’s doing it—it’s not like I opened an OnlyFins.”
“Not yet,” Coraline muttered darkly, crossing her arms so hard her elbows cracked.
Wade leaned forward, eyes warm but serious. “It’s not about dancing, guppy. It’s about perception. Right now, people aren’t seeing the smart, driven, passionate sea ghoul we raised. They’re seeing... well, someone whose idea of future planning is ‘do it behind the bleachers and pray the cameras didn’t catch it.’”
"I can slow down a bit." Lagoona offered.
Coraline dramatically flopped into a chair across from Lagoona. “Slow down, she says. She’s already halfway to mer-motherhood! That Gil boy—sweet as he is—has the spine of a soggy driftwood plank. I bet she’s got him wrapped around her fin like a lovesick sea snake!”
Lagoona blushed and opened her mouth to protest, but Wade expertly swerved the conversation like a seasoned captain dodging a storm.
“Anyway—how’s Kala holding up? Her dad’s stuck in the trench, and he’s been sending sonar every other day asking if she’s okay.” Wade asked.
Lagoona, grateful for the lifeline, smiled. “She’s good. Still Kala—quiet, grounded, probably the only one of us not grinding on someone’s leg like a kelp-crazed crab. I’ll let her know you asked.”
Wade chuckled. “Do. And remind her that if any boy so much as lays a sucker on her, her dad said he’ll rise from the trench and turn this whole school into a tide pool.”
Coraline gave a brief, humorless cackle. “At least Kala’s not out there cavorting like she’s hosting a siren-themed rave.”
Lagoona raised an eyebrow. “Mum, Kala’s been wilder than a kelp salad at a kraken buffet. You just haven’t seen it.”
Coraline blinked, betrayed. “Oh Poseidon help us all.”
Wade shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Coraline—”
“I know, I know, I’m panicking!” she cried, throwing up her hands like she was surrendering to the Coast Guard. “But you know what happens when seafoam hits the fan, Wade! First it’s one little accident, then bam—we’re grandparents! I haven’t even started my midlife crisis yet! I don’t have time for guppy-sitting!”
“Mum!” Lagoona groaned, nearly sliding under the table. “I’m not pregnant! I swear! Gil and I aren’t just bumping fins without thinking. We actually talk about this stuff!”
Wade arched an eyebrow, clearly seizing the opportunity to stir the waters. “Smart, eh? That’s my girl. Just make sure poor Gil can still come up for air once in a while. Don’t strangle the lad with those thighs of power.”
Lagoona’s jaw hit the ocean floor. Her entire face flushed cobalt.
“DAD!” she shrieked, slapping her hands over her cheeks. “What is wrong with you?!”
Coraline gasped like she’d just seen a shark in the school pool. “
WADE BLUE! Don’t you dare put that image in my head!” She stumbled backward, clutching her chest like the phrase had physically assaulted her. “My innocent baby girl, weaponizing her legs like some kind of kraken!”
Wade didn’t even flinch. “Oh come on, love. You saw that video. She’s got the strength to strangle a squid with those. Gil’s lucky he’s not wearing a mermaid-sized chastity belt.”
“WADE!”
Lagoona let out a strangled groan, somewhere between laughing and dying. “You two are unhinged. I need new parents. Like... calmer ones. Ones who don’t talk about my thighs in battle terms.”
Wade grinned proudly, standing to ruffle her hair. “A little humor never hurt anyone. Keeps you buoyant when the current’s rough.”
Coraline stormed to the door, muttering as she went, “I’m getting a kelp smoothie, a cold compress, and a memory-erasing potion. If anyone needs me, I’ll be crying in a sea cave.”
“Bring me back a seaweed muffin!” Wade called after her. “And maybe some brain bleach while you’re at it!”
Lagoona collapsed back into her chair with a sigh. “You are impossible. But... thanks, Dad. For not flipping out like Mum.”
Wade smiled, pulling her in for a hug that smelled faintly of saltwater and aftershave. “We love you, guppy. Always. Just... steer clear of scandals, yeah? Don’t want you ending up as clickbait on some monster gossip blog.”
Lagoona hugged him tight, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll try, promise. No viral videos, no egg clutches, and I’ll give Gil regular breathing breaks.”
“That’s my girl.”
As Coraline’s dramatic muttering faded down the hallway (“Thighs of power... what is this, Aquanatomy?!”), Lagoona stood and stretched, still red in the face but a little more at ease. Her parents were nuts—but they cared. Even if one needed a sedative and the other needed a filter.
Still, she was absolutely telling Gil about this later. Right after she made sure he wasn’t hiding from her “thighs of power” under his bed.
While Lagoona’s conversation with her parents had been dramatic but oddly hilarious.
Gil’s conversation with his parents was the exact opposite.
The second he stepped into the room, he was hit with a verbal slap that made his gills flare in pure disgust.
“Still dragging around that salt-stink swamp rat?” his father asked, barely glancing up from his paper.
Gil clenched his fists. The heat rose in his throat like steam through a cracked pipe.
Stay calm. Stay civil, he reminded himself, echoing Bloodgood’s daily mantra. They’re not trying to hurt you. They’re just worried.
Except right now, that felt like the biggest crock of kelp-shit he'd ever swallowed.
“She has a name,” Gil said, tightly. “Lagoona. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling her... whatever that was.”
“Appreciate?” his father scoffed. “Boy, you should be grateful we haven’t hauled you out of that school and cut off your allowance! You’re humiliating our bloodline, parading around with some coral-brained cave-dweller from the reef!”
Gil’s jaw flexed. “She’s not a cave-dweller. And she’s not a thing. She’s my girlfriend.”
“That’s disgusting,” his mother snapped, eyes narrowing like a barracuda’s. “How many times do we have to tell you? Freshwater and saltwater do not mix. Biologically. Socially. Culturally. It’s unnatural!”
“With all due respect,” Gil said, forcing calm into every syllable, “it’s not the 1900s anymore. Half the school is cross-species at this point. No one even bats an eye—because it’s normal.”
His father slammed a hand on the table, making the ceramic kelp vase rattle. “That’s because they’re not our kind, Gil! We’re not like those bottom-dwelling degenerates who lay eggs in tidepools and call it parenting! We have standards! We have pride!”
Gil blinked slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “No, you have prejudice. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
“Oh, we’re the problem now?” his mother snapped. “We’re the villains for wanting better for our son? For trying to protect him from some sea skank who’s just waiting to tie him down with a bastard guppy and ruin his future?”
Gil gritted his teeth. “Lagoona isn’t trying to trap me, Mom. She’s not using me. She loves me. And I love her.”
His father let out a barking laugh. “Oh, please. If she had any class, she'd know her place. You think she's dating you because you're special? No, son. You're just exotic to her. A trophy fish. The moment she gets bored, she'll trade you in for some great white with more teeth and a family she can actually bring home without shame.”
Gil’s nails dug into his palms.
“And what about that Lorna girl?” his father added, tone turning falsely pleasant. “Now there’s a catch. Polite. Pureblood. Loch lineage going back generations. And best of all—freshwater. You’d have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“She’s a friend. And she’s not interested in me like that!” Gil snapped. “And even if she was, I’m not going to throw away someone I love just because you two can’t handle a little evolution!”
“Language!” his father barked. “Don’t talk back to us! We’re your parents! We know what’s best, and we’re trying to protect you from that filthy reef-whore and her ocean trash values!”
Gil was trembling now. He tried to hold it in. He really tried.
“I’m not being protected,” he said, voice tight. “I’m being controlled. You don’t care about my happiness—you care about appearances. Well, screw your appearances. I care about Lagoona. I love her. And I’m not going to keep acting like that’s something to be ashamed of.”
His mother rolled her eyes like she’d heard it all before. “Love? You’re eighteen, Gil. You’re not in love. You’re just horny, and she’s the nearest open reef. She doesn’t love you—she’s using you for attention. Just like her kind always does.”
Gil’s eye twitched. “Stop saying that. Stop talking about her like she’s some kind of parasite. She’s smarter, stronger, and kinder than either of you.”
Then came the line.
The one that shattered every bit of patience Gil had left.
His father leaned forward, voice low and cold.
“You listen to me, boy. You may love her now, but one day, she’s gonna swim off with some deep-sea alpha who actually deserves her. And when she leaves you crying in the muck, don’t come crawling back to us. Because we warned you. That dirty reef-bitch will chew you up and spit you out like every other inbred ocean slut.”
And just like that, Gil snapped.
Before his father could so much as blink, Gil’s fist rocketed across the room and smashed into his jaw with a wet crack. The force of the blow lifted the older man clean off his feet and sent him crashing into the wall behind him, knocking a portrait off its hook and rattling the whole room. His head thudded against the drywall, leaving a dent before he slumped to the floor, dazed but somehow alive.
His mother screamed. His father groaned, cradling his face, blood dripping from his split lip and a forming bruise beneath his eye.
But Gil wasn’t done. Not even close.
"DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT, YOU MISOGYNISTIC, BIGOTED, PIECE OF SHIT!” Gil roared, his voice booming with such rage that it shook the room like an undersea quake. He looked like a storm made flesh—eyes wild, fists clenched, chest heaving with fury.
His mother dropped her glass, which shattered across the tile with a sharp crash, but Gil didn’t even flinch. He was in it now—heart pounding, vision tunneled, emotion choking every word he screamed.
“What the ACTUAL FUCK is wrong with you?!” he bellowed. “How can you sit there and talk about the woman I love like she’s some kind of parasite?! Some filthy mutt?! Do you HEAR yourselves?! You sound like Nazi fish-folk who think they're better than everyone just 'cause their blood’s a little cleaner in the tank!”
His mother clutched her chest like she might faint. His father was still stunned on the floor, blinking up at him, too shocked to even speak.
But Gil didn’t stop.
“You’re fucking disgusting! BOTH OF YOU!” he spat, pointing a trembling finger. “You can’t stand that she makes me happy because you’ve NEVER been happy yourselves! You’re so broken, so bitter and twisted, that the idea of your son finding love—real, genuine, actual love—is offensive to you! And why? Because she’s from the deep?! Because her water’s salty and yours isn’t?! WHAT KIND OF INSANE BULLSHIT IS THAT?!”
His voice cracked slightly, and he suddenly sounded more hurt than angry. “She makes me laugh when I want to cry. She believes in me. She never makes me feel small. And all you’ve ever done is tear me down and try to rip us apart! And for WHAT?! To match me up with some girl with clean gills and a boring ass name?! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!”
Tears were starting to well in his eyes, mixing with the fury blazing in his chest.
“You know what really makes me sick?” Gil said, voice trembling as he finally took a step back, his breathing heavy. “What really shows me just how far gone you both are?”
Neither of them answered. His mother was frozen in shock. His father groaned again, trying to sit up.
Gil wiped a hand across his face, sniffling as the first tears began to trickle down. “**A few years ago… we were going through a rough patch. I was scared I’d lose her. And then… my friend Howleen made a wish. A wish to make things easier between us. And what that wish did…” His voice cracked again, but this time with sorrow, not rage. “It didn’t fix your hearts. It didn’t open your minds. It didn’t make you love her for who she is…”
He choked, his tears dripping steadily now, building in the base of his helmet.
“It turned her into a freshwater monster. It changed her, completely erased the parts of her that made her Lagoona. And THAT’S what finally made you two smile. That’s what made you say she was ‘acceptable.’”
He pulled off his helmet, and a gush of tears flooded down his face, landing in heavy drops at his feet. His lip trembled as he looked at them both—two people who were supposed to love him, who were supposed to protect him, yet did nothing but poison every part of his life that made him feel whole.
“That’s how I know you don’t see her as a person. You see her as a problem. A… defect. Something to be changed or discarded.”
He clenched the helmet so tightly it creaked under the pressure.
“And I HATE YOU for it.” The words were whispered, but they struck harder than any scream. “I hate that I ever let myself think you’d grow. That you’d learn. That maybe one day, you’d actually treat the woman I love with respect. But you didn’t. You never did. You won’t. Because you’re COWARDS. Cowards hiding behind old customs and made-up purity bullshit, just so you can keep pretending you’re better than the rest of the world.”
His parents were silent. His mother was crying softly, shoulders trembling. His father had stopped trying to get up.
“Gil…” she finally whispered. “We’re… we’re just trying to protect you.”
Gil turned his tear-soaked face toward her, face twisted in betrayal.
“You didn’t protect me. You punished me. You sent me away. You tried to ruin what little happiness I had because you couldn’t control it. Because you couldn’t control me. You think I don’t remember all the times you tampered with my messages? All the fake emergencies to make me miss dates? All the whispers and rumors you spread about her? You tried to SABOTAGE me. YOU HURT ME.”
His voice cracked again into a sob. “You. Hurt. Me.”
He was trembling now, barely holding it together.
“I’m DONE!” he screamed. “Done begging for your love. Done trying to make you understand. I have a girlfriend to see. Someone who gives a damn about me. Someone who makes me feel seen. She’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. But she’s mine. And I love her. And I’ll fight for her until my gills rot away.”
He shoved his helmet back on, hands shaking.
“You don’t deserve me. You don’t deserve to know her. And you sure as hell don’t deserve to call yourselves my parents.”
He turned toward the door. He made it halfway out.
But then, with one final look over his shoulder—face red, eyes puffy, voice low and raw—he spoke one last sentence.
"I wish you two weren't my parents."
And then he left.
Storming down the corridor, feet slamming the floor, breath ragged, fists clenched. The pink in his eyes returned—but it wasn’t lust this time.
It was wrath.
It was heartbreak.
It was the chemical spark of a broken boy turned furious young man.
Down the hallway, Ryder had just exited his own meeting, rolling toward the elevator when he spotted Gil—face red, trembling, absolutely seething with unfiltered emotion.
Ryder’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled out his phone.
Ryder: “Yo, your boy looks like he’s about to punch God. You need to get to him. Now.”
The message hit "read" in under five seconds.
He could only hope Lagoona found Gil before someone else made the mistake of opening their mouth.
Meanwhile, far from the emotionally scorched battlefield Gil had left behind, Ramses de Nile was stalking through the bustling, hormone-charged hallways of Monster High with a growing scowl carved deep into his face.
He was not in the mood for games.
"Cleo!" he barked, striding past lockers and loitering students. His golden robes swayed dramatically with every step, his cobra-shaped cane clicking furiously on the floor. "CLEO DE NILE! Your father is looking for you!"
He passed by a group of freshmen entangled in what looked like a make-out contest, their eyes glowing pink and their clothes... barely qualifying as school-appropriate. Ramses didn't even spare them a glance.
"Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, voice coated in venom. "This school has gone to hell."
He stopped the next semi-sane looking student he saw—some poor zombie boy with a stack of books.
"You there! Have you seen my daughter?"
The boy blinked. "Uh… Cleo? Um, no, sorry—I think she was headed toward the gym earlier—"
Before Ramses could thank or snap at him, a girl with devil horns grabbed the boy by the shirt and yanked him around the corner, giggling. Ramses blinked in confusion as the books clattered to the ground. There was a squeal, then the sound of lockers being slammed shut. He turned away, muttering something about youth corruption and apocalyptic omens.
He tried again. And again. Each time, he was met with nothing.
A group of witches in the courtyard were too busy painting hearts and obscene doodles on each other’s arms to notice him.
The cooking club didn’t even flinch when he stomped through their open doors and demanded answers—they were too busy making whipped cream art on each other’s faces and abs.
Even Bloodgood’s office was empty.
“Useless. All of them,” he hissed.
He was seconds from tearing the walls down himself when he rounded a corner and found Andy Beast and Jane Boolittle, wrapped around each other like vines around a tree.
They were half-tangled against a locker, lips locked, breathing hard. Jane's hair was a mess, her arms around Andy's neck, while Andy looked like he was trying not to literally explode from how much heat he was giving off. His biceps pulsed. His claws scraped lightly against the wall behind Jane’s head.
It was not the time for interruptions.
Ramses, of course, didn’t care.
"You two!" he snapped, raising his cane like a judge bringing down a gavel. “Where is Cleo? This is an emergency!”
Andy grunted. Jane didn’t even open her eyes. Neither of them moved.
Ramses’ brow twitched. “HELLO?! I asked you a question!”
No answer. The sound of lips meeting over and over again seemed to mock him.
Rage surged up like a tidal wave. His pride—his ancient, royal pride—snapped.
With a quick motion, he smacked Jane across the forehead with his golden cane. Not hard, but definitely enough to make a sound. Clack!
"OW!" Jane finally broke the kiss, staring at him. “What the hell?!”
Ramses blinked, looking almost shocked at his own behavior. It took him a moment to regain his composure, straightening his robes with a huff.
“I was under the impression that you could speak,” he said tersely. “Clearly, I was wrong. Now answer me, or so help me, I will drag you back to my throne and leave you there to dry out like old river mud!”
There was a beat of silence.
Then: "You motherfu—"
Andy’s eyes snapped open, glowing bright yellow. His pupils dilated. His breathing quickened, and his body convulsed as thick veins bulged along his neck and arms. His muscles tripled in size. Bones cracked, teeth elongated. His chest burst through his shirt. His shoes exploded off his feet.
“RAAAAGGGGHHH!!!”
“Oh. Hell.”
In one moment, Ramses had been scowling.
In the next, he was sprinting down the hallway at full tilt, robes flapping like sails, cane forgotten behind him.
Andy, now in full beast mode, let out an earth-shaking roar and barreled after him like a goddamn train.
“YOU WANNA HIT MY GIRL, HUH?! COME BACK HERE, YOU FOSSILIZED FUCK!”
Ramses dodged left, then right, knocking over a stack of chairs as he ran through the theater club rehearsal.
Someone screamed. Someone else yelled "Encore!" as the chaos spilled into the background.
“GET HIM, ANDY!” Jane's voice rang out behind them, fury barely muffled by laughter.
Students jumped out of the way as Ramses tore down the hallway, ducking behind corners, narrowly missing a fire extinguisher, and sliding across a stretch of spilled water like he was in an action movie.
The beast was faster than he had any right to be—claws scraping the tile, teeth bared, breath hot and heavy as a furnace. Ramses turned a sharp corner, only to stumble over a knocked-over locker door, nearly faceplanting. He managed to catch himself with a grunt, but Andy was right there, lunging with a snarl that echoed through the entire hallway.
“RAAAAHHH!!”
Ramses spun, eyes wild, and threw his hand into his robe.
“Oh no you don’t, mutt,” he growled, pulling out a golden amulet the size of his palm—ancient, cracked, and thrumming with raw energy.
He slammed it into his cane and shouted something in a long-forgotten tongue.
The gem pulsed once—then fired a burst of golden magic right into Andy’s chest.
The hallway lit up like a lightning strike. Andy was blasted backward, tumbling through the air and skidding against the floor with a thud that cracked tiles.
A wave of heat and pressure rippled outward, making lights flicker and lockers rattle.
Ramses didn't even watch to see the damage.
He booked it, robes flapping wildly, already muttering about how this was a school of lunatics and he should've brought his army.
Andy groaned, twitching on the ground. Smoke curled from his chest as his body shrunk back down to his normal size. His claws retracted, his fangs dulled, his skin cooled. A moment later, Jane came skidding around the corner, wide-eyed and panting.
"Andy?! Andy, baby—are you okay?"
He blinked up at her, dazed, rubbing his temples. “Ugh… I feel like I got hit by a truck…”
She crouched beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “You did. Ramses blasted you with something. Probably cursed.” She pressed her fingers lightly to his temples. “You’re okay now, though. Right?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Andy groaned. “Just a headache.”
Jane gave him a slow, playful smile as she leaned down close to his face.
“Need some head for your headache?”
Andy blinked—then let out a breathless laugh.
“…Yeah. I really would.”
And with that, Jane pulled him to his feet, arm around his waist, and the two of them stumbled off down the hallway—leaving scorch marks, broken lockers, and a trail of suggestive giggles in their wake.
As for Ramses, he finally ducked behind a support pillar and collapsed, chest heaving.
Silence.
No beastly roars. No stomping feet. Just the distant thrum of dance music from the gym and a few scattered moans of passion from nearby closets.
He slumped back, wiping his forehead and whispering curses in ancient Egyptian.
“What… the hell… was in that gas?” he breathed out, eyes wide as he stared at the chaos unfolding in the distance. “What kind of demented curse did they release into this school?”
He peeked around the corner—Andy was sniffing the air like a bloodhound, a few hallways over. Ramses ducked back quickly.
His heart pounded. Sweat poured down his neck.
And yet, in all this madness, the one thought that kept repeating in his mind—louder than even Andy’s roar—was:
“Where the hell is Cleo?!”
The pool room was quieter than usual.
The underwater lights glowed dimly, casting rippling patterns of turquoise and silver on the walls. The filtration system hummed softly beneath the surface, broken only by the occasional echo of laughter, moans, or stomping footsteps far in the distance.
But here? It was peaceful. A moment of stillness in a school completely unraveling.
Lagoona pushed open the heavy door, her gills fluttering in the sudden damp air. Her eyes immediately scanned the room—empty lanes, an abandoned towel on a diving board, and there, near the far end of the pool, sitting with his legs in the water and head in his hands…
Gil.
She didn’t call out. Didn’t announce herself. She just walked.
Her steps were soft—barefoot against tile—until she stood right beside him. She could see his shoulders trembling, his gills deflating in uneven pulses, the soft wet sounds of quiet, stifled sobbing echoing against the tiled walls.
“…Gil?” she said softly, kneeling beside him.
He flinched at first, startled, and quickly wiped at his face. “Lagoona—I… I didn’t think anyone would come in here…”
“You’re not that hard to find, mate,” she replied gently. “The school’s gone completely mental. But I know where you go when you want to be alone.”
She sat beside him, dipping her feet into the water with a small splash. Silence passed for a beat. Just the lapping of water. Then Gil let out a sharp breath, voice raw:
“…I’m sorry.”
Lagoona tilted her head. “What for?”
He didn’t look at her. His eyes stared into the water like he wanted to drown in it.
“I’m… such a fucking failure of a boyfriend.”
The words hit the tile like a dropped weight. Lagoona blinked, surprised, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I let my parents control everything,” he went on, voice breaking. “Every time you tried to be with me, every time we wanted to really be together, I let them… I let them scare me. Guilt me. Make me think that what we had was wrong.”
He choked on a sob and wiped at his eyes again, frustrated. “And now everything’s a mess and I’ve been such a coward. I should’ve stood up to them sooner. I should’ve fought harder for you. But instead, I let you be the one who always had to compromise. Always had to wait.”
Lagoona’s expression softened with each word. She placed a hand on his, gentle but firm.
“Gil… you’re not a failure.”
“Yes, I am,” he snapped, eyes glistening. “You deserve someone who’s not ashamed to love you out loud. Someone who doesn’t flake out every time their parents send a passive-aggressive letter or threaten to cut them off. You deserved someone braver. And I wasn’t.”
Lagoona was quiet, letting his words settle before speaking. “You were scared. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human, Gil.”
“I’m not even human,” he muttered bitterly, swiping angrily at his face. “I’m just a spineless little fishboy who let the girl he loves do all the fighting for him.”
She frowned and cupped his cheeks with both hands, forcing him to finally meet her gaze.
“You are brave,” she said, eyes fierce. “Because even when you were scared, even when you were unsure, you still tried. You still loved me. And you never once made me feel like less because of who I was. Your parents? Yeah, they’re a piece of work. But you? You’re not them. You never were.”
Gil’s eyes shimmered, his lip trembling again.
“I’m not mad, Gil. Not one bit,” Lagoona whispered. “I knew what I was getting into. And yeah, it hurt sometimes. But never because of you. Just because I missed you.”
“…I missed you too,” he said, voice cracking. “So much.”
She pulled him into a hug before he could cry again, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders. His arms clung to her like he’d fall apart without her there.
They sat like that for a long while—him crying softly into her neck, her stroking his hair, whispering sweet little nothings and saltwater jokes to calm him down. Eventually, his tears slowed. His breath evened out. His gills fluttered with a bit more ease.
Lagoona pulled back slightly and gave him a gentle smile. “Better?”
He nodded, embarrassed but grateful.
She leaned in and kissed the corner of his damp, red eye. “Then let’s dry you off, crybaby.”
Gil gave a half-laugh, wiping his nose. “Yeah. Okay.”
She stood up and grabbed a towel from the rack nearby, tossing it over his head and rubbing it around like a big sister with a little brother.
He grumbled under it, but when she peeled it off, there was a shy smile on his face.
“Now,” she said, taking his hand with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “since you’re clearly not gonna cheer yourself up…”
She gave a playful yank and started pulling him toward the back door.
“…I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”
Gil blinked, surprised. “L-Lagoona?”
“Oh don’t give me that look,” she said with a wink. “You owe me some quality time. And I know just how to lift your spirits.”
And with a flirty laugh and a splash of water from her powers, she tugged him away from the edge of the pool—leaving the quiet sanctuary behind as the door swung shut.
The pool room fell silent again.
Except for one faint echo, lingering in the still, humid air:
Lagoona’s voice, purring sweet and cheeky—
"…And if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you use your tongue this time.”
To Be Continued....
Notes:
Part 2 coming soon.
What do you think will happen next.
Chapter 16: The Meetings (part 2)
Summary:
More emotions come out.
And the fight over Heath begins.
Chapter Text
The meeting room door creaked open.
Jackson wheeled in sheepishly, blazer slightly wrinkled, hair tousled in that “just got off a wild ride” kind of way. He’d tried to fix it, really—wet his hands in the bathroom, smoothed it down—but after what had just happened in the hallway with Frankie, his collar still had a little lipstick on it, and his shirt buttons were definitely in the wrong pattern.
Behind the desk sat his mom and dad—Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Jekyll—both with the kind of stiff, unreadable posture that only well-practiced, emotionally repressed scientist-parents could manage. They weren’t mad, but they were analyzing. Every twitch. Every glance. Every molecule.
“Jackson,” his mom said first, standing halfway. “There you are, sweetie.”
“Hey, Mom. Dad.”
“You look like hell,” his dad noted.
Jackson blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Sit down,” his mom urged, motioning to the seat across from them. “We just want to talk. Make sure you’re okay.”
He hesitated for half a second before sitting, fiddling with his sleeves. “Okay.”
Then came the dreaded questions.
“Have you experienced any adverse effects from the gas?” his dad asked, already pulling out a clipboard. “Physical, mental, emotional instability? Skin irritation? Hormonal spikes?”
“I—uh. I mean. Besides the fact that everyone’s turned into nymphomaniacs?” Jackson scratched the back of his head. “No. No more than everyone else, I guess.”
His mom hummed. “You seem composed. Your speech isn’t slurred. No pupil dilation…”
FWOOSH.
The flames flared up before the shift even hit. One moment it was Jackson adjusting his glasses, the next—Holt slamming his fists on the table with a cocky grin and a loud, “YO!”
“Speak for yourself, lady! My libido is exploding. I’m thriving. This gas? This is like Christmas.”
Their mother jumped slightly. Their father barely blinked.
“Hello, Holt,” he said flatly. “Nice of you to join us.”
“What’s up, Doc?” Holt waggled his eyebrows. “You’re looking sharp. I’d say ten years younger.”
“Stop flirting with our dad,” Jackson groaned from within, clearly fighting for control.
Another flicker of heat—Holt vanished—and Jackson sat there again, red in the face.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” his mom said, a touch too fast. “We know what it’s like.”
His dad cleared his throat. “Now. Let’s talk about this girl. Frankie, right?”
“Yeah.” Jackson smiled despite himself. “Frankie Stein. She’s, uh… kind of my everything.”
His mother’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and his father scribbled something down. “You’ve mentioned her before. A lot, actually.”
“Every week,” his dad added. “Since your first year.”
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah. I guess I kind of… I mean. I really—really liked her for a long time.”
“And now?”
His smile softened. “Now were dating.”
FWOOSH.
“AND SHE'S A 10!” Holt bellowed with a grin, slamming his chest like a gorilla. “LOCKED. IN. BABY.”
Their dad pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Oh sweetie,” their mom whispered, half in awe and half in terror.
“So,” their dad said slowly, “she finally came around. That’s wonderful. And… safe, I hope?”
Jackson came back with a flush. “Y-Yeah! Of course! I mean—yeah, we’re careful, we talk, we’ve got boundaries, and pills, and—uh—multiple magic items just in case she, uh, gets really enthusiastic.”
His dad’s pen stopped.
“…Elaborate.”
Oh, I got this one,” Holt said, taking over with a confident grin. “See, Frankie’s got this thing—super possessive, super hot. She’s like RAWR, and I’m like yes ma’am. She calls Jackson her ‘little human,’ pins him against walls, tells him he’s hers like she’s some kind of monster queen claiming her prince-slash-meal—”
“I DON’T TELL THEM THAT PART,” Jackson shrieked internally.
His mother slowly blinked. “…‘Little human’?”
“Oh yeah.” Holt kicked back. “She says it in this voice. Y’know, like she’s about to rip your soul out and eat it but lovingly. Frankie’s got issues, man. But we’re so into it.”
His dad looked like he was reconsidering every life decision he had ever made.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t experiencing adverse effects,” he said quietly.
“I AM,” Jackson yelled, briefly taking over. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m VERY in love, okay?!”
His mom smiled gently, laying a hand on the desk. “Well, love is good. We’re happy for you. But… you mentioned her parents weren’t, uh, thrilled?”
Jackson nodded, more somber now. “Yeah. At first? They kind of freaked. I mean, they always talk about how monsters and humans should be treated equally, but the minute they found out I was related to the guy who killed and raped people. Yeah they freaked. Thought I was gonna kill her. Told her not to call me. Thought I was dangerous. Untrustworthy. Even though I never met my grandpa, and I never hurt anyone.”
His jaw tensed.
“They basically acted like parents in the 70s who found out their daughter was dating a guy with a tattoo. They were that kind of scared."
There was a long silence.
Then his dad said, “Preaching acceptance and practicing it are two very different things.”
“Damn right,” Holt muttered.
“But,” Jackson went on, softening again, “they came around. Apparently, it was just one big misunderstanding."
“That’s something,” his mom said with a small smile. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud you got the girl,” his dad added. “Just… please, wear protection. Regularly. And maybe… write a will?”
Holt burst out laughing. “Daaaamn, Pops!”
“I’m serious. If what you’re describing is accurate—if she’s as dominant as you say—”
“She carries Jackson through the hallways sometimes,” Holt cackled. “Over the shoulder. Like a trophy.”
“—then frankly, I’m terrified for your spinal health,” Their dad muttered.
“She’s gonna be the one running the house,” Jackson said with a sheepish smile. “I already know it.”
“And proudly,” Holt added. “I, for one, welcome our stitched-together overlord.”
Their parents exchanged a long look.
Then stood.
“Well,” his mom said finally, hugging Jackson as she could while Holt flickered in and out, “we’re glad you’re happy. And safe. And… loved.”
“Just… don’t let her eat your soul.”
“I’LL DO MY BEST!” Holt called cheerfully.
“And don’t get her pregnant!” their dad added.
“…No promises!” Holt and Jackson both said in unison.
Their parents stared at them.
The dad muttered something about needing a drink and walked out stiffly.
Their mom lingered for one last hug, then followed, leaving the boy alone in the room.
The door hadn’t even fully clicked shut behind their parents before Holt burst out laughing, flames flaring as he flopped back in his chair like he just finished a stand-up routine.
“Oh man. Their faces! Did you see Dad’s face? Looked like someone told him the apocalypse started and his son was leading it.”
Jackson groaned, putting his head in his hands. “We should’ve just said ‘she’s nice, she’s smart, we go on long walks’—and left it at that.”
“Pfft. You think that would’ve stopped me?”
“Point taken…”
There was a beat of silence before Holt’s voice piped up again, quieter now. “Hey… should we maybe tell them she can’t actually get pregnant?”
Jackson sat up slowly, blinking. “Wait, you think they don’t know?”
“I mean… she’s Frankie Stein. She’s a stitched-together super-science miracle powered by lightning and confidence. I guarantee you, our parents are assuming she’s got a fully functional uterus sewn in from, like, Marie Curie or some poor science intern.”
“…Okay, that’s horrifying.”
“I’m just sayin’! They’re probably home right now drawing out Punnett squares and planning a wedding-slash-funeral.”
Jackson sighed and muttered, “They’re gonna call the Steins, aren’t they.”
“Absolutely. And then they’ll be like, ‘He can’t knock her up, she doesn’t even have ovaries!’ and then our mom is gonna faint.”
They sat in silence again.
And then Jackson snorted.
And then Holt cackled.
And then they both howled laughing in unison until Holt flickered out and Jackson was left wiping tears from his eyes.
“Well… on the plus side,” Jackson muttered, “at least we won’t be grounded for knocking up a girl.”
Holt's voice echoed faintly in his head, amused: Yet.
Jackson leaned back in his chair and exhaled.
“Do you think we scared them?”
Holt snorted. “Bro, we destroyed them.”
They mentally fist-bumped.
Heath leaned against the lockers with a tired-but-smug grin, arms crossed behind his head and a bit of a cocky tilt to his shoulders. His shirt was rumpled—not from anything sexual this time, but from the wrestling match that was calming down a furious snow beast in the middle of a crowded hallway.
Abbey had been two seconds away from snapping someone’s spine in half—again—and he’d been the only thing standing between her and Jinafire’s flirty little smirk.
Heath had gotten good at it by now. Talking her down. Calming her icy rage with warm hands, soft reassurances, and just enough teasing to make her roll her eyes instead of throwing fists. It was exhausting work, being the personal cooldown button of an arctic yeti girl with no filter and a fierce territorial streak—but damn if he didn’t love every second of it.
Abbey stood beside him now, arms crossed, still visibly annoyed. Her breath came out in little clouds, misting the air around them, and her knuckles cracked every few seconds like frozen tree branches snapping in the wind.
“You are lucky I like you,” she said, her voice carrying the warning tone of someone only half-joking. “Otherwise I would be suspended. Again.”
He grinned. “You wouldn’t actually deck her.”
“She touched your shoulder.”
“Yeah, and you broke three pencils just watching.”
“I showed restraint.”
He chuckled, nudging her playfully with his elbow. “You’re intense, babe.”
“You like that.”
“I do like that.”
Abbey gave him a sidelong glance, then sighed and let herself lean slightly into him. It wasn’t much, but it was the yeti equivalent of melting.
“I do not trust her.”
“I know.”
“She looks at you like... roasted marshmallow.”
He laughed. “What does that even mean?”
“Like she wants to hold you over fire. Slowly. Until you’re all gooey.”
Heath blinked. “...Okay, wow. That was actually really specific.”
“She is always flirting. Her laugh is fake. Her tail swishes on purpose.”
But just as he was about to reply, heels clicked sharply against the hallway tiles—measured, perfect steps. The sound was unmistakable.
His stomach dropped.
“…And she’s back.”
Jinafire Long appeared around the corner like a goddess walking into a colosseum. Back straight, tail swishing slowly behind her, golden scales catching the flickering hallway lights, she carried herself like royalty... and eyed Abbey like a hungry dragon surveying a rival nest.
Heath stiffened. “Ohhh boy.”
Abbey crossed her arms, immediately on guard. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, body shifting subtly closer to Heath like a glacier claiming territory.
Jinafire tilted her head with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Abbey. What a surprise. You’re always here, aren’t you?”
“I go to this school. Unlike some, I do not stalk people through halls like overgrown iguana.”
Jinafire tsked, ignoring the jab. She turned her gaze to Heath, her eyes softening like warm embers. “Heath. You look tired. Is she running you into the ground again?”
Abbey stepped in, grabbing Heath by the shirt and pulling him flush into her chest, arms wrapped like protective permafrost around his waist. Her chest practically engulfed his head—icy, firm, and unrelenting.
“He likes it when I run him. It builds stamina. I am generous girlfriend.”
“Generous?” Jinafire raised a brow. “I’m surprised he’s still breathing. I always thought yetis were better suited for hibernation, not boyfriends.”
“I do not see how you would know, since you do not have one.”
Jinafire flicked her hair, stepping forward—and grabbing Heath by the hand. In one smooth motion, she yanked him out of Abbey’s arms and into her embrace. He stumbled, and suddenly found himself face-first in another set of heavenly, scaly-soft pillows, though these were hotter—like sun-warmed silk—and smelled faintly of lotus and fire.
He squeaked.
“Oh, Heath,” Jinafire cooed, stroking his cheek like she was petting a golden retriever. “You deserve someone who treats you like treasure. Not a chew toy.”
Abbey was already on her, pulling Heath away with a growl.
“No. He deserves someone who understands his limits. Like me. You would fry him.”
Jinafire pulls him back, stroking his hair, her touch like a warm breeze.
“Better fried than frozen.”
Abbey pulls him into her again, this time practically hoisting him off his feet—her voice like a warning growl.
“I give him balance. Cold after heat. Warmth after exhaustion. You would turn him to ash.”
Jinafire grinned, pulling Heath into her again—this time pinning his head gently against her chest.
“Better ash than ice cube.”
Heath whimpered, caught between the two like a panini press of affection and territorial spite. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, one of them would yank him to the other side, plunging his face into another overwhelming avalanche of boob.
Back to Abbey. “Mine.”
Pulled to Jinafire. “Deserves better.”
Back again. “He likes cold hands.”
Yanked away. “He told me he likes scales.”
It was sensual, ridiculous, and suffocating all at once.
He finally managed to push them back just enough to wheeze, “Can you both please stop arguing?!”
Without hesitation, both turned their heads toward him, eyes blazing—one icy blue, the other molten gold—and said in eerie unison:
“NO!”
Heath blinked.
Then slowly leaned back against the lockers with a resigned sigh.
“...Guess I’m gonna be here a while.”
And as if to confirm it, both girls grabbed a side of his shirt and yanked him back into their ongoing tug-of-war. One breastplate icy and unyielding, the other warm and sinfully soft. His poor face—squished, again, right in the middle of it all.
He made a muffled noise that no one could quite translate.
The catacombs under Monster High had never felt so quiet.
Operetta walked slowly through the old theater corridor tucked deep beneath the west wing, each bootstep echoing off the stone. She had told Johnny she needed a few minutes alone—truthfully, she needed a break from the madness upstairs.
And more importantly, her father had requested to see her.
She wasn’t surprised. The Phantom always kept a watchful eye, whether from shadowy boxes in the auditorium or through notes mysteriously left in her locker.
And now, with everything going on—the gas, the hormones, the pregnancy—he’d been checking in more than usual.
He emerged from the curtain shadows with his usual dramatic flair, wearing a tailored black coat and his signature half-mask, his eyes sharp behind it.
“Operetta,” he greeted, stepping forward, voice deep and filled with concern. “Are you well?”
“I'm fine, Daddy. Really.”
He didn't look convinced.
“Is Johnny taking care of you?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Has he been staying close?”
“Yeah, he’s been great. He’s been real sweet, actually.”
The Phantom studied her in silence, brow furrowed. Then his eyes dropped to her midsection—and everything stopped.
“…Operetta.”
She raised a brow, confused. “What?”
He took a slow step forward, staring at her belly like it was something sacred. Or catastrophic.
“That’s not… I mean… That wasn’t there last week.”
“Oh.”
Operetta instinctively put a hand over the gentle swell beneath her corset. It wasn’t huge—not yet—but it was obvious now. Especially with the way her clothes hugged differently.
The Phantom blinked hard. “You’re… showing.”
“Yeah. That’s how it works.”
“But it’s only been a week!”
“It’s monster biology, Daddy. Everything’s on fast-forward.”
He paled—well, paler than usual. “Dear opera gods. My daughter has a bump. That means the fetus is developing. That means your body is changing. That means—oh heavens, does it kick yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Thank the organ-piping spirits,” he muttered, starting to pace. “Operetta, this is happening too fast. Are you resting enough? Are you drinking water? Are you taking prenatal potions? Is Johnny helping? Is he making you eat vegetables? Is he massaging your feet?”
“Daddy—”
“Because I swear, if that ghost is floating around in a leather jacket acting cool while my daughter is doing all the work—”
“Daddy!”
He stopped mid-rant, looking frazzled and breathless.
Operetta smiled awkwardly. “I promise, he’s helping. He’s not ditching. He’s here. He’s really here.”
The Phantom stared at her, breathing slowly, still unsure.
Then he narrowed his eyes.
“…And what about intimacy? You aren’t—surely you’re not—still—?”
She froze.
“…I don’t want to lie to you.”
His voice leapt an octave. “OPERETTA!”
She held up her hands. “Look, I know how it sounds—”
“You’re pregnant! You’re already growing an entire person and you’re still— why would you— how—” He spun in a dramatic half-circle like the start of a tragic aria. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?!”
“Daddy, I’m fine!”
“That boy’s phasing through walls, Operetta—what if he phases through you next?!”
“That’s not how it works!”
“Oh, I am haunted by this knowledge!”
“Please don’t make a song about it.”
“I already started composing one!”
She sighed and walked over, resting her hands gently on his shoulders, which were so tense they might snap like violin strings. “Johnny’s not going anywhere. He helps me when I wake up feeling like garbage. He sings to the bump. He even bought me this weird pickle-and-jelly combo I was craving at midnight.”
“…That’s disgusting.”
“Tell me about it. But he got it anyway.”
Her father frowned, but the fury was softening now, giving way to something more pained. More vulnerable.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt. Like your mother did.”
Operetta’s eyes softened. She squeezed his shoulders gently. “I know. But this is different. I can feel it.”
He nodded slowly, still not quite convinced, but clearly trying. “And if he ever does vanish…”
“I’ll punch him through the wall myself.”
“…Atta girl.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, father and daughter, side by side beneath the stone arches of the opera ruins. A little unsure, a little afraid—but still standing strong.
Finally, the Phantom exhaled. “…I still don’t like it. But if he ever starts slacking—”
“I’ll give you his ectoplasmic signature.”
“…So I can haunt him.”
Operetta smirked. “Exactly.”
The door creaked softly as Bloodgood stepped inside and gently closed it behind her. For a moment, she just stood there in silence, resting her gloved hand on the doorknob, her head hung low in the hollow space where her neck should have been.
She exhaled.
Not a sigh of despair. Just the kind of deep, soul-weary breath you take when you finally sit down after a fourteen-hour shift with no lunch break.
Moving with the slow rhythm of someone who wanted to be home and in pajamas thirty minutes ago, she reached for her head on the coat rack beside the door. Her fingers wrapped around it with practiced familiarity. She placed it back onto her shoulders, blinking a few times as her vision aligned.
Across the room, the clock ticked.
Tick. Tock. Tick.
She shuffled toward her desk and sank into the chair—not in defeat, but in relief. Her shoulders slouched. Her boots ached. Her brain buzzed from the noise of the day that still echoed faintly in her ears—music, arguments, moaning, hallway shrieking, spontaneous howling matches near the locker bays…
Just another Tuesday at the now horned up Monster High.
The desk was an organized disaster: reports, incident slips, request forms, and a half-crushed granola bar she’d meant to eat sometime before third period.
Somewhere in the chaos sat a thick packet—Council correspondence.
Offers to assist Hackington. Updates from Dracula, the Steins, and the other parents helping with the cure. The Monster Council wasn’t breathing down her neck—they were in the trenches with her. They were tired, too.
They all were.
She glanced at the half-full coffee mug near the edge of her desk. Cold.
She drank it anyway.
There had been four fights today. Five if you count the cheer-off that turned into a full-blown twerk battle in the hallway. Two students got caught having sex on top of a vending machine—again. Someone replaced the entire lunch menu with edible lube. She didn't even ask how that got cleared by the kitchen staff.
She was trying. Really. But what was she even supposed to do anymore?
Discipline them?
They fought back.
Separate them?
That just made them hornier.
Contain them?
She’d seen what happened the last time a guard tried to pry two students apart. Kid’s arm was still healing.
And truthfully, she couldn’t even blame them. Not the students, not the staff, not even the parents. They were all in the same sinking boat—just trying not to flip over and drown in hormones and chaos.
Her eyes flicked to the photograph on her desk: an old picture, maybe a decade ago. Bright smiles. Happy monsters. A school with vision. A dream. Purpose.
It still had purpose.
Just… less structure. And way more public nudity.
A knock came at the door. Three quick raps.
She didn’t flinch.
Then, dryly: “Enter.”
A young counselor peeked in, face pale, eyes wide. “Uh… ma’am? You might wanna get to Meeting Room C. Now.”
Bloodgood didn’t respond right away. Just stared at her coffee mug like it might whisper an excuse to ignore the world for five more minutes.
But none came.
She knew that room.
That was Scarah Screams’ meeting room.
She stood. Smoothed her blazer. Adjusted her collar.
She gave the picture on her desk one last glance.
“We’re gonna fix this.” she whispered. "Just need a little more time."
She turned and headed for the door. Her boots echoed through the hallway.
Tired? Yes.
Beaten?
Not. Even. Close.
The afternoon air inside Monster High was surprisingly calm.
For once, the halls weren’t swarming with chaos—no one was grinding against lockers or twerking in the fountain or moaning in the janitor’s closet. Just a calm lull between storms.
The quiet let Operetta breathe a little easier.
She walked alongside Johnny Spirit, hand gently looped through the crook of his arm. Her crimson curls bounced with each step, and her belly, now noticeably swollen beneath her buttoned and wide-buckled belt, added a kind of weight to her stride—not just physical, but emotional. She looked different now. She felt different. And Johnny noticed.
“You good?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with that raspy undertone of his rockstar edge.
Operetta gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Just tired. These boots weren’t made for pregnancy.”
He smirked. “Want me to carry you?”
“I’m pregnant, sugar. Not paralyzed.”
“Still. I could look cool while doing it.”
“You’d look like a lovesick roadie.”
“…Hot.”
She rolled her eyes but leaned closer to him. Their fingers laced without a word. He was warm, a little spark of heat radiating off his spectral form—not too hot, not like Heath, but enough to make her feel wrapped in something safe. Something alive.
They rounded the corner by the gym hall when Operetta suddenly paused and gave a little laugh to herself.
“What?” Johnny asked.
She shook her head, lips curving into a smirk. “Nothin’. Just remembered somethin’ stupid.”
Johnny raised a brow. “You always remember the best stuff when you get that evil little grin.”
She chuckled again, this time deeper. “It’s from yesterday. During 3rd period.”
FLASHBACK
Operetta burst into the music wing, hair damp and frizzed from sweat, her skin flushed and glowing from gym class. She still had on her red tank top and gym shorts, her bump outlined in the tight material. She didn’t even knock—she just stormed in.
Johnny had been lying on his back, lazily strumming his guitar like he always did when he was hiding from gym.
The moment he saw her, his eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“Wish you had gym this period.” she said, closing the door behind her and locking it.
“…Didn’t know you needed a sparring partner.”
“I didn’t. I just missed you.”
He smiled. “Aw.”
“I also got real turned on doin’ jumping jacks.”
He blinked. “…Aw?”
Operetta stepped closer, her hips swaying naturally as she stood over him. “Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
She grinned. “I want another baby.”
Johnny stared at her like she had just asked him to help rob a museum.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” she added, grinning mischievously. “You’re real good at knockin’ me up. So what if we just—y’know—kept goin’? Had a whole band of little rockers.”
“…You are still sweaty from gym.”
“You love it when I’m sweaty.”
“…True.”
“Good. Now shut up and lie back.”
END OF FLASHBACK
Operetta giggled again, hand over her mouth, even as her face flushed a little.
Johnny looked over at her sideways, amused. “That’s the look of someone reliving a very specific memory.”
She gave him a coy glance. “It was a good one.”
They were almost at her locker when Johnny slowed to a stop. Operetta paused beside him, noticing the sudden stillness in his posture.
“…Hey,” he said, voice a little quieter. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
“Sure, sugar.”
He turned to her fully now, resting one hand gently against her side—just enough to feel the firm swell of her belly under her shirt. His thumb traced a slow circle as his eyes searched hers.
“…Why do you think I’m gonna leave?”
Operetta blinked.
The question hit like a cymbal crash. Not angry. Not accusing. Just… real.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her tongue felt heavy. Her throat ached.
Johnny didn’t move away. “You and your dad… you both keep looking at me like I’ve got one foot out the door. I just wanna know… why?”
She swallowed.
“…Because ghosts leave, Johnny. That’s what you do. That’s what you can do.”
He tilted his head slightly, frowning.
“You don’t got roots,” she said softly. “You can just phase through a wall, disappear from the school, float into another dimension if you wanted. And I can’t follow. I can’t go with you. I’d just be left behind.”
Johnny was silent, letting that sit.
“And you’ve always been… flighty,” she admitted, voice cracking. “Cool, charming, full of swagger, but never still. Never settled. That was fine when we were just messin’ around. But now…” She placed her hand on her stomach. “Now, it ain’t just about us.”
Johnny was quiet for a moment.
Then he stepped closer. “You think I don’t want to stay?”
She looked up, eyes glossy. “I hope you want to. But hope ain’t a promise.”
He gently lifted her chin so their eyes met. His hand was warm. Solid.
“Operetta, look at me,” he said, calm but clear. “I’m not leaving.”
She bit her lip, jaw trembling just slightly.
“I don’t care if I’m a spirit. I don’t care if I can float through walls or disappear into the sky. I’ve never wanted to stay anywhere more than I wanna stay with you. And with them.”
He looked down at her belly again, smiling faintly.
“I don’t know what I’m doin’. I’ll be honest. I didn’t expect this. But I’m here. And I’m gonna keep bein’ here. Every day. Every night. I’m not vanishing. Not from you.”
Operetta’s chest swelled with emotion, her whole face burning. “You sure?”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. “I’m yours, Red. Forever.”
She exhaled softly and pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. He hugged her back just as tight, his ghostly form still warm, still real.
Still with her.
And not going anywhere.
Scarah’s mother paced the quiet meeting room, wringing her hands with every anxious step. Her nails had been bitten down to the quick. She hadn’t slept properly in days. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined the worst—imagined her baby girl scared, alone, or worse... changed beyond recognition.
Ever since the school had moved Scarah into the dorms—to "contain the spread," they said—she’d called every hour she could. Left messages. Begged for responses. Asked about her meals, her clothes, her vitamins, her sleep. Anything to feel like she still had a hand in protecting her.
But none of it helped.
The other meeting rooms were filled with concerned families—mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles—all of them tight-lipped, pale-faced, brimming with tension. Some were outraged. Others eerily calm. But none of them looked like they were about to shatter into a thousand pieces.
Not the way Scarah’s mom did.
She sat for a moment… then stood again. Paced. Sat. Then stood. Her eyes kept snapping to the door like a reflex she couldn’t shut off.
Please walk in. Please be okay. Please just—
The door creaked.
Her breath caught.
And then Scarah walked in.
Same bright hair. Same style. Same confident step.
But the moment her mother’s eyes drifted down to her daughter’s chest… everything stopped.
The bump wasn’t huge. But it was there.
Full. Rounded. Real.
Visible.
And it had only been a few days.
Scarah hesitated at the threshold. “Ma…?”
Her mother didn’t answer.
Her jaw trembled as her eyes brimmed with tears.
And then she broke.
“Oh, baby…”
She lurched forward, arms flung open, and collapsed into Scarah’s shoulder, sobbing as she wrapped her daughter in a desperate, trembling hug.
“Ma—Ma, it’s okay,” Scarah whispered, trying to keep her voice calm, though her own eyes were starting to sting. “I promise. I’m fine.”
“NO IT’S NOT!” her mother screamed, the sound raw and sharp enough to rattle the walls. “YOU SAID YOU WERE FINE! YOU—YOU PROMISED ME, SCARAH!”
Scarah flinched, but held her ground. “I didn’t know how fast it’d happen…”
“BUT IT DID!” she shrieked. “Look at you—LOOK AT YOU!” Her hands hovered over Scarah’s bump as if afraid to touch it. “You’re not even twenty. Not even twenty and you’re—”
She choked. Her voice cracked apart. She spun and stumbled into a chair, collapsing like all the strength in her body had finally given up.
Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling uselessly.
“You’re all I had,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and soaked in grief. “I raised you by myself. I gave everything to keep you safe, to give you more than he ever gave me. And now… now I have to watch you go through this?”
She buried her face in her palms, letting out a deep, guttural sob.
Scarah was at her side in seconds, dropping to her knees, grabbing her mom’s hands in her own. “Ma, listen to me. I’m okay. I am. I’m not going through this alone.”
Her mother looked up, eyes bloodshot, mouth twisted with pain. “You will be alone. That’s how this ends. That’s how this always ends.”
“No, it won’t!” Scarah insisted. “Billy's not like that—he’s not him!”
Her mother ripped her hands away. “He said the same thing! He said he loved me! That he’d be there no matter what. And the second I told him I was pregnant, he vanished! Left me like I meant nothing!”
Scarah’s jaw tightened, the muscles in her face twitching. She could feel the heat rising in her chest.
She knew her father was a bastard, a coward who had abandoned them both—but Billy wasn’t like that.
He couldn’t be.
Even now, even with her changing body and raging hormones, he was still there—still sweet, still supportive, still wanting her. He held her every night. Rubbed her swollen feet. Whispered how beautiful she looked, even while licking the sweat off her chest during their more... heated moments. He loved her.
“Billy is not like that,” she snapped, standing tall.
Her mom shook her head, tears spilling over again. “But what if he is?”
Her voice broke entirely then—crumbling into a howl that only a mother could make, sharp and mournful, as if mourning something that hadn’t even happened yet but already felt lost.
She curled inward, shoulders shaking, sobbing so hard it sounded like it hurt.
Scarah stood there, caught between fury and heartbreak, one hand resting protectively over her bump as she stared down at the woman who raised her… and now couldn’t see past her own pain.
Scarah was still kneeling by her mother’s side, her heart pounding, her throat thick with emotion, when the door creaked open again.
Invisi-Billy stood at the door, concern on his face.
“Scarah?” he called softly, peeking in. “I—I heard yelling. Scarah, are you okay?”
The moment her mother turned and saw him standing in the doorway, her expression changed.
It twisted.
Something ancient and furious flared to life in her eyes—grief turning to rage in a split second.
“You—!” she growled, rising with a banshee's grace, slow and spectral and terrifying. “YOU!”
“Wait—ma, NO—!” Scarah cried out, lunging after her.
But it was too late.
Her mother lunged at Billy, a streak of ghost-white fury as her claws swiped through the air.
Billy yelped and vanished in a shimmer—but it didn’t matter.
She was a banshee.
She could hear him.
And she found him.
The two of them crashed to the floor, her knees pinning his chest, hands clamped around his invisible throat. His body flickered back into sight, flailing and gasping as her fingers squeezed, nails digging into his skin. The sound that tore from her lips wasn’t just a scream—it was a wail, sharp and thunderous, vibrating the walls like a bomb had gone off.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” she shrieked, her banshee voice peaking at a frequency that made the windows shudder. “YOU RUINED MY DAUGHTER! YOU DID THIS TO HER!”
Billy’s body arched, a choked sob ripping from his lips as blood trickled from his ears. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Could barely think with that screaming in his skull.
“MA, STOP!” Scarah screamed, grabbing her mom’s arm, trying to pull her back. “YOU’RE HURTING HIM!”
But her mom didn’t hear her.
She didn’t hear anything.
“I GAVE MY LIFE TO RAISE HER RIGHT!” she wailed, her voice splitting like glass. “AND YOU RUIND IT ALL! YOU—YOU—INVISIBLE-BASTARD!”
Billy gagged, tears pouring down his face, his skin going pale from lack of air. The sound of his own pulse throbbed in his head—louder than her screaming, louder than Scarah’s sobs.
The door slammed open.
“ENOUGH!” roared Headmistress Bloodgood as she stormed into the room, followed by two security guards and an older banshee couple—Billy’s grandparents.
The guards acted fast.
One tackled Scarah’s mother off of Billy while the other restrained her arms. She kicked and thrashed, her voice still screeching incoherently as the air itself seemed to ripple from her fury.
Billy curled into a fetal position on the floor, visible now, shaking uncontrollably. His ears were leaking blood, and he was crying—not out of pain, though there was plenty of that—but from sheer overwhelm.
Scarah dropped to his side in an instant, wrapping her arms around him as he whimpered into her neck, trying to block out the world.
“It’s okay,” she whispered frantically, stroking his hair, pressing her cheek to his forehead. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Billy. I swear, you’re safe now. I’m here.”
Bloodgood barked orders to the guards. Scarah’s mother was still screaming as they dragged her out, her voice echoing down the hallway like a dying storm. Her sobs and curses mixed together in a horrifying harmony of heartbreak and hatred.
And then—silence.
All that remained was Scarah, holding her broken boyfriend in her lap.
He was trembling.
His ears were ringing like hell.
And the only sound in the room was the rattling hum of fluorescent lights… and the soft, hiccuping sobs of a ghost boy who never thought he’d be attacked just for loving someone.
Headmistress Bloodgood had always prided herself on composure. Centuries of undead service to education had hardened her against the emotional tantrums of teenagers and the panicked rants of parents. But today?
Today was chewing through her like acid.
The soft click of her boots against the marble hallway felt like gunshots in the aftermath of a warzone. She turned the corner just in time to see another door slam open.
Seth Ptolemy—better known to the students (and most of the internet) as Pharaoh—stormed out of one of the side conference rooms, his black and gold hoodie half-off, his chain swinging wildly with every angry step.
“YEAH, WELL, MAYBE I WANT TO BE ONE OF 'THOSE' RAPPERS!” he shouted over his shoulder.
His mother—draped in pristine linen with eyes like polished obsidian—marched after him, livid. “I supported your dreams, and now you strut around like some—some street delinquent!”
He didn’t even turn around. He just threw up a middle finger as he walked away.
“SETH!” she screamed. “YOU THINK ANY RECORD LABEL IS GOING TO TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND IN PUBLIC? THEY’LL SEE YOU AS JUST ANOTHER—!”
The door slammed shut between them as he pushed out into the main hallway, brushing past Bloodgood without a word.
She exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Another one.
This made... what, the twelfth fractured family today?
Just a few doors down, a goblin boy was sitting in the corner, openly sobbing while his mom tried to hug him and he pushed her away with trembling hands.
A siren girl came stomping out of another room, eyes red and wet, while her father chased after her, trying to explain whatever the hell just happened. There was shouting in nearly every direction.
And then came the noise.
CRASH!
THUMP.
SCREAM.
Security guard Lucius came stumbling into view, holding his arm awkwardly. Bloodgood saw the blood right away.
“Oh my Ra…” she muttered.
Behind him, a fish father was screaming in fury, even as another two guards tackled him to the floor.
His daughter—a poor second-year—was shrieking in the background that it “wasn’t his fault!” That “he just wanted to meet her girlfriend!”
Another door burst open farther down.
A harpy mom was shouting at her son in a shrill tone, “You’re turning into a disgrace!” while he, wings flaring, knocked a bookshelf over in frustration.
“Stop! Stop this! All of you!” Bloodgood shouted—but her voice was lost in the chaos.
This wasn’t a meeting anymore.
This was a meltdown.
She ducked as a magic burst exploded from one of the rooms behind her—nothing serious, just an angry hex—but the smell of burnt carpet filled the air instantly.
Two parents—both warlocks—were limping toward the nurse’s office, their robes singed and bones visibly cracked.
She looked at her clipboard, but the ink had been smeared by sweat and a stray coffee spill from when one of the werewolf dads flipped the table earlier.
Bloodgood clenched her jaw. She turned to the nearest assistant, a bat-winged intern who looked about two seconds away from fainting.
“Cancel the rest of the meetings for the day,” she ordered.
“But—Headmistress, the schedule says—”
“I SAID CANCEL THEM!” she barked.
The poor girl scurried off.
Bloodgood leaned against the wall, letting her head fall back against it with a dull thunk. She could feel her migraine pulsing in her neck. Her detached head floated beside her, scowling deeply.
“This isn’t just bad,” she muttered under her breath. “This is historic.”
Families were being ripped apart. Love-lives dissected and judged. Parents throwing fists at their children—children screaming that they didn’t want to go home again. More relationships had crumbled today than she could count.
And it wasn’t over.
She glanced around the hallway again—chaos. Carnage.
Bloodgood didn’t need to be a psychic to know what came next.
Tomorrow… was going to be worse.
Cleo peeked out from behind the cracked door of an abandoned Home Scare-nomics classroom. Her perfectly manicured claws tapped against the edge of the desk she was crouched behind, eyes narrowed in focused anticipation.
No Ramses. No guards. No clipboard-toting assistants. Good.
She exhaled, quietly but deeply, her back finally relaxing against the cold classroom wall.
“Meetings cancelled,” she muttered, checking her phone for the fifth time. “Bless. That means I don’t have to fake-smile through a ‘check-in’ with Daddy Dearest.”
Her eyes scanned the message board app the staff used. Yep. Last period. Most teachers were already heading home or locking their doors. That gave her roughly thirty minutes to stay out of sight, and then she was golden.
Free to head straight to Deuce’s dorm.
Free to straddle him until her thighs cramped.
Free to suck him dry until sunrise.
Her cheeks flushed just thinking about it.
Cleo opened her group chat—Slaydies 🖤💎👑—and typed quickly:
👑Cleo: Ramses is still on campus. He’s looking for me. Let me know the second he leaves so I can dip.
🌊 Lagoona: Oof girl he’s been circling the courtyard like a vulture all day. He’s not leaving anytime soon 😬
🦇 Draculaura: We’ll keep watch! Just stay put! 👁️🗨️🕵️♀️
⚡ Frankie: I’ll reroute Ghoulia’s camera drones to the south wing. You’re still there, right?
👑Cleo: Obviously.
She smirked. For all their flaws, her ghouls did come through when it mattered.
No way was she about to let her dad catch her and drag her to some “family sit-down” to talk about her “behavior.” Not today. Not when Deuce was waiting. Not when she’d been daydreaming about him all through third period.
She locked her phone and started tucking it into her bag—
BOOM.
A heavy rumble shook the floor beneath her.
She froze.
Muffled shouting echoed from down the corridor. Then footsteps—no, stomping. Frantic. Heavy. A crowd.
She darted to the window, just in time to see three students sprinting past outside, one of them screaming something incoherent as they clutched their shirt, half-dressed and panicking.
Then came the unmistakable, gut-twisting sound of lockers being ripped out of the wall.
Cleo blinked.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
She didn’t wait for context.
Didn’t care.
Whatever it was—it was bad.
She snatched her bag and booked it, heels clacking against the tile as she made a beeline for the nearest exit, cursing under her breath the entire way.
It was fourth period when the announcements ended, and Manny was already waiting outside, shifting from hoof to hoof.
His dad had called him out after Bloodgood canceled the parent meetings—said he wanted a word before heading off campus.
The elder minotaur stood by the front steps, arms crossed, leather jacket worn and weathered, a few scars lining his forearms. He looked every bit the no-nonsense, grizzled tough guy: square jaw, heavy boots, and a glare sharp enough to crack stone.
He nodded at his son.
“Are you using protection?”
Manny straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“Is she harmed in any way?”
“No, sir.”
“Is she pregnant?”
“No, sir.”
“Is she happy?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Is she abusive or controlling?”
“No, sir!”
His dad nodded once. “Good. That’s all I need to hear.”
Without another word, he turned and walked off toward the front gates.
Manny exhaled, running a hand over his horns.
As long as he was being safe?
He and Iris could go wild until the sun went down.
Just had to make sure he didn’t, y’know… accidentally break her spine.
The halls were quieter than usual—most students still in class, and the few that weren’t just milling about, trying to figure out what the hell was going on after Bloodgood's sudden announcement.
Manny didn’t care. He was too busy smiling as Iris slid up beside him, her soft green fingers lacing with his much larger ones.
“So?” she asked, giving him a little nudge. “Did the big scary minotaur lecture you to death?”
Manny chuckled. “Nah. He just hit me with the checklist. Protection, pregnancy, power dynamics. Straight to the point.”
Iris smirked. “That’s kinda adorable, actually.”
“I guess. What about you? Your parents cool?”
“They’re not happy, but they’re not freaking out either. My mom tried to guilt trip me a little. Said something about ‘becoming a woman too soon’ or whatever. But my dad just asked if you treat me right.”
Manny gave her hand a light squeeze. “I do.”
“I know.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into that familiar, sultry tone that made Manny’s throat tighten. “Which is why I’d really appreciate it if you took me into the janitor’s closet right now and wrecked me against a mop bucket.”
Manny blinked. “Wh—right now?”
“Uh-huh.” She tugged him toward a shadowy corridor. “I’m dripping. And I’m wearing those black panties you like.”
He groaned softly. “Damn it, Iris…”
She bit her lip, teasing. “What? Scared?”
He smirked. “No. Just thinking… Fourth period’s almost over. Bell rings in five, we can hit my dorm or yours, no interruptions, no risk of someone walking in and filming us for the school paper.”
Iris groaned, dramatically flopping against his arm. “Fine. Five minutes. Not like we have to worry about that, since Bloodgood shut down the ghostly gossi-”
But just as she spoke, they heard it—
Screaming.
Manny turned toward the sound.
Students were running down the corridor in full-blown panic, some tripping over themselves, others yelling incoherently.
A blast of ice cracked along one wall, followed immediately by a burst of fire that licked across the ceiling tiles. Lights flickered, alarms wailed. Smoke and mist began to fill the hall.
Manny’s eyes widened. “Oh shit—”
CRACK!
A chunk of debris from the ceiling came loose, hurtling down toward Iris. She gasped and flinched—
—but Manny lunged forward and shielded her with his whole body.
The rubble smashed against his back and rolled off his broad shoulders like pebbles.
“Are you okay?” he asked, gripping her tighter.
Iris nodded, wide-eyed. “Y-Yeah…”
Manny didn’t wait. He scooped her into his arms and took off sprinting down the opposite hallway, dodging falling light fixtures and patches of elemental chaos.
“Changed my mind!” he shouted, weaving through the chaos. “We’re not waiting!”
A FEW MINUTES EARLIER.
The day was winding down. The halls were still, save for the faint echoes of last-period lectures behind classroom doors. Heath sat at his locker, grabbing what he needed and putting away what he didn’t.
Abbey had to split off earlier for her own final class. Normally, he’d wait until the bell, then try to wade through the crowd to find her. But today, he wanted to beat the rush—get there early. Surprise her.
He closed his locker and turned around—only to find his path blocked by none other than Jinafire Long.
She licked her lips slowly, eyes smoldering with satisfaction.
Finally, she’d caught the fire elemental alone—no protective yeti girlfriend in sight.
“Hello, Heath,” she purred. “I'm glad I finally get to talk to you without Abbey here to stop me.”
Heath sighed. “Jinafire, come on. I’m not interested in you anymore. I was back then—sure. But that’s ancient history. I love Abbey now. I’m not leaving her just because you suddenly decided you’re into me.”
She took a slow step closer, voice smooth and coaxing. “Why waste time on a girl who didn’t even like you at first? She found you annoying, Heath. Every time you talked to her, she wanted you gone.”
Heath hesitated. For a moment, her words stung—because they were true.
But then he squared his shoulders.
“Yeah. She did. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that right now, she loves me. And I love her more than anything. I’m not giving that up—not for you, not for anyone.”
Jinafire narrowed her eyes. “Oh? So she ‘loves’ you now?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Even after all the times I acted like a dumbass, she still cared. And when she accepted my feelings? That was the happiest day of my life. I’m not throwing that away.”
She sighed, exasperated. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
Heath’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Thank yo—”
“On one condition.”
His eyes widened. “What condition?”
She pointed at her lips, glossy with dark green lipstick. “You kiss me. Right here. Right now.”
Heath’s answer was instant. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
He turned, ready to bolt—
—but her hand lashed out, slamming his wrist against the locker. Before he could pull away, her tail coiled like a whip and wrapped around his neck, yanking his head toward hers.
“I wasn’t asking, Heath,” she said with a cruel smile. “Abbey may have claimed you—but I want you to remember who should really be with you. You’re going to give me that kiss… or I’ll break a few of your bones.”
Panic set in. Heath’s breath caught in his throat as her tail tightened.
“J-Jinafire, please! I don’t want you like that anymore! Let me go!”
She tilted her head. “No. You’re going to kiss me, Heath. Whether you want to or not.”
She leaned in slowly, lips inches away—
Heath squeezed his eyes shut. "Great," he thought. "Green lipstick on my face. That’s gonna be fun to explain…"
“JINAFIRE!”
The voice rang out like thunder.
Jinafire froze mid-kiss, glancing over her shoulder—and immediately regretted it.
Abbey stood at the end of the hall, fists clenched, shoulders squared, and death in her eyes.
If looks could kill, Jinafire would've been erased on the spot.
The hallway temperature plummeted. Frost crackled along the lockers as Abbey stormed forward like a glacier on legs, her icy aura practically screaming murder.
Jinafire gave a smirk, stepping back slightly. “My, my, Abbey. Always so frosty. Maybe you should cool down a little.”
Abbey didn’t blink. “Let. Him. GO.”
Jinafire huffed and released him. “Relax, ice queen. I was just having a little fun.”
“Not with MY man, you aren’t,” Abbey snarled, stepping between them and shielding Heath. “Heath and I are happy. I won’t let you ruin that.”
“Oh please,” Jinafire scoffed. “Like you really care. He wanted me first.”
“Maybe he did. But that was past. He is with me now. You will respect that!”
Jinafire’s flames danced at the edges of her hair. “Sorry, but I can’t respect someone who clearly isn’t good enough for him.”
The hall went silent.
Abbey’s fists clenched tighter as frost bloomed beneath her feet.
“Listen to me, you overcooked gecko,” she growled, jabbing a finger into Jinafire’s chest. “Heath is mine. You will stop. You will leave him alone. And if you try to touch him again—”
Jinafire sneered. “You'll what?" She asked. "What are you going to do if I say no?”
Abbey's expression darkened.
WHAM!
Jinafire flew backward, clutching her face. She staggered, wide-eyed and stunned.
Abbey lowered her fist, smiling like a lunatic.
“That,” she said coldly, “is what I do.”
Jinafire touched her nose. Her fingers came away wet.
Green blood.
She stared at it. Then up at Abbey.
“YOU BASTARD!”
Abbey smirked. “Da. That’s what happens when you touch what is mine.”
With a snarl, Jinafire yanked her headband off, letting her gree hair spill down her back like a silk curtain.
“If that’s how it’s gonna be,” she hissed, shifting into a combat stance, “then so be it.”
Heath, still wheezing from the chokehold, tried to step between them. “Snowflake, please! Let’s just go to the dorms. You can screw me senseless—just not her-”
"XUÈ ZHÀI XUÈ CHÁNG!!" (“血债血偿!!”)
A blur of flame and fury shot at Abbey, who met it head-on with a roar of icy wind.
The two crashed to the ground in a flurry of fists, claws, kicks, frost, and flame.
Heath stared in horror as the hallway became a battlefield.
Class was almost over. In moments, the bell would ring—and if that happened, the hallway would fill with students.
And if that happened… someone would get hurt.
Badly.
Panicking, Heath did the only thing he could think of.
He ran to the wall—and yanked down the fire alarm.
The moment the meeting rooms were behind them, it was like a switch flipped in all three couples. Conversations, lectures, disappointed parents—it all melted away into irrelevance.
Hormones had returned with a vengeance, surging harder than before, as if being denied for a few hours only made the need burn hotter.
Now that they were free again, there was only one thing on each of their minds: finishing what they'd started.
In an empty music room…
The door was barely shut before Frankie slammed Jackson against the piano with a clang. Sheet music scattered like confetti. Jackson gasped as Frankie dropped to her knees with a crazed glint in her eyes, her fingers curling under his waistband with no patience whatsoever.
“You owe me,” she growled, yanking his pants down with a single, powerful tug. “I had to sit through that meeting with my dad while I imagined this. Every single minute.”
“I—uh—Frankie, maybe we should—” Jackson stammered, but any protest died on his lips the moment she leaned forward and dragged her tongue along the underside of his asshole in one long, slow motion.
“You shut your pretty mouth,” she said huskily, gripping his thighs. “I’m thoroughly cleaning you, remember?”
And clean him she did—hungrily, possessively, like she’d been starving for hours. Jackson’s legs trembled as Frankie went deeper, moaning into him like she was getting off just from tasting him.
Steam started to curl from his neck. His body twitched. A familiar heat began to bubble under his skin.
But before Holt could rise again, Frankie’s hand shot up and smacked him on the ass, leaving a red mark.
“No. You’re not getting out of this. Holt’s not invited this time.”
“F-Fuck,” Jackson gasped, gripping the edge of the piano as Frankie devoured him. “Yes, ma’am.”
Meanwhile, a few floors down, Clawd and Draculaura had reclaimed the empty classroom they’d been thrown out of earlier. This time, they threw the teacher out, locked the door and dragged a heavy cabinet in front of it for good measure.
Clawd had Draculaura pinned against the shelving unit, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other gripping her jaw as he kissed her hungrily. Her lips were smeared with lipstick, her fangs glinting as she smiled against his mouth.
“You were such a brat earlier,” Clawd growled. “Talking back, teasing me, making me walk into that meeting with a fucking boner.”
Draculaura giggled, her hands yanking open the front of his shirt to run her fingers over his toned chest. “But you liked it, didn’t you?”
“I loved it,” he growled, and without warning, he spun her around, bent her over a stack of ancient textbooks, and shoved her skirt up.
Draculaura moaned loudly, her voice echoing in the tiny space. “Yes! Take it out! Fuck me like a beast!”
“You asked for it,” Clawd muttered, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers. “I’m not holding back this time.”
Draculaura wiggled her ass provocatively. “You never do, big boy.”
No more holding back.
No more interruptions.
In the locker room behind the pool, Lagoona had Gil pressed against a wall of wet tile, her lips moving hungrily down his neck, one hand in his hair, the other sliding between them.
“You did good today,” she whispered, voice breathy but low, almost reverent. “You were vulnerable. You let me in. That deserves a reward.”
Gil was trembling beneath her, not from fear, but anticipation. “Wh-what kind of reward?”
“The kind that starts with my legs around your head,” she said with a wink.
The next moment, he was on his knees and Lagoona was seated on the edge of a bench, her thighs parted and her hand tugging at his hair, guiding him closer. The tile was slick. The air was thick with chlorine and arousal. His gills fluttered as he breathed in her scent, and then—
“Oh fuck, yes,” Lagoona hissed, head falling back against the wall.
Gil was focused, determined, his tongue slow and reverent at first, then faster as her moans grew louder. She was panting, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You keep this up,” she gasped, “and I’m gonna make you fuck me right here in the open—on the coach’s desk.”
“Deal,” Gil muttered into her skin, before diving back in with new enthusiasm.
But then—
WEEEOOO-WEEEOOO-WEEEOOO!
All three couples froze.
Frankie’s mouth hovered an inch from Jackson’s lips. Draculaura let out a whine of pure sexual frustration as Clawd stopped mid-thrust. Lagoona groaned loud enough to rattle the lockers, throwing her head back in pure agony.
“Are you FUCKING kidding me?!” Frankie shrieked, throwing the closet door open.
Clawd slammed his fist into the desk. “You have got to be shitting me!”
Lagoona pulled herself upright, legs still trembling, eyes blazing. “Someone better be dead.”
One by one, the couples pulled themselves together, groaning and muttering curses under their breath. They straightened their clothes, wiped themselves off, and trudged outside like prisoners being marched into the cold.
They all step into the main hall and they only see one thing.
Pandemonium.
Chaos. Screaming. People running in all directions.
A wall of fire erupted across the quad, forcing students to leap back or drop to the ground. Shards of ice flew through the air, slicing into doors, indoor bushes, and in one unfortunate case, the mascot costume hanging by the gym doors. The sheer temperature difference cracked pavement and shattered windows.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jackson shouted, ducking behind a pillar as a flaming locker flew overhead.
“What is happening!?” Gil gasped, instinctively shielding Lagoona as a geyser of ice exploded just feet from them.
“Where’s all this coming from!?” Clawd growled, eyes darting through the smoke.
Then they saw it.
Abbey and Jinafire.
In the middle of the courtyard, Abbey stood like a frost-covered titan, her body wrapped in swirling clouds of sub-zero air. Her eyes glowed icy white, her breath freezing the ground beneath her.
Opposite her, Jinafire looked like a walking volcano—her hair askew, her skin glowing like molten gold. Flames erupted from her mouth as she launched another fireball, which Abbey punched out of the air with a wall of ice that exploded in a hail of frozen shrapnel.
They collided again, fire and ice clashing like warring gods. One student screamed as their phone melted in their pocket. Another slipped on ice and crashed into a trash can.
It was absolute chaos.
“ABBEY!” Clawd shouted, starting to rush forward—only for a massive spike of ice to land inches from his foot.
Abbey didn’t even look at him. “STAY. BACK.”
Her voice was a low, growling roar, distorted by the storm around her.
Frankie looked between Jackson and Holt, who had just caught up. “Yeah… nope. We are NOT getting in the middle of that.”
“I love Abbey,” Draculaura muttered, clutching Clawd’s arm. “But I love being alive more.”
“I’m with her,” Gil said, dragging Lagoona behind a tree. “I’ve had enough trauma today.”
And just like that, all three couples turned and ran.
They didn’t walk.
They ran.
Back into the school, toward the dorms, toward anywhere but ground zero of the Monster High Mortal Kombat Boss Battle going on outside.
The fire alarm continued to shriek overhead, but no one heard it anymore—not over the roars, the explosions, and the combined elemental fury of two monster girls who had absolutely had enough.
LIGHTS 💡
CAMERA 📷📷
FADES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!🥊🥊🥊
The scene is complete and utter mayhem. The walls are scorched black and covered in frost. Lockers are dented, the tile floor is cracked, and the once-vibrant school banners are torn and fluttering with the chaotic wind of elemental fury.
Abbey, her breath visible in the hot air, stands tall with bruises blooming under her pale blue skin. Her clothes are torn at the edges, singed and frozen in parts. Steam rises from her body where fire met ice.
Across from her, Jinafire circles slowly, her golden scales glinting under the broken fluorescent lights. Her elegant outfit has been torn to tatters, her hair now wild and loose, flicking like a dragon’s tail behind her.
The school shakes as a column of fire launches from Jinafire’s mouth, searing toward Abbey like a missile. Abbey hurls a jagged spear of ice, and the two projectiles collide midair, exploding into a blinding flash of scalding steam and shattered shards.
Without missing a beat, they charge at each other.
Fists. Elbows. Kicks.
Abbey grabs a locker door and rips it off its hinges like it’s made of cardboard, swinging it like a shield. Jinafire cartwheels off a desk and kicks the shield out of her hands with a flaming roundhouse that sends it spinning through a wall.
Jinafire lands gracefully and cracks her neck with a smug smile. “You’re strong, Bominable. But I’ve trained since birth in the martial arts of the Jade Mountains.”
Abbey snorts, her breath turning the air to mist. “Good for you. I trained by fighting real monsters—not some pretty scroll-readers who wear silk while they pose.”
Jinafire snarls and lunges—Abbey catches her mid-air and SLAMS her against a desk, the metal buckling from the force.
Jinafire counters with a punch to Abbey’s gut, then follows with a powerful uppercut.
Abbey stumbles, and Jinafire sweeps her leg, knocking the ice yeti flat on her back.
But Abbey grabs her ankle and yanks, sending Jinafire crashing down beside her.
They both scramble to their feet, breathing heavily, circling each other again.
Then—
CRASH!!!
Abbey charges, grabs Jinafire by the waist, and hurls her straight through a classroom window. Glass shatters in every direction as Jinafire’s body tumbles into the room, crashing over desks and chairs.
She groans, dragging herself up from the wreckage as Abbey steps through the gaping hole in the wall like an avenging frost goddess.
She wipes a trickle of blood from her mouth and smirks. “You’re finished, Jinafire. Heath was never yours. You think he’s into discipline and decorum? No. He’s into being ruined. He’s into me.”
Jinafire growls low in her throat, her eyes glowing with fury as her fists start to burn again.
Abbey leans closer, her icy breath tickling Jinafire’s face. “After all… Heath’s mom isn’t the only one he calls mommy.”
That’s it.
That shatters Jinafire’s last thread of restraint.
With a primal scream of rage, she tackles Abbey at full force, and the two crash back through the opposite classroom wall, splintering wood and plaster as they tumble into the hallway.
Students scream and scatter as the two amazonian warriors tumble into view once again, a blur of fists, flame, and frost, their snarls echoing through the chaos like beasts of legend.
And just like that, the brawl erupts all over again—but now they’re done with throwing punches for pride.
Now it’s personal.
And that’s when the remaining security guards arrive.
Three of them rush in, all heavily armored in magically reinforced gear, weapons drawn.
“Step away from each other!” one of them yells, voice quivering behind his helmet.
Abbey doesn’t even look at him. Jinafire doesn’t either.
The guard raises his blaster.
Too late.
Jinafire spins on him with a blazing kick that sends his weapon flying down the hallway, molten and useless. Abbey follows up with a brutal palm strike to another guard’s chest, launching him through a trophy case.
The third one doesn’t even get to react before both girls simultaneously blast him with a combo of fire and ice, his armor freezing, cracking, and then shattering under the force of the hit. He collapses into a smoking heap.
The last two guards—who had been trying to flank them—freeze as they watch their comrades get absolutely wrecked.
One of them looks at the other like, "you still want to try?"
Then Jinafire cracks her neck and turns toward them. Abbey growls, lips curled, frost forming on her breath.
Yeah. No.
The two guards immediately drop their gear and run for their lives.
It’s like watching your friend get the absolute shit kicked out of him by a gorilla. Maybe even two gorillas. On fire.
You don’t step in. You just run.
Behind them, Abbey and Jinafire resume the chaos. A locker gets torn off the wall and hurled like a missile. Jinafire slides beneath it, countering with a sweep kick that launches Abbey into the ceiling. Chunks of plaster fall as the brawl continues.
One of the guards stumbles around a corner and activates his communicator.
“Headmistress Bloodgood—this is Unit Five. What are your orders?! We need backup! NOW!”
There’s a pause. Then her voice crackles through the earpiece, cold and exhausted.
“No. Retreat.”
“What?! Ma’am, with all due respect, we can’t just leave them—!”
“You don’t understand,” Bloodgood says, and now her voice isn’t just tired—it’s hollow.
Behind her, every teacher—Mr. Hackington, Mr. Rotter, even Coach Igor—is gathered around the security feed. Watching. Helpless.
“Those two,” Bloodgood continues, “are two of the strongest monsters in the entire school. And every other heavy hitter is off-campus right now. We don’t have the power to stop them. You don’t have the power to stop them. I don't have the power to stop them! So get. The hell. Out of there.”
The guard hesitates, looking over his shoulder as the hallway behind him explodes in a wave of steam and fire.
“…Understood, ma’am,” he mutters, defeated.
He rips off his ruined helmet and bolts down the corridor, vanishing into the smoke.
Back in the control room, Bloodgood slowly lowers her head into her hands as the feed crackles, showing nothing but flying debris and two unstoppable forces locked in a fight that no one can stop.
The fight has escalated into something far beyond what any student—or staff—at Monster High has ever witnessed. The air is thick with frost and smoke, walls collapsing as heat and cold collide in explosive bursts.
Abbey is a one-ghoul glacier storm, fists encased in jagged ice, every strike causing shockwaves that rattle the entire building. She moves with terrifying strength and precision, unleashing frozen spears from her palms, her breath crystallizing the air itself.
Jinafire, scorched and scraped but unyielding, has shifted from standard martial arts to something far older.
Her movements flow like fire and silk, glowing with internal energy—her Chi radiating with golden light. With each blow, she sends out concussive waves that scorch the floor and bend the air.
Her tail lashes out like a whip of molten fury. Her eyes are glowing slits of rage and determination.
They’re no longer fighting like students—they’re clashing like ancient forces of nature. The school trembles around them.
Then Abbey lands a punishing blow, slamming her frozen fist directly into Jinafire’s sternum and launching her through a support pillar. The dragon girl crashes to the ground with a ragged snarl, momentarily stunned as debris rains down.
Abbey stomps forward, fists still steaming from the cold. “Give up already,” she growls, standing over her rival. “You’re not gonna win. Heath’s not leaving me for you. He’ll never want you the way he wants me.”
Jinafire lunges at Abbey, only to get swiftly backhanded back to the ground.
Her voice sharpens, cruel and victorious. “You think you’re special? You’re not. And even if he did pick you…” She leans in, lips curling into a smug smirk. “You’d never be able to satisfy him. Not like I do. And when this fight is over, I'll make sure Heath knows EXACTLY why you lost in OUR BED tonight.”
Jinafire’s eyes flare open—no longer just angry, but furious beyond words.
She pushes herself up, scales shimmering and shifting, fire dancing wildly off her skin.
“I’m not stopping,” she hisses, voice guttural and twisted with rage. “Not until Heath is mine.”
And then it happens.
Her body begins to lengthen, spine cracking and stretching. Her fingers elongate into sharp claws. Horns burst from her head, curling like obsidian blades. Her tail triples in size, slamming the ground with a thunderous boom. Jinafire lets out a primal scream as her body becomes enveloped in flame and golden light.
In seconds, she’s no longer a girl.
She’s a dragon.
Not some Western-style brute. A sleek, sinuous, serpentine Chinese dragon, her body coiling through the crumbling hallway like living flame and wrath. Her face is long, regal, crowned with fire and fury. Her roar shakes the entire west wing of the school, windows shattering for blocks in every direction.
Abbey stares up at the massive creature, her mouth twitching in surprise.
But she doesn’t back down.
Instead, she rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck, and narrows her icy eyes.
“Hmph. You’re just a bigger bitch now.”
She slams her fists together, causing a shockwave of frost that freezes the floor around her solid. “No problem. Just means I get to knock your scaly ass out twice as hard.”
With that, the monster girl and the dragon collide once more. Ice meets flame in an explosion that sends a mushroom cloud of steam into the sky, as the battle rages on with no signs of stopping.
Heath had been sitting motionless the entire time, crouched behind the shattered remains of a statue in what used to be the math wing, watching his girlfriend and his stalker-turned-rival throw hands like gods of war.
He didn’t even flinch when another wall collapsed in the distance. A flaming locker door flew past his head.
He ducked a little. Barely.
He was paralyzed—not with awe, not quite with fear, but with a miserable cocktail of both.
On one hand, two of the most powerful, beautiful, and strong-as-hell girls in the entire school were fighting over him.
Both of whom looked like mommy material.
On the other hand, they were actively tearing the campus apart in the process and if he got within twenty feet of either of them, he’d end up as a pile of ash or a frozen corpse.
“This is fine,” Heath muttered to himself, arms hugging his knees. “Just…two tall, jacked mommies trying to obliterate each other with martial arts and superpowers. Nothing unusual here.”
Another explosion rocked the hallway. A chunk of ceiling fell in front of him. He sighed.
“I should probably be flattered,” he added quietly. “But I’m mostly just scared for my life.”
Right on cue, a voice screamed out in panicked frustration from the corridor behind him.
“MON AMOR, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
Heath turned his head just slightly. “Skelita?”
Skelita Calaveras sprinted into view, her painted skull furious and wild-eyed as she dodged a flying bench. “Heath! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Yeah,” Heath said, still hiding behind the wreckage. “I’ve been here. Hiding.”
Skelita stormed over, her bones rattling with urgency. “You have to stop them!”
Heath looked at her like she’d just told him to punch the moon. “You want me to get between those two? No. Absolutely not. I’m flammable!”
“Heath—Abbey is your novia. You have to stop her!”
“And Jinafire is your amiga!” he shot back, standing now, arms flailing as his voice rose. “Where was that energy when she was stalking me down the halls? When she was sneaking into the locker rooms to leave me candles and love letters?! Huh?! Where were you then?”
That caught Skelita off guard. Her jaw tightened.
She looked away, ashamed.
“I know,” she admitted. “I should’ve done more. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. I just thought…” She trailed off. “I thought it was harmless.”
“Well, now she’s a fifty-foot dragon,” Heath deadpanned. “Still harmless?”
Skelita closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply before fixing her gaze on him again.
“Listen. I get it. You’re scared. I am too. But if we don’t stop them now…” She gestured around them, to the cracked beams, the melted walls, the torn-up tiles and shattered desks. “There won’t be a Monster High left to fight over.”
Heath swallowed hard, glancing toward the distant crash of another impact. “...You really think I can stop them?”
“Maybe?” Skelita said hesitantly.
He sighed again, slower this time. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Then he added, pointing at her. “But you’re coming with me. I’m not getting roasted and flash-frozen alone.”
Skelita nodded without hesitation. “Deal.”
And with that, the two of them turned toward the warzone, steeling themselves as they took their first hesitant steps into the storm.
BACK TO THE FIGHT.
Jinafire and Abbey were battered, breathing heavily, covered in bruises, cracked scales, and singed hair. Abbey’s body was steaming with icy mist, frost clinging to her fists like gloves of judgment. Jinafire, still half-transformed, her body glowing with golden chi, floated slightly above the ground, her eyes narrowed, a fireball swirling in each palm.
They both knew this was it. The finishing moves.
And then—just as they launched forward—a blast of fire sliced between them, a blazing curtain of heat and light that made both girls flinch and stagger back.
“STOP!”
Abbey’s eyes widened. “Heath?”
He descended through the smoke, landing hard on the charred concrete, arms still glowing faintly with lingering flames. He grabbed her from behind, locking his arms around her shoulders—not aggressively, but tightly, pleadingly.
“Unhand me, Heath,” Abbey growled. “Let. Me. Go!”
“No!” he shouted. “You’ve done enough! This has to stop!”
Across the courtyard, Jinafire recovered and snarled. Seeing her opening, she began charging up again, golden chi swirling into an inferno in her mouth.
But before she could fire, Skelita jumped between them, arms outstretched. “STOP!”
Jinafire blinked. “Skelita, move!”
“NO!” she shouted, voice trembling but unwavering. “Look around you!” She spun, gesturing to the broken buildings, the flames, the ice-strewn rubble. “Look at what you two have done! The school is one collapsed beam away from being a memory—and you’re still fighting for NO DAMN REASON!”
Abbey was still thrashing about. "LET. ME. GO. HEATH!"
"NOT TILL YOU CALM DOWN!" He shouted. "I HATE SEEING YOU LIKE THIS!"
Abbey grit her teeth, but her muscles slowly relaxed beneath Heath’s arms.
Heath finally let go of her and stepped forward beside Skelita.
“Jinafire,” he said, softer now. “You’ve always been kind to me—even when you were being a little…intense.”
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but there was sadness in his voice.
“And I’m flattered you feel that way about me, I am." He said. His tone sad, but firm. "But I’m happy with Abbey. She's been there for me through so much. And I’m not throwing all of that away. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
He took a step closer.
“You’re one of the most peaceful, wise monsters I’ve ever met. So, if you really love me, then please… stop this. Let me be happy.”
Jinafire’s hands trembled.
The chi in her palms pulsed wildly, then dimmed.
She looked at Heath… then at Skelita. Both wore pleading, desperate expressions.
She exhaled, slow and furious. Her body shimmered with light, her massive form shrinking back to her humanoid dragon self.
The golden glow faded. The fire died out. She stood silently, breathing heavily.
“This isn’t over,” she said coldly, voice sharp as a blade. “I will not stop. I will not give up. I will have you, Heath Burns. One day… you’ll be mine.”
She turned and walked off, smoke trailing from her heels. As she passed Skelita, she didn’t look back.
Skelita mouthed “sorry” to Heath and Abbey, then ran after her, disappearing into the haze.
Abbey stared after them, eyes narrowed, body still tense.
“Challenge accepted, cyka,” she muttered under her breath.
Heath turned to face her. “You okay?” he asked.
Abbey nodded, though her lip was bleeding and her hair was frizzed from fire damage. “I’ve had worse. But she is strong.”
Heath gave a weak smile. “So are you.”
She raised a brow. “Damn right I am.”
There was a moment of silence. Then she spoke again.
"Are you going to leave me for her?"
Heath was stunned for a moment. But he quickly found his voice.
"Never in a million years." He said calmly.
They didn’t say much else after that. Just quietly reached for each other’s hands, fingers intertwining as they walked side-by-side back through the rubble-strewn halls toward the dorms.
And in the distance, in the shattered remains of the front hallway, Headmistress Bloodgood stood with a dozen security guards and shell-shocked staff, surveying the destruction around her—walls torn down, windows shattered, ceilings half-caved in, and scorch marks everywhere.
She slowly turned to the others and said the only thing that made sense in the moment:
“…WHAT. THE. FUCK.”
Cleo stepped out of the bushes she was hiding in, letting out a long, dramatic sigh of relief.
Once Abbey and Jinafire started throwing each other around like wrecking balls, Cleo wasted zero time. She booked it off campus and ducked into some random shrubs while the rest of the student body scattered like roaches.
Sure, she wanted to sneak off to Deuce’s dorm and ride out the chaos in his arms—and maybe on his lap—but there was one problem: she didn’t know whether or not her father was still on campus. The odds said he left with the rest of the parents after Bloodgood abruptly canceled the meetings. But knowing how unreasonably stubborn Ramses could be, she wasn’t willing to risk it.
That man was petty enough to wait around just to catch her slipping.
After what felt like hours, Cleo peeked out from the leaves, taking a moment to admire the surprisingly beautiful night sky.
Then, she scanned the area.
No parents.
No students.
And—most importantly—no sign of her dear old daddy.
Perfect.
She stepped out of the bushes and stripped off the oversized clothes she’d stolen from the lost and found. Not like she needed them anymore.
Daddy was probably halfway back to Egypt, ranting about honor and disappointment to a flight attendant who did not get paid enough.
She strutted toward Deuce’s dorm, hips swinging, smile growing.
Tonight was gonna be fun.
She'd promised him a night he’d never forget.
She also promised him that she was GOING to get that dick in her mouth tonight.
And now, with the parents finally gone?
Nothing was stopping them.
No rules.
No distractions.
Not even a warning from her dear ol' daddy.
She was already imagining the look on his face when she dropped to her knees—
"CLEO DE NILE!"
Cleo froze mid-strut. Her eyes rolled so far back, she nearly saw the back of her skull.
So. Freaking. Close.
She could practically hear the pop of her fantasy bursting. The image of Deuce’s dick fading from her mind like dust in the wind.
“Okay, Cleo,” she told herself, trying to stay calm. “Just play nice. Get him off your back, and then you’re back on track for that dick.”
Turning around, she pasted on the fakest, sugar-coated smile known to monsterkind. “Why hello Father. What a lovely evening we’re having.”
Ramses was not fooled.
“Do not ‘hello father’ me!” he barked. “Why did you skip your meeting?! Bloodgood called your name several times and yet—no Cleo. Not even a whisper. WHERE WERE YOU?!”
Cleo gave a lazy shrug. “Oopsie. Guess I was busy being fabulous.”
“You what—?! Cleo, I crossed oceans, deserts, and a conference hall filled with amateur peasants to see you, and you couldn’t even bother to attend a ten-minute conversation about your future?!”
She batted her lashes and twirled a strand of hair. “Oh, that. Yeah, I was… occupied.”
“With what?!” he growled. “Let me guess—sucking face with that snake-headed brat I explicitly forbade you from seeing?”
“Maybe,” she said, inspecting her nails with exaggerated disinterest.
Ramses looked like he was about to combust. “CLEO DE NILE! Do you have any idea how DISGRACEFUL this is?! You’re royalty! And here you are—hiding in bushes, dressed like a hobo, SHAKING YOUR ASS for some second-rate serpent boy like you’re in a back-alley cabaret!”
Cleo let out a cackle. “So what you’re saying is... my dancing’s making you look bad?”
“YES!”
“Oh no, Daddy,” she said mockingly. “Guess I better twerk in Catty’s next music video with ‘DISOWNED’ written on my butt in gold eyeliner.”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Ramses roared, hands flailing like an unhinged soap opera villain. “Do you have any concept of how that would reflect on me?!”
“Like a bad father?” she said sweetly. “If so, then I’m doing my job.”
He ignored her, voice rising to operatic levels. “AND WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE ABOUT YOU MAKING OUT WITH GIANT SNAKES NOW?!”
Cleo blinked. “Come again?”
“Bloodgood said she walked into the gym and caught you kissing some hulking reptile! What the hell is going on here?!”
“Oh, that?” Cleo said, her tone now downright smug. “That was just my Deucey turning into a giant snake and having his way with me.”
Ramses looked like he was about to faint. “ARE YOU INSANE?! Do you have no decency?! No shame?! No comprehension of what it means to be a De Nile?!”
“Nope,” she said, casually popping her ‘P.’
“You’re a DE NILE!” he howled. “You are meant to be with someone of your stature! Your lineage! Not some scrawny, brainless nobody from who-knows-where!”
“Mmhmm,” Cleo hummed, already tuning him out.
But Ramses wasn’t done. Oh no. He was on a roll—an avalanche of insults and superiority, bashing Deuce, lecturing about family honor, whining about her “tarnishing the De Nile name” like anyone outside their pyramid gave a damn.
He even threw in a dig about her sister, whom Cleo cared about as much as yesterday’s mascara smear.
She wasn’t listening. Just watching his mouth move, waiting for his voice to give out.
But then… he said something.
Something that stopped her cold.
Something that reached into her soul and yanked her back to a place she never wanted to go again.
“HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO BUILD A DYNASTY WITH HIM?!”
Cleo stopped cold.
The world froze.
That word.
Dynasty.
That one word was a trigger. A dagger in her memory. A slap from the past.
It triggered memories she thought she had buried for good.
She still remembered that awful day.
She had been picking an outfit for the gala.
And Deuce walked in, looking like a broken man.
She asked him what was wrong, trying to comfort him.
And then he snapped.
He ranted about how she was royalty and he was just some average joe. How they didn’t belong together. How it would never work.
How they were wrong for each other.
Despite everything they’d been through.
She begged him to tell her what was going on. To explain who had put those thoughts in his head.
She didn’t know it was her bitch of a sister.
She cried. Pleaded. Screamed that they were meant to be.
But nothing worked.
His mind was already made up.
She still remembered the last thing he said before walking out that door:
“This is the end.”
SLAM.
She cried for hours after that.
And then, the bitch who ruined her relationship came knocking.
She never told her father. Never confronted either of them. She buried the pain. Pretended it never happened.
Until now.
Until that word.
Dynasty.
She was originally gonna ignore him till he left.
But now… now he said the one word that shattered the lid she had sealed over that part of her heart.
And that flame inside her—the one she had spent years suppressing—finally exploded.
"Hello!" he said, clicking his fingers in her face to get her attention. "Are you even listening? I'm trying to tal—"
Before Ramses could finish his sentence, Cleo opened her mouth and chomped down on his finger—hard.
Blood spurted out.
Ramses screamed in shock, yanking his hand back as Cleo stared him down with a glare so intense it could wither the desert sun.
He looked appalled. “How DARE you do that to your own FA—”
"Shut up," she replied coldly.
“Excuse me! I am your—”
"I SAID, SHUT. UP!" she bellowed, her voice cracking under the strain. "YOU ARE NO FATHER OF MINE!"
Ramses staggered backward like she'd struck him in the chest. In all his long, pompous, controlling life, not once had Cleo said those words. Not to him.
Not ever.
“You stopped being a father the moment you decided your status, your damned reputation, your stupid empire meant more than I did!” she shrieked, and her voice echoed through the surrounding trees. Birds took off from their branches, startled. “You care more about being respected than being loved. More about your image than your own daughter's future!”
Ramses opened his mouth to reply, but Cleo surged forward, not letting him get a single syllable in.
“Do you even think about what your actions do to people?! Do you?!” Her hands were trembling at her sides, clenched into fists so tight her nails were digging into her palms. “Do you ever wonder how much pain you leave behind when you just sweep through everyone’s lives like a goddamn sandstorm?!”
Ramses faltered, uncharacteristically shaken by her fury.
Yet he still managed to find his footing.
“I won’t be talked to like this by my own daughter!" He sneered. "Not a single person's life was EVER ruined by my actio-"
"THEN WHAT ABOUT BOO YORK?!" she screamed, and suddenly her voice cracked mid-sentence, her eyes shimmering with the tears she had fought so long to hold back.
Ramses froze. The name hit him like a cursed relic.
Out of all the things she could have said… why that?
“Cleo, that wa—”
“DON’T YOU DARE,” she snarled, her entire body shaking now. She stepped closer until their faces were inches apart. “Don’t you dare try to spin this. Don’t you DARE justify what you did. You’ve never cared about me. Never. You only care about me when I’m doing what YOU want—when I’m benefiting YOU.”
Her chest was heaving. Her mascara was already beginning to smear under her eyes.
“You and my sister—” the word sister came out like venom “—manipulated Deuce behind my back. You poisoned our relationship. You turned what should’ve been a beautiful trip into a nightmare. One of the worst periods of my entire LIFE!”
She was crying now. Not quietly. Not gracefully. These were gut-wrenching sobs trying to burst their way out of her chest, though she still tried to keep them under control.
Ramses attempted to respond, to twist the narrative, but she shouted over him again.
“She lied to him. She told him the wrong times for every event so he’d miss them and look like an idiot in front of all those people, all those royals! She humiliated him! And when he was vulnerable, when he started doubting himself… she was there. Whispering in his ear like some snake. Tearing him down from the inside.”
She sniffled, wiped her face, then pointed at Ramses like she was hurling a curse.
“She convinced him he was worthless. That I was too good for him. That he was just some low-class peasant who’d never be enough. And do you know what he did next?!”
Ramses looked away, his jaw clenched tight. But Cleo wasn’t finished—not even close. She grabbed his chin and forced him to meet her gaze.
“SAY IT,” she demanded. Her voice was low and trembling. “Say it out loud. Admit it.”
He didn't speak.
“I SAID SAY IT!” she roared, her voice shattering as the dam finally broke. “Or so help me Ra, I will break your neck!”
Ramses stiffened. There it was—the rage, the grief, the unbearable heartbreak of a daughter finally seeing her father for what he really was.
But still, he held his tongue.
“Fine,” she said, and her voice suddenly dropped into a deadly calm. “If you won’t say it… I will.”
“Cleo, no—”
“HE BROKE UP WITH ME!” she screamed, her voice echoing across the horizon as if even the stars had to hear her. “He said we weren’t right. He said we weren’t perfect. He said he was the worst boyfriend I could ask for. And I watched him CRY as he walked away from me. All because of YOU! And that WRETCHED, BACKSTABBING MONSTER you call a second daughter!”
The sobs came freely now. Ugly, guttural cries that tore from her chest and fell like daggers from her mouth. She covered her face with her hands but couldn’t stop the tears from pouring through her fingers.
“If it wasn’t for Catty… and my friends… and that sweet old street vendor who gave Deuce that pep talk… I’d be married to Seth right now. I’d be locked in some cold palace, miserable, while the love of my life was left alone, heartbroken, thinking he was never enough! Catty would be left alone! An empty void in her soul, created by you and that BITCH!”
“Cleo—”
“NO!” she howled. “You don’t get to apologize! You don’t get to explain this away! You RUINED everything!”
She took a shuddering breath and gritted her teeth.
“Deuce may not be the smartest guy in the world… but he’s gentle. He listens. He made me feel like I mattered, not like I was just an accessory to a throne. He sees me in a way you never have. In a way you refused to.”
She jabbed her finger into Ramses’s chest with every word that followed.
“You are selfish. You are manipulative. You are a cold, power-hungry shell of a man who only knows how to take. You’re a tyrant. And you deserve to rot in the same sand that buried your enemies and your morals.”
Ramses was speechless. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Cleo looked at him—really looked at him. And what she saw filled her with disgust.
“So take your opinions,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “And shove them so far up your own ass, they get lost in your ego.”
She turned, her shoulders shaking with every step she took away from him.
But Ramses, grasping for one last shred of control, lurched forward and grabbed her wrist.
“You are my daughter!” he roared. “And you will listen to—”
WHAM.
Cleo turned and decked him so hard he flew backwards and hit the ground with a crunch.
She stood over him, eyes glowing pink, face streaked with black tears.
“I wish I was buried and unearthed with mom,” she hissed. “While you and that snake of a sister were lost to time.”
And with that, she walked away—this time for real.
Ramses lay in the dirt, motionless. For once, no smug words. No grand declarations. Just silence.
As Cleo disappeared into the darkness, Ramses’s pride crumbled, and the ghost of Boo York echoed louder than ever in his mind. Her screams, her sobs, her accusations—they haunted him more deeply than any ancient curse.
For the first time in five thousand years… Ramses de Nile felt something entirely unfamiliar.
Guilt.
The air in Bloodgood’s office is thick with tension. The windows are cracked open to let in a breeze, but it does little to dispel the suffocating weight that’s fallen on the room.
Headmistress Bloodgood stands at the head of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight, her eyes drifting over the cluster of parents and faculty seated around the room—The Steins, Harriet and Clawrk Wolf, Mr. Boogeyman, and Hackington.
Dracula and Lazarus are outside, trying to patch up the mess left behind from earlier.
Bloodgood’s usually sharp tone is tired. Blunt. Bone dry.
“I told you all to be nice to your children,” she said, her voice ringing with exhaustion. “You didn’t. And look where that got you.”
No one speaks. Not at first.
But of course, Harriet Wolf can’t help herself.
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” she snaps, ears twitching. “We were just—”
Bloodgood whips around, eyes burning.
“You were just what, Harriet? Protecting them? Is that what you call dragging their relationships through the dirt? You made Howleen paranoid. You made Clawd snap. And don’t even get me started on Clawdeen.”
Harriet clenches her fists, nostrils flaring.
“I was just being a mother.”
“No. You were being an idiot,” Bloodgood replies coldly. “And dragging your children’s partners into the mess didn’t protect them. It embarrassed them. It hurt them. You’re not just a mother, Harriet—you’re working with the fathers of the very girls two of your children are dating. Dracula and the Boogeyman. How did you think this would end?”
The Boogeyman flinches slightly at the mention of his name. His face, usually hidden beneath a smooth, unreadable expression, momentarily cracks.
He remembers it clearly—the sting of Twyla’s voice slicing into his mind earlier that day, even though she hadn’t shown up to her meeting:
“You didn’t even let me say anything. You just looked at me like I was some kind of animal. Mumbled something about ‘no self-control’ and left."
"So don’t try to talk to me now. You had your chance.”
That memory hits harder than he expected. He looks away.
Bloodgood scans the room, her next words ice-cold.
“You think this is over? You think today was the climax? No. This was the warm-up. The gas is still inside them. All you’ve done is give your children more reasons to hate you—and more reasons to act out. So tomorrow? They’re not just going to be horny.”
She leans in, voice deadly calm.
“They’re going to be angry and horny. And there is no version of this where that ends well.”
The silence that follows is deafening. No one dares speak, not even Viktor—until, finally, he tries to inject some hope.
“Hackington,” Viktor says gently, clasping his hands together. “How's the cure coming along? Any progress?”
Hackington rubs his temple, voice strained but a bit more optimistic.
“Actually… yes. Yesterday’s events gave me a ton of data—probably more than I expected. I've created a stable baseline for the antidote. But…” he lifts a hand, stopping any rising hope in its tracks, “until the rest of my materials arrive, there’s not much else I can do. I’m close. But not close enough.”
Viktor opens his mouth, probably to offer help or resources—when another voice cuts in.
Cheerful. Confident. With an unmistakable Australian accent.
“Any way we can be of assistance?"
All heads swivel toward the door, which creaks open with dramatic timing—as if the universe itself knew the scene needed a new act.
In step multiple figures. Distinguished. Mysterious. Powerful.
Each parent or guardian brings their own presence, some ghostly, some theatrical, some elemental—and all very, very serious.
At the front are Wade and Coraline Blue, Lagoona’s parents. Wade stands broad-shouldered and calm, his accent thick but warm. His sea-weathered skin glistens faintly, saltwater still clinging to his wetsuit-like armor.
Coraline, ever poised, looks like a wave in motion—elegant and unpredictable, her shimmering teal hair trailing behind her like sea foam.
Behind them follows The Phantom of the Opera, his cloak sweeping dramatically across the floor as he enters, eyes gleaming beneath his iconic half-mask. A man of few words and deep talents.
Then there’s Jackson and Holt’s parents—a scholarly-looking man and a fiercely glowing fire elemental woman, side by side but clearly polar opposites. Still, the strain of love and worry shows equally on both their faces.
More parents filter in—guardians and relatives of various students—voluntarily stepping into the chaos. Not called. Not summoned. Just there.
Because they’ve been watching too. And while they see that their children are okay, they’re done standing on the sidelines.
Wade is the first to speak. His voice carries easy strength, the kind that commands ships and calms storms.
“Look, I might not be a scientist. Hell, I still get confused by the toaster. But I know this much: I’m not gonna sit on my tail while the student body—and my daughter—get progressively freakier by the day.”
A few parents nod with murmurs of agreement. The Phantom hums softly under his breath, a low, eerie tone that somehow says, “Same here.”
Jackson and Holt’s mom steps forward, flames licking off her shoulders as she speaks.
“Whatever it takes. We’re in. Just tell us what you need.”
Coraline, graceful and calm like a quiet tide, adds:
“We know this isn’t simple. But there’s strength in numbers. Maybe we can help you finish the cure faster, even if it’s just moving boxes or scrubbing beakers.”
Viktor, ever the diplomat, places a hand over his chest in gratitude.
“We appreciate it. All of it. Truly. Just knowing you’re here means more than you know.”
He hesitates, but the truth can’t be avoided. He sighs.
“But right now, there’s only so much to do. Hackington needs resources more than labor. And more importantly…” He pauses, looking up. “We could really use a magic wielder. A strong one.”
Everyone looks around the room for a beat, but the silence says enough. No witches. No spellcasters. No necromancers. No one whose specialty is taming the sentient, magical, horny gas that’s threatening to flip their kids inside out.
That is, until Coraline lifts her hand.
“I’m a water nymph,” she says, her tone smooth and cool as ever. “My family’s been working elemental magic since before Atlantis sank. I might not be a wizard, but I know how to hold enchantments in place.”
Viktor gives her a kind smile—appreciative but tempered.
“That’s good. Honestly, very good. But this gas—it’s not just magical. It’s evolving. Thinking. Counteracting whatever we throw at it. We’d need someone who understands the metaphysical fabric of reality to fully restrain something like this.”
Bloodgood, standing near the center, finally exhales a long breath. For once today, it’s not a sigh of frustration, but relief. Her shoulders drop slightly, her helmeted head tilting toward the group of new parents.
“Still. You have no idea how glad I am to have more pairs of hands in this room,” she says, smiling faintly. “Whether it’s magic, muscle, or morale—you’re here. You care. That’s more than I can say for half the damn Monster Council.”
Wade smirks and folds his arms across his chest.
“Damn right we care. Our kids are out there twerkin’ like it’s the end times. If that ain’t a call to action, I don’t know what is.”
Even Viktor chuckles softly at that, despite the tension still thick in the air.
But not everyone shares in the moment of levity.
Standing in the back, trying to look busy with his datapad, Hackington listens in silence. He’s nodding along, trying to appear grateful. Calm. Professional.
But inside?
His stomach is churning.
Because every new parent that walks into this office is another witness.
Another question.
Another person who might connect the dots.
Another target.
His fingers tighten around his device.
The gas may be the school’s biggest problem, but to the wrong parent with the right suspicion?
He might be next.
And if even one of them figures out that the chaos consuming their children began because of his "Scientific Mistake"?
He’s not just out of a job.
He might not survive the week.
The soft glow of phone screens cuts through the darkness of dorm rooms across campus. One by one, ghouls and their boyfriends sink into their beds, exhausted from the day’s chaos but craving connection.
The group chat—“Gaslight, Gatekeep, Ghoulbosses 💀🔥”—sparks to life with a chorus of notification pings as everyone checks in.
🦇 Draculaura: Sooo... how did everyone’s chat with their folks go?
Replies come flying in almost instantly:
⚡ Frankie: Pretty decent, actually.
🧪 Jackson: Positive. Could’ve been worse.
🧠 Ghoulia: Surprisingly productive.
🌊 Lagoona: Not awful. Bit awkward.
🐠 Gil: Kinda okay.
💨 Ryder: Chill vibes, no yelling 😎
🧞♀️ Gigi: Same here. Mine went fine too.
🐂 Manny: Lasted 2 seconds flat. My dad literally asked some questions and left.
👁️ Iris: It was... alright. I didn’t cry, so that’s something.
👻 Spectra: Thought I was dead meat for a sec. But I survived.
🔊 Scarah: Just another normal convo with my mother... which means weird as hell.
🐺 Clawd: I f*cking hate my parents.
🐺 Clawdeen: Same. 💀
A sudden lull follows. Everyone’s taken aback.
⚡ Frankie: Whoa. Wait—ghoul, what happened?! 😧
🐺 Clawd: I thought they'd say stuff like, “how ya been?”, “you okay?”, “need anything?”
🐺 Clawd: But nope!
🐺 Clawdeen: Instead, we sat through a full hour of, “your partners are bad for you” and “you’re gonna end up dead because of them.”
💨 Ryder: DAMN. That bad?!
🐺 Clawdeen & 🐺 Clawd: YES!!!
🐺 Clawdeen: Now Howleen’s freaked out Twyla’s gonna smother her in her sleep. 😩💀
🧪 Jackson: Jeez... I’m really sorry. That’s rough.
🧪 Jackson: How did everyone else’s meetings go?
🦇 Draculaura: Mine was okay. Dad’s just... worried. Apparently, some of the higher-ups in Transylvania want me married off now because they don’t like the fact that I twerk. 😑
⚡ Frankie: WTH! That’s like someone telling me I can’t use electricity ‘cause it’s “not ladylike.” 🙄⚡
🧪 Jackson: Honestly, I thought your folks would give you grief for dating me, considering who my grandfather is.
⚡ Frankie: NGL, I was kinda expecting that too. I thought they were gonna say I needed to break up with you. But actually… they didn’t even care. They were just shocked that Jekyll had a grandkid at all.
🧪 Jackson: My grandma was very clear about keeping our identity quiet.
⚡ Frankie: Yeah, but it’s all good now. 💚 You’ve got nothing to worry about.
🧪 Jackson: That’s a huge relief.
🌊 Lagoona: Mine was alright. Dad just told me to chill. Mom, though? Full-on panic mode. 😅 But nothin’ too crazy.
🐺 Clawdeen: Ughhh, I’m jealous. Trade parents?
🐂 Manny: What about you, Gil? How’d it go?
🐠 Gil: ...
🐠 Gil: I don’t wanna talk about it.
The chat goes still for a beat. Then, support pours in.
🦇 Draculaura: That’s okay, Gil. No pressure. We’re not here to judge. 💖
⚡ Frankie: Yeah, this chat’s a safe space. If you ever do wanna talk about it—we’re here. You’ve got friends.
🌊 Lagoona, 👁️ Iris, 👻 Spectra, 🧪 Jackson, 🧠 Ghoulia, 🐂 Manny, 🧞♀️ Gigi: Same. 💕
🐠 Gil: Thanks, guys. Really. That means a lot.
💨 Ryder: You looked pissed when you walked outta that meeting, dude. Glad I called Lagoona before someone said the wrong thing.
🌊 Lagoona: Thanks for the heads-up, mate. Seriously.
🐠 Gil: I wasn’t gonna kill anyone. 🙄
💨 Ryder: Buddy, when you’re mad and hydrated? You’re a damn menace.
🐠 Gil: I’m not that scary.
💨 Ryder: You literally knocked Manny through a concrete wall once.
👁️ Iris: EXCUSE ME, WHAT?! 👀
🐂 Manny: Babe, relax! It was an accident!
🧪 Jackson: And he apologized, like, immediately.
👁️ Iris: Fine. But I got my eye on you, Gil. 😒👁️
🐠 Gil: Can’t blame you.
👻 Spectra: Anyway—Scarah, I heard what happened to Billy. Is he okay?
🐺 Clawd: Yeah, I heard the screaming from across the building. Is he alright??
🔊 Scarah: He’s fine now. We spent most of the day in the nurse’s office. His ears are still ringing, but he’ll be okay soon. We had to dip before things got too chaotic.
🐺 Clawd: Good. Glad he’s alright.
🧪 Jackson: Okay but speaking of chaos… @Heath — WHAT. THE HELL. WAS THAT?
🦇 Draculaura: 👀 @Heath
🐺 Clawd: Bro. @Heath
🐺 Clawdeen: No more dodging. @Heath
👁️ Iris: YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID @HEATH
⚡ Frankie: You better not leave us on read @Heath
👻 Spectra: Don’t even try to ghost us @Heath
🔊 Scarah: Don’t make me drag you outta whatever hole you’re hiding in @Heath
🌊 Lagoona: You better come clean, flame brain @HEATH
🐂 Manny: SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST @HEATH
🐠 Gil: Don’t make us spam memes @HEATH
🔥 Heath has joined the chat.
🔥 Heath: WHAT?! 😤
🔥 Heath: I’M BUSY!! Geez!
🧪 Jackson: We need to talk about the volcanic disaster you caused.
⚡ Frankie: Translation: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAPPENED BETWEEN ABBEY AND JINAFIRE???
🔥 Heath: 😩 Do I have to explain it?
Everyone: YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!! 😤🔥👀🫵💀
🔥 Heath: Fiiine. So basically… Jinafire’s got a thing for me now.
🐂 Manny: Bro. How’d you go from being the school’s walking L to suddenly having two of the hottest, tallest, and thickest monster babes in an ice-fire death match over you?! 💀🔥💦
🔥 Heath: It’s NOT like that!! I didn’t plan any of this—it just happened!
🐺 Clawdeen: Uh-huh. And next you're gonna say you didn’t notice Jinafire throwing herself at you every five seconds?
🔥 Heath: NO! I mean… I noticed. But like—I didn’t ask for it!
👻 Spectra: Okay but like… how does Jinafire catching feelings lead to an actual hallway apocalypse?
🔥 Heath: Because she spent the entire day flirting with me. Like—relentless. Constant touching, sweet-talking, trying to corner me for a kiss.
🔥 Heath: And, shocker—Abbey did not take that well.
⚡ Frankie: Duh! You’re her man!
🔥 Heath: I know! So I finally stopped Jinafire at the end of the day and begged her to stop.
🔥 Heath: She goes, “Okay... but only if you kiss me.” 🙃
🐺 Clawd: 😐 And what did you say?
🔥 Heath: I said NO, obviously!
🐺 Clawd: Uh-huh. So how’d she react?
🔥 Heath: She pinned me to the wall, wrapped her tail around my neck, and said if I didn’t kiss her, she’d break all my limbs.
🧪 Jackson: Oh for fu—Why is your love life a war zone?
👻 Spectra: You attract danger like it’s your superpower.
🔥 Heath: It gets worse. Guess who walked in right as Jinafire was threatening to Mortal Kombat me?
Everyone: Abbey?
🔥 Heath: ABBEY. And she went feral. I’m talking full-blown arctic storm demon banshee.
🔥 Heath: Hallway got wrecked. It looked like Elsa and Godzilla tag-teamed the school.
👁️ Iris: Yeah, Manny scooped me up and booked it back to the dorms. I was NOT about to get frostbitten over your drama.
🧪 Jackson: We all bailed. It was like Scorpion vs Sub-Zero. If they were dating you. And homicidal.
Everyone: 💀 Yep.
🔥 Heath: Eventually Skelita showed up and helped us separate them.
🔥 Heath: But right before she did, Jinafire yelled that she’s not giving up. She said she’s gonna keep coming after me until I date her.
🧪 Jackson: Bro…
🐺 Clawd: That’s rough, buddy.
🦇 Draculaura: Don’t worry, Heath! We are not letting that fire-breathing hussy ruin you and Abbey!
🐺 Clawdeen: Yeah! If Jinafire wants to mess with Abbey again, she’s gonna have to go through us.
⚡ Frankie: Word!
🌊 Lagoona: Mmhmm! She’ll have to take us down one by one before we let her near Abbey again.
🧠 Ghoulia: 📣 FACTS.
🔥 Heath: Thanks, guys. I mean it. But really—it's okay. I’ve got this.
👻 Spectra & 🔊 Scarah: You sure?
🔥 Heath: Positive. She wants to play games? She picked the wrong fire elemental.
⚡ Frankie: Speaking of bestie…
⚡ Frankie: Has anyone else noticed that Cleo hasn’t said anything?
🦇 Draculaura: Yeah, that’s weird. She’d usually be running this conversation by now.
🐺 Clawdeen: @Cleo
🌊 Lagoona: @Cleo
🔥 Heath: @Cleo
🐺 Clawd: @Cleo
👁️ Iris: @Cleo
🧿 Deuce has joined the chat.
🧿 Deuce: hey. cleo’s okay—just exhausted. she told me she’d check in later.
🦇 Draculaura: Wait… is she with you right now???
⚡ Frankie: 👀👀👀 ohhhhhhh
🌊 Lagoona: so what you’re saying is… she’s “busy” 💅
🧿 Deuce: 😐 no, I mean… that was the plan. we were gonna, y’know…
🐺 Clawdeen: 👀 uh-huh…
🧿 Deuce: But when she showed up at my dorm, she was crying.
Everyone: CRYING?!
🐺 Clawdeen: Deuce. Talk. Whose bones are we breaking?
🧿 Deuce: I honestly don’t know. She was a mess—like full-on sobbing. Could barely get any words out.
🧿 Deuce: I think it has something to do with her dad. She’s been avoiding him all day.
🧿 Deuce: But right now she’s curled up in my lap, asleep. She cried herself out and just passed out.
Silence in the chat.
⚡ Frankie: Oh no… poor Cleo 😞
🦇 Draculaura: Please tell her we love her, okay?
🧠 Ghoulia: And that she can talk to us any time. No pressure.
🌊 Lagoona: Yeah, we’ve got her back. No matter what.
🧿 Deuce: thanks, guys. really. She looks so tired. like she’s been holding everything in all day.
🐺 Clawdeen: When she’s ready, we’ll be here. Always.
As the night goes on, the chat slowly shifts—from jokes to venting, from venting to comfort, from comfort to silence.
They’re exhausted.
Not just from the gas.
Not just from the rules, the drama and the sex.
But from today. From fights and confessions, near-breakups and broken hearts, scared friends, angry parents, hallway battles, and hallway hugs.
But this chat—this weird, messy, loyal little group—feels like home.
A home that’s still standing, even as the world around them keeps shaking.
🦇 Draculaura: goodnight, babes. dream sweet 🖤
⚡ Frankie: night night, weirdos 💚 don’t let the lovebugs bite
🌊 Lagoona: g’night, mates. love ya more than seafoam 🌊💙
🐺 Clawdeen: sleep tight. no drama dreams or i’m kicking down your door 💅🏽
🧪 Jackson: stay weird, stay kind. peace ✌🏼
🧠 Ghoulia: sends sleepy emoji, skull emoji, heart emoji
👁️ Iris: ‘night. let’s try not to destroy the school tomorrow 🥴
🔥 Heath: Good night, y’all. Seriously. Thanks for being here.
🐠 Gil: Night everyone. Sweet dreams, for real this time.
🐂 Manny: i’m already half-asleep but i love you dorks
👻 Spectra: g’night ghouls 💜 don’t haunt anything i wouldn’t
🧿 Deuce: hold up—heath, quick question before we all crash
🔥 Heath: shoot.
🧿 Deuce: skelita told me after the fight, abbey called jinafire a "cyka."
what's that mean?
🔥 Heath: …..
🔥 Heath: it’s russian.
🔥 Heath: for bitch.
🧿 Deuce: …oh. okay.
uh. noted.
🧿 Deuce: goodnight 😂
🔥 Heath: night man 😅
One by one, the little icons blinked out.
One by one, phones dimmed and screens went dark.
And one by one, the Monster High crew finally allowed themselves to rest.
Tomorrow, the madness would continue. But tonight?
Tonight they were safe.
Tonight they had each other.
And tonight… was enough.
To be continued....
Notes:
Hoped yall enjoyed the fight.
The next chapter will be a bit more light hearted and fun.
As well as the setup for something big.
Chapter 17: Horny School Musical
Summary:
As we continue to explore the now Horny school of Monsters, we have a few sing along's throughout.
Notes:
This is my first time writing a musical, so if you consider this mid, I don't blame ya.
Special announcement at the end of the chapter!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The bell rang.
The doors swung open.
And in stumbled another wave of sex-crazed monsters, each one walking like they hadn’t just spent yesterday getting screamed at by parents, slugging it out in the hallways, or limping into the nurse’s office with bruises in places no one should ever be bruised.
This wasn’t a school anymore.
It was a circus. A hormone-fueled, chaos-drenched, lust-drunk playground where the rules were suggestions and shame was extinct.
The guards at the entrance? Didn’t lift a claw, fang, or brow.
Not anymore.
They’d learned their lesson.
Try to stop these kids and you don’t get applause......
You get a head injury. A cracked rib. Or frostbite on parts of your body you didn’t even know could get frostbite.
Especially after yesterday’s hallway war between Abbey and Jinafire—walls shattered, ice spikes through lockers, scorch marks on the ceiling—the guards knew better than to play hero.
Sure, they were monsters too. Tough ones. Battle-hardened.
But as the saying goes:
“The old fear the young not because they’re reckless—but because they’re unstoppable when they stop caring.”
So now, they just watched.
Watched girls drag their boyfriends into storage closets.
Watched boys loiter outside bathrooms with barely-zipped pants and hungry eyes.
Watched couples grinding against lockers. W
atched hallway makeouts turn into hallway foreplay.
Watched whispers of “just five minutes” lead to twenty-minute disappearances.
Watched it all—and said nothing.
It was pathetic. Tragic, even.
Some of these kids had been brilliant. Ambitious. Gifted.
Now? They spent their days like beasts in heat, chasing orgasms instead of grades. Passion over purpose. Pleasure over progress.
But could anyone really blame them?
They were under the influence of a chemical compound designed to boost morale—created by a well-meaning idiot and unleashed like a sex bomb mid-assembly. The gas didn’t discriminate. It didn’t care if you were a genius or a jock or a student with tenure.
It turned everyone into a walking hormone factory.
And the worst part?
None of them realized it.
They thought this was normal.
Clawdeen and Toralei were pressed against the wall, kissing like starved lions, claws digging into fabric and flesh alike.
Clawdeen, still furious about yesterday’s family drama, hadn’t even greeted Toralei. She’d just slammed her into the nearest surface and shoved her tongue down her throat.
Across the hall, Operetta—belly full and bump the size of a watermelon—began stretching her arms and spine like a dancer warming up for a performance. But the way her eyes never left Johnny while she bent backward?
Yeah. It wasn’t ballet she was planning on performing.
But whatever it was, it involved her chest against his abs, and a lot of tongue.
Meanwhile, Abbey walked tall—still bruised from her fight with Jinafire but every inch the frost queen of the school. She didn’t care who stared. Didn’t care who flinched when she passed.
She had her ghouls.
She had her man.
And judging by the dazed, half-conscious wobble in Heath’s step, she had ridden him like a sled down Mount Everest.
His shirt? Wrinkled and clinging.
His hair? Wild and damp.
His face? Lipstick-smeared like a target at a kissing booth.
Heath stumbled again—and Abbey caught him, effortlessly.
“I was not too rough, was I?” she asked, with genuine concern in her icy tone.
Heath just grinned, dazed but proud. “Rough? Babe, I think you went easy. That was barely a challenge.”
Abbey narrowed her eyes, amused. “You lasted one round last night.”
Heath blinked, wobbled, and held up four shaky fingers. “Four. I remember all of them.”
She smirked, proud and unbothered, and they walked off arm in arm.
A guard watching them sighed aloud.
“What the hell has this school come to?” he muttered.
Then the doors swung open again.
Frankie and Holt strolled in like rockstars entering an arena—Holt rolling up his sleeves like a boxer, Frankie cracking her knuckles like she was about to break someone’s jaw or ride them until they begged for mercy.
“So,” Holt said, flashing a wicked grin, “Where do you wanna fuck this time? Locker rooms? The catacombs? Teacher’s lounge?”
Frankie tilted her head, eyes sparkling like lightning. “I’m thinking... right here. Maybe I pin you to the wall and blow your brains out before first period.”
Holt let out a low growl. “God, I love you.”
He was already angling toward the nearest wall like it owed him money, but before anything happened, a hall monitor skidded into view—clipboard in hand, face pale, eyes hollow.
“Guys,” he croaked, voice barely holding together, “I get it. You’re horny. Everyone’s horny. But could you please just… not fuck in the hallway? I’m begging you. Just give me this one win.”
Frankie and Holt turned. Glared.
And for a long, terrifying moment, the monitor mentally prepared his will.
He braced himself for death—or at the very least, getting set on fire and electrocuted.
But then… they sighed. Rolled their eyes. And walked away, hand-in-hand, muttering curses under their breath.
The monitor slumped against the wall and exhaled like he’d just dodged a guillotine.
He lived to see another period.
Frankie and Holt wandered the school, looking for a place to let loose—but it didn’t take long before frustration set in.
Every usual hookup spot?
Taken.
Girls’ bathrooms? Now unofficial blow job booths. Lines of boys waiting outside, trading dollars like it was lunch.
The attic? Moaning from above—Spectra and Porter had clearly claimed it.
Abandoned classrooms? Occupied. Every one.
Gym locker rooms? Taken. And from the grunts echoing through the vents, Toralei and her feral posse were going hard.
Science lab? Their usual backup plan?
Nope. Isi and Neighthan had turned it into a tantric den of mystic sex and spiritual moaning.
Neighthan had promised to text when they were done—after Isi finished her “cleansing ritual.”
Which, judging by the chanting and rhythmic slapping, involved riding him like a cowgirl in a shamanic rodeo.
“I swear to Ra,” Holt muttered, dragging both hands through his hair, “I’m two seconds away from just bending you over behind a vending machine.”
Frankie giggled. “Don’t tempt me.”
Finally, with nowhere else to go—and that trembling hall monitor still peeking around every corner—they ducked into Mr. Rotter’s classroom.
“You think we’re actually gonna learn anything?” Holt asked, eyebrow raised.
Frankie smiled sweetly. “Maybe. Like how long you can stare at my ass before Rotter throws a book at your head.”
Rotter was mid-lecture when the door creaked open. He glanced up, arms folded, brow furrowed.
“Well, well. Frankie. Holt. Decided to join us today, did you? Even though only one of you is technically enrolled in this class.”
They both ignored him and took their seats in the back.
Rotter sighed.
But he kept talking.
Because deep down, even if no one was listening, someone had to speak.
The theater was buzzing with quiet, lazy energy.
A rare kind of calm had settled over Monster High in the early morning light. After the chaos of yesterday's parent visit, most students had either slept in or were dragging their feet through the day, still high off their emotions—or trying to recover from them.
Inside the darkened theater, the only real light came from the ceiling rig, flickering on and off as a few volunteer students clumsily tried to fix the old spotlight track. Mr. Where stood near the front of the stage, hunched over a tangled bundle of cables with a growl in his throat and grease on his hands. He was surprisingly patient today, considering how many of the kids were just lounging around, barely pretending to be helpful.
Some were sprawled out on the velvet seats, watching GhoulTube on their scrollers. Others were flipping through costume bins, laughing at how ridiculous some of the outfits were. In the far corner, Lagoona was helping Clawd pull apart a rusted lighting fixture while Howleen tried to prank-swap the prop swords with rubber ones.
Amidst all this…
Catty Noir and Pharaoh were nowhere to be seen.
Because they had slipped backstage.
The moment they stepped into the cool shadows behind the curtain, Pharaoh sighed heavily and leaned against the wall.
“Still mad about your mom?” Catty asked softly, her voice like a lullaby echoing in the dusty wings.
Pharaoh’s jaw clenched. “She still doesn’t get it. She thinks everything has to be about her reputation, about 'looking good'. I’m not her. I’m not Ramses either. I don’t need to rule. I just want—”
He paused.
Catty smiled, brushing her claws against his chest. “You just want to breathe.”
He nodded.
“Well,” she said, taking a step closer, “what if we took your mind off it?”
Pharaoh raised a brow, but didn’t resist when she grabbed his hand and gently pulled him deeper into the shadows.
They passed racks of forgotten costumes, crates of unused pyrotechnics, boxes labeled “DO NOT OPEN” (which Howleen had definitely opened at least twice), and finally arrived at a small metal door tucked behind the scenery panels.
The supply closet.
Inside, it was cramped, but private. Dim light filtered in through a narrow vent near the ceiling, casting lines across the shelves of lightbulbs, paint cans, costume masks, and coils of rope. A single folding chair sat beneath a high shelf.
Catty sat down with practiced ease, legs crossed, back straight—but then, with a flick of her tail and a sparkle in her eye, she uncrossed them again and pulled Pharaoh down by his waistband.
He was still fuming, shoulders tense, eyes distant.
Until she started grinding.
Her hips moved with slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling against him in a way that made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. She tugged at his shirt, sliding her hands beneath it to trace her claws along his abs, her smile turning teasing and hungry.
“Still thinking about your mom?” she whispered, lips brushing his jaw.
Pharaoh choked on a breath. “N-Not anymore.”
She giggled, then leaned up and kissed his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Her movements grew slower, heavier, more intimate—her thighs squeezing around his lap as her purrs vibrated against his chest.
He closed his eyes, hands gripping the arms of the chair like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “Catty…”
“Shhh,” she murmured. “Let me take care of you for once.”
Then their mouths met.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was fire. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation.
His hands finally gave in and clutched her hips, guiding her against him, groaning low in his throat. She tangled her claws in his dreads, kissing him like she’d waited a week instead of a few hours. The small, dusty closet felt like another universe—one without mothers, or legacy, or cameras, or rules.
Just them.
But then—BANG!
The door slammed open.
“Yo! Pharaoh!”
A kid poked his head in, wide-eyed. “Mr. Where says he needs another pair of hands—like, now. The lift thing is stuck and Lagoona’s about to fall off the catwalk.”
Pharaoh exhaled through his nose like he’d just been stabbed.
Catty slowly slid off his lap, purring as she smoothed down her skirt.
“Duty calls,” she teased, planting one last kiss on the tip of his nose. Then she turned and walked out—slowly, hips swaying dramatically from side to side, her tail flicking behind her like a metronome built just to drive him crazy.
She blew him a kiss over her shoulder, winked, and disappeared around the corner.
Pharaoh groaned, adjusting himself with a wince as the clueless student waited in the doorway.
“…Tell Mr. Where I’m coming.”
The kid shrugged and walked off.
Pharaoh stood there for a few more seconds, running a hand through his hair, muttering to himself.
“Just once,” he whispered, “I’d like to not get cockblocked by theater tech.”
Then, with one last deep breath, he followed.
A COUPLE MINUTES LATER
Frankie and Holt sat in a nearly-empty classroom. The lights overhead buzz faintly. Dust motes float lazily in the stale air.
Gigi twirled a glittering pen with her magic, the pen arcing small flickers of light like a wand on autopilot. Her cheek rested in one palm, her eyes unfocused. Occasionally, her pen slipped and left a glowing line across her notebook. She didn’t care.
Deuce sat nearby, slouched so far down he looked like he was trying to disappear into his chair. His phone was in his lap, screen glowing softly as he checked his texts for the fifth time in a minute.
The conversation with Cleo was still open.
🧿Deuce: U ok babe?
No reply yet. But the typing bubble flickered once, then vanished. He waited.
Finally, one came through.
👑Cleo: I’m fine. just tired. Everything’s annoying today.
🧿Deuce stared at the screen for a few seconds, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then he typed:
🧿Deuce: Want me to come by after class? I’ll bring you that stupid expensive chocolate you like.
👑Cleo: Maybe. Only if it’s the dark raspberry one. And you shut up and cuddle me.
He smiled a little, relieved, and texted back:
🧿Deuce: Deal. You can insult me all you want. Just don’t cry alone, ok?
No answer this time, but the little heart reaction popped up on his message.
He relaxed a bit, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket. His eyes drifted across the room, but his thoughts were still with her. She'd snapped at her dad yesterday.
Even with her pride, that kind of fallout had weight. Heavy weight.
The kind Deuce couldn’t carry for her—but he could at least stand beside her.
Spectra hovered above her seat, not even bothering to fully sit down, her body flickering faintly. She was taking notes—not for the lesson, but to pass the time. Her expression was sullen, her usual sass dimmed.
Bloodgood’s punishment still lingered in her mind.
Her words yesterday when her parents demanded her laptop back was still clear as day.
“Maybe if she spent less time stirring the pot and more time keeping it from boiling over, I wouldn’t have to confiscate every piece of technology she owned. NO!”
Still, Spectra smirked a little. Because Porter was pissed.
He’d already spray-painted the statue of some old monster figure outside the library with “FREE MY GIRL” in neon pink.
Rumor had it he was planning to hijack the intercom system next.
Other students sat in the shadows of the room, listless and lazy. Some flirted under their breath.
A boy played with his girlfriend’s hair while she chewed gum and texted someone else.
One couple sat so close they might as well have been sharing skin.
And in the back, Frankie had crawled onto Holt’s lap.
He grinned like a devil. She leaned back into him, pressing against his chest, feeling the rhythmic heat of his breath as his hands crept under her shirt, fingers running over her stomach and up her ribs, making her squirm and giggle softly.
“I said I wanted to wait,” she whispered.
“And I said I’m dying,” Holt whispered back, his voice low and husky against her ear. “You know how long I’ve been holding back?”
“Oh, I know,” Frankie teased, tracing a line down his jaw. “But how far would you go just to get a taste of me?”
Holt’s eyes darkened, flames practically igniting in his pupils. “I’d sing for it.”
Frankie pulled back, blinking with mock-surprise. “Sing? Like… full performance?”
He grinned. “You think I wouldn’t?”
“I dare you.”
Holt rolled his neck like he was warming up, cracked his knuckles—and then opened his mouth.
And damn.
He could sing.
His voice was raw and rough, but smooth in all the right places. It slid through the room like a growl wrapped in honey.
The whole class froze, turning to stare as Holt launched into a sultry verse, clearly improvising:
🎵 “Girl, you got me twisted, caught up in your sparks / You light me up, you shut me down, you leave bite marks on my heart…” 🎵
Frankie melted, her eyes wide, lips parted. She was about to join in when—
SLAM.
Gigi’s pen hit the desk like a lightning bolt.
“NO.” she snapped, eyes glowing with radiant, golden-pink fury. “Not like this.”
The room went silent. Even Holt’s music screeched to a halt in his throat.
“…Huh?” Holt blinked.
Gigi stood up with dramatic flair. “You two are hot. Like, stupid hot. But you’re about to waste all that energy on a half-baked duet in a crusty classroom? With fluorescents?”
She waved her hand, disgusted. “Absolutely not."
Everyone stared as she clapped her hands together, and the world broke open.
The chalkboard split like a dimensional rift, tearing apart and revealing a swirling portal of electric color. Light burst through. Spotlights dropped from the ceiling. The floor lit up like a nightclub—purple neon grids pulsing beneath everyone’s feet. Smoke machines hissed from the walls. The air turned electric, thick with synthetic beats and glow-in-the-dark particles.
Gigi floated in midair now, arms extended, her magic crackling in every direction.
Desks disappeared.
Students shrieked as they were flung into new outfits—glam, glittery, skin-tight and stylized like they were headlining a freaky fashion show. Velvet, leather, mesh, glowstick colors. Someone ended up in assless chaps.
No one complained.
Holt blinked. He now wore a full rapper getup—jewels, shades, neon chains, fingerless gloves, fire decals on his jacket.
Frankie? She was dressed in something that would’ve made Megan Thee Stallion whistle.
Neon green latex crop top, ripped fishnets, black boots, and booty shorts that shimmered when she moved. Her hair was styled in twin puffs streaked with blue lightning.
Mr. Rotter, meanwhile, tried to stand up—only for a comically massive golden chain to yank him back into his chair, magically restraining him. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, looking like a hostage in a very inappropriate music video.
“What the HELL is going on?” Rotter barked.
Gigi grinned. “Improvement.”
She turned back to Frankie and Holt. “Now that’s a stage. So by all means… go crazy.”
The music dropped.
Frankie and Holt exchanged one slow, hungry look.
Their grins widened—fang and flame and lightning in sync.
And then?
The song began.
Holt Hyde & Frankie Stein – "Voltage Baby"
Holt kicked it off.
🎵 "Yeah, I walk in charged like a spark in the wires. Eyes locked on her, got my voltage higher!" 🎵
🎵 "She smirk like sin, hips talk like choir, And I’m tryna be the flame that her body requires." 🎵
As Holt sang, he stepped onto the top of a desk-turned-DJ booth that rose like it had plans. Neon light rippled underneath his feet, and when he threw his hands into the air, glowing turntables spun into existence around him. He didn’t touch them—he commanded them. Every flick of his wrist threw fire into the air, the beat syncing with bursts of flame and shockwaves of heat.
Frankie crossed her arms and watched, biting her lip.
Oh, he was showboating.
And it was working.
She was this close to jumping in—but nah. Let him sweat.
🎵 "She slide past slow, got that no-rush strut, Like she know I’d beg just to touch her gut..." 🎵
🎵 "She ain’t soft, she a glitch in the matrix—Got me preachin’ lust in the middle of a basics class!" 🎵
Students who’d been slumped in their seats now moved like they were possessed. The classroom—if you could still call it that—had shed its walls. Fluorescents dimmed into deep violet, blacklights lit up skin and sequins, and a mirrored disco orb spun overhead like a second moon.
Deuce grabbed Gigi’s hand and pulled her into a spin, their movements sharp, tight, connected. He dipped her low and she snapped back up with a body roll that made her glittering lashes flutter. Whatever tension she carried earlier melted in the heat of the beat.
It wasn’t a slow grind. It was chemistry.
Nothing romantic though.
Spectra floated over the crowd like a rave goddess, her glow pulsing with the music. She bent her knees mid-air, hands on them, and started twerking while hovering. With a grin, she flipped mid-beat and landed in a mid-spin, hair fanning around her like smoke.
“Watch me float,” she giggled, and winked at no one in particular.
The bass throbbed so hard it shook the desks into powder. The air was thick with magic, sweat, perfume, ozone—and something darker, hungrier. The kind of energy that made you bold.
And Holt? Holt felt it too.
🎵 "She said, ‘You hungry?’ Girl, I’ve been starving. One taste of you and I’m done with options!" 🎵
He pointed right at Frankie as he sang that line, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.
She raised a brow. Game on.
🎵 "I ain’t lookin’ for love, I’m lookin’ for sparks—So light me up, babe—set off alarms!" 🎵
The wall behind him exploded in a crackle of red and gold lightning.
Sirens wailed. A digital heartbeat echoed through the floor. Someone screamed—happily.
Frankie stepped forward.
Her hips moved like a metronome. Her boots stomped in time. The lights shifted to a green glow that licked at her skin and wrapped her like fire.
Frankie opened her mouth—
And Holt cut her off.
🎵 "I don’t want cute, I want crazy!" 🎵
His voice hit like a thunderclap, stealing the air right out of the room. He jumped from the booth, landing in a crouch, flames licking at his boots. The beat dropped hard, thick with distortion, smoke curling around his legs like it wanted to dance too.
🎵 "Give me that loud, that wild, that hazy!" 🎵
He walked toward her slow, eyes locked on hers like a wolf stalking prey that was already playing the game. The crowd parted, moving to the sides like they knew—this part wasn't for them.
🎵 "You don’t gotta fake it, just phase me..." 🎵
Frankie tilted her head, smirking. Her fingers sparked with lightning. Static crackled in the air between them.
She purred, “You sure?”
🎵 "She said, 'You sure?' I said, Voltage, baby." 🎵
On that line, the floor under Holt's feet lit up in zigzag bolts. A heartbeat-shaped bass pulse slammed through the room. The lights flickered like strobes going into cardiac arrest.
He was close now. Inches from her. Breath hot. Lips curved like sin.
🎵 "I don’t want chill, I want danger!" 🎵
He ran a hand up her side—not touching skin, just air, just heat. Close enough to send a message. She arched toward it without meaning to.
🎵 "Sweet like a cut, pain dressed in flavor!" 🎵
On that line, her fingers curled into his jacket. His grin went crooked.
🎵 "She flipped the switch, now I’m dazed and lazy..." 🎵
He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear.
🎵 "One hit from her and it’s voltage, baby." 🎵
Behind them, the music exploded—synths screaming, drums kicking, the crowd shrieking like the walls couldn’t hold them anymore.
Holt didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just stared at Frankie.
Waiting for her turn.
And this time?
She didn't hesitate.
Frankie stepped forward, slow and deliberate, then—
BOOM.
🎵 "Yeah—he talk big, but I move bigger!" 🎵
Her hips snapped with the beat, sharp enough to slice. She dropped into a low squat, rolled her body like a whip, and stood up so fast her hair flipped like a weapon. The crowd screamed. Holt exhaled like he forgot how lungs worked.
🎵 "He want taste? Better earn this dinner!" 🎵
She strutted down an invisible runway—owning it, commanding it—like the classroom was her stage and Holt was just a lucky front-row seat. Her boots clacked loud against the neon floor, each stomp hitting like a warning shot.
🎵 "I’m not soft, I’m the glitch in your signal—Mouth like sugar, mood like a pistol." 🎵
She ran her tongue over her teeth, slow and smug, then turned around, dropped low again, and bounced. Hands on her knees, ass to the crowd. The kind of move that should’ve come with a seizure warning.
Spectra shrieked.
Deuce dropped his phone.
Rotter lost it.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” he shouted over the music, trying to get up—only for the golden chain around his chair to yank him down so hard his glasses flew off. “THIS IS NOT— I WILL NOT— THIS IS A CLASSROOM, NOT A BURLESQUE DUNGEON!”
Frankie didn’t even blink.
🎵 "I got ten texts, six missed calls—But I only reply when I feel that draw." 🎵
She pulled her phone from her bra, glanced at the screen, rolled her eyes, and threw it behind her. Spectra caught it midair and cheered.
🎵 "He got heat, but I’m solar flare—One look shut him up like a silent prayer." 🎵
Frankie turned back toward Holt. Her eyes met his, and she winked.
He stumbled backward.
Yeah, he was panting.
So was Jackson, slumped in the back of Holt's mind, face red, collar tugged, sweat dotting his temple like he’d run a marathon just from watching.
🎵 "You don’t chase me—I drag you in…" 🎵
She walked straight up to Holt, grabbed the front of his jacket, yanked him forward until his forehead rested against hers.
🎵 "Got him stumblin’ over every inch of skin…" 🎵
She ghosted her hands down her sides, slow and smooth, then hit a full-body wave that ended with a pop of her hip. The lights flickered like they couldn’t handle it.
🎵 "I don’t need vows, I don’t do slow—I need hands on hips and a mic drop glow." 🎵
On “glow,” she spun, flipped her hair, dropped into a split with lightning crackling at her fingertips, then snapped back up like it was nothing.
Rotter was screaming. Holt was frozen. Jackson had buried his face in his hands.
And Frankie?
She grinned.
She wasn’t even warmed up yet.
Frankie didn’t stop.
She flipped her hair again—on beat—and stalked across the floor like it owed her money. The lights chased her, trailing her in hot pink and ultraviolet streaks.
🎵 "I don’t want sweet, I want reckless!" 🎵
She kicked a desk out of the way without even looking at it. It spun, sparked, and vanished into thin air. Then she turned, dropped low again, and clapped back up into a hair flip so fierce Gigi shrieked.
🎵 "Need a boy who begs, breathless, neckless!" 🎵
Holt gripped his own throat like he forgot how to breathe.
Frankie smirked. “Yeah. Just like that.”
🎵 "He said, ‘You’re a dream.’ I said, Restless." 🎵
She leaned back, arms open like a goddess, soaking in the crowd’s reaction.
Neon confetti burst from the ceiling as students whooped and hollered.
Jackson looked like he was physically suffering.
His leg bounced. His jaw clenched. His pupils were fully dilated. He was gripping the edge of his seat like it was the only thing stopping him from sprinting out of the room or throwing Holt through a wall.
Frankie knew. She felt it.
And she thrived on it.
🎵 “‘Wanna ride the storm?’ He said, ‘Yes, miss.’” 🎵
She grabbed Holt by the collar again, yanked him close, and fake-whispered in his ear while staring dead at Jackson.
Then she shoved Holt back and strutted toward the front of the room, hips swaying like she was controlling the tempo with each step.
🎵 "I don’t want nice, I want neon!" 🎵
At that line, the lights above exploded into glowing signs—“HOT,” “FIRE,” “DANGER,” and one that just said “GIRL STOP” blinking violently over Rotter’s head.
🎵 "Bite so good make him put a ring on!" 🎵
She licked her teeth and blew a kiss that sparked midair, flying straight at Holt.
It hit him square in the chest. He staggered, laughing breathlessly.
🎵 "Sparks in the sheets, now he actin’ crazy!" 🎵
Deuce yelled “AYYYYEEE!” like he couldn’t take it anymore. Gigi just screamed.
Frankie turned to face the room, arms out, triumphant.
🎵 "One kiss from me? That’s voltage, baby." 🎵
Boom.
A lightning bolt cracked across the ceiling. The room shook. The floor lit up in a shockwave of purple and green. Rotter fainted face-down onto his desk.
Holt had both hands on his head, pacing like he just witnessed a religious experience.
The beat slowed—just for a second. Just long enough to catch your breath.
Then Holt stepped forward.
His voice dropped low, like gravel and gasoline.
🎵 “You shock my system / overload me” 🎵
His hand hovered over Frankie’s waist—not touching, not yet—but she felt it. Her breath hitched, for half a second.
She turned, smirking.
🎵 “You talk that game / but you can’t control me.” 🎵
She pressed her palm to his chest—flat, firm, pushing him back a step. But his grin didn’t budge. Neither did he.
🎵 “You got that fuse / that fire, that switch…” 🎵
He leaned in close, fingers tracing the air near her collarbone, never touching, just burning.
🎵 “You bring that bass / I bite, I glitch.” 🎵
Frankie shoved him back, spun, and dropped into a full split again—then popped up like nothing.
The crowd lost it.
Now they were circling each other. Sparks crackled with every step. Jackson’s tension bled through Holt now, visible in the twitch of his jaw, the tightness in his fists. Watching Frankie command the space—it was too much and not enough.
They sang together, eyes locked.
🎵 “No rules now / just tension. Built this mess with full intention. You pull, I push, we snap, then sway. Voltage love—we don’t play safe.” 🎵
And then the drop came.
Hard.
🎵 “We don’t want calm, we want chaos!” 🎵
The beat hit like a tidal wave. Frankie grabbed Holt and spun them both in a fast, heated blur, his arms circling her waist—her hand tangling in his hair. Bodies crashing in sync, like they were dancing and fighting at the same time.
🎵 “Need that dirty beat, that take-your-clothes-off!” 🎵
Frankie climbed him like a pole, legs wrapped around his waist. He caught her, easy. Jackson was roaring beneath the surface now, and Holt let it bleed through—teeth bared, eyes glowing.
🎵 “Flick the light, shut the door, go hazy…” 🎵
She leaned back in his arms, upside down, hair sweeping the floor, her eyes on the ceiling like she ruled the heavens.
And then she locked eyes with Jackson again.
As if she saw both of them. And claimed all of it.
🎵 “This ain’t love—it’s voltage, baby.” 🎵
On “voltage,” lightning crashed down from the ceiling.
Everything went white-hot.
The stage exploded into light.
The crowd screamed.
And then—darkness.
Silence.
Smoke curled across the room.
Frankie stood dead center, one boot on Holt’s chest where he now lay flat on the glowing floor, grinning like the devil himself, chest heaving.
Her voice dropped to a whisper only they could hear.
“Mine.”
For a moment, time held its breath.
Then, with a loud snap—reality slammed back into place.
The lights vanished. The smoke dissolved. The classroom was normal again. Dusty floors, plain desks, flickering chalkboard. Students slumped back into their chairs, blinking, stunned.
The sexy outfits? Gone.
The LED floor? Gone.
Mr. Rotter? FURIOUS.
He was back on his feet, veins pulsing in his forehead, arms thrown in the air like a man seconds away from combusting.
“WHAT—WHAT IN THE INFERNAL—WHAT WAS THAT?!” he roared, spit flying.
But Frankie was barely listening.
Still standing over Holt, she felt her phone buzz.
PING.
She glanced at it.
🦄 Neighthan: Room’s free now. But don’t expect to see me for the rest of the day. Isi sucked me dry.
Frankie bit her lip to hide the grin that tugged at her face.
Damn. Good for them.
She slipped the phone away, extended a hand, and helped Holt up with one smooth yank. He was still breathless, dazed, but completely enchanted.
"Thank you, firecracker," he said, bowing his head. "You're an amazing performer."
Frankie laughed. "I didn't do much."
Holt grinned. "Oh, you did plenty."
As they began to leave the room, Mr. Rotter took one aggressive step toward them.
Crack-BOOM!
A jagged lightning bolt snapped through the air, missing his face by less than an inch. It scorched a deep scar into the chalkboard behind him, the heat rippling off the mark like a warning shot from the gods.
Rotter froze, mouth wide open.
Frankie gave him a look. A simple one.
"Don’t."
He didn’t.
Behind them, the classroom exploded in cheers.
Whistles. Applause. A few desks flipped over from the force of the excitement.
Deuce fist-pumped from his seat. Gigi stood up clapping like a queen approving her heir. Spectra, even still melancholy, let out a wild, ghostly whoop that echoed threefold across the walls.
One student screamed, “ICONIC.”
Frankie and Holt didn’t even look back.
They were already halfway out the door.
Still grinning. Still riding the high.
Ready to ruin that empty room.
The dim, somber lighting of the headmistress’s office contrasted sharply with the neon chaos flickering across the wall of monitors.
Live feeds from the now-transformed classroom glitched and danced across the screens, replaying snippets of Frankie and Holt’s performance like a surreal music video on loop.
Headmistress Bloodgood sat behind her desk, her severed head resting on a crimson velvet cushion. Her eyes were wide, not with surprise—she’d long passed that—but with a tired mixture of dread and disbelief.
Surrounding her were a dozen parents and faculty members, all either seated in stiff silence or pacing in restrained outrage. The atmosphere was heavy, like a funeral with a disco playing in the background.
Coraline’s voice broke the silence, stammering in disbelief.
"Did she just... turn the classroom into a bloody rave?"
Bloodgood didn’t even blink.
"Yep." Her tone was bone-dry, drained of energy, like someone watching the apocalypse through security cameras.
Clawrk rolled his eyes.
"Gotta admit... that Gigi girl’s got a talent for renovation. Too bad it’s wasted on a sex dungeon with strobe lights."
In the back of the room, Viktor Stein stood frozen, both hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
He stared at the screen where his daughter, his little girl, Frankie, strutted across a makeshift stage with the confidence of a headliner at Monsterpalooza.
It wasn’t just dancing.
It wasn’t just rapping.
She was commanding. Powerful. Drenched in a bold, almost primal energy that didn’t match the bubbly, curious child he’d raised.
“That’s… my little girl,” Viktor whispered, voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of monitors. “How did it come to this?”
Beside him, Viveka Stein had both hands over her chest, tears threatening to spill as she watched Frankie finish the performance by planting a boot on Holt’s chest like a queen staking her claim.
“My baby,” she whispered, shaken. “She’s so confident. So strong.”
There was a beat.
“But not in a good way,” Wade muttered, arms crossed.
The Phantom of the Opera—lurking near a bookshelf like he preferred shadows over conversation—cleared his throat.
“Hearing about it was disturbing enough,” he said with a grimace. “Watching it? I might need to claw my own eyes out.”
Bloodgood slowly rewound the footage, pausing on Frankie’s first verse—the moment her transformation became undeniable.
“And to think…” she said, eyes narrowing. “She was one of the only students not acting like a hornball when this began. Had she gone home early… before Cleo got her claws into her… things might’ve turned out differently.”
Dracula gave a slow shake of his head.
“Perhaps. But don’t kid yourself. Even without Cleo’s influence, the gas would’ve gotten to her eventually. It always does.”
A heavy sigh escaped Harriet’s lips. She leaned against the desk, glaring at the monitor as if sheer disappointment could erase what they’d all seen.
“Let’s just hope no one else turns one of our classrooms into a freaky-ass music video.”
A beat. Bloodgood didn’t even look up.
And spoiler alert. They did.
IN ANOTHER LOCATION.
The old theatre wing of Monster High, shuttered since the ‘60s for “renovations,” was a relic of faded grandeur, its creaking beams and moth-eaten curtains steeped in haunted acoustics.
But Casta Fierce had claimed it, transforming the derelict space into her dominion.
No longer was she the queen of the gym, she had transcended—her ambition now a hunger that no stage could contain.
The stage was now a throne room—redone in crushed velvet, obsidian drapes, and pulsing purple lanterns that cast an otherworldly glow.
Incense hung heavy in the air, mingling with the low hum of spells that never faded, each whisper of magic reinforcing her command:
Worship me.
And they did.
Casta sat reclined in her throne. A throne made of muscle and moaning devotion—because it wasn’t a chair.
It was a person. Or what used to be a person. One of her most obedient thralls now served as her furniture, back arched, jaw locked into a seat shape, his eyes glowing faintly from constant enchantment.
Two more knelt at her sides: one feeding her plump, glistening grapes one by one, the other gently fanning her with a massive, feathered fan, both half-dressed, glassy-eyed, and smiling like good pets.
Below her?
Her harem.
Dozens of them. Boys and girls now, all brainwashed, mindless, and dripping with devotion. They were gathered across the room, kneeling in perfect submission. Some swayed in place like hypnotized snakes, others bowed low, arms raised, mouths whispering chants that sounded like “Mistress Fierce… Goddess Fierce… our voice, our queen…”
She’d stopped pretending she was “Casta” days ago.
She was only Fierce now.
And she liked girls too. A recent discovery, but a potent one.
Two new pets—female, curved, delicate, eager—nuzzled at her heels. One kissed her boot. The other kissed the floor beneath her boot. Both sighed like it was ecstasy.
Casta stretched languidly, black-nailed fingers curling around the velvet armrests of her human throne.
“Such good little dolls,” she purred. “You’ve earned something special…”
But as her eyes began to glow, ready to weave another spell, her gaze caught on a cracked mirror propped against the wall—a relic of the theatre’s past.
In its reflection, she saw not just her transformed self but a flicker of something else:
Doubt.
She rose, her thralls pausing in their worship, and crossed to a small table where her phone lay, its screen still open to a feed of venomous comments from the outside world.
She scrolled, her lips tightening.
“Casta Fierce used to be the voice of a generation. Now she’s just another ghoul shaking her ass for likes.”
“Pathetic. From diva to desperate in a week.”
"And to think, my daughter used to love this girl."
“She’s not a star anymore. Just a slutty witch with a fan club.”
Her fingers hovered over the screen, a recording of her last performance playing softly—a song that had once moved crowds to tears, now mocked as “gas-fueled trash.”
She muttered, her voice barely audible, “They used to say I was the voice of a generation. Now I’m just… this.”
The room stilled, her thralls sensing the shift in their queen.
One, a girl with soft curls and a leather harness, crawled forward, her head bowed low, voice quivering with devotion.
“Mistress, you are everything to us,” she whispered, barely daring to meet Casta’s gaze. “Your voice gave my worthless heart a purpose. It’s all I live for now.”
Another thrall, a boy draped in silken wraps, pressed his forehead to the floor, his words fervent yet submissive. “You’re our goddess, unbound by their lies. The gas only revealed your true power. We’re nothing without you—please, let us serve you always.”
Casta’s breath caught, their words piercing the haze of her doubt.
She looked at her harem, their faces radiant with belief—not just in her power, but in her. A slow smile curved her lips, sharp and defiant. She wasn’t their pawn or the gas’s puppet. She was Fierce, and she’d define what that meant.
“Enough,” she said, her voice a low command that vibrated with resolve.
Her eyes glowed.
With one sweeping motion of her hand, the whole world around them warped.
The throne room twisted—bent, melted, reformed.
Now they stood in a gothic opera house built from darkness. Black velvet curtains. Floating candles flickering overhead like a halo of fireflies. Blood-red lights glimmered from above, and the floor beneath them shimmered with polished obsidian.
Casta rose.
Her outfit had transformed with the room.
She wore a tight, sculpted corset of black leather etched with glowing sigils, a dominatrix’s silhouette with a witch doctor’s mystique—lace sleeves, talon-like rings, silver bones tied into her belt, and a wide-brimmed hat cracked down the middle like a crescent moon.
Her lipstick was now black. Her eyes rimmed in smoky violet. Her boots high, her heels cruel, her hair wild with streaks of white.
She looked like the wicked witch of the west if the witch had fangs, better lighting, and a throne made of meat.
And below her?
And below her?
Her harem had changed too. Outfits melted away into leather harnesses, silken wraps, and intricate collars. Everyone was on a leash now. Some on all fours. Others clutched candles like relics. Their eyes glowed like they’d never known anything but the inside of her world.
Casta stepped forward, arms out, chin lifted.
She took a breath—
Casta stood center stage.
No mic.
No need.
The room was hers.
And the song began.
Casta Fierce – “Enchanted Temptress”
🎵"Bow low…"🎵
Her voice barely made sound—yet it echoed inside every mind like a command dropped straight into the brainstem. Knees hit the ground all at once.
🎵"Speak soft…"🎵
Dozens of lips moved, but no one dared make a sound.
🎵"Don’t blink unless I say so."🎵
The candles flared violet. Time paused. A hush so deep, it swallowed thought.
Then—
🎵"Silk on my tongue, venom in my kiss…"🎵
Casta’s tongue slid across her black lipstick, slow and deliberate. One boy at her heel whimpered without meaning to—and she snapped her fingers.
He froze. Stiff as stone. His mouth still parted mid-worship.
🎵"Worship in waves, I don’t ask, I insist…"🎵
She turned, arms outstretched. Behind her, the crowd moved like tides—waves of bodies rising, swaying, then collapsing back into worship. Not choreography. Obedience.
🎵"They kneel like the moon’s in my lap…"🎵
Casta lowered herself into her throne—the living one—her hips sinking down into the man-shaped seat with decadent ease.
She crossed her legs.
The moan he let out? Involuntary. Blissed. Broken.
🎵"One look and they fall into traps."🎵
She turned her gaze on a girl too pretty and too proud, standing near the edge of the crowd.
The girl trembled.
Her knees hit the floor. Hard. She crawled forward with eyes wide and wet.
Casta’s smile widened, cruel and gorgeous.
🎵"I don’t beg—I summon…"🎵
With one raised hand, five more crawled forward. Chests bare, collars glowing, hands trembling as they tried to reach her.
🎵"With a blink, they run in…"🎵
She blinked.
And they ran.
Scrambling like worship-hungry animals, arms outstretched, desperate to reach even the hem of her robe.
🎵"Sweet like sin, I’m drippin’…"🎵
She uncorked a crystal vial at her hip and let something thick and red run down her fingers. She licked it slow, like syrup, eyes never leaving the crowd.
🎵"Candlelit, blood sippin’."🎵
The candles flared. The lights dimmed. Someone offered up a goblet—hands shaking. She took it, sipped once, let it stain her lips darker than before.
The entire room moaned like one body.
And Casta?
She hadn’t even reached the chorus yet.
The candles dimmed to a low crimson flicker. The music slowed—bass rumbling like something ancient breathing beneath the stage.
Casta stood over the crowd.
Eyes sharp. Smile sharper.
Her gaze scanned the crowd—and landed on him.
A boy in the second row.
Not on his knees.
Not swaying.
Arms crossed.
Jaw set.
A flicker of defiance.
Perfect.
She walked straight toward him, heels cracking like thunder across the obsidian floor. Every step she took, the room held its breath.
The boy swallowed hard but didn’t move.
She stopped just in front of him—so close he could smell the incense woven into her skin.
🎵 "You thought you were strong—how quaint."🎵
She said it with a sigh, like she was bored by him. Her hand ghosted across his cheek—but didn’t touch. He flinched anyway.
🎵 "Now you wear my name like paint…"🎵
She raised one finger, glowing violet at the tip—and dragged it through the air across his bare chest.
Her sigil carved itself into his skin. Glowing. Pulsing. Burning through his pride like ink through silk.
The crowd gasped.
He stared down at it in horror.
🎵 "Spellbound, baby, you’re mine to bend…"🎵
His spine curved against his will. His arms dropped. His hands twitched like they were fighting themselves.
She snapped her fingers.
He fell to his knees.
🎵 "Your will? That broke at the second I grinned."🎵
She leaned in close, baring a sharp little smile. Her breath traced the shell of his ear.
He shivered.
Then dropped to all fours.
The crowd around him howled, half in glee, half in fear. He was hers now. Branded. Bent. Broken.
Casta turned back toward the stage—her cape swirling like smoke behind her—and raised her goblet.
“Next.”
The stage went black.
Every candle snuffed out in a whisper.
Then—A spotlight.
Casta. Center stage.
One thigh perched on a kneeling body—bare, panting, collared. Her fingers gripped a leash. Her heel dug into another back below her.
Her voice purred through the silence like a velvet whip:
🎵 "I’m the voice in your veins, the queen in your breath…"🎵
A line of chained devotees arched, moaned in sync, like her voice alone struck nerve endings.
She yanked the leash.
🎵 "I don’t love—I possess."🎵
The submissive at her feet choked—not from pain, but pleasure. His eyes rolled back. His mouth fell open in pure, helpless worship.
Above him, Casta sneered with satisfaction.
🎵 "One word and you confess…"🎵
She snapped her fingers and across the room, heads dropped. Knees hit floors.
One girl sobbed out loud, “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours…”
🎵 "I don’t break hearts—I bless."🎵
She knelt. Just enough to run a sharp-nailed hand down someone’s trembling jaw.
A kiss on their forehead. Then a slap across the mouth.
They gasped like it was sacred.
🎵 "With ruin wrapped in lace…"🎵
Her corset shimmered as she stood, strutting across the stage with two pets crawling behind her, lips pressed to the floor.
Silk ropes dragged behind her. They were attached to collars. The leash handles? Wrapped around her fingers like rings.
🎵 "Touch me and lose your place…"🎵
One boy reached up—just an inch too far.
She turned.
He froze.
With a flick of her wrist, he collapsed to the ground, face buried, arms outstretched in apology.
The others purred in approval. One even begged: “Punish me instead.”
🎵 "You don’t fall for me—you descend…"🎵
She walked down the steps into the audience like a queen descending from Olympus—except her gods were under her heel.
One by one, they lowered themselves. Some kissed her boots. Some kissed each other’s bruises.
Casta cupped a girl’s chin, kissed her on the lips—slow, possessive—then bit her lower lip till it bled.
The girl moaned. “Thank you, Mistress.”
🎵 "Enchanted temptress, no escape…"🎵
Chains slithered across the floor. Snakes of silk and metal. Wrapping ankles. Tightening around wrists. No screams—just moans.
They didn’t want to run.
They wanted to belong.
🎵 "One taste, I burn your name."🎵
Casta licked her fingers—still painted in blood and glitter and snapped.
Suddenly, every collar in the room glowed.
Their owners screamed in ecstasy as her sigil burned across their skin—glowing bright like holy branding.
They weren’t hers for the night.
They were hers forever.
This wasn’t flirtation.
This was submission school.
“Boys,” she purred. “Sit still. This isn’t for you.”
With a wave of her hand, every boy’s collar glowed. They were yanked back by invisible chains, stuck kneeling against the walls like obedient mannequins—watching. Silent.
She turned to the girls.
They were already shaking.
“Now,” she whispered, voice low, velvet-wrapped steel, “let’s find out what you really belong to.”
🎵 "Lips like prayer, hips like doom…"🎵
Casta stepped up to a girl—young, flushed, pride in her posture—and backhanded her across the face.
The crack echoed.
The girl gasped, eyes wide—and then moaned, falling to her knees.
🎵 "You don’t walk in—I consume."🎵
Casta grabbed her by the jaw, dragged her face to the side, and kissed her neck without affection—just a mark, a bite, a claim.
Another girl whimpered. Casta turned, grin flashing.
“Oh? You want a taste too?”
She walked over, slow.
🎵 "Obey like you forgot your spine…"🎵
The girl instantly dropped flat to the floor, arms outstretched like she was at the altar.
🎵 "You forgot your name—but you know mine."🎵
Casta snapped her fingers—and suddenly the girl’s original name was gone. Erased.
A new one burned into her mind like fire.
"Say it."
"Fierce."
"Again."
"Fierce."
"Who do you serve?"
"You."
"Who owns your thoughts?"
"You do."
"And your mouth?"
She sobbed. “You do.”
🎵 "Leather and spells, I stitch ‘em tight…"🎵
The air warped. Collars sealed. Belts coiled like serpents. Harnesses locked into place with glowing runes.
One girl tried to pull away.
Casta didn’t even look.
With one flick of her wrist, the girl dropped to the floor, legs spread, arms bound behind her back by enchanted silk.
🎵 "Whispers under blood-red light…"🎵
All around them, the walls chanted in tongues. A living spell. The sound made every girl arch, panting like heat itself was inside their skin.
🎵 "You ache for chains I don’t need…"🎵
She dragged her whip across their thighs—slow, light.
Not hard enough to satisfy.
Just hard enough to drive them insane.
They begged.
Some cried.
Some screamed her name like it was holy.
🎵 "I look, you crawl. You bleed."🎵
She made one girl crawl a full lap around the stage, tongue on the floor, leash clutched tight in Casta’s hand.
By the end of it, the girl was shaking—tears, sweat, pleasure—all denied.
Still no release.
Then Casta paused in front of a trembling blonde, strapped and gagged but still fighting her own moans.
“Didn’t you have a boyfriend?” she whispered.
The girl tried to nod. Tried to speak.
Casta ripped the gag away.
“Not anymore,” she said sweetly. “Say goodbye.”
“I—I—"
Casta kissed her. Long. Deep.
Then snapped her fingers.
The girl’s eyes went glassy. And her voice changed.
Casta smirked.
“Who's your boyfriend?"
The girl didn’t even hesitate.
"I don’t have one."
“And who do you belong to?”
“You.”
Casta smiled.
“Exactly.”
And with that, she continued.
🎵"I don’t touch—I brand."🎵
With just her gaze, sigils seared across thighs, hips, hearts.
One girl sobbed with gratitude.
🎵"You shake just from my command…"🎵
A redhead collapsed onto all fours, her entire body convulsing in pleasure—without being touched once.
🎵"I hum, and the room turns black…"🎵
Casta released one dark, low hum from her throat—and the world went void.
Pitch black.
Only moaning. Only breath.
🎵"You come undone and never come back."🎵
When the light returned, half the girls were weeping, slumped over, hips still twitching with the edge of release.
But no one had climaxed.
Not yet.
Because Casta hadn’t allowed it.
And they knew better than to beg twice.
The music swelled—dark, slow, and hungry.
Casta stood at the peak of her stage—arms outstretched, boots planted wide on two bowed backs, one girl and one boy trembling beneath her heels.
Her breath hitched—once—and then she screamed the chorus into the void.
🎵 "I’m the voice in your veins, the queen in your breath!" 🎵
Every collar in the room flared white-hot. Bodies arched. Mouths dropped. Some screamed. Some sobbed.
They weren’t even sure why.
Just that it felt good.
🎵 "I don’t love—I possess!" 🎵
Casta raised one gloved hand—fingers curled like claws—and pulled.
Dozens of bodies were yanked forward by magic alone. Crawling. Dragged. Controlled.
Their knees hit the floor like thunder.
🎵 "One word and you confess!" 🎵
Casta pointed at a boy.
“Say it.”
“I touch myself to your voice.”
“Louder.”
“I touch myself to your voice!”
The room cheered.
🎵 "I don’t break hearts—I bless!" 🎵
She stepped down from her monster throne and onto the obsidian floor, where hands reached up like a sea of desperate sinners. She kicked one boy onto his back, planted a heel on his chest.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
He moaned.
🎵 "With ruin wrapped in lace…" 🎵
The black leather of her corset shimmered with pulsing sigils. Her thigh harnesses dripped silver chains. Her lipstick smeared across a girl’s neck as she marked her again.
🎵 "Touch me and lose your place…" 🎵
One brave boy reached for her ankle.
Wrong move.
She turned, slapped him across the face with the back of her hand—then licked her palm slow.
He collapsed, trembling.
🎵 "You don’t fall for me—you descend…" 🎵
Bodies dropped. One by one. As if gravity had finally caved.
They didn't fall in love with Casta.
They fell under her.
🎵 "I’m your start and your end…"🎵
She pressed a single finger to a girl’s forehead.
The girl screamed—and smiled.
Her orgasm hit like a seizure. She blacked out mid-chant, mouth still whispering Fierce as she crumpled to the floor.
🎵 "Enchanted temptress, no escape…"🎵
Casta raised her arms. Chains dropped from the ceiling—velvet ropes, glowing collars, silken blindfolds.
Each one wrapped itself around a devotee willingly.
Begging for it.
🎵 "One taste, I burn your name…"🎵
She kissed a boy.
Just once.
His eyes rolled back. Her name literally ignited across his chest in burning script—“CASTA.”
He collapsed. Smiling.
Then—silence.
Until the bridge began. Low. Chanted. Layered in harmony. The room dimmed to violet. Casta’s voice echoed from everywhere.
🎵 "Bind your soul to my rhythm…"🎵
Hands gripped the floor. Collars pulled tight,
Dozens gasped in unison. Their minds… opened. Exposed. Inviting.
🎵"Pleasure’s poison, kiss it slow…"🎵
She walked among them, trailing her fingers across tongues, lips, thighs—never staying long enough.
Just enough to hurt.
🎵"Serve me high, serve me low…"🎵
One girl laid flat on the floor, arms wide, chest rising fast. A boy crawled behind her, kissing her spine as Casta nodded permission.
🎵"Chains are silk when I command…"🎵
And they were.
The bindings wrapped like gifts—pretty, perfect, permanent.
🎵"Now crawl—both knees, both hands."🎵
She snapped.
Every single body dropped.
Crawling.
Toward her.
Toward their mistress.
The lights snapped to white-hot intensity, burning every corner of the opera house into stark relief. Casta stood at the apex of her obsidian dais, arms spread wide like a dark goddess crowned in living flame.
Her voice tore through the air, each word a command that shook bone and soul:
🎵“I’m the voice in your veins, the queen in your breath—bitch I don’t love—girl I possess…”🎵
As she intoned the final lines, her hands dropped from that open-grip invocation into a vice of invisible power.
One by one, every devotee—boy and girl alike—levitated, suspended in a tableau of rapture and torment. Their bodies arched, limbs splayed, faces twisted between agony and ecstasy.
🎵“…One word and you confess—I don’t break hearts—I bless…”🎵
Her eyes blazed glaze. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she squeezed.
A gravity choke—not of flesh but of will—compressed their chests, halted their breaths, denied them every ounce of relief they so desperately craved.
🎵“…With ruin wrapped in lace—Touch me and lose your place…”🎵
They screamed silently, suspended in mid-air, veins throbbing with need. Casta let the choke tighten, let the power hum beneath her skin, until…
🎵 “…You don’t fall for me—you descend—I’m your start and your end…” 🎵
…she released them all at once.
The collective climax hit like a supernova. Light exploded behind their eyes; every single body convulsed in perfect, simultaneous release.
Casta leaned back, letting their cum and sweat rain down upon her like a baptism of desire as the music swelled to its final, thunderous crescendo.
She opened her mouth, letting some of it pour into her mouth.
Taste it.
Savor it.
Swallow it down.
The cascade of moans, tears, and whispered “Fierce…” filled the hall, echoing off the vaulted ceiling like a benediction.
Then—gravity reclaimed them. Every worshipper plummeted to the floor in a writhing wave, collapsing into crawling piles of devotion.
They moved inch by inch toward her, hands scraping the polished obsidian, eyes glazed with worship.
Casta straightened, extinguishing the white blaze into cold violet shadows. She knelt on the edge of the dais, one boot extended over the sea of bodies.
She licked the crimson from her lips, a slow, satisfied curl to her smile.
“Now… who do you belong to?” she whispered.
A thousand raw, cracked voices rose as one:
“FIERCE!”
Casta smiled once more.
"Good pets."
The harem erupted in worshipful cries, but she didn’t need their praise.
She knew who she was.
The opera house flickers—then vanishes.
With a snap of her fingers and a sly, indulgent smirk, Casta Fierce dispels the velvet shadows, the candles, the black stage. The room reshapes itself back into its original form: a plain, unused theater classroom, walls scuffed, seats crooked, projector still humming faintly.
Her outfit changes. Her eyes stop glowing. Everyone's reverted back to the postions they were in before.
She lifts a single finger to her lips—"Shhh"—then turns on her heel and sits back on her living throne as if nothing had happened.
The world could call her corrupted, call her promiscuous, but she was no ghoul.
She was Fierce, and this stage—this life—was hers to command.
In the office, a crisp, flat screen glows against the dim interior of the room.
The live feed is paused—frozen on Casta Fierce, arms wide, bathed in sweat, surrounded by a sea of collapsed, twitching bodies.
Silence hangs in the room like a guillotine waiting to drop.
Bloodgood stands at the head of the conference table, her hands gripping the edge so tight her knuckles glow bone-white. Her jaw is locked. Her neck vein pulses.
Around the table sit a half-dozen parental assistants—mothers, fathers, guardians, chaperones—all slumped in varying stages of shock, horror, and disbelief.
No one speaks.
No one can.
The only sound is the soft whir of the projector fan.
Then, quietly—too quietly—a dry voice breaks the silence:
“…That wasn’t a performance. That was a goddamn ritual.”
Another parent shifts, like they’re about to vomit.
“…She levitated them,” whispers Coraline. “She levitated them and they all… finished. At the same time. I counted.”
The Phantom is still staring at the screen, slack-jawed. “They didn’t fall for her,” he murmurs. “They descended…”
Another mutters, blinking rapidly, “My friends daughter is one of those cultists. I saw her. Front row.”
Someone finally snaps:
“WHAT the FUCK has happened to this school?!”
Bloodgood doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t breathe.
She just raises the remote with deliberate calm—and hits pause.
The screen flickers off.
She turns to face the room.
No emotion. No panic. Just the dead calm of a woman who has been through three centuries of academic hell and still isn’t prepared for this.
“…We’ll reconvene in an hour,” she says flatly. “Everyone. Go scream into a pillow.”
She leaves the room.
No one stops her.
They all just sit there.
Still stunned.
Still silent.
And on one chair, a dad quietly mutters to himself:
“…What happened to theatre class…”
Sunlight poured in through the high windows of the gymnasium, casting long beams across the polished floor. The space buzzed with activity—students darting back and forth, dragging cords, stacking chairs, setting up speakers, and double-checking lighting rigs for tonight’s event.
The air was filled with the dull thud of bass tests and the screech of microphone feedback as tech gremlins tried to calibrate the sound system.
Catty Noir stood near the equipment crates in the corner of the gym, dressed in what barely counted as gym clothes—tight black shorts that rode up with every step and a cropped tank that clung to her like second skin, leaving little to the imagination.
Her tail flicked lazily, and a light sheen of sweat made her shimmer under the gym lights.
Pharaoh walked beside her, rocking loose gym shorts and a sleeveless black tee that was already clinging to his chest. His golden chains still swung with every step, catching the light, but his mind clearly wasn’t on fitness.
No one really used gym period to work out anymore.
Not when stretchy fabric was easier to pull off behind the bleachers.
Not when being sweaty just made you look hotter.
Why work up a sweat and not have your boyfriend—or girlfriend—lick it off you later?
It was the whole reason people still wore them.
“Alright, kids,” the exhausted gym teacher barked half-heartedly from across the court, clearly over this assignment, “grab the last two speakers and haul them to the stage. Gently.”
Catty looked to the equipment cart, then turned to the two remaining speakers. Her tail swished.
Pharaoh stepped forward first, flexing just slightly as he bent to pick one up.
That’s when it happened.
As she leaned over to adjust a mic stand, her shorts pulled ever so slightly—and Pharaoh got a full, unfiltered view. Legs for days, hips swaying, and absolutely nothing hiding the way that shorts clung to her every curve.
He froze.
He wanted to rip them off and get a whif.
Catty noticed immediately.
She glanced back over her shoulder, caught him staring, and smirked like the cat who just found a room full of canaries.
“Careful, baby,” she said, purring her words like a verse from one of her old tracks, “you’re gonna break something… other than the sound system.”
Pharaoh blinked, face heating slightly, and stood up straighter like she’d just challenged his pride.
Without a word, he dropped the speaker he was holding, stepped between the two crates, and with a sharp exhale, lifted both speakers at once—one in each arm.
Someone across the gym whistled.
Another kid muttered, “Daaaamn.”
A group near the bleachers began a slow clap, half-serious, half-mocking. One of the trolls from Gooliope's Circus shouted, “Yo, Pharaoh’s thirst-lifting!”
Catty, lips parting in a pleased little smile, padded over slowly. She let her claws drag gently across his bicep as she leaned in and whispered, “You’re lucky I like it when you show off.”
Pharaoh gave her a smirk back, chest still heaving just slightly from the sudden burst of effort. “I don’t do it for the crowd.”
She gave him one last flick of her tail and sauntered off, hips practically writing poetry with every sway.
In the corner of the gym, the teacher—a gangly, half-mummified substitute no one had ever bothered to learn the name of—watched with a look of pure misery. He started to open his mouth, but then paused.
Catty turned her head—just barely, just enough for her glowing violet eyes to flick back at him.
Right behind her, Pharaoh gave the teacher a death glare worthy of a royal curse tablet.
The man quietly looked away and returned to his clipboard, muttering, “Nope. Not worth it. Not today.”
The day surged forward.
Another bell rang. Another class started. Another rule got broken.
Somewhere between chemistry and chaos, Frankie and Holt were back in the science lab—alone at last.
Isi and Neighthan had cleared out, and the room still smelled like cinnamon incense and lavender oil from whatever earthy ritual they’d been doing earlier.
Now, it smelled like sweat and ozone, the air thick with heat and low giggles echoing off the tile.
Holt had Frankie bent over the desk, clothes half on, hair askew, his jacket hanging half-off her shoulders. Her shoes were kicked off somewhere near the back sink. And Frankie—who was acting all dominant a second ago—was now moaning his name like a spell that made Bunsen burners shake.
They didn’t leave that room for a while.
Meanwhile, Neighthan Rot was being carried like a dead war hero down the hallway.
Avea, Bonita, and Sirena had formed a kind of solemn honor guard, each hybrid girl holding one limp limb of their beloved walking bruise of a friend.
Neighthan’s head lolled dramatically against Avea’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, skin pale with satisfaction and dehydration.
“Bro, how many rounds did she make you go?” Avea muttered, more impressed than concerned.
Neighthan gave a weak, blissed-out chuckle. “She… she started counting in ancient Lakota halfway through… I don’t even know what number we got to.”
Sirena adjusted his weight. “That’s not a number, Neighthan.”
“It is now,” he whispered.
Bonita opened the door to the nurse’s office with her foot. “We’ll let you know if you’re still alive tomorrow.”
They dropped him gently onto the cot. He sighed in relief.
Then groaned.
Then passed out.
Meanwhile, three hall monitors—clad in Monster High sashes and wielding clipboards like they meant something—approached the theater doors, ready to clean up the aftermath of Casta Fierce’s unsanctioned “event.”
But as soon as one monitor knocked, the doors swung open on their own.
Out poured smoke. Candlelight. A low, haunting purr of music.
And standing just inside was one of Casta’s brainwashed harem, wrapped in black velvet and very little else, eyes glowing faintly pink. Their voice rang out—not loud, but sharp.
“She said you’re not allowed in.”
The doors slammed shut.
Seconds later, the words “BEGONE” boomed from within, laced with a magically enhanced vibrato that knocked all three hall monitors back several feet.
Dazed, bruised, and now mysteriously missing their clipboards, they crawled away muttering, “Yeah. No. She can keep the old-ass theater…”
MEANWHILE IN THE CATACOMBS.
Dim torchlight flickers along ancient stone walls. The air is damp, heavy, echoing with distant water drips and the slow creak of roots pressing through age-old rock.
The catacombs breathe in silence—until moans and skin slaps shatter the stillness.
Operetta straddles Johnny Spirit, her red curls wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from too many kisses to count. Even with a pronounced baby bump, she rides him like it’s the last night on earth—unapologetic, relentless, every roll of her hips driven by that endless, aching need.
Her nails dig into his chest like she’s trying to carve her name into his soul.
He groans, louder than the echoes, gripping her waist as if holding on for dear life.
“G-goddamn, ‘Retta—how are you still this hungry?” Johnny breathes between thrusts, sweat trailing down his temples.
Operetta tosses her head back and laughs, eyes half-lidded, feral. “Ah got a baby in me, sugar. Ah am hungry. And you? You’re dinner.”
Eventually, they cum and collapse into each other—panting, giggling, exhausted but already touching again. She rests her head on his chest while he trails fingers down her back in lazy circles. For a long moment, neither speaks.
Operetta’s the one who breaks the silence, brushing tangled hair behind her ear. “Ain’t it wild? All this madness above ground, and here we are, hidin’ out like love-struck outlaws.”
Johnny chuckles. “Pretty sure we’ve broken like—ten rules today.”
“Ten?” she lifts a brow.
“Okay, twenty. Minimum.”
She snorts, then sighs—content, tired, glowing with that strange, fierce beauty that only pregnancy and absolute satisfaction can bring.
Operetta brushed a strand of red hair from her cheek. “I still remember the first time I met you. Wanted to wring your damn neck.”
Johnny chuckled. “You did punch me in the gut.”
“You called me a ‘bootleg country vampire’.”
“You were dressed like one!"
They both burst into laughter.
And then it softened.
“You annoyed the hell outta me,” she said, quieter now. “But… you got under my skin.”
Johnny stepped closer, brushing his hand against hers. “I didn’t mean to. Not like that.”
“Maybe not. But I’m glad you did.”
They stood for a moment in the dim red glow, the silence between them thick with old friction and new fire. His hand found her waist. Her other hand wrapped around the back of his neck.
“Ah don’t know what’s happenin’ to this school,” she admits softly, “but Ah do know one thing. Long as Ah got you, Johnny… Ah don’t really care.”
He turns his head, kisses her temple. “Damn right. Gas, curses, haunted statues—I’d still pick this. Us. Any day.”
Their fingers intertwine.
A beat passes.
And then she hums.
Softly at first. Barely a whisper.
Johnny’s ears twitch at the sound. “You singin’ to me, darlin’?”
“Think Ah am,” she smiles.
He smiles back.
“I’m in.”
She grinned. “Then let’s do what we do best.”
Operetta & Johnny – “Down South Lovin”
Their voices rise together in harmony—two southern soulmates lost in the belly of Monster High, crafting a melody in the middle of madness.
🎵 "Thought you were trouble from the second you walked in. Leather jacket, cocky grin, smellin’ like sin..." 🎵
Johnny chuckled, eyes dipping down her body, then back up to her face like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.
Operetta took a step closer, her voice thick with twang and memory.
🎵 "But here we are, tangled in heat. In a place where the moon can’t even peek..." 🎵
She reached for the mic stand they’d set up earlier—half for fun, half to pretend they weren’t buried underground—and dragged it close. Her hand rested on the mic like it was an old friend. Her voice was velvet soaked in honey and bourbon.
Johnny leaned forward, picking up the harmony with a slow strum and that lazy rasp she loved.
🎵 "You shot me a look like a loaded gun. Called me ‘a mistake wearin’ boots’ and run..." 🎵
He grinned wide at the line, and she laughed—just once, low and genuine. The kind of laugh that still made his chest ache.
🎵 "But baby, you stayed in my bones like a bruise. And I ain’t never wanted to lose..." 🎵
His voice dipped on the last line, slow and soft. No need to shout it—she already knew it was true.
Operetta’s smirk faded into something softer. Warmer.
She stepped closer until their boots touched.
And for a moment, they just stood there, breathing in sync, hearts heavy with history.
She rolled her shoulders, her voice dipping into that husky alto that could make a grown man beg.
🎵 "Down south lovin’, under red dirt skies. Backseat heat and firefly lies..." 🎵
She turned to him as she sang it, smirking like she was remembering it exactly—windows fogged up, hair a mess, shirt halfway undone. Johnny blushed just a little.
She saw it.
Loved it.
🎵 "You cussed my name, now you scream it proud. Used to fight like hell—now we don’t calm down..." 🎵
Johnny stood, guitar still slung across his chest, stepping up to the mic beside her.
“We still don’t,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
She raised a brow. “Damn right.”
Then they sang together—voices thick with grit and heat and history.
🎵 "You’re my flame in the middle of a ghost town dream. My shotgun queen, my rockabilly king…" 🎵
Their bodies pressed together, just barely—his hand resting low on her back, hers sliding down the front of his jacket, fingernails grazing the hem of his belt. Teasing. Testing. Tempting.
He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear as they belted the last line:
🎵 "Ain’t no curse ever felt this right—Down south lovin’ in the monster night..." 🎵
She grinned wicked and turned her head just enough to almost kiss him, then didn’t.
Instead, she licked her lips.
“Keep playin’, Spirit,” she whispered. “I’m not done singin’.”
He swallowed.
Hard.
And strummed the next chord.
She stepped back into the glow, hand trailing the mic stand, voice dropping into velvet.
🎵 "Said I’d never fall for a heart like yours. With your hauntin’ smile and them broken chords..." 🎵
Her voice wavered—just a little—but not with weakness. With weight.
🎵 "But you play me slow, like a vinyl groove. And baby, I can’t help but move..." 🎵
She reached for his hand, guiding it to her waist, letting his fingers settle just above her hip like they belonged there. She didn’t look away as she sang—daring him to break first.
He didn’t.
Couldn’t.
His breath hitched when she leaned in just enough to whisper “move with me” against his jaw.
Johnny exhaled through a grin, then took his verse—low, throaty, reverent.
🎵 "Yeah, we ride the line ‘tween heaven and sin. Your voice got me achin’ from deep within..." 🎵
He slid the guitar off, letting it hang from the strap behind him. His hands moved to her lower back, drawing her in as they swayed to the rhythm.
🎵 "You moan my name like it’s gospel true. And I’d burn every rule just to worship you..." 🎵
He said it like a promise.
She felt it like a confession.
They didn’t kiss.
They just hovered—nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts synced like percussion.
Then the chorus hit—and they sang together, hand in hand, sweat and memory clinging to every word.
🎵 "Down south lovin’, under red dirt skies. Backseat heat and firefly lies..." 🎵
They turned slowly, dancing in place, like no one else existed. Operetta’s hands slipped up to his shoulders. His moved lower, fingers pressing into the curve of her backside.
🎵 "You cussed my name, now you scream it proud. Used to fight like hell—now we don’t calm down..." 🎵
She rested her forehead against his.
Eyes closed.
Breath shallow.
But still singing.
🎵 "You’re my flame in the middle of a ghost town dream. My shotgun queen, my rockabilly king..." 🎵
His voice cracked on “queen.” She grinned. Bit her lip.
Pulled him tighter.
🎵 "Ain’t no curse ever felt this right—Down south lovin’ in the monster night..." 🎵
The song settled into silence.
Their bodies didn’t.
Still pressed. Still swaying. Still not kissing.
Yet.
The guitar picks up again—brighter, sharper.
A sudden gust of wind swirls around them, carrying desert dust and neon flicker. The stone walls of the catacombs begin to ripple and stretch like old film burning in reverse.
The shadows pull back.
The damp air dries.
And in a blink—They're in a bar.
A glorious, smoke-stained, 1970s honky tonk bar, with vinyl booths, beer signs glowing red, a mirrored stage, and floorboards that creak like they’ve heard every heartbreak in the South.
Operetta now wears a rhinestone-studded red jumpsuit with bell sleeves and white boots. Her curls are wild, bouncing as she walks.
Johnny’s got on a pearl-snap shirt half-unbuttoned, black denim, and snakeskin boots. A cherry-red Gretsch guitar is slung over his back.
They’re on stage. Together. Two mics. One spotlight. A live band of undead rockers behind them, kicking up dust and magic with every chord.
The beat kicks harder. The crowd—cowboys, ghouls, monsters—start stomping boots and swinging hips.
Operetta grabs the mic with a wink.
🎵 "There’s magic in the sweat on your skin. And the way we come back again and again..." 🎵
She twirls across the stage, trailing fire like a comet. Johnny watches her with a grin that’s all worship, all wild pride.
🎵 "Might be monsters, might be wrong—But this kind of love got its own song." 🎵
She points right at him as she sings that line—and he steps into his spotlight.
🎵 "You carry fire in that baby glow. And I’d ride to hell just to let it show..." 🎵
He walks toward her, slow and sure, voice growing louder with every step.
🎵 "Ain’t no grave, no spell, no fight—Gonna tear me from your side tonight." 🎵
The lights flare. The music slams into overdrive.
The crowd goes wild.
They lock hands, face to face, and belt the final chorus with everything they’ve got:
🎵 "Down south lovin’, where the wild things kiss. Where rage turned to rhythm and fists to bliss🎵
🎵"You were my rival, now you’re my prayer. Heaven help the world, we don’t fight fair!"🎵
🎵 "You’re my flame in the middle of a ghost town dream. My shotgun queen, my rockabilly king"🎵
🎵"Ain’t no curse ever felt this right—Down south lovin’ in the monster night!" 🎵
The music swells to its peak—guitars shredding, drums pounding, the whole bar pulsing like a living heartbeat.
And then—Silence.
The lights dim.
The bar fades.
And the catacombs return.
The fantasy slips away like smoke.
They’re back in their real clothes. Back in the real quiet.
Just Johnny and Operetta.
She exhales, shaky from the ride. The emotion, the fire, the high of it.
He looks at her, still catching his breath.
Operetta smiles, small and full of something too big to say out loud. She takes his hand in both of hers.
Guides it.
Places it gently on her belly.
They wait.
Beat.
Then—kick.
Johnny’s eyes widen.
Another kick.
A second rhythm.
He looks up at her, stunned. Breathless. Tears pricking.
Operetta smiles softly.
🎵 "Down south lovin’... in the moonless dark...Still hear your name ringin’ in my heart." 🎵
As the final note faded, Operetta rested her forehead against Johnny’s, their breaths mingling.
“That’s us,” she whispered. “No gas, no curses. Just you and me.”
Johnny set the guitar aside, pulling her into his arms. “Always, ‘Retta. Always.”
They held each other in the flickering dark, their melody lingering in the air, a testament to a love that burned brighter than any spell or storm above.
And in the quiet, they both listen.
To the future beating in her belly.
To the love still echoing in the walls.
To the song that never really ends.
The small group of faculty and concerned parents sit still, eyes glassy, caught in the ghost of the song.
Even the ever-stern Mr. Hackington—clipboard in hand, lab coat rumpled from another sleepless night—lowers his pen in slow disbelief. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something scientific, then closes again.
What’s the use? You don’t explain art.
Bloodgood gently removes her head from her own shoulders and dabs at her eyes with a silk kerchief before returning it. Her voice, when she speaks, is low and reverent:
“…Well, damn.”
Beside her sits Mr. Phantom, Operetta’s father, in full regalia—cloak, cravat, gloves, and the half-mask that once sent a generation of opera patrons fleeing in terror.
Now, though, it’s not rage or vengeance that haunts his eyes—it’s joy.
His gloved hand trembles slightly as he pulls out a crisp, monogrammed handkerchief and presses it under his mask. A tear escapes anyway, slipping past the edge and rolling down his cheek.
“She—she used the diminished seventh against a minor walkdown during the modulation to D flat…” he chokes, voice cracking with paternal awe. “And the lyrics! The phrasing! Did you hear that growl in her chest register? That was real soul—that was blood. That was my daughter.”
He presses the kerchief to his lips and lets out a long, theatrical sigh, his shoulders shaking.
“I—I knew she had it in her. But this… this was like the ghost of Loretta Lynn made love to a banshee and birthed my girl on the stage of Grand Ole Opry itself!”
Bloodgood stares at him, momentarily stunned. “That… was a very specific image.”
Mr. Phantom doesn’t hear her. He’s already on his feet, staring at the now-black screen like he could will it to turn back on, like he could rewind time and watch it again.
Across the room, Harriet, arms folded tight, wipes at her cheek, trying and failing to pass it off like she’s scratching something.
Draculaura’s father, Count Dracula himself, sniffs and mutters, “I—I am not crying. There is dust. In my castle. In the dungeon.”
Frankie’s parents, Viktor and Viveka Stein, glance at each other.
Even Viktor’s usual hardline expression softens.
“That wasn’t just a performance,” Viveka says quietly. “That was love.”
"You can say that again." Viktor said.
A teacher tries to clap. Stops halfway. Everyone’s still too emotionally raw to pretend they weren’t just gutted in the heart by two Southern undead romantics singing about moonless nights and firefly lies.
The silence breaks again when Mr. Rotter, who had been hunched in the back scribbling furiously into his little “Journal of Doom and Adolescent Regression,” clears his throat, opens his mouth—
—and Bloodgood holds up a hand.
“Don’t ruin this for me, Edward.”
He shuts his mouth.
Respectfully.
Mr. Phantom slowly lowers himself back into his seat, eyes red-rimmed, voice trembling. “She is wild. Untamable. A menace, at times. I’ve watched her dance atop pianos in boots three sizes too big, write songs about whiskey when she’s only had sparkling cider, and make-out with that boy during gym class…”
He looks around the room, drawing himself up with proud, tearful dignity.
“…But that girl just poured her soul out like a decanter of vintage passion, and if you think for one second I’m gonna scold her for feeling too much, you are sorely mistaken.”
Silence again.
Then—
“…I mean, she’s pregnant, though,” Hackington offers weakly.
Mr. Phantom turns his head slowly, the way an old phonograph turns to life—click by click.
“She is an artist.” he intones with the full gravitas of centuries in the opera house. “And she is in love. You think the Phantom of the Opera never slipped a note under Christine’s door at 2am with sheet music and implied affection?”
“…I don’t think that’s—” Hackington starts.
“Love and madness are first cousins!” the Phantom snaps. “And art… art is what keeps madness from turning into destruction.”
Bloodgood takes a long breath and nods. “That… is probably the most eloquent thing anyone has said in this office since this whole debacle began.”
She turns to the others.
“We’ve watched students twerk, strip, scream, and chase each other with whipped cream cans. We’ve had to hire security guards, dodge parental lawsuits, and release a temporary anti-horny gas. But this? This was…”
She trails off.
“Beautiful,” whispers Caroline.
“Touching,” mumbles Dracula.
“Spiritual,” says Viveka, clasping her hands.
“Now I want a damn cigarette,” mutters Wade. “And I don’t smoke.”
Mr. Phantom looks toward Bloodgood, voice gentling. “May I make one request, Headmistress?”
“Of course.”
“If my daughter chooses to bring that baby into this chaotic, corrupted school in the future… Please allow me to teach a music theory elective.”
Everyone looks at him.
He sniffles.
“…I would like to be near her.”
Bloodgood pauses, then nods. “Consider it done.”
The camera lingers as the parents lean back, emotional, moved, stunned. A rare peace blankets the office.
And from a distance—from far below in the catacombs—the faintest hum of music lingers.
Not a scream. Not chaos.
Just the last breath of a ballad between soulmates.
A moment of art in the middle of madness.
And sadly, that would be only positive sing along in this school.
The cafeteria buzzed with its usual symphony of chaos—laughter, flirtatious teasing, trays clattering, and the occasional shriek from a ghoul getting groped under the table.
Food fights were rare now—not because students had matured, but because most were too busy sneaking tongue down their partner's throat to bother flinging mashed banshee root.
At one of the back tables, Frankie sat with a half-eaten tray of glowworms and spectral fries, idly pushing the food around with her spork.
She looked preoccupied, her eyes not on her meal but fixed across the cafeteria. Her brows were knit, lips pursed, shoulders stiff.
Lagoona, seated across from her with her lunch untouched, was in the middle of recording a flirty video for Gil. She held a bright blue lollipop up to her mouth, gave it a slow lick, then smirked into the camera.
But as she glanced up to check Frankie’s reaction—probably hoping for a "dayum, girl"—she caught that same odd expression.
“Oi,” Lagoona said, lowering her phone. “You okay, mate? You look like someone short-circuited your joy processor.”
Frankie blinked, snapped out of her thoughts. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”
Lagoona followed her gaze—and instantly understood.
Over by the vending machines, Venus and Robecca were curled into one another like magnets. Venus had one hand tangled in Robecca’s curls, the other resting firmly on her hip. Robecca looked… soft. Almost docile. Her posture was relaxed in that way that said she wasn’t just leaning against Venus, she was giving in to her.
Again.
Lagoona smirked. “Oh, that. Yeah, they’ve been goin’ at it since breakfast.”
Frankie sighed. “It’s not the PDA. I’m used to that. It’s… Robecca.”
“What about her?”
Frankie leaned in a little. “She’s been different. Like, lately she’s acting more like… I dunno. A pet.”
Lagoona raised a brow. “A pet?”
Frankie nodded. “Not like a cute nickname kind of pet. I mean a literal pet. I’ve seen her let Venus put a collar on her. She sits at her feet. She’s been letting Venus lead her around campus by the hand like she’s being walked. And when Venus gives her head pats, she just melts.”
Lagoona blinked. “Seriously?”
“I’m telling you, Loons,” Frankie said, voice low, “she gets all blushy and twitchy when Venus calls her ‘good girl.’ She even nuzzled her hand in the garden yesterday.”
Lagoona gave her a skeptical look. “Wait, wait. Robecca Steam? The same ghoul who once threatened to steamblast Valentine out a window? That Robecca?”
“Yup.”
“Well… damn.”
Frankie leaned forward. “Exactly. Look at her. Venus has her pinned, leashed, and she’s loving it. Like, I swear the other day, I saw her sit. Like sit when Venus snapped her fingers. And then she wagged her damn ass like a tail.”
Lagoona’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“Dead serious.”
“She wagged?”
Frankie nodded solemnly. “She hasn’t barked—yet. But I swear, we’re one vine-snuggle away from it.”
Lagoona covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“I’m serious!” Frankie said. “It’s like Venus is slowly rewiring her. She’s still Robecca—still sassy, still smart—but it’s like she short-circuits the moment Venus praises her. I caught her crawling over to her the other day. Crawling, Lagoona.”
“Like, on her hands and knees?”
“Yes!”
Lagoona whistled low. “Well damn. I mean… that’s not just a kink. That’s a lifestyle.”
Frankie leaned on the table. “Exactly. And I’m not saying it’s wrong. If she wants to explore that side of herself, that’s her choice. But I’ve been watching, and I can tell—she’s still kinda shy about it. Like, she’s into it, but she gets embarrassed. She’ll blush if someone notices. Or she’ll look around first before dropping to her knees.”
“So it’s not just some exhibitionist thing,” Lagoona said thoughtfully. “It’s… intimate for her.”
“Yeah,” Frankie nodded. “And Venus, to her credit, isn’t pushing. She just gives her these little looks, these soft commands, and Robecca chooses to obey. But still… it makes me wonder where this is heading.”
Lagoona smirked. “You think she’s gonna go full doggirl?”
Frankie groaned. “Don’t even joke. I already had a nightmare about her showing up in class with mechanical ears and a wind-up tail.”
Lagoona burst out laughing. “With a lil’ name tag that says ‘Good Girl Steam’!”
“Stop,” Frankie said, giggling despite herself. “She’s gonna have a personalized food bowl by the end of the week.”
“She’s gonna start whining when Venus leaves the room.”
“She’ll follow her around the halls with a leash around her neck."
“She’s gonna start growling at anyone who gets too close—‘grrr, back off, this plant's mine.’”
“Okay but—honestly?” Lagoona chuckled, leaning on one elbow. “If she does get there, it’ll be on her own terms. She’s just taking her time. Figuring it out.”
Frankie nodded. “I think that’s what’s freaking me out, honestly. I thought I had Robecca pegged. Fierce, independent, borderline intimidating. But now… I’m seeing this whole new side of her. Soft, obedient, blushing, needy. And it’s not bad. It’s just…”
“Unexpected.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
They both glanced back at the couple. Venus was now feeding Robecca a chocolate-covered cherry with her fingers. Robecca took it gently, chewed, and looked up at her with wide, sparkling eyes like she was the center of the world.
Venus stroked her cheek and whispered something that made Robecca squirm and duck her head.
Frankie sighed. “Okay, that’s cute.”
“Right?!” Lagoona grinned. “She’s totally in love.”
“And also like... ten seconds away from crawling into Venus’s lap and curling up like a cat.”
“Or a puppy.”
Frankie groaned again. “Don’t say it. Don’t jinx it.”
“I betcha next week she’s gonna bark once and then deny it for the rest of the year.”
“I did not bark, Venus! It was a mechanical hiccup!”
“‘That was a pressure release valve!’”
They both cracked up again, laughter rolling through their corner of the cafeteria.
Eventually, the conversation settled, and Frankie poked at her food again.
“…You know,” she said, a little quieter, “as long as she’s happy. That’s all I care about. I just hope Venus sees her as a partner. Not a project. Not a pet. Just… Robecca. The real her.”
Lagoona smiled. “Yeah. I think she does. You can’t fake that look Venus gives her. That’s not kink. That’s love.”
Frankie smiled back. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”
Across the room, Robecca looked up as Venus whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks flushed copper, and though she hesitated for a second, she leaned forward—slowly, carefully—until her head was resting on Venus’s lap. Venus’s hand immediately returned to her hair.
Frankie and Lagoona watched in silence.
“…Jokes aside,” she murmured, “I just hope they’re good for each other. You know?”
Lagoona followed her gaze. “Yeah. Same. But honestly? Robecca’s never looked happier. That girl is practically purring 24/7.”
“She’s probably being pampered and dominated. Lucky bitch,” Frankie muttered, grabbing her drink.
Lagoona smirked. “Guess being a doggirl has its perks.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then—
“She’s so gonna bark,” Lagoona whispered.
Frankie snorted into her drink.
The chaos of the day had simmered down into something a little quieter, more peaceful. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the sprawling garden behind Monster High. Vines curled around marble statues, petals shimmered in strange, otherworldly colors, and the scent of something floral and unplaceable hung in the air.
In the middle of it all, Pharaoh lay stretched across a long, mossy bench. His arms were folded across his chest, eyes closed, his gold-etched sandals kicked halfway off. The tension from the day's earlier chaos, the arguments, the heavy lifting, and the unresolved fallout from his mother’s comments had finally drained from his body. He looked serene for the first time in hours.
Footsteps clicked softly on the stone path, light and rhythmic.
Catty Noir appeared, as if summoned by the breeze. Her outfit had changed—she’d swapped her silver skirt and crop top for something a little softer, still fashionable but clearly more comfortable. A lavender tank and matching flowy pants that danced with each step. Still every bit the pop star, but in wind-down mode.
She spotted him immediately, a small smile creeping across her lips. Wordlessly, she walked over and sat down at the edge of the bench.
Pharaoh peeked an eye open as he felt the warmth beside him.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice raspy from rest.
“Hey yourself.”
He shifted, resting his head carefully in her lap. She adjusted to cradle him comfortably, her fingers instantly sliding into his hair—carefully combing through it, tugging gently at tangles, rubbing small circles into his scalp like she’d done a hundred times before.
She began to hum—low, familiar.
Pharaoh smiled, eyes closing again as the melody swept over him.
"It’s the place we all wanna go (Go)"
"Be the star of the show (Oh)"
"When you’re out in Boo York, Boo York (Hey)"
"Do the things that we love the most"
"Be the star of the show"
"Our stories' told in Boo York, Boo York, Boo York…"
She sang it softly, not for an audience, not for the stage—just for him. Her voice barely rose above the breeze, a lullaby carried on warm wind and fading sunlight. Pharaoh hummed along without opening his eyes, the edges of his lips twitching into a slow grin.
It was one of their first hits together. A song from a time when things felt simpler—tour lights, soaring choruses, and a future still wide open. Back when they were just a pair of rising stars, trying to make a name in a city that never slept.
As she continued to hum, a rustling came from the garden path. A random student—a werewolf girl in gym shorts and a hoodie—was walking past, earbuds in, but couldn’t help but take in the sight.
She smirked, yanked one bud out, and called over playfully, “Get a room, you two.”
Catty didn’t even blink. She just smiled wider, leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to Pharaoh’s forehead.
Pharaoh, without opening his eyes, muttered in a voice full of quiet confidence, “We’re working on it.”
Catty chuckled under her breath, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. “Damn right we are.”
The girl laughed and kept walking.
The garden grew quiet again.
Catty returned to humming, Pharaoh breathing slow and deep beneath her touch. No lights, no music videos, no cameras. Just the two of them, lost in a stolen moment between the chaos of the day.
A dull orange glow from the hallway lights flickered above a forgotten, rarely used corridor in the eastern wing of Monster High.
The air was thick with tension, perfume, and the faint buzz of teenage rebellion. A heavy, rust-streaked padlocked door loomed in front of a very unamused group of girls.
Toralei Stripe leaned against the wall, arms crossed, tail twitching with agitation as she glared daggers at the metal door. Beside her stood her trusted crew—Meowlody and Purrsephone, with their usual synchronized indifference, Gory Fangtel (radiating a silent fury), Amanita Nightshade (looking insulted to even be here), Kala Mer’ri (quietly seething), Pearl and Peri Serpentine (arguing with themselves), and Wydowna Spider, crouched low with all eight arms working furiously on the door’s complex locking mechanism.
CLUNK. CLANK. RATTLE.
Wydowna let out an irritated grunt, yanking her arms back. "This thing’s built like a vault. We’re not cracking it without a blowtorch or a freakin' hydra."
“It’s a closet,” Gory hissed, her fangs bared slightly. “A damn closet. Bloodgood’s treating it like Fort Knox.”
She folded her arms and tossed her long, sleek hair over one shoulder, scowling at the door like she could vaporize it with sheer will. Her sharp crimson eyes narrowed.
“She took my perfume. MY perfume. Do you have any idea what kind of signature scent that was? It was limited edition. Bram loved that smell. And now it’s in some punishment box because—what?—some loser claimed it made them sneeze?”
She looked around the group, incredulous.
“I’ve worn that perfume every day since junior year. NO ONE has ever said a thing! But now suddenly it’s a biohazard?”
Her voice rose as her claws came out. “What’s next, Bloodgood? A nun uniform? Maybe a chastity cage with our school crests engraved on the front?”
Meowlody snorted. “We’d probably still make it look good.”
Purrsephone added dryly, “Speak for yourself. I’d be in detention the second I put a paw on someone.”
Kala had given up trying to brute force the door earlier and now leaned against the wall, scrolling her iCoffin with a disgusted scowl. Her bioluminescent markings pulsed with irritation, lighting her face in flickers.
“Ugh,” she muttered, squinting at the screen. “Comment sections on these videos are wild. Look at this.”
She held up the phone, voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘Monster High is breeding degenerates.’
‘The Monster Mash was basically softcore porn.’
‘Send these students to an exorcist.’
"Seriously? What the hell is wrong with these people?” She said angrily.
Amanita gave a long, dramatic sigh as she examined her nails. “They’re just jealous. Not all of us can pull off thigh-highs and backbends without looking like a broken skeleton.”
“Yeah, but it’s not about fashion,” Kala snapped. “It’s the moral panic. Like we’re corrupting society just because we all twerked during a school dance. Everyone’s acting like we’re the horsemen of the apocalypse instead of students. Do they expect us to chant hymns and take vows of silence?”
Pearl and Peri were too busy arguing to notice.
“I told you to pack that lavender gloss!”
“Why would I pack that when you smeared it all over your fins last week?”
“It was for a look!”
“You looked like a trout with anxiety!”
Wydowna groaned and slumped against the wall, her arms drooping. “All I wanted was to get the damn door open. Now I’m just wondering if Bloodgood would ban me for bringing in more than two hands.”
But the loudest silence came from Toralei.
She hadn’t said a word since they got to the door. She just stared. At the lock. At the peeling paint. At nothing. Her tail flicked faster now, more agitated. Her ears were pulled slightly back. Tension radiated off her like static electricity.
Clawdeen’s words from yesterday still rang in her head. Words her parents said. Not even to her face—no, they wouldn’t bother with that. They went through Clawdeen.
“We’re worried about your safety around Toralei.”
“That girl’s trouble. She always been."
“She’s going to get you hurt someday.”
She had left her criminal bullshit behind. No more stealing, no more hacking, no more underground fights in the boiler room. She was done with it. She changed. She grew. So why the fuck was everyone still acting like she had claws around Clawdeen’s throat?
She clenched her fists.
“You know what pisses me off more than anything?” she said, voice low and cold. Everyone turned to her.
“It’s not the perfume. Or the clothes. Or even the damn comment section.” Her eyes were glowing faintly now. “It's that no matter what I do, I’m still the one getting blamed.”
She looked up, her glare like wildfire.
“Clawdeen tells her parents she loves me, and they turn around and say I’m going to get her killed? Really? I’m not dragging her into anything—she’s the only good thing in my life right now. And they think I’m the problem?”
Her claws slid out. Her tail lashed harder now.
“I’m tired of getting punished for shit I haven’t done in years. I’m not a criminal anymore. But they’d rather blame me than admit their little girl likes a bad one.”
Kala huffed, still flicking through her phone, scrolling past nasty comment after nasty comment. “They’re acting like we hosted a blood orgy on live television.” She turned the screen to show a headline: ‘Monster High’s Fall From Grace: Dancing Demons and Lustful Lycans’.
“They’re calling us sinners,” she muttered. “Like, what, shaking your hips is gonna destroy civilization now? Bunch of repressed old farts clutching their pearls ‘cause we know how to move.”
“They’ve always been like this,” Toralei said darkly, arms folded. She was leaned up against the wall, ears low, tail twitching with quiet fury. “We dress how we want. We flirt, we laugh too loud, we call out their BS and suddenly we’re the problem. And now Bloodgood’s drinking the same Kool-Aid.”
Wydowna’s brows furrowed, the sneaky spider unusually tense. “She’s been… different since november.”
“She’s a tyrant,” Gory snapped. “There. I said it. She’s out here confiscating clothes like she’s the Fashion Inquisition. You can’t even wear fishnets without her asking if you’re trying to ‘seduce the entire student body.’”
“Like that’s a bad thing,” Amanita muttered.
“She shut down Spectra’s blog,” Purrsephone growled. “And that wasn’t just gossip, that was her voice. Now it’s radio silence, just so she doesn’t have to deal with a scandal.”
“She locked us up,” Meowlody added bitterly. “Remember that? During Thursday? We were literally tossed into cells under the school. No trial. No explanation. Just—‘Oh no, the council might see! Better bury the problem and throw away the key!’”
Wydowna blinked, taken aback. “Wait, for real?”
“Oh yeah,” Kala said, grimacing. “They were LITERARLY designed to counter there abilities. That's not just some old school rule. That's deliberate. Bloodgood had them made.”
“Meanwhile,” Pearl chimed in, her arms crossed, “the whole world’s online calling us freaks and degenerates because we like to dance or wear lipstick.”
“I mean, my parents think I’m degenerating,” Gory muttered. “They think being around non-vampires has ‘corrupted my lineage.’ I’m like, sorry I like having friends who don’t hiss when they see garlic, Dad.”
“And don’t get me started on Clawdeen’s folks,” Toralei snarled. Her voice was low, simmering with rage just below the surface. “They think I’m gonna get her ‘hurt’ or ‘lead her into danger’ like I’m some feral stray she dragged in from the alley. I’ve changed. But no one ever lets you change when they’ve already made up their minds.”
There was a pause. No one interrupted. The silence hung heavy, filled only by the quiet buzz of the hallway lights and the occasional angry sigh or muttered curse.
“…I never fit in,” Kala said quietly, her voice a little choked. “Not even underwater. The other sea creatures thought I was weird. ‘Too spiny, too colorful, too loud.’ And when I finally did come here, I thought things would be different. But now…”
“...now it’s the same,” Peri whispered.
Pearl nodded. “We’re always too much. Too bold. Too honest. Too everything. And suddenly we’re the monsters they tell stories to their kids about.”
Toralei’s tail lashed the floor. Her claws twitched at her sides.
“They want us to be ashamed,” she said, her voice low, but powerful. “Ashamed of who we are. Ashamed of being loud, wild, confident. Of looking good and acting like we know it.”
Meowlody’s lip curled. “Screw that.”
“Screw all of it,” Purrsephone echoed.
Kala looked around the group. “We’re not the villains here. But they’re trying so hard to make us feel like we are.”
Wydowna let out a breath, her shoulders slumping. “It’s like they want us to disappear.”
“No,” Toralei growled. Her eyes flashed as she stepped forward, finally standing tall at the center of her girls. “They want us to conform. To shut up, sit down, dress ‘respectably’ and behave. And they don’t care who they crush in the process.”
She took a breath. Then a wicked smirk ghosted across her lips.
“But if they think we’re just gonna roll over and say ‘yes, Headmistress,’ they’re dead wrong.”
Kala tilted her head. “So what do we do?”
“We show ‘em we’re not going anywhere,” Toralei hissed. “We don’t dim ourselves down. We burn brighter.”
One by one, the girls began to nod.
Meowlody: “We howl louder.”
Purrsephone: “We fight harder.”
Gory: “And we look damn good doing it.”
The tension began to melt into fire. A slow, simmering confidence that lit up their eyes like stage lights.
Kala stepped forward, raising her phone with a slow, mischievous smile. “So… this feels like the part where we break into song, yeah?”
Toralei cracked a grin. “It just might be.”
Purrsephone and Meowlody exchanged a look—sharp and feral.
Wydowna's fingers tapped against her thighs like she was already catching the beat.
Gory slicked back her hair, eyes flashing. “Let’s remind them what bad girls sound like.”
And just as the first beat dropped—
CLAP!
The hallway around them shimmered, the lights warping into neon purples, blood reds, and deep jungle greens. Steel walkways twisted into existence above them, coiled with chains and suspended cages. Smoke hissed from the vents as strobes flared, casting their shadows in long, dramatic streaks across the walls.
They were standing in a rave jungle straight out of a rule-breaker’s fever dream.
And Gigi floated just above the ground, arms crossed, her golden eyes gleaming with glee.
“Okay, now you’re ready.”
Each girl looked down at themselves—and let out gasps and whoops of giddy excitement.
Gory was in ripped lace and black velvet, dark lipstick smeared into a perfect smirk, with silver stakes dangling from her ears like earrings.
Kala’s arms were wrapped in glowing seaweed-like cords, her spines lined in glittering chains, her lips painted venom green.
Meowlody and Purrsephone were in matching animal-print corsets and ripped leggings, collars snug around their necks, their claws sharpened and on full display.
Amanita had full leaf armor woven into high fashion—stilettos carved from twisted vines, her hair crowned in a halo of glowing spores.
Wydowna was in a black mesh bodysuit over shimmering scales, her eight arms now wrapped in silver bangles, each one clicking as she moved.
Pearl and Peri gasped as they looked at each other—separate.
No longer joined, each girl had her own body now, and each had legs. They stumbled for a moment before laughing and grabbing each other’s hands, twirling in gleeful chaos. One wore a vinyl trench coat over fishnets; the other, a studded top with glowing heels.
And Toralei?
Toralei looked feral. Wild. Her cropped top barely covered anything. Her pants were leather, slashed at the thighs, her makeup fierce and feline. A whip hung from her hip, and her eyes glinted like burning amber.
Gigi floated above them, beaming.
“If you’re gonna sing about flipping off the world, you better look like you mean it,” she said. “So go nuts.”
Toralei raised a brow. “We intend to.”
And with that, the bass hit—deep, heavy, powerful.
Toralei & Her Bad Ghouls – “We Don’t Play Nice”
And they let loose.
And with that—BOOM.
The bass hit like a sonic punch to the gut—grimy, distorted, filthy.
The girls didn’t hesitate. They stepped into the spotlight like they were born there.
Toralei strutted forward, her whip cracking the air once as the smoke rose around her. The mic dropped into her palm like it knew better than to land anywhere else.
She grinned, sharp and toothy.
🎵 “Mic check—We the claws you tried to cage. Now we back. With stilettos and rage.” 🎵
She snapped her fingers. The beat dropped harder. Sparks burst from the vents behind her as the rest of the crew stepped forward in sync.
Meowlody and Purrsephone slinked to the left, flipping their hair, their claws glinting under the strobes.
Gory and Kala stormed to the right, full of bite and fire, hips swaying like they were dancing through a riot.
Wydowna crawled low across a metal catwalk, her arms a blur of movement as her bracelets clinked in rhythm.
Amanita’s eyes glowed like bioluminescent venom as she twirled midair, vines slithering from her heels.
Pearl and Peri, now fully split, moved like mirrored devils—one slow and sultry, the other snapping and wild.
And then—they ALL hit center.
🎵 “We don’t play nice—we bite, we scratch."🎵
🎵"Boots on desks and our lipstick’s snatched…” 🎵
On “bite,” Meowlody bared her fangs.
On “scratch,” Purrsephone swiped a claw through the air, sparks flying.
The ground beneath them lit up—every step triggering neon bursts. They walked like they owned the school, like they’d just strutted out of detention and into a fashion warzone.
🎵 “You say ‘cover up,’ we say ‘peel it down.’🎵
🎵"Ain’t no queens here—just bitches with crowns!” 🎵
Gory grabbed the mic from Toralei mid-line, tossing it over her shoulder like it was nothing.
Kala whipped her braids in time with the beat, glow trailing behind her like lightning.
The lockers lining the corridor peeled back, revealing glittering chains, glowing outfits, confiscated heels and crop tops—all their “violations.”
The ghouls snatched them one by one, throwing them on, owning every piece like armor.
🎵 “Call us too loud, too mean, too fast."🎵
🎵"We break hearts like we break glass…” 🎵
Amanita slammed her heel through a nearby display case, shattering it in sync with the lyric.
The crowd behind them—summoned by the noise and watching with lustful glee—screeched with delight, tossing glitter and fake detention slips like confetti
🎵“They lock the doors, we blow 'em wide—Bad ghouls walk, baby, run and hide.” 🎵
Wydowna skittered up the wall, webbing the Monster High crest in silver thread. Then she ripped it down.
Toralei stepped forward again, center stage, flames licking behind her. She tossed her whip to the ground, raised both middle fingers, and screamed into the mic with a devilish smirk:
“Monster High? You made monsters. Now deal with it.”
The lights exploded into a blinding pulse as the next verse rolled in.
And the girls?
They weren’t just performing.
They were starting a revolution.
The lights stutter.
Toralei steps forward, hips swaying, claws out, fire in her grin. Her voice drips with feral pride as the next verse drops into a raw, bass-heavy beat.
🎵 "Came from the alley, now I’m front row flexin’. Nine lives deep and I’m still not stressin’."🎵
🎵 "Bad reputation? Yeah, that’s earned. But I still took your girl and watched her burn" 🎵
Each word lands like a claw swipe—sharp, unapologetic. She twirls once, whipping her tail and catching a microphone tossed midair by Wydowna.
🎵 "Don’t need rules, I rewrite 'em. You play nice, we ignite 'em."🎵
🎵 "Got claws and hips—use both to climb. You wanna tame me? Get in line." 🎵
With that final line, she shoves a massive "Detention Violation" sign off a nearby wall. It crashes to the floor in splinters.
Gory steps up, boots clicking, lips like crimson sin, one fang slightly exposed as she grins.
🎵 "Fangs out, gloss on, necks stay exposed. They say I’m spoiled—nah, I’m composed."🎵
🎵 "Daddy says I’m 'tainted,' Mom says 'shame' But they still drop dead when I say their name."🎵
She runs her fingers up her sides and spins, showing off a corset laced like a dagger sheath. Every step is a challenge. Every line, a threat.
🎵 "I'm not your girl next door—I’m the bite at the ball. No stake in my heart, just your ego, small" 🎵
🎵 "I don’t chase validation—I choke it. Cross me once? I own it. Quote it." 🎵
The crowd howls. Chains swing from the ceiling. Lights pulse red.
Then—
A faint glow.
A chill in the air.
Spectra walks in, scribbling in her new notebook. The leather cover is worn, paper filled with messy ink and Polaroid tucked inside. She's deep in thought, lips moving as she writes:
“–Frankie and Holt might combust. Clawdeen’s still dodging her mom’s calls. Casta’s cult got bigger. Someone broke into the East Wing and graffitied ‘Control THIS’ on the wall in glitter. Also, Abbey and Jinafire have beef.”
She's not even looking up.
But the moment she crosses the threshold—BOOM.
Magic hits.
Her notebook levitates and snaps shut, a light consuming her body. Her usual gothic flow is gone, replaced by something entirely other.
A black mesh halter barely clings to her chest, held together by silver chains. Her skirt is replaced by strappy thigh garters and platform heels laced up to her knees.
Her hair is glowing, teased out into wild, stormy waves streaked in lavender.
Her lips shimmer dark plum. Her nails could slice diamonds.
If Porter saw how smoking hot she looked at the moment, he'd probably need a week of sleep after passing out.
She looks up.
Pauses. Realizes.
Then she grins like she’s ready to sin.
"Well," she mutters, tucking her notebook into her thigh harness, “...guess another dance wouldn't hurt.”
And without missing a beat, Spectra flips into the center of the floor, lands low, and starts twerking hard—ghost-light flickering with every bounce. Her movements are smooth, feral, deadly seductive. All hips, all confidence, all revenge.
The crowd screams.
The bad girls cheer.
Kala yells, “FINALLY.”
Amanita throws her arms up. “She came out of ghost mode for THIS?! I’m obsessed.”
Wydowna's six arms clap.
Purrsephone and Meowlody howl.
Gory laughs and drops it lower right beside her.
Toralei smirks mid-verse. “Guess even ghosts get tired of being invisible.”
Spectra flips onto her hands, legs bent, still twerking upside down, hair brushing the floor. She slides upright, licks her thumb, and slaps her own ass like a war drum.
She shouts toward the rafters: “Hope you enjoy, Bloodgood!”
The beat spikes.
Lights flash violet.
Meowlody and Purrsephone prowl forward from opposite ends of the catwalk, their movements perfectly mirrored—until they meet in the middle, then break into a synchronized heel-click spin.
The beat kicks harder. They trade lines like slaps:
🎵 "Sharp tongue, sharper nails"🎵
🎵 "We don’t purr—we prevail" 🎵
🎵 "Collars tight, attitude tighter"🎵
🎵 "Double trouble? Nah, double fire"🎵
They twirl together, back to back, then drop into a mirrored squat, swiping claws down their thighs before rising in sync.
🎵 "We don’t need your approval, baby. We ain’t soft—we rabid, maybe."🎵
🎵 "Two stripes deep, still breakin' norms—Nine tail whips and we bring the storm"🎵
They both slam their fists to the ground on storm, triggering a blast of sound and red light. The floor pulses beneath their boots.
Wydowna flips midair, catches a falling spotlight, and shines it right on the next entrance.
Amanita glides out, barefoot and deadly, her heels grown straight from vines, twisting around her calves like living stilettos. Her dress is a split-leaf weave dripping in bioluminescent pollen and attitude.
The crowd quiets for a second as she walks—like they know she’s poison and still want a taste
🎵 "Roots deep, tongue mean. Said I’m 'fake'? I’m a goddamn queen."🎵
🎵 "Toxic? Maybe. But luxury, always. Turned your garden into my runway hallways"🎵
She spins slowly, blowing a kiss to a camera drone flying by—then snaps her fingers and wilts an entire wall of faux roses behind her. They rot into glittering sludge at her feet.
🎵 "I’m the glamour, I’m the gall. Sap in my veins and I still stand tall."🎵
🎵 "Don’t call me pretty—call me poison. I don’t bloom, baby—I take over seasons" 🎵
On “take over seasons,” vines erupt from the ground and wrap her in a living dress of petals and thorns. She flips her hair, eyes glowing like emerald fire.
The beat stutters—then BOOMS.
The crowd surges with cheers.
Spectra hadn’t stopped. Her knees hit the floor as she flipped again, twerking so hard the light fixtures above were swaying. Someone shouted her name. Someone else dropped their phone in awe.
And then Cleo walked in.
She didn’t say a word.
Didn’t need to.
Her face said it all—jaw clenched, eyes burning with post-argument fury. Her mind was still clouded by the words of her father yesterday.
"You’re royalty! And here you are—hiding in bushes, dressed like a hobo, SHAKING YOUR ASS for some second-rate serpent boy like you’re in a back-alley cabaret!”
Good.
Let him choke on it.
As she stepped into the rave space, the music didn’t falter. If anything, the energy surged. People saw her—really saw her—and whispers hit like sparks.
Amanita spotted her from across the room.
She didn’t sneer. She didn’t smirk. She just raised one hand toward her like a queen offering a throne.
No words.
Just an invitation.
Cleo paused—shoulders tense, head high—but her heels still clicked forward.
One step.
Then another.
She thought about walking away. Thought about holding back.
And then she heard the camera shutters.
Felt the heat of the spotlight.
Remembered the way her father said, “Cabaret" like it was filth.
“Fuck it,” she muttered.
Her outfit changed.
Gold chains wrapped her waist. A sheer mesh top replaced her usual top. Her skirt slashed itself up the thigh and shrank into barely-there fabric that shimmered with every step. Her heels grew into six-inch stilettos, straps winding like serpents up her calves.
Her lipstick color changed from black to gold. Her eyes lids now had a teal coloring.
And across her ass—bright, bold, impossible to miss:
DISOWNED
Written in gold eyeliner, clean and intentional.
first, there were gasps.
Then screams.
And then, CHEERS.
Cameras went up instantly.
Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted, “HOLY SHIT, CLEO!”
She smirked, turned around slow, bent over with her hands on her thighs—
And started twerking.
She moved like royalty unhinged. Like a crown had finally been smashed into something worth keeping. Every bounce was a statement. Every slap of her ass echoed like a curse being broken.
Hands smacked her from both sides. Glitter flew. One ghoul tossed her a phone and she grinded on it while making eye contact with the camera.
Her voice was low, almost a whisper, as she smiled into the chaos:
“Hope you're watching, Daddy.”
And then she dropped lower.
And the crowd lost it.
The crowd’s in a frenzy.
Hands in the air, feet stomping. Neon sweat drips down every moving body.
It’s not just a party anymore—it’s a riot in rhythm.
Cleo’s in the middle, still bent over, ass jiggling like a curse made manifest. The word DISOWNED flashes gold under every strobe, every bounce.
Ghouls and monsters alike are cheering her on, slapping her ass, chanting her name like a war cry.
Spectra’s right beside her, arching her back until her hair brushes the floor, hips clapping with ghostlight trailing behind every motion.
Her tongue runs across her teeth as she catches Cleo’s eye, and the two of them just go harder—twerking in sync, side by side, like they’re trying to summon the apocalypse through ass alone.
That’s when the lights go deep blue.
Kala Mer’ri rises from the dance pit, lifted by glowing tendrils of water and magic, her body slick and shining. The mic floats into her hand like it was born to be there.
She grins, all teeth and malice.
🎵 "Sea-born, sea-wild, deep-bred bitch. Biolume glow and a backhand switch."🎵
She snaps her hand to the left—one tentacle cracking across the floor like a whip. It leaves a glowing trail.
🎵 "You say I’m ‘too much’? Then drown, babe. I bend pressure like tides, I wave graves."🎵
She circles Cleo and Spectra, hips moving like a storm rolling in. She runs a hand across Cleo’s back and gives a firm spank that echoes.
Cleo doesn’t stop twerking for a second.
🎵 "Hips hypnotic, venom sweet. Tentacles snap when the beat repeat."🎵
🎵 "I’m the siren, I’m the sin. I don’t ask kindly—I drag you in."🎵
With that, Kala drops low and grinds on the floor, her glowing limbs swirling behind her like a hurricane made of hunger.
Next up? Pearl and Peri.
Now separate, now unleashed.
They stomp onto a glass dance platform high above the crowd, lights strobing under their heels. They take turns grabbing the mic, spinning around each other, eyes wild.
🎵 "Split me up—still twice the heat."🎵
🎵 "Slither loud in six-inch pleats."🎵
🎵 "You bring shame? We bring thighs."🎵
🎵 "And we dance like your girlfriend lies."🎵
On that line, Cleo throws her head back and laughs, bouncing harder as if taunting every ex and parental figure she's ever had.
Spectra slides beside her again, shaking ass like it’s payback for every snide comment she’s ever swallowed.
🎵 "We hiss, we spin, we crash the floor. One kiss and they beg for more."🎵
🎵 "Twin flame freaks with no regrets. Wanna judge us? Break our necks." 🎵
On “break our necks,” Peri drops into a backbend, lips parted, eyes glowing. Pearl flips over her, lands in a split, then slaps the floor—causing the stage to rumble.
Above them, camera drones whir.
The crowd pulsed like a living beast.
Cleo and Spectra were still working the crowd—bent over, thighs flexing, sweat dripping down glitter-painted spines. Every bounce drew another scream. Another camera flash. Another shaky video someone was definitely going to regret uploading... or maybe not.
Up above, the lights flickered spiderweb red.
And then—
Wydowna dropped in.
Literally.
She descended from the ceiling on a single thread of glowing silk, landing in a crouch like a predator in stilettos.
Eight arms. All gloved. All dangerous.
A hush rolled through the space as she stood—taller, sharper, hair teased into webbed chaos, mesh bodysuit hugging every curve, legs wrapped in chains and ink.
Each of her six hands grabbed a mic stand, spun it, clicked it into place.
She looked out at the crowd. Licked her lips.
Smirked.
🎵"Six arms, all filthy. I multitask while they melt me."🎵
As she rapped, two hands touched her own chest, two slid down her thighs, and the last 2 reached out and grabbed two ghouls from the crowd, pulling them close with silken rope as she strutted forward.
🎵 "Trap boys in silk and spite. Guilty thoughts in webbed-up nights."🎵
A whistle rang out. One of the boys she grabbed dropped to his knees immediately.
The other tried to resist... until one of Wydowna’s hands wrapped around his throat and gently tapped his cheek.
He didn’t resist anymore.
🎵 "I sew sin in pretty lines. I break rules in overtime."🎵
🎵 "Bite me once, I make it twice—Darlin’, I don’t play—I splice." 🎵
On “splice,” she flipped—hands catching the stage, heels to the ceiling, body twisting like silk ribbon. She landed in a split, arms raised like a starburst.
A net of glowing thread shot out from above, draping over the crowd like a glitter-trap.
Spectra blew a kiss.
Cleo twerked beneath it.
Someone screamed: “SHE’S GOT EIGHT HANDS, GOD HELP ME—”
No one helped them.
Because no one wanted to be saved.
And then, the beat cuts.
Hard.
The lights vanish. Darkness swallows the space. For a second, it’s dead silent. Nothing but the sound of breath and anticipation.
Then—one flicker.
A red bulb above flashes once, casting shadows over the girls’ heaving chests, smeared lipstick, slick skin.
Another flicker.
Then another.
And with each pulse, their outfits shift—morphing like liquid sin:
Kala’s outfit now stripped to chains and shimmering water veils.
Wydowna’s bodysuit sheer and strung with black silk webbing, every inch of her a sin in motion.
Amanita’s hips covered in thorn-wrapped vines that pulse with glowing spores as she moves.
Pearl and Peri? Now wearing half a top each and skirts slashed up to their hipbones. Both have the word BITCH written across their chests in lipstick.
Spectra is front and center now, licking her lips, tits nearly spilling out of her corset. Her fishnets are torn wide at the thighs. Her eyes are wild. Her hair looks like she stuck her head in a neon hurricane.
She winks at the camera and bends over—
Her ass jiggles with the word “GHOSTSLUT” written across it in holographic liner.
And Cleo?
Cleo is unrecognizable. Her top barely counts as clothing—straps and gold that seem designed to break. Her heels are lethal. Her eyeliner wing could slice skin.
Her thighs glitter with hieroglyphics, but her ass steals the scene:
Words like: “FILTHY WHORE", "KISS MY ASS", "NAUGHTY SLUT" and "FUCK YOU, DADDY” shake with every move.
She slaps her ass for the crowd, grinning like a queen, and the room erupts.
But then, a low growl cuts through the cheers.
Toralei’s voice.
The lights throb once—red. Then again—hot pink. One final time—blazing white.
She stands alone in the spotlight.
Boots. Belt. Lipstick like blood.
Her voice is slow. Seductive.
🎵 "Call us sluts,"🎵
🎵"Call us freaks."🎵
🎵 "Still watch us every time we speak."🎵
🎵 "Call us cursed, say we corrupt. Still come back when we fuck shit up"🎵
She walks toward the edge of the stage, slow, tail swaying, one claw dragging across her thigh as she speaks it like prophecy.
🎵 "We don’t bend."🎵
🎵"We don’t fade."🎵
🎵 "We wear sin."🎵
🎵 "Like satin and blade."🎵
🎵 "Try to shame me into silence?"🎵
🎵 "I’ll scream until you break in violence." 🎵
The lights BLAST to full.
All the bad ghouls are lined up, shoulder to shoulder.
Each one glowing, panting, powerful, dangerous. Chains. Lace. Glitter. Sweat. Their faces are painted with war paint and wicked smiles.
The crowd goes feral.
And then—they unleash.
🎵 "We don’t play nice—we claw, we spit!"🎵
🎵"Detention slips and we still don’t quit!"🎵
🎵"You built a cage, we set it on fire!"🎵
🎵"We're scandal, stiletto, and razor wire!" 🎵
Cleo swings a gold baseball bat straight through a statue of Headmistress Bloodgood. The head crumbles.
Spectra mounts the pieces and twerks on the remains.
Gory rips a “NO TOLERANCE” banner in half with her fangs.
Pearl and Peri grind on the flagpole.
🎵 "Too wild, too loud, too dressed to kill."🎵
🎵"If that’s the crime—bitch, charge the bill!"🎵
🎵"We own the hallways, we own the night—Bad ghouls rise when the world says fight!" 🎵
They’re dancing like the world’s ending.
Like every camera is watching.
Like the judgment means nothing and the freedom means everything.
The screen behind them glitches into a broken school crest—spray-painted red with the words:
“CONTROL THIS.”
Cleo flips off the lens. Spectra winks. Wydowna throws her head back and laughs.
And finally—they gather.
One by one, the girls move toward the center of the stage, hips swaying, eyes blazing, their bodies gleaming under the heat of the lights.
Cleo struts through the rubble of the Bloodgood statue, high heels crunching concrete.
Spectra floats down from above, spinning in midair with her fingers tracing slow, teasing circles across her thighs.
They form a circle—back to back, shoulder to shoulder, claws out, heels dug in, asses still bouncing with leftover rhythm.
Toralei steps forward, mic in hand, breathing hard, lips curved in a grin that could kill.
She raises the mic to her mouth—then pauses.
And with a look over her shoulder, she tosses it—one clean arc across the air—
To Gory.
She smirks, keeping one foot pressed on Bloodgoods broken nameplate as she sings:
🎵 "Put your rules in a coffin—We just came to dance on the lid."🎵
She spins once, slow, savoring it—then adds:
🎵 "And if you’re watching, BG..."🎵
🎵 "Choke on what we did."🎵
She catches it like a queen handed a crown.
Smoke bursts from the lockers. Lights flash gold and red.
The girls turn as one—facing the camera. Slow. Deliberate. Seductive.
Cleo blows a kiss with both hands, then flips double birds with a smirk that dares the world to punish her.
Spectra licks her middle finger before throwing it up with a wink.
Wydowna uses four hands—two blowing kisses, two flipping off the lens, grinning like a spider goddess.
Kala, Amanita, the twins, Gory, Toralei—each with their own spin: hip pops, tongue-outs, teasing winks and deadly stares.
And then, like the rest of the group, they blow kisses to the camera.
Then middle fingers.
All of them. Frozen in glory. Chaos incarnate. Pride weaponized.
If the world doesn't like who they are now...
Then they can go fuck themselves.
And just like that, the lights dim and the stage fades into black.
As the lights returned and the glow of their wild performance dimmed, the hallway shimmered briefly—like the last pulse of a dying star—and then snapped back to normal.
The lockers were just lockers again. The walls were clean. The chains, smoke machines, neon vines and jungle rave lights were gone. The graffiti vanished. The statue rubble replaced by smooth tile. Everything was as it had been before.
Except for one thing.
The energy.
The feeling.
The aftermath of what they'd just done hummed in the air like static after a storm. Every girl was back in her normal clothes—school uniforms, patched-up fishnets, leather jackets, or cute crop tops. But they were all slick with sweat. Their hair frizzed and clinging. Lipstick smeared. Eyeshadow running down cheekbones. Muscles sore. Hearts pounding.
They looked like they'd just come out of battle.
And they had.
The applause hit like a tidal wave.
Students who had been watching—some hidden behind classroom doors, others peeking from around hallway corners—erupted in cheers, claps, howls, and stomps. Some even started banging on the lockers in rhythm. Phones lit up again. More cameras. More recordings.
Someone in the back screamed, “BAD GHOULS FOR LIFE!”
Spectra's blog would have content for weeks.
That is, if Bloodgood hadn't shut it down.
Speaking of—
Spectra twirled a pen between her fingers, notebook in the other hand. Her hair was still puffed out from the storm of their dance, and she was grinning like a banshee who'd just stolen someone’s soul.
“Monstrously iconic,” she whispered, scribbling down notes like her fingers were on fire. “Toralei’s callout verse? Cleo's ass slap? The synchronized flips? Gory biting the banner? I'm gonna need multiple papers for this. Maybe a docu-series. Merch drop? Social media post. Who knows.”
Wydowna let out a breathless laugh, resting a hand on Spectra’s shoulder. “Darling, your ghost’s showing.”
“Let it.” Spectra replied, still scribbling. “I died doing what I love.”
Nearby, Peri and Pearl blinked and looked down at themselves—still in separate bodies. They wobbled slightly, unused to being unconnected. Their legs shook a little like newborn fawns. Pearl clutched at the wall for balance, while Peri stared at her own feet like they were alien.
“Um,” Pearl said. “Why do I feel taller?”
Peri pointed at her. "Because I’m shorter now. You stole the extra inch.”
Gigi appeared beside them in a puff of golden smoke, hands up apologetically. “Sorry! I’m still working on the balance between metaphysical structure and spiritual tethering. Usually you go poof and merge back, but… I kinda forgot to put the cap back on the bottle.”
Peri and Pearl stared at her.
Then turned to each other.
Then grinned.
“No take backs,” Pearl said.
“Yeah,” Peri agreed, doing a little jump, though she nearly toppled over. “This is awesome! We can do our own thing now! We can dance separately! Eat separately!”
“Flirt separately,” Pearl added with a smirk.
“Try walking first,” Kala muttered, stepping up just in time to catch both of them as they stumbled again. “You're built like baby giraffes.”
“Thank you, our savior,” Peri said dramatically, draping herself over Kala’s arm.
Kala rolled her eyes. “You guys are gonna need physical therapy.”
Not far off, Toralei took a slow breath and let it out through her nose. The applause, the wild energy, the heat of it all was still buzzing in her bones.
Her ears twitched as she turned to take it in—and that’s when she heard the clapping behind her.
She turned.
And saw Clawdeen.
Standing at the far end of the hall, leaning against a locker, slow-clapping with a knowing little smirk on her lips.
Her eyes sparkled.
Toralei blinked.
Clawdeen raised a brow. “Didn’t think you had that much bite left in you.”
Toralei gave her a once-over. “Guess you forgot who taught you how to snarl.”
Clawdeen stepped forward, still clapping softly, then let her arms drop and crossed them. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t expect to see it again like that.”
“Yeah, well.” Toralei stretched her arms behind her back, rolling her neck until it popped. “Sometimes you gotta remind people.”
There was a pause. And for once—it wasn’t tense or dramatic.
They just kissed.
Fast. Simple. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Then Purrsephone broke it with a loud growl. “Okay, but like, can we eat now? I’m starving. That rebellion burned calories.”
Meowlody perked up. “Is the creepateria still open?”
“It better be,” Gory huffed. “I danced my makeup off. I deserve fries and bloodshakes.”
“I could go for a taco corpse,” Amanita said, already adjusting her lipstick.
“Or a sizzling spine kabob,” Spectra muttered, flipping her notebook closed with a satisfied snap.
“Lunch it is,” Wydowna said, cracking her knuckles. “March, my bad bitches.”
As the crowd parted and the cheering continued, the ghouls strutted down the hall like an army of queens. Their heels clicked. Their hips swayed. Their heads were held high.
Toralei led the pack. Kala flanked her left. Pearl and Peri clung to each other, still giggling as they learned to walk. Gory cracked her neck and grinned. Meowlody and Purrsephone trailed behind, tails swishing in sync.
Clawdeen watched them go for a moment.
Then smiled.
And followed.
Only one ghoul stayed behind.
Cleo.
The classroom buzzed with low, aimless noise. It was that part of the day where attention spans had completely dissolved. A few students scrolled on their iCoffins under the desk.
One zombie in the back had literally dozed off and was now gently snoring with their eyes open.
The teacher—an ancient cyclops with a hoarse drone for a voice—was half-heartedly scribbling something about “monster algebraic history” on the blackboard, though no one could remember what the subject of the class was supposed to be.
And honestly, no one cared.
In the middle of this sleepy chaos, Pharaoh stood near the front, leaned over another student's desk, pointing something out in a workbook.
“Okay, see what they’re doing here?” he said, tapping the paper. “They're using this symbol, but it only works if you're factoring out cursed variables. You can't just drop a hieroglyph without adjusting for the enchantment. That’s how you accidentally summon something.”
The student—a vampire girl with glittery eyeshadow and a very confused expression—nodded slowly, trying to keep up.
Off to the side, sitting on the edge of a desk with her tail swaying lazily, Catty Noir watched him like he’d just descended from a golden chariot. Her eyes were big, soft, and sparkling in that dumb, completely-in-love way. She was totally, shamelessly smitten.
As Pharaoh gestured and explained, Catty silently mouthed along with the words. She wasn’t even listening to the lesson—she was just mesmerized by how he said it.
The confidence, the calm. The way his rings caught the light when he moved. The little furrow in his brow when he got focused.
He might’ve been helping someone else, but she looked at him like he was speaking directly to her heart.
Pharaoh glanced up mid-sentence and caught her.
She didn’t flinch. She winked. Then mouthed: “Mine.”
Pharaoh smirked faintly but returned to explaining without missing a beat. The girl nodded, finally understanding something, and thanked him before returning to her seat.
As soon as she left, Catty pounced—graceful as always, slipping off the desk and gliding over. She stepped right into his space, arms sliding easily around his neck. She looked up at him with a teasing glint in her eye.
“You know I’d still be obsessed with you, even if you weren’t mine, right?”
Pharaoh leaned in, catching her waist with both hands and pulling her close.
Then he kissed her—deep and firm, the kind of kiss that says yeah, I know but I’m not taking chances either.
As they pulled apart, he whispered with a wicked grin:
“Good thing I am.”
In the background, some random student quietly muttered, “Seriously, get a room.”
Neither of them noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.
The energy is still electric. Every ghoul is glowing with post-performance adrenaline, hair sticking to their foreheads, breath heavy from the sheer chaos they just unleashed. Footsteps echo as they start heading toward the creepateria, still high on the cheers echoing through the halls.
The energy was unshakable—defiant, electric.
Toralei flicked a lock of her wild red-orange hair over her shoulder as she strolled beside Clawdeen, her arm slung lazily around her girlfriend’s waist. They were both still basking in the afterglow of the dance’s mayhem, giggling at the reactions, the mess they’d all made together.
Then Clawdeen paused.
Her sharp golden eyes caught something above—one of the hallway’s mounted security cameras, slowly panning, blinking with a quiet red light.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Bet Bloodgood’s watching us like we’re in a damn zoo.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if your parents are watching too,” Toralei added, her tone venomous and playful at the same time.
Clawdeen growled under her breath, her face darkening for just a moment. “Let ‘em.”
Toralei grinned. “Wanna give them a show?”
Clawdeen blinked—then smirked.
“Oh, hell yeah.”
They moved as one—stepping directly in front of the camera’s view, locking eyes with the red lens like it was a dare. Clawdeen bent over, bracing her hands on her knees, her long curls tumbling forward.
Toralei cracked her neck and mirrored her.
And just like that—they dropped into it. Hips rolling, asses bouncing, wild and unfiltered.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
It was hypnotic, rebellious, absolutely vulgar. Perfect.
The sound of laughter echoed behind them. The rest of the bad ghouls had turned around, catching on immediately.
Gory was the first to join, grinning like a madwoman as she dropped low beside Clawdeen.
The serpentine twins squealed and bounced next to Toralei, her hair whipping like crazy.
The rest of the crew all dove in like it was second nature. A hallway-wide, synchronized explosion of unapologetic twerking right in front of the camera, giving whoever was watching a front-row seat to their coordinated middle finger.
They didn’t even need music. Their laughter was enough.
“Smile for the camera, bitch!” Toralei called, wagging her tongue.
Clawdeen flipped off the lens with both hands as she kept moving, grinding with zero shame. “Send this to my mom—see how well-behaved I am now!”
The girls howled.
And just like that, as quickly as it started, they pulled back up their skirts, fixed their hair, straightened their backs, and kept walking like nothing had happened.
Still laughing.
Still buzzing.
Still completely unbothered.
Behind them, the camera kept recording.
Cleo slipped away from the crowd with the grace of a queen returning to her chamber.
She didn’t say anything to the others—just offered a wave, a flick of her fingers, and let the noise of the celebration fall behind her as she entered the quiet stretch of hallway near the girls’ restroom.
The door swung shut behind her, muffling the roar of applause from outside. Cool fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off the mirrors with sterile clarity.
It was oddly peaceful. Still. Like the storm had passed but left a bit of mischief in the air.
She moved to the mirror.
Tossed her purse down.
Then, without hesitation, she turned, tugged up her skirt, and looked over her shoulder.
There they were.
Still gleaming in shimmering gold eyeliner across her asscheeks, bold and unapologetic:
"DISOWNED"
“FILTHY WHORE”
“KISS MY ASS”
“NAUGHTY SLUT”
“FUCK YOU, DADDY”
Cleo smirked. She reached back and gave herself a little slap, watching the words jiggle with the impact. Not even a smudge.
“Permanent,” she whispered, grinning. “Good.”
The next time she was at a party—twerking, grinding, making the crowd scream—Deuce and everyone else were going to get one hell of a show.
That’s when the door creaked open again.
Spectra floated in, hovering just above the tile. Her face looked half-glazed from the double musical performances, but she still had that ghostly glow, hair a little frazzled, fishnets only half-repaired.
“You too, huh?” she said, floating to the mirror beside Cleo.
“Curiosity,” Cleo replied. “And vanity.”
Spectra floats closer, then twirls mid-air to face the mirror. Slowly, dramatically, she bends over and lifts the back of her skirt.
The word shimmered across both cheeks in that same near-holographic liner:
“GHOSTSLUT”
Cleo bursts into laughter.
“Oh my Ra... it stuck?!”
She blinked, then started giggling, low and wicked. “Apparently Gigi’s powers come with... lingering effects.”
She drops the skirt and stands upright again, biting her lip as she stifles a laugh.
Then, in a mockingly worried voice, she asks, “What do you think Porter’s gonna do when he sees it?”
Cleo rolled her eyes playfully. “Knowing your boy? He’s going to snatch you. First empty closet he sees—he’ll be hauling your ass in like it’s haunted treasure.”
Spectra straightened up and ran her fingers through her hair, smirking. “Might let him. I’ve earned it after today.”
They both burst into laughter—sharp, breathless, free.
The tension of the last 24 hours, the judgment, the fury of parents and teachers—all of it fades beneath the absurdity and the pride they feel now.
A beat passed.
Then Spectra leaned in with a glint in her eye. “We have to get the others in on this.”
"Personalized ass slogans?"
"Yep."
Cleo’s smirk deepened. “A full-on campaign.”
“Mass mooning.”
“A cheeky protest.”
Spectra snapped her fingers. “An assault on everything Bloodgood and the parents tried to shut down.”
Cleo tilted her head, thinking for a second. “You know what would make it perfect?”
Spectra leaned in.
“We make it look effortless.”
They exchanged a grin. A dangerous one.
Spectra pulled out her phone.
Cleo posed beside her, one hand on her hip, the other flashing a peace sign—though both their skirts were hiked just enough to reveal the glowing, defiant messages still inked on their skin.
Click.
One perfect photo. Two proud, filthy rebels.
“This is so going in the paper.”
“Damn right it is.”
They checked it once. Approved it. Then turned, smoothed their skirts, and left the bathroom like nothing happened.
But the next time the ghouls threw a party?
The world was going to see just how little shame they had left.
The air in Bloodgood’s office was suffocating.
The wide screen on the far wall had just gone dark, the final image lingering in everyone’s minds: eight teenage girls shaking their asses at a security camera like it was a red carpet event. No shame, no fear—just raw defiance.
Bloodgood sat behind her desk, her hands steepled under her chin. Her eyes burned with the same fury she’d felt when this whole nightmare began. Not the kind of rage that explodes—no, hers simmered. Controlled. Calculated. Dangerous.
She didn’t speak.
Not yet.
The parents, clustered in tight rows of chairs facing her, were dead silent. A few had their mouths open, still processing what they’d just seen.
Dracula looked like he wanted to crawl under his chair.
Coraline was fuming, her claws tapping out a rapid rhythm on her armrest.
Clawdeen’s mother, Harriet, was crying softly in the corner.
“She… she was such a good girl,” Harriet whispered, voice cracking. “I just wanted her to be safe. Now she—she looks at me like I’m the enemy…”
Her husband tried to comfort her, but she shrugged him off, eyes still watery, shoulders shaking.
Still, Bloodgood didn’t flinch. She didn’t offer sympathy. She didn’t offer anything.
After a long, tense silence, she finally spoke—her voice cold and sharp, slicing through the heaviness in the room.
“Mr. Rotter.”
“Yes?” he said, already knowing what was coming.
“Send security. Full sweep of the campus. I want every hallway, every stairwell, every broom closet patrolled. I am done with musicals spontaneously breaking out like infections in my school.”
Rotter cleared his throat awkwardly.
“About that…”
Bloodgood turned her head toward him, eyes narrowing.
“There’s… another one,” he said, tapping his clipboard nervously. “In the gym. With the boys.”
The temperature in the room dropped five degrees.
Bloodgood’s eyes widened slightly—just enough to betray that she knew exactly what kind of disaster that could be. The girls were one thing. The boys? They’d gone completely feral since the gas took hold.
And now they were in the gym. Singing. Probably grinding. Maybe shirtless. Probably shirtless.
Bloodgood didn’t wait to hear more.
She stood so fast her chair slammed into the wall behind her.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t explain.
Just grabbed her coat, adjusted her riding crop, and stormed out the door.
She didn’t know what was waiting for her in that gym, but if it was anything like what the girls just did…
They were all doomed.
The gym had, by all accounts, become a lounge for the students.
Ever since the infamous 'sex hour' that the ghouls and their partners had experienced on Monday, Igor—like many other teachers—had given up on trying to conduct productive classes.
The humiliation of having to clean up after the students' more... intimate activities had destroyed any hope of maintaining a productive learning environment.
The students had become unteachable, and so, Igor had surrendered, allowing them to roam freely, so long as they didn't enter any of the storage or locker rooms.
The students, of course, obliged and went about their business as usual.
This involved flirting, engaging in sexual activities behind the bleachers, making out, reapplying makeup, discussing sex, and sending explicit pictures to their boyfriends or girlfriends.
With no class being taught, many of the female students took the opportunity to work on their glutes. Some did it to tease the boys, while others did it simply to enhance their physical appearance.
Regardless of their intentions, the boys took notice. They would stare, catcall, whistle, and even record videos for their own viewing pleasure.
In a corner of the room, a group of boys sat together, engaged in a lively conversation. Initially, the topic was about sports games they had won earlier in the year.
However, as the conversation continued, the subject quickly shifted from 'who's the best player on the team' to 'whose girlfriend had the best assets.'
And that conversation had turned sexual faster than one could say 'fucking horny.'
“Okay, Draculaura might not have the biggest tits in the school,” Clawd said, a cocky grin on his face, “but you have to admit—her ass is top tier. Like… have you seen it bounce?”
Manny snorted. “She might have a jiggly ass, Clawd, but have you seen my girl?” he boomed. “Iris is packing back there.”
“Manny,” Deuce said flatly, not even looking up, “Iris may be cute as hell, but her ass looks like a dude’s butthole after five years in prison.”
Manny blinked. “What the fuck, man?!”
Deuce just smirked and turned to the group. “Let’s be real. We all know Cleo has the best body on campus. Pretty face, killer rack, and a perfect ass? Who’s competing with that?”
Gil scoffed. “Cleo’s hot, sure—but you cannot tell me my girl doesn’t have the most gorgeous figure in this school!”
“Um, no,” Romulus growled. “If anyone’s got the best figure, it’s the twins.”
“I still don’t get how you managed to bag both Meowlody and Purrsephone,” Clawd muttered, shaking his head.
Romulus grinned. “Like I said—I'm just that guy.”
“Whatever,” Ryder chimed in, leaning back. “Brag about them all you want, but we all know Gigi’s got the best body. The way her tits bounce when she walks? That ass? Man, I’m blessed.”
“Oh please,” Porter cut in with a grin. “Spectra’s got the biggest ass in the school. I'm lucky as hell to even have that girl. And those outfits she’s been wearing lately? Bro…”
Garrott laughed. “Come on now! You can’t deny that Rochelle has ze finest derrière.”
“I mean, yeah, she’s hot,” Holt said. “She’s got that whole French accent thing going on too. But she’s literally made of stone. She gives more motherly vibes than sexy vibes.”
Garrott sighed. “Well, pardon me for liking women with substance.”
“Can we give Scarah some damn credit?” Invisi-Billy said, exasperated. “That banshee’s body is unreal. And her scream? Insane.”
“You’ve got a point,” Porter agreed. “Scarah’s a total ten.”
“Until she got pregnant,” Slo-Mo deadpanned. “That baby bump kinda… kills the vibe.”
“And didn’t her mom beat your ass yesterday?” Clawd added. “You looked worse than Jinafire after that big fight.”
Billy groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You guys are fucking evil.”
“How long are we dragging this out?” Andy asked. “We all know my girl is the hottest here.”
“You’re just saying that because she started twerking at the Monster Mash,” Holt teased. “Before that, she was shyer than a nun’s tits.”
“Hey!” Andy barked. “Watch your mouth when you talk about my Jane!”
“Let’s just end this now,” Holt declared. “Frankie’s the hottest ghoul in school. Killer ass, great tits, gorgeous eyes, rockin’ body, amazing hair—and the way she moves when she dances? Fucking irresistible.”
“Oh please," Bram scoffed. “Frankie’s hot, yeah—but so are plenty of others.”
“Name one,” Holt challenged.
Bram smirked. “Mine.”
“Gory’s not that special,” Romulus said, rolling his eyes.
“She’s Draculaura—but better,” Bram said. “Hotter face, better ass, and not short as hell.”
Clawd growled, rising from the bleachers. “Say that again and I’ll break your face.”
Bram laughed. “Oh please. You don’t scare me.”
Just as they looked ready to throw down, a loud ahem cut through the tension.
They all turned.
Heath stood there with his arms crossed, looking at them like a cop who just caught a room full of idiots.
“You all forgetting something?” he asked. “My girlfriend is a seven-foot-tall muscle mommy with boobs like boulders and thighs that could crush skulls. Abbey doesn’t just twerk—she shakes the floor. And she looks even hotter when she’s beat up. You really think any of your girls can compete with that?”
For a second, the boys fell completely silent, actually considering it.
It looked like Heath was about to win the argument—
“Iris is still better,” Manny said.
Instantly, the gym erupted into chaos as all the boys started yelling again, voices overlapping in a storm of insults, praise, and absurd sexual comparisons.
And somewhere, in the corner, Igor slowly packed his things and left the gym.
While the boys hurled their shouts, taunts, and half-serious threats across the gym, a separate group was gathered off to the side—watching, listening, and slowly growing more and more flustered.
Draculaura crossed her arms beneath her chest, one elegant brow twitching as her pointed ears turned a shade redder.
“Excuse me?” she huffed, glaring daggers toward Bram from across the room. “Better than me? Better FACE?! Better ASS?!” she practically screeched.
Lagoona had her arms crossed as well, cheeks flushed, both from the heat in the room and the rising excitement in the air. “Are they seriously comparing all of us like trading cards?”
Abbey, standing like a proud glacier amidst melting snow, smirked ever so slightly, her eyes glinting like twin frost crystals.
“Let them,” she rumbled in her thick accent, her deep voice carrying with powerful resonance. “Heath is just speaking truth. They should be jealous.”
Frankie stood in the middle of the group, chewing her bottom lip, clearly torn between outrage and… something else entirely. Her eyes glowed faintly with electricity, cheeks tinted a light green.
“Honestly… this whole conversation is kinda… hot?” she muttered, eyes flicking between her friends and the arguing boys. “I mean, they’re talking about our bodies. About our sex lives. It’s kinda hot to see them get so worked up.”
Iris, on the other hand, looked seconds from marching over to Deuce and socking him in the jaw.
“A dude’s asshole after prison? What the actual hell is wrong with you?!” she snapped, seething with indignation.
Ghoulia adjusted her glasses and pushed them higher on her nose, looking over at Slo-Mo with a little smirk. She hadn’t expected him to shout anything, but when he raised his voice in her name, her cold brain went a bit soft.
The tension on both sides thickened—one side growing turned on, the other growing more hostile. The argument was reaching a boiling point.
Clawd had his claws extended, stepping toward Bram with that alpha wolf intensity. “You wanna go, pretty boy? Say one more thing about Draculaura and see what happens.”
Bram cracked his knuckles, his fangs gleaming. “I said—she’s short. Gory’s hotter. Cope.”
“THAT’S IT!” Clawd roared, lunging forward—
“WAIT!!” Holt shouted, arms outstretched as he stepped between them, his voice cutting through the chaos like thunder.
Everyone froze.
The room fell silent. Even the gym lights seemed to dim, as if fate itself was pausing to hear what Holt Hyde had to say.
With a smirk, Holt straightened his shades and turned toward the group. “This whole damn day’s been a musical,” he said. “People singin’ in the hallways, croonin’ in the classrooms, bustin’ out love songs in the freakin’ cafeteria. So if we’re really gonna argue about who’s got the baddest, sexiest, most drop-dead gorgeous ghoul in the school…”
He took a dramatic pause, leaned into the mic of his own voice.
“Let’s settle it with a RAP BATTLE.”
Gasps echoed across the gym. Clawd’s fury paused mid-growl. Bram blinked. Manny blinked twice. Deuce tilted his head like a confused dog. Even Slo-Mo straightened his posture a bit, sensing the sudden shift in energy.
Holt grinned wider. “We got a whole audience already. Everyone’s listening. So let’s put it on the record: who’s girl’s the sexiest, and who’s just full of it?”
Porter’s eyes gleamed. “Ohohohohoh I like this.”
Romulus bared his teeth in a grin. “I ain’t about to lose to no fish boy or mummy-wrapped simp.”
Ryder cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get it.”
Clawd growled out a breath but grinned. “Fine. Let’s settle it the right way.”
From the sidelines, the girls exchanged glances—then something shifted in the atmosphere. Frankie’s grin returned. Abbey rolled her shoulders like a fighter prepping for a match. Draculaura’s frown twisted into a wicked smirk.
“Oh, we’re helping with this,” Draculaura purred. “If Clawd’s gonna rap about me, I’m giving him something to rap about.”
Iris tossed her hair back with a smug look. “Guess it’s time to remind the school why Manny can’t go more than twenty minutes without grabbing my ass.”
Abbey cracked her knuckles. “Heath will win. I’ll make sure of it.”
Lagoona just giggled and muttered, “Oh, this is gonna be a show.”
Frankie whipped out her iCoffin and texted rapidly:
⚡️ Frankie: Get to the gym NOW. Bring Spectra, Gory, Meowlody, and Purrsephone. It’s rap battle time. And we’re gonna make jaws DROP. 💋
Meanwhile, Holt pulled a sleek boom box from his backpack, almost like he had been waiting for this moment all week. He set it down at the front of the gym, eyes sparkling with energy as he held his hand above the PLAY button.
Before he pressed it, Gigi stepped forward from the bleachers. Everyone turned to her, sensing the buzz of magic building in the air around her. She clapped her hands together once, and with a rush of pink and gold light, reality itself began to warp.
The gym shimmered and stretched, the walls expanding outward, the ceiling lifting higher into a domed spectacle. Lights like a concert venue blinked into place along the edges. Spotlights flared to life. A massive shimmering banner appeared above the center court:
“MONSTER HIGH RAP BATTLE: BADDIE BRAGGING RIGHTS”
Rows of bleachers filled in with more students, summoned by Gigi’s magic. Phantom students floated down from the ceiling. Even a few of the teachers materialized to see what the commotion was about.
A stage burst upward from the floor—microphones rising like cobras from baskets. The floor transformed into black-and-purple checkerboard. Bass began to hum beneath everyone’s feet.
The air was alive.
The boys were lined up on one side of the stage. The girls, smirking and swaying, stood on the other.
Heath took his spot beside Abbey, shooting her a cocky grin. She winked back at him, stretching her arms above her head in a way that had everyone suddenly hyper-aware of her very obvious assets.
Draculaura placed a delicate finger on Clawd’s chest. “Make me sound sexy, babe.”
Frankie leaned in close to Holt. “Don’t mess this up, DJ.”
He winked. “Not a chance.”
Holt hit the play button.
The beat dropped.
The Boys – “Coochie Commandments”
A pounding, heart-throbbing rhythm filled the gym. Students whooped. Someone screamed. Spectra glided into the gym from above with glowing chains around her arms, Gory gliding in behind her, both of them giving sultry smiles.
The floor rumbled beneath their sneakers. Bleachers were packed with students practically foaming at the mouth, phones out, eyes wide. Above them, disco lights spun like enchanted halos, casting blue and magenta shadows over bodies slick with sweat and pheromones.
At center stage stood Holt, clutching the mic like a preacher holding court.
“Ayo!” he shouted, voice booming over a monstrous beat. The crowd roared back.
“Y’all say you love your girl…” he grinned, already bouncing with rhythm.
“But do you worship that walk? Do you praise that bounce? Do you fear what she does when the lights go out?”
Gasps, laughter, screams. Draculaura twirled her parasol with a wicked grin. Lagoona popped a gum bubble and winked at Gil.
“MONSTER HIGH—MAKE SOME NOISE!”
The room exploded.
“It’s the Coochie Commandments! And we testifyin’ today!”
💥 BEAT DROP. 💥
The bass hit like a body slam. Smoke machines hissed. The floor tiles glowed neon.
The spotlight slammed center stage. The crowd was already screaming—horny, sweaty, hungry.
Clawd stepped up first, eyes locked on Draculaura across the room like he was about to pounce.
🎵 “She bite, she tease, she ride my face."🎵
🎵"Talkin’ mad shit just to raise the stakes.” 🎵
From the sidelines, Draculaura giggled—then turned, arched her back, and mimed gripping invisible handlebars. She rocked her hips slow and steady, fangs flashing as she glanced over her shoulder with that “what you gonna do about it” look.
Her tongue slid across her fangs.
She didn’t need to say it.
Everyone could tell: he wasn’t lying.
Then she strutted toward the front in thigh-high boots and latex shorts. Just before reaching him, she bent over like she dropped something, ass high, tail swishing, and then flicked her tongue toward the mic like she was gonna swallow it whole.
Clawd growled on beat.
🎵 “Batty got bounce, got that coffin strut."🎵
🎵"Play with my leash till I tear that butt.” 🎵
She actually tossed him a leash—black leather, silver studs—then spun back into the crowd, hips swaying like a countdown to sin.
The room erupted.
Manny was next, cracking his knuckles as he stepped up. The beat hit lower, filthier. He pointed at Iris—already in motion.
🎵 “She thick, she mean, she built to last."🎵
🎵"Throw it in reverse, I can’t drive past.” 🎵
Iris smirked, then turned around and dropped. No hesitation. Full twerk. Shorts hiked up. Ass clapping like a thunder spell.
The crowd lost it. Cameras flashed.
🎵 “Iris know I’m king—but she ride me raw. Knock me off balance like a wreckin’ claw.” 🎵
She threw him a wink mid-bounce, then lifted her sports bra just enough to flash a bite mark across her ribs—purple, fresh, deep.
She pointed at it and mouthed: “Yours.”
Manny just laughed into the mic. “Damn right.”
Deuce rolled up next, slower, cooler, snake-charmer slick. The room shifted. Everyone knew who he was about to name.
🎵 “Cleo got rules, but she love when I break ‘em." 🎵
🎵"Whisper ‘yes, sir’ just to fake it, then shake it.” 🎵
Cleo was already on the court.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t dance.
She just turned around, hiked up her skirt, and showed the crowd exactly what he meant.
"DISOWNED"
"FILTHY WHORE"
"KISS MY ASS"
"NAUGHTY SLUT"
"FUCK YOU, DADDY"
The golden ink on her bare asscheeks shimmered under the lights—bold, lewd, permanent.
Gasps. Moans. Screams.
And Cleo? She reached back and gave herself a slap so hard the sound echoed. The words jiggled. Not a smudge.
She looked back over her shoulder at Deuce, biting her lip. “This permanent enough for you, baby?”
Deuce grinned like a boy offered his favorite candy. He was DEFINITELY eating that up tonight.
🎵 “Wrapped in lace, she got gold in her stride."🎵
🎵"Said ‘bow to your queen’—I flipped her and smiled.”🎵
Deuce just leaned into the mic and whispered, “And then I made her scream.”
The crowd exploded.
Girls screamed in outrage. Boys screamed in lust. Holt was laughing, spinning the next verse into play.
And Cleo?
She gave the audience a smirk. A bow. And walked off with her hips swinging like sin itself.
The bass dropped like a sledgehammer.
The lights pulsed blood-red, strobe-white, deep violet. The beat echoed through ribs and skulls.
And just like that—
Every girl hit the floor.
Twelve ghouls, perfectly spaced across the glowing checkerboard court, lined up like backup dancers with bad intentions.
The boys roared into the mic, shoulder to shoulder, hyped beyond reason:
🎵 “She freaky, she nasty, she wild on the floor!” 🎵
THWACK!
Every girl dropped low, palms on thighs, eyes up—predatory and sultry.
As one, they started to bounce, hips rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic twerk that made the whole room gasp.
Their hair flew. Their asses clapped. The synchronized motion was animalistic.
🎵 “Got claws, got hips, got me beggin’ for more!” 🎵
Claws flashed. Fangs gleamed.
Meowlody literally roared, while Purrsephone ran a claw down her thigh and licked her palm.
Draculaura popped her collarbone with a whip of her neck, then threw it back harder.
🎵 “This that gospel, this that freak scripture!” 🎵
Frankie sparked—literal blue jolts flickering from her fingertips as she body rolled through lightning.
Abbey cracked her knuckles and started grinding her hips in perfect rhythm with Scarah, who bent forward, shook once, and let out a scream that hit the rafters.
🎵 “She throw that thing and I paint the picture!” 🎵
Spectra rose into the air, slow and levitating, then dropped into a spin from midair, twirling her chains as she landed in a split.
Cleo turned her back, lifted her skirt again—those golden tattoos glowing now—and started clapping her own ass to the beat like it was gospel.
🎵 “COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Testify!)” 🎵
All the girls hit a pose—knees wide, backs arched, hands on their own thighs—mouths open like they were in mid-moan.
They started clapping. Fast, sharp, perfectly on beat. Like a cheer squad in Hell.
🎵 “COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Let’s ride!)” 🎵
They rose together, slowly, like a coven coming to power.
Draculaura slid one hand down her stomach while locking eyes with Clawd.
Iris slapped her own ass and made eye contact with three different boys at once.
Gigi lifted both arms, winked, and made her hips spell her name in cursive.
🎵 “Drop low, raise hell, let the monsters preach—🎵
🎵 "These ghouls got grip, got bounce, got reach!” 🎵
And they did.
Every single one of them dropped again—harder, filthier, freakier.
The floor itself trembled.
The boys shouted, “HOLY SHIT!”
The crowd? Chaos.
Students were jumping. Phones were flying. Someone fainted.
This wasn’t a performance anymore.
It was a summoning.
And the girls?
They stood, arms raised in the air like sinners turned saints.
Cheering. Clapping. Owning it.
“COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS!”
They chanted back, laughing.
“PREACH, BITCHES!”
Smoke still curled low across the floor like mist over a battlefield. The crowd had just barely caught their breath when—
Gil rolled forward, chest heaving, shirt soaked. He raised the mic, glancing at Lagoona like he was about to confess to something criminal.
🎵 “She wet—duh—but she wetter for me."🎵
🎵"Slip and slide thighs, like I’m lost at sea.” 🎵
Lagoona was already moving—slow, snakelike, dropping into a split and dragging herself forward with one hand.
She winked, flipped her wet hair back, and mimed swimming toward him through the fog.
🎵 “Lagoona got that Aussie sway, that flex."🎵
🎵"Took her under once—now I drown in sex.” 🎵
She spun onto her back and hip-thrusted the air like it owed her money. The crowd screamed.
Then came Romulus.
He stalked forward like he was stalking prey. No mic stand, no gimmicks. Just a snarl and a grin.
🎵 “Mine don’t tease—they obey."🎵
🎵"I lead, they follow, we fuck all day.”🎵
The twins dropped into a mirrored crawl, Meowlody licking her lips while Purrsephone bared her teeth. They prowled up to him and grabbed each side of his legs, clawing slowly upward like they were ready to mark him up on the spot.
🎵 “Meowlody purrs, Purrsephone claws."🎵
🎵"They call me ‘sir,’ I break them laws.”🎵
He lifted both arms and howled. The girls responded in kind.
It was domination—pure and primal.
Then Ryder rolled up.
His wheelchair glided forward smooth as sin, rims glowing purple. He leaned back like a king on a throne, gold chain swinging, grin wide.
🎵 “Genie on lock, she twist that fate /🎵
🎵"Rubbed three times and she levitate.” 🎵
Gigi floated behind him, hips swaying midair, hair swirling around her like liquid smoke.
With a snap, her clothes shifted—tight purple vinyl, heels like daggers. She dropped from the air and landed in a perfect split across his lap.
🎵 “Gigi got bounce, but brains too deep /🎵
🎵"She said ‘make me scream’—I made her weep.” 🎵
He grabbed her hips, and she rolled them with a snap, mouthing “make me” right in his face.
But then—CRASH!
The gym doors slammed open.
Ms. Bloodgood stormed in, heels clacking like gunfire, cloak billowing behind her. Her head was in her hand, eyes blazing.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”
The music stuttered. A few students shrieked. Even Clawd flinched.
“This is completely inappropriate! Vulgar! Outrageous!” she bellowed. “I've already delt with 2 raunchy musicals and I am NOT having a 3rd! Shut it down right now—”
Then Gigi stood up from Ryder’s lap and snapped her fingers.
A ripple of golden magic exploded outward.
With a flick of her wrist, Bloodgood’s head popped out of her hands and whooshed back through the door like a cannonball. Her body stumbled after it, boots dragging like a rag doll being forcibly yanked out of the building.
Time froze for a second.
“Uh-uh, no interruptions.” Gigi said coolly.
The doors slammed shut behind her.
The music kicked right back in.
The bass slammed. The lights snapped hot again.
The crowd? Unhinged.
Ryder cackled. Romulus howled. Gigi brushed invisible dust off her hip.
And Holt, at the DJ booth, just shouted, “AND THAT’S ON FUCKIN’ MAGIC!”
The lights snapped black.
For half a second, the entire gym was silent—students caught in a breathless pause. The air trembled like something unholy was waking up beneath the bleachers.
Then—BOOM.
The lights blasted back on—lava red and electric purple.
The girls were already mid-formation, dead center, locked in. Heels high. Eyes glowing. The floor pulsed like a heartbeat beneath them.
The boys leaned into the mic like they were shouting from the altar of lust:
🎵 “She bad, she bold, she ride with force." 🎵
🎵"She got that grip like a cursed divorce” 🎵
BOOM. BOOM.
The girls hit the floor in full sync—arched backs, palms down, heads flipped. Then they started rolling their hips, slow and merciless.
Meowlody twisted her spine into impossible curves. Purrsephone grabbed her own ass and clapped it. Cleo, arms up like a queen commanding worship, dragged her tongue across her bottom lip.
🎵 “Wreck my spine, kill my pride."🎵
🎵 "Still knock twice when I’m back outside” 🎵
Draculaura blew a kiss, then dropped into a full split like it was second nature, laughing as she ground into it.
Abbey cracked her neck, lifted one leg vertically like a damn gymnast, and rode the air.
Frankie slid forward on her knees, threw her head back, and released a literal spark that made two students scream in joy.
🎵 “COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Let’s go!)"🎵
🎵"COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Praise up!)” 🎵
They rose again—this time slower, slinkier, each movement choreographed like a ritual. Spectra spun in midair like a cursed ballerina, glowing blue under the lights. Scarah twirled and clapped her ass in sync with the beat—then let out a haunting wail that made the gym walls tremble.
The girls formed a new line. Back to the crowd. All at once—they bent over. Hard. Deep. Controlled. Every ass lined up like a weapon.
🎵 “This that grind, that thump, that freak elite—"🎵
🎵 "We lose our minds when our girls bring heat!” 🎵
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Every girl started twerking in perfect sync. Asses jiggling like possessed metronomes. Hair flying. Magic crackling in the air like a thunderstorm about to break open.
The bleachers nearly collapsed under the screaming.
Heath literally fell over. Ryder shouted “YES MA’AM!” like he was in church. Romulus barked. Holt started levitating. Deuce almost crushed his sunglasses between his teeth.
Above the chaos, Gigi floated backward into Ryder’s lap again, this time blowing a kiss over her shoulder like the queen of sin herself.
The crowd had gone from horny to hysterical. Students stood on bleachers. Phones lit the room like a concert. Sweat, magic, and pheromones fogged the air. The beat slowed—darker now. A haunted, grinding crawl.
Porter floated forward like a soul on fire. Mic in hand. Drenched in sweat. Chains rattling at his waist.
🎵 “She float, she freak, she phase through walls." 🎵
🎵"Spectra moans got me screamin’ in halls.” 🎵
He pointed to the air—and there she was.
Spectra.
Hovering upside down, legs spread wide, body rolling in slow motion like she was underwater. She twirled midair, hair flying, then floated down to a mirror offstage.
Slowly, she bent over in front of it, lifted her skirt with both hands.
The gym lost it.
There it was. Shimmering. Holographic.
“GHOSTSLUT”
Written in glowing, holographic liner.
Perfect. Permanent. Possessed.
Porter. Lost. His. Mind.
“OH MY—WHAAAAT?!” he hollered, nearly dropping the mic.
Students screamed. Phones flew. Somebody fainted again.
Spectra turned her head, winked mid-air, and mouthed, “Boo.”
🎵 “Chains in the sheets, ghost in the bed."🎵
🎵"She whispered ‘boo’—and I saw red.” 🎵
Porter nearly levitated, yelling into the mic like it was church revival.
Next up, Garrott. Cool. French. Dangerous. He stepped into the purple spotlight like he belonged in a cathedral made of lust and stone.
🎵 “Stone curves, lips carved in fate."🎵
🎵"Rochelle bend once, I disintegrate.” 🎵
Rochelle stepped out slow. Controlled. Marble smooth. She didn’t twerk. She didn’t need to.
She bent—once—and it was perfect. Her back arched like a Roman archway. Her hips glided with heavy grace. The movement had weight.
🎵 “She don’t move fast—but she hit deep."🎵
🎵"One ride with her and I barely speak.” 🎵
She turned her head toward him, gave a wink, and smacked her own ass with a noise like a brick hitting the floor. The sound echoed.
Garrott’s mic slipped in his hand. “Mon dieu,” he muttered.
Then the beat slowed—thicker, heavier.
The bass wobbled like something stupid was coming.
Enter: Slo-Mo.
He walked up like a goddamn tank.
The crowd went quiet—waiting.
He leaned into the mic, voice low, slow, but clear:
🎵 “Uhhh… bounce like book fall off shelf…” 🎵
The room cracked with laughter—but no one was mocking.
Because behind him, Ghoulia strutted out—glasses on, hair tight, lips glossy.
She adjusted her skirt, turned to the side, and gave the crowd a full, perfect shot of her ridiculously fat ass.
Then she jumped.
Just once.
Her ass jiggled so hard, a table in the back collapsed.
🎵 “Ghoulia ride hard—I lose myself."🎵
🎵"Smart, thick, tight, she make me grunt—🎵
🎵"Brains and booty? Yeah, I’m stunned.” 🎵
Slo-Mo didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk. He just let out one long, guttural:
“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.”
And the gym erupted.
Outside the gym, through the glass window of the locked doors, Bloodgood stood absolutely losing her shit.
Her head—held tightly under one arm—screamed in outrage, while her body pounded on the door like a woman possessed.
“Do you realize what you’re DOING?!” She shrieked, watching through the glass.
“They’re RECORDING this! This is going VIRAL! That girl’s ass says ‘GHOSTSLUT’—Cleo’s says ‘FILTHY WHORE’—YOU’RE ALL GOING TO GET ME FIRED AND DISGRACED!”
Inside the gym, nobody heard her.
Gigi looked over her shoulder at Bloodgood’s panicked face, blew her a kiss, and said:
“Girl, it’s already gone viral.”
Then she flipped her hair and dropped it again—right in Ryder’s lap.
BOOM.
The beat came back like a war drum, louder than ever. The whole room shook.
The lights flashed blood red, bone white, and deep void purple.
The boys shouted in perfect unison—no longer just rappers, but witnesses.
🎵 “She snap, she pop, she ride like doom."🎵
🎵"She twist my spine and clear the room” 🎵
Meowlody dropped into a split—claws out, tongue out, growling like a beast in heat.
Rochelle followed with a heavy hip roll that cracked the floor tile beneath her heel.
Gigi levitated above the crowd and then body-slammed the beat mid-air, legs split, twirling in a glowing vortex of gold.
🎵 “This that monster love, that freak parade."🎵
🎵"Ghouls so bad, they don’t even get grades” 🎵
Abbey threw off her sports bra—revealing her toned, frost-kissed abs—and started twerking while flexing her biceps.
Draculaura slid up behind Clawd, mounted his lap, and rode his thigh like she was on stage at a strip show.
Cleo stepped front and center, lifted her skirt one last time—and across her ass, new gold words shimmered to life:
“TIGHT LIKE TUT”
The crowd lost it. Even the bleachers shook.
A teacher in the back quietly excused herself and never returned.
🎵 “COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (OHHH!)"🎵
🎵 "COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (WOO!)” 🎵
The girls lined up—twelve deep. And then—
they all turned around.
Hands on knees. Asses out. Eyes back.
Then—BANG.
They slammed it down.
Twerking so hard it looked possessed.
The lights stuttered. A fog machine hissed.
A chandelier fell from the ceiling and nobody cared.
🎵 “Worship the bounce, respect the grip—"🎵
🎵 "Praise them freaks who break your hip!” 🎵
The crowd chanted back with every word.
Phones were out. Flashlights lit the girls like goddesses.
A football player was crying.
A vampire bit his own lip and passed out.
From behind the DJ booth, Holt ripped his shirt off and screamed into the mic like a man testifying in a sex church:
“WE DON’T DESERVE THEM!”
Outside the window—Bloodgood was frozen.
Her mouth hung open. Her head trembled in her arms. Her phone buzzed nonstop in her coat pocket as dozens of new posts hit the feed.
#Ghostslut trending.
#CoochieCommandmentsChallenge already had thousands of views.
Cleo’s ass was now a global threat.
She whispered to herself, horrified:
"How am I gonna manage the chaos now? This is only gonna make us look worst!"
From the shadows, Invisi-Billy stepped forward, mic hovering like it was held by a ghost. The crowd hushed. Then the beat thumped deep and low—like a heartbeat in a coffin.
He didn’t shout. He whispered.
🎵 “She moan like death, scream like fate."🎵
🎵"Scarah hit high notes that reverberate.” 🎵
The lights dimmed to twilight blue.
And then Scarah—very visibly pregnant, very visibly unbothered—strutted out in heels and a skin-tight black mesh dress.
The entire gym gasped.
She ran a hand over her belly with pride, then twisted her hips and started grinding like the baby in her belly had built-in rhythm.
🎵 “A banshee baddie, invisible grip."🎵
🎵 "She ridin’ my soul—don’t even need lip.” 🎵
She turned toward Billy, blew a kiss, then screamed—a high, airy moan that shimmered through the rafters.
Two chandeliers exploded.
Billy just dropped his mic and stared at her like he was watching a religious event.
Next up, Andy came stomping in with that raw werewolf energy, his mic held like a weapon.
Big. Muscular. Lowkey flustered every time someone screamed “Daddy!”
🎵 “My girl twerked once—whole school shook."🎵
🎵 "Clapped that ass, then read her book.” 🎵
Jane Boolittle stepped out in fishnets, glasses, and a lab coat that said “Dr. Downbad” on the back. She turned, dropped it, and underneath?
Just a black thong and a tattoo on her lower back that read: “Feral Scholar.”
She threw her glasses into the crowd and started twerking so hard her braids whipped around her like chains.
🎵 “Shy lil' freak? Nah, she fakes the act."🎵
🎵 "Soon as we home, she attackin’ my back.” 🎵
She bent over, clawed the air behind her, and then jumped onto Andy’s back mid-verse, dry humping him while he kept rapping.
He screamed. The crowd screamed. Jane kissed his ear and licked his neck. He dropped the mic and caught her under the thighs.
“Y’ALL I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT.”
Bram was already walking into the light, fangs gleaming, eyes locked on the crowd like a villain making a grand entrance.
He stepped forward—but before he could open his mouth, the beat cut for a second and the camera (yes, there were now floating magical cameras) snapped to Valentine.
He stood off to the side, arms crossed, face full of pure gay horror.
“BITCH! I’M GAY REMEMBER?!” he shouted, pointing at the camera like it owed him money. “Why am I even HERE?!”
Cut back. Fast. No apologies.
Bram quickly stepped up, unfazed, and roared into the mic:
🎵 “Gory got drip, got bite, got cheek/🎵
🎵 "Said ‘Draculaura who?’ then licked my teeth.” 🎵
Gory strutted out, still high off her performance from before. She spun, bent low, then grinded on the mic stand like it was a pole.
She licked her own fang as she made direct eye contact with Draculaura, who immediately went stiff, scowling like she’d just watched someone spit in her lipstick collection.
🎵 “She spit on my pride, then rode me clean."🎵
🎵 "I’m the nightmare she calls king.” 🎵
Gory sauntered over to Bram, sat in his lap like a throne, then reached back and slapped her own ass with both hands.
The crowd lost it.
Draculaura hissed.
Bram just leaned into the mic and whispered:
“Try and keep up, shortcake.”
Everything was shaking.
Phones were dropping.
People were screaming.
Even the music felt like it was struggling to keep up.
And then—the lights dimmed again.
A ripple hit the floor like thunder.
A single beat echoed.
The whole gym knew what time it was.
Smoke curled through the rafters like spirits set loose.
And from the center of it all—Holt stepped into the spotlight.
His chest bare, drenched in sweat, his flames burning brighter than ever, his voice low and smooth. He didn’t walk—he danced into place, popping his shoulders, letting the rhythm possess him.
The beat warped, glitched, then slammed back harder than ever.
He raised the mic. His voice cut like fire.
🎵 “She electric, she wreck it, she dance like sin /🎵
🎵 "Frankie throw it once, now I can’t stop grin.” 🎵
Frankie was already moving—dancing solo like she’d been summoned by the line. Her bolts glowed. Sparks cracked at her fingertips. She popped her hips, then whipped her hair into a cyclone of static.
🎵 “Took me backstage, zapped off my chain /🎵
🎵 "Said ‘scream my name’—I lost my brain.” 🎵
She mimed unzipping him—right there in the middle of the gym—then clapped her hands and sent a ripple of lightning that made a speaker explode.
The crowd went berserk.
But then—
The beat dropped. Low. Uneasy. Slowed down.
The light shifted cold.
Holt staggered. His jaw clenched. Eyes flickered.
Steam rose off his body as his skin shifted to a normal skin complexion.
And suddenly—Jackson.
Hair mussed. Glasses slightly fogged. Gym clothes still on. Standing there like he’d just woken up in the middle of a fever dream.
The gym went dead silent.
Jackson stared at Frankie, visibly confused.
Frankie simply smiled and calmly gestured for him to continue.
Not a commanding gesture, but more like one that screamed, "Hey, this is your chance to shine. Have fun!"
Jackson gripped the mic with two hands, like he didn’t want it to run away. He took a shaky breath.
🎵 “Wait… uh—she kissed me hard, then flipped my stance /🎵
🎵 "Pinned me down in a necro dance.” 🎵
The crowd leaned in.
Frankie turned. Slowly. Watching. Smirking.
🎵 “Tied me up, said ‘you’re my toy’ /🎵
🎵 "I tried to run—she called me boy.” 🎵
The students murmured. The boldest girls cheered.
Frankie bit her lip. Her cheeks flushed green. She mouthed “Mine.”
🎵 “I don’t know what’s real—I just know this:"🎵
🎵 "Frankie’s a freak… and I liked that shit.” 🎵
Jackson stared straight at her.
Everyone stared straight at him.
And then—silence.
The fog curled. The beat had died.
And for just a moment, all that existed was Jackson.
Standing alone onstage. Still flushed. Still trembling. Frankie’s lipstick was smudged on his collar.
The crowd? Breathless.
No one moved. Even the bleachers stopped creaking.
Jackson looked around, blinking behind fogged glasses, his voice barely a whisper:
“…did I just say that?”
Frankie smiled like a thunderstorm.
She nodded once. Proud.
And then—the beat began.
The bass crawled back in. Low. Slow. Building.
Jackson stepped forward.
And this time—he didn’t whisper.
He sang. Clear. Steady.
His voice a mix of fear and awe—like someone praying to the monster under their bed.
🎵 “These are the laws, the freakin’ truth."🎵
🎵 "Our girls don’t play—they bring that proof” 🎵
Around him, the rest of the boys gathered—Deuce, Manny, Clawd, Romulus, all of them stepping in with proud grins and battered dignity.
They sang with him.
🎵 “From banshees to wolves, to genies and queens
They break us down—and feed the fiends” 🎵
Behind them, the girls lined up.
Powerful. Divine. Sweaty, smug, sinful.
And they started moving again—slow, full-body rolls, one hand on their own hips, letting the worship come to them.
🎵 “COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Say it LOUD!)"🎵
🎵 "COOCHIE COMMANDMENTS! (Drop the CROWN!)” 🎵
Jackson’s voice cracked—just a little—but he kept going.
The boys clapped to the beat. The crowd screamed the words like they were gospel.
🎵 “We monsters, we loyal, we horny and proud—"🎵
🎵 "We serve that coochie and we scream it LOUD!” 🎵
BOOM.
The lights shattered. A heatwave rolled through the gym like the end of days.
And Jackson?
He blinked.
His breath hitched.
And then—his head dropped back.
He SCREAMED.
His voice shifted. Glitched. Burned.
HOLT WAS BACK.
“THIS! IS! MONSTER! HIIIIIIIIGH!”
The walls trembled.
“THIS IS COOCHIE CHURCH!”
Spectra levitated again. Cleo raised both arms like a goddess. Frankie sparked like she was born to burn.
“LET THE BOUNCE BE BLESSED!”
The girls clapped. Once. Hard. In sync.
“CAN I GET AN UNHHH?!”
The whole gym screamed back: “UNHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
“YEAH.”
And then—
The stage turns black.
As the final beat of Holt’s beatbox track echoed through the transformed gym, silence followed like a curtain drop.
The lights faded to a dramatic, moody purple.
No one moved.
The boys stood onstage, chests rising and falling, sweat glistening on their brows. The girls stood off to the side, arms folded, smirks painted across their faces, chins high, eyes gleaming. Their performances—bending, shaking, dancing, taunting—had elevated the whole “rap battle” to something closer to a strip show with lyrical storytelling.
And now, for the first time in nearly an hour…
Silence.
Then, all at once—
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"
The gym exploded with cheers. Screams. Whistles. Roars of laughter. Foot stomps. Applause thundered so loud the gym vibrated with the aftershocks.
Students surged from the bleachers and swarmed the stage.
The ghouls rushed toward their respective monsters. Draculaura leapt into Clawd’s arms. Ghoulia threw herself at Slo-Mo. Jane tackled Andy from the side and kissed him hard, right onstage. Abbey smirked at Heath and calmly pulled him in by his collar before whispering something in his ear that made him instantly weak in the knees.
Frankie was right there, arms wrapping around Jackson’s neck as she kissed his cheek. “You were amazing,” she purred. “And when we get back to my dorm…” Her voice dropped, “I’m going to reward you for being the best part of this whole thing.”
Jackson blinked.
Then froze. Fully. Stiff. Rigid.
Face bright red. Brain completely blue-screened. He just stood there like a human statue while Holt, in the back of his mind, was screaming with excitement.
“You still think I’m a short stack,” she muttered into his shoulder, her fangs poking into her pout. “You didn’t even deny it during your verse.”
Clawd chuckled softly and ran his clawed fingers through her bangs. “You are a short stack, babe,” he said smoothly. “A sexy short stack. That’s why I nearly killed Bram when he said it like it was a bad thing.”
Draculaura blinked. Then smiled. “Okay, that was sweet…”
Meanwhile, over by the stairs, Deuce and Porter had their eyes fixed downward. Their girlfriends—Cleo and Spectra—were walking ahead of them, but the boys weren’t moving.
They were staring.
Unblinking.
Deuce leaned over to Porter. “Did you see it too?”
Porter nodded. “Yep.”
"'Disowned'?" Deuce murmured aloud. “On her actual ass?”
"'Ghostslut'?" Porter replied, brow raised. “She literally glowed when she turned around.”
The two ghouls paused, turning over their shoulders.
Cleo smirked, arching an elegant brow. “Something wrong?”
Spectra drifted backward until she was floating right between them. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Deuce blurted, “Did you put actual words on your butts?!”
Cleo tilted her head. “Of course we did. Gigi made it happen.”
Spectra nodded. "Yeah. It happened when we joined Toralei's little 'bad girl fantasy' and honestly, I've never felt more like myself."
“What do they mean?” Porter asked.
Spectra just smiled coyly. “Exactly what they say.”
“And…” Deuce rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks slightly flushed. “You like them?”
Cleo turned with an elegant twist, put one hand on her hip, and flexed slightly to show the glimmering gold letters again. “Do you like them?”
Deuce’s glasses fogged instantly.
“Yes.”
“Love ‘em,” Porter whispered, practically in awe.
Spectra laughed as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, her voice ghost-smooth against his ear. “Good.”
Over near the center of the group, the other girls had noticed. Lagoona pointed at Cleo and Spectra’s matching messages and practically squealed.
“Wait—did Gigi do those?!”
"Yep! It was part of the act," Cleo admitted. “But now? I'm thinking of making it a permanent thing."
"Same," Spectra said, drifting over to join the others. “We just wanted to give a personal ‘f you’ to Bloodgood, but now …” She shrugged. “I can't imagine having it any other way.”
"I wanna get words written across my ass too!" Jane exclaimed, squeezing Andy's hand. "I mean, how hot would that be?!”
“Is this a trend now?” Ghoulia asked, looking at her own rear. "If it is, I'm totally in."
Even Meowlody and Purrsephone giggled. “We should do that for Romulus’s birthday. Mark it like a present.”
Romulus grinned like a madman, "Hell yeah!"
Cleo smirked. “Well, if you want the look, ask Gigi. She can brand you with style.”
Draculaura clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait to see the look on Ramses’s face when he sees this!”
Cleo rolled her eyes. “Please. If my dad has a problem, he can talk to my ass.”
Frankie grinned as she pulled out her phone. "I'm sorry, but I HAVE to get a photo of this! This is gonna go VIRAL on Monster.net!"
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Bloodgood screamed, watching in horror as Cleo and Spectra smiled before lifting up their skirts, letting everyone snap photos and laugh.
With every camera flash, she could see Monster High's reputation sink further and further into the mud.
Laughter echoed through the gym as the crowd slowly began to disperse. The students moved in waves, each couple (or throuple, or flirt-fest) leaving together, arms around waists, hands entwined, lips brushing, cheeks glowing.
Jackson was still frozen.
Frankie dragged him along, casually wrapping her arm around his waist and whispering more “rewards” into his ear that would take him three showers to forget.
Even Bram and Gory, now both looking smug and satisfied, walked out side by side, Gory sipping blood from a crystal flask and Bram texting something to a friend.
The gym doors opened—and waiting just outside, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, steam practically rising from her head, was Headmistress Bloodgood.
She stared at the crowd of sweaty, magic-altered, PDA-soaked teenagers emerging from her gymnasium like they were a crime scene.
The moment the last student stepped through the doors, she exploded.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE MONSTER COUNCIL HELL WAS THAT?!" She screamed, her eyes filled with nothing but anger and rage. "A RAP BATTLE?! MAGICALLY ENHANCED EXHIBITIONISM?! TWERK-OFFS?! A FULLY STAGED PERFORMANCE WITH SPOTLIGHTS, BRANDING, CROWD PARTICIPATION, AND THRUSTING?!”
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW YOUR ACTIONS COULD AFFECT THE FUTURE OF THIS SCHOOL?!"
She looked about ready to open the gates of Tartarus—and drag every student into detention forever.
But then…
Deuce stepped forward.
He didn’t say a word at first. He just calmly reached for his sunglasses and adjusted them.
“Enough,” he muttered.
Bloodgood paused mid-rant. “Excuse me?!”
Without warning, his eyes glowed neon green.
FLASH.
Bloodgood froze mid-sentence, mouth wide open in a wordless scream, arms half-raised, fury immortalized in stone. Her head wobbled slightly on the petrified form, still sentient, still steaming—just immobile.
Deuce sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Learn to shut the fuck up.”
The crowd erupted in cheers again.
“LET’S GO!” Porter shouted.
“WOOO!” shouted Manny, slapping his chest.
Even Clawd barked out a howl of laughter, throwing an arm around Draculaura.
As the students filed out of the building into the moonlight, their laughter echoing through the school grounds, Gigi snapped her fingers, resetting the gym back to normal behind them.
Bloodgood stood alone in the darkness, frozen mid-freakout, her expression now a permanent statue of rage.
And the students?
They didn’t look back once.
No gave 2 fucks about what Bloodgood had to say anymore.
The dimly lit classroom was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the overhead projector left on from the last class.
Catty perched on the edge of a desk, her legs slightly parted, her shirt already rolled up.
Pharaoh stood between her thighs, his lips trailing down her neck, his hands gripping her hips possessively.
Catty let out a soft moan, her fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed lower, his breath hot against her skin.
"Fuck, Pharaoh," she whispered, her voice husky. "We should’ve done this sooner."
Pharaoh chuckled, his lips brushing her collarbone. "Oh, we’re doing it now."
Just as his hands slid under her skirt, the door creaked open.
Pharaoh jerked back instantly, his face flushed, while Catty—ever the quick thinker—grabbed a water bottle from her bag and took a slow, casual sip like nothing had happened.
Herbert East peeked in, his eyes widening slightly before he cleared his throat. "Uh… sorry. Wrong room."
Catty smirked, tilting the bottle toward him. "No problem, Jackson. Just… studying."
Pharaoh coughed, adjusting his shirt. "Yeah. Studying."
Herbert raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. "Right. Well. Carry on." He shut the door behind him.
The second the latch clicked, Catty set the bottle down and arched a brow at Pharaoh. "If you keep hesitating like that, I might just pounce on you in front of the whole school."
Pharaoh barked out a laugh, swatting her thigh playfully. "I dare you."
Catty grinned, leaning back on her hands. "Oh, you’re on."
Before he could react, she yanked him forward by one of his bandages, crashing their lips together in a searing kiss. Pharaoh groaned, his hands sliding back under her skirt as the classroom door rattled again—this time, locked.
Catty pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Better make it quick, Pharaoh. We’ve got an audience waiting."
Pharaoh growled, flipping her onto her back on the desk. "Then let’s give them a show."
And the lesson in tension relief resumed—far more urgently this time.
The sound of grunts and strained breathing filled the room as Viktor and Wade gave one last shove, finally sliding the heavy stone statue of Headmistress Bloodgood into the center of the office.
All around the room, the assembled Monster High parents stood in various stages of exhaustion and disbelief. A few tried—and failed—not to snicker at the absurdity of the petrified headmistress, her face forever frozen in a moment of stunned fury.
Dracula stood front and center, holding a small bottle filled with shimmering golden powder.
"Okay," he began in a calm, almost reverent tone, raising the bottle in both hands, "One sprinkle of gorgon counter-dust and she'll be back to normal in no time."
Coraline let out a sudden snort of laughter, trying to compose herself. "I'm sorry, love, but can we please—please—leave her like this for just a moment longer?" She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. "Her face looks so funny!"
Ms. Jekyll shot her a glare. "Coraline! This isn’t a joke! I know some of us might not be particularly fond of Bloodgood at the moment, but we need her if we have any chance of saving our children!"
"Ms. Jekyll is correct," Dracula agreed firmly. "We need Bloodgood."
With that, he uncorked the bottle and tipped it over, letting a small stream of glittering dust fall across the statue’s head.
"Now everyone step back. She’ll return in three… two—"
POOF!
A puff of thick white smoke burst from the statue. For a moment, everyone coughed and waved the air.
Then the smoke cleared… and Headmistress Bloodgood stood there, alive, restored, and deathly silent.
She blinked, taking in the office, the parents, the gorgon dust in Dracula’s hands…
Then her eyes locked onto the only teacher in the room.
Sylphia Flapper.
"Mrs. Flapper," Bloodgood said. Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.
Sylphia stiffened. “Y-Yes, Headmistress?”
“I want you to send word to every single guard on campus,” Bloodgood said, each word sharpened by rising fury. “This school is going into lockdown until the end of the day. No students are to be out of place. I want guards sweeping every hallway, every stairwell. If I see one student where they shouldn’t be…”
"Y-Yes, ma’am!" Sylphia saluted on instinct.
“And I want Casta Fierce, Gigi Grant, and any other student capable of altering the environment placed in immediate detention,” Bloodgood continued, her voice now cold as a tomb. “They are not to be released until every other student has exited the building.”
Sylphia scribbled furiously. “Understood.”
“If they resist, or if their boyfriends try to ‘save’ them,” Bloodgood growled, “guards are authorized to use force to ensure compliance!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Sylphia squeaked.
“Good.” Bloodgood pointed to the door like a judge giving a sentence. “NOW GO!”
Without a word, Sylphia turned and bolted out of the room.
The office fell into stunned silence.
All eyes turned to Bloodgood.
Viveka hesitated, then softly tried, “Headmistres—”
“Not. One. Word.” Bloodgood snapped.
Viveka shut her mouth instantly.
“I tried,” Bloodgood said, pacing now, voice simmering with controlled rage. “I gave them space. I gave you all what you wanted. I stopped being controlling. I stopped being a dictator. ‘Quit being controlling,’ they said. ‘Let them do what they want,’ he said.” She spun back to face them. “And now? Look at what’s happened in just three days.”
“We didn’t whin—”
“SOME OF YOU SURE AS HELL DID!!” Bloodgood bellowed, shaking the windows.
The room went dead silent again. Bloodgood took a slow, deep breath, fingers twitching.
“After today, I’m rewriting the rules,” she said at last, storming to her desk and opening her laptop. “Those kids may be under the influence—but they will not keep making a mockery of this school. Not anymore.”
She began typing furiously, muttering to herself.
The parents exchanged nervous glances.
Trying to break the tension, Viktor awkwardly asked, “Sooo… how are we feeling about that little rap battle?”
Coraline folded her arms. “I’m honestly torn on whether to be impressed or furious about Gil complimenting my daughter’s thighs.”
Wade shrugged. “For the sake of keeping the peace, maybe we just… stay neutral.”
Off in the corner, the Phantom of the Opera gave a dramatic shudder. “I thank the night itself my daughter wasn’t involved. I don’t think my heart could take Johnny rapping about Operetta’s pregnant belly while she danced like a… like a—” He trailed off in horror, clutching his chest.
Viktor sighed. “Well. Here’s hoping detention holds.”
The atmosphere in the classroom is tense. Lights are on, blinds drawn. The students sit scattered around the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed, teeth grinding. Some tap impatiently against desks, others just glare at the floor.
Outside the door, two campus guards stand like statues, making sure no one gets out early. The lockdown is in full effect—no student leaves until the final bell rings.
Bloodgood’s crackdown has turned the once-wild school into a silent, resentful prison.
Near the back of the classroom, Ryder sits slouched in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest. His jaw clenches and his foot taps rapidly against the floor, practically vibrating with rage.
He doesn’t speak. He hasn’t since he walked in.
But everyone can see it—he’s furious.
He glances at the empty seat beside him—Gigi’s seat. The one she always takes when they’re together. The sight of it sitting cold and unoccupied twists the anger deeper into his chest.
Gigi, locked away in detention just for having powers she can’t help, treated like a threat.
His fists tighten.
Across the room, someone scoffs under their breath. “Can’t believe she’s back on her control freak nonsense.”
“Right?” another mutters. “All it took was one statue moment and she snapped.”
“I swear, we can’t do anything anymore,” grumbles another. “No flirting, no music, no dancing... just sit in your seat and rot.”
Ryder doesn’t join the murmurs. He just stares ahead, eyes burning.
A few seats away, sitting by himself at the far end of the room, Pharaoh rests with his chin in his palm. The usually vibrant, magnetic singer is unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the desk, his expression unreadable.
The guards had made sure to separate him from Catty—no chances taken, no possibility of a duet.
Bloodgood’s rules.
He and Catty had been waiting all day.
Watching everyone break out in song, one after another.
Every hallway filled with harmonies, every classroom bursting into spontaneous choreography.
Sure, they spent most of the day teasing and fucking each other, but the music was what they loved.
They’d seen it all. Heard it all. Smiled at each other, eyes gleaming, silently agreeing: “We’re next.”
They were ready. They were excited.
But before they could make their move—before they could add their verse to the day’s chaos—Bloodgood shut everything down.
Locked the doors. Split them apart. Caged the music before it ever had a chance to take flight.
Now, the silence around Pharaoh feels heavier than the rest of the room. Like the echoes of something beautiful that never got to happen.
But then...
So faint it could be mistaken for imagination, he starts to hum.
Low. Barely audible.
Just a gentle rhythm under his breath.
A melody without words.
Soft, slow, and sad.
At first, no one notices. Everyone’s too busy stewing, lost in their own frustration.
But Pharaoh keeps humming.
And that tiny spark begins to thread through the classroom like fog—soft and quiet, but full of meaning.
Not a mourning for what was lost…
But a signal. A warning.
The kind of quiet that comes right before the storm.
Pharaoh’s hum deepens, takes shape, grows with the rhythm of his breath.
It’s not sorrow anymore.
It’s defiance.
A slow-building “fuck this” rising from the pit of his chest.
He glances at the door. Then the guards. Then the floor.
And with the smallest smirk—more a twitch of resolve than joy—he straightens up, lifts his head…
And sings.
Catty Noir & Pharaoh – “From Love to Lust”
🎵 Thought I’d feel the beat in every note I wrote..." 🎵
🎵 "But this silence burns more deep than any song I ever spoke. 🎵
Heads lift. A pencil stops tapping. Someone blinks, slowly.
🎵 "The rhythm’s gone, the crowd’s asleep—"🎵
🎵 "But in my head, you’re moving close to me. 🎵
He sits up straighter. His hand opens over his chest.
A few students start clapping along—quiet, unsure—but in sync.
The lights seem to hum with him. Even the air feels warmer.
🎵 "They can take my mic, they can chain my hands,"🎵
🎵 "But my soul still sings where the silence stands. 🎵
The teacher's eyes go wide. He stands up halfway from his desk, panic rising.
He knows what’s happening. And he knows what happened last time.
He knows he should stop him, but the student's have made it abundantly clear what the consequences would be for that.
But he's not losing his job if Bloodgood finds out he did nothing.
He mutters under his breath, pulls out a walkie, and calls it in:
“We got a problem in the south classroom. He's singing. I repeat—Pharaoh is singing.”
🎵 "And I swear—I can hear you hum..."🎵
🎵 "Even when they say the music’s done."🎵
The classroom is alive now.
Desks shuffle. Feet stomp. Claps build. Students are rising to their feet, matching the rhythm.
The door SLAMS open.
Two security guards march in—bulky, armored, tense.
They’re already impressed—Pharaoh’s voice is undeniable—but they have orders.
“That’s enough. Stop the music.”
"Kid please. We just wanna get paid."
Pharaoh doesn’t even look at them. He rises from his seat slowly, voice unwavering.
🎵 You’re the verse I never sang... the heat beneath my velvet chain... 🎵
One guard takes a step forward.
“We said that’s ENOUGH—”
WHAM.
A backpack flies across the room, colliding with the side of his head.
He drops like a sack of bricks.
Gasps. Screams. Cheers.
The second guard wheels around, reaching for his baton.
Pharaoh finally turns. His voice drops, but the words echo with power:
“You shouldn’t have come.”
His eyes flash gold.
The guard’s mouth opens—and he projectile vomits.
Violently. Everywhere.
The students cheer louder.
Then—BZZZZZZZZZT.
Ryder slams a button on the side of his chair.
It hums. Whines. Glows.
And then—ZOOM.
He launches out of the classroom like a missile, knocking the rest of the incoming guards into the air like bowling pins, yelling:
“I’M GETTING MY GIRL!”
Pharaoh walks calmly through the carnage, singing louder. Stronger.
Students trail behind him in rhythm. Some clapping. Some dancing. All following.
One student does a cartwheel. Another grabs a trumpet from a locker. A beat builds beneath them—magic, anger, lust, music.
IN ANOTHER CLASSROOM
The blinds are drawn, the overhead lights buzzing in that sickly school-yellow. The air smells like stress, cheap perfume, and long-held breath. Girls sit scattered in desks—Frankie, Draculaura, Cleo, Ghoulia, Lagoona, Clawdeen—all simmering with boredom and attitude.
Catty Noir sits alone at the far corner, sunglasses on, lips tight, arms crossed. Her tail sways agitatedly behind her chair.
Across the room, Draculaura huffs and kicks her boot up onto the desk.
“Bloodgood is such a fucking buzzkill.”
Cleo, filing her nails with half-interest, speaks up.
“She could’ve at least waited until after we had our moment. I was gonna let Deuce eat me out on the desk.”
“Honestly? I’m not even mad." Frankie said, twirling a spark off her finger. "I’ll be riding Holt’s face by sunset.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
“Same, mate." Lagoona said, smirking. "Gil was pretty keen on fucking me in the hallway.”
But Catty doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh.
She’s not mad about the lockdown.
She’s lonely.
And she’s thinking about Pharaoh.
The way his voice echoes through a hallway. The way he lifts her verses like magic. The way they’ve always said: “When we get to shine, they’ll never forget it.”
She stares at the floor, claws twitching.
And then, without even meaning to—
She sings.
🎵 "You’re the verse I never sang... the heat beneath my velvet chain."🎵
🎵 "They locked me out, but I still hear—"🎵
🎵 "The harmony that draws me near." 🎵
The room goes dead silent.
Frankie’s eyes snap to her.
Ghoulia looks up from her phone, glasses fogged slightly.
Even Cleo stops filing.
Because when Catty sings, you listen.
And her voice? It’s not full of rage. It’s aching.
🎵 "No curtain call, no spotlight left—🎵
🎵"But I still got breath, and I’m not done yet."🎵
She stands.
Sunglasses come off. Her eyes glow under the dim classroom lights.
She walks slowly between desks, the power in her voice rising like a storm behind her teeth.
🎵 "They can shut the stage, kill the lights above—🎵
🎵 "But they’ll never kill our song of love." 🎵
Frankie stands up beside her.
So does Draculaura.
Then Clawdeen.
Catty moves toward the door—like something is pulling her, like a tether tied around her ribs and wrapped around Pharaoh's voice, wherever he is in the school.
Her hand touches the doorknob—
And that’s when the teacher moves.
Not afraid. Not clueless. Just desperate enough to try.
“Catty Noir, sit down! No one's going anywhere—”
He rushes to grab her arm.
CRACK.
He never sees Frankie’s punch coming.
Her fist slams into his jaw, launching him into the wall with a sickening thud.
He slumps to the ground, dazed, groaning, bleeding a little from the nose.
Frankie cracks her knuckles, electricity humming up her forearm.
“Touch her again and I’ll make your bones hum in Morse code.”
Catty looks back at her—grateful, but already moving.
The door bursts open.
She steps into the hall.
The ghouls fall in behind her like a royal guard.
Frankie stands up beside her.
So does Draculaura.
Then Clawdeen.
Catty moves toward the door—like something is pulling her, like a tether tied around her ribs and wrapped around Pharaoh's voice, wherever he is in the school.
Her hand touches the doorknob—
And that’s when the teacher moves.
Not afraid. Not clueless. Just desperate enough to try.
“Catty Noir, sit down! No one's going anywhere—”
He grabs her arm.
CRACK.
He never sees Frankie’s punch coming.
Her fist slams into his jaw, launching him into the wall with a sickening thud. He slumps to the ground, dazed, groaning, bleeding a little from the nose.
Frankie cracks her knuckles, electricity humming up her forearm.
“Touch her again and I’ll make your bones hum in Morse code.”
Catty looks back at her—grateful, but already moving.
The door bursts open.
She steps into the hall.
The ghouls fall in behind her like a royal guard.
“You wanna stop us?" Cleo said, smirking. "You better call in goddamn backup.”
“I hope they try." Draculaura said, fangs flashing. "I need to stretch my legs.”
And down the hallway they go—heels clicking, claws glinting, electricity buzzing.
Toward the voice.
Toward the beat.
Toward Pharaoh.
🎵 "From love to lust, from spark to flame—🎵
The egyptian prince steps into the main hallway, voice steady, rich, pulling magic from the walls. Students follow behind him like a wave. The guards rush in from the left, trying to form a blockade.
Too late.
Three skater ghouls grab a guard and slam him into a locker. A werecat tackles another off his feet.
🎵 "We don’t play safe, we don’t do tame—🎵
She rounds the corner from the west wing, flanked by her girls like she’s the baddest bitch on a runway.
A guard lunges toward her.
Clawdeen hip-checks him into the trophy case.
Frankie zaps another one’s boots off.
🎵 "We were born to burn, not fade to dust—🎵
He’s moving faster now, pulling students from open doors.
One by one, heads turn. One by one, they rise and follow.
🎵 "Let ‘em lock the doors—we’ll sing for us— 🎵
She whips her head back, hair catching the light. Her tail flicks with every heel-strike against the tile.
Guards chase. Students shove them back.
Bloodgood’s voice screeches over the intercom:
“GET BACK IN YOUR SEATS! THIS IS NOT A PERFORMANCE! I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS SACRED, IF ONE MORE STUDENT—”
Nobody listens.
🎵 "This ain’t a tale for quiet hearts—🎵
He slides across the tile like he’s gliding on air, feet hitting beat-perfect steps even without a full band behind him.
🎵 "It’s midnight howls and wicked starts—🎵
The lights above them flicker and pulse with the rhythm. Some shatter. Some glow brighter.
🎵 "We loved in rhyme—🎵
🎵 "Now we grind in beat—🎵
They’re steps away now.
The hallway parts like magic—students moving aside to create a path between them.
A hush falls. No sound but breathing.
Even the chaos stops.
🎵 "And what we lost… we’ll take back in heat." 🎵
They step into each other. Palms touched. Foreheads pressed.
Silence.
A single breath shared between them.
The air around them pulsed, thick with sweat and rhythm.
Catty pulled back just enough to catch Pharaoh’s gaze.
There was a moment—tight, electric—where nothing moved but their breathing.
Then she did it.
She reached back, grabbed her own ass, and gave it a slap. Sharp. Loud. Right cheek.
Then the left.
The sound cracked like the first hit of a drumline.
She turned over her shoulder, lashes low, and grinned.
“Let’s give them a show.”
Down the hall, a low electronic hum buzzed to life. Holt leaned against a locker, one hand on his boombox. His glasses glinted. His mouth barely moved when he said it.
“Y’all wanted a beat? I got a fuckin’ beat.”
He hit play.
The bassline didn’t drop.
It fell.
Heavy, vibrating, mean. The kind of beat that didn’t ask for attention—it commanded it.
Catty didn’t hesitate. She walked straight into the sound like it was hers to own.
🎵 "I don’t dance, but I know how to fuck." 🎵
She arched her back as she walked, every step deliberate, knees loose, thighs tight. One hand skimmed down the front of her skirt, fingers dancing between the fabric and her thigh.
🎵 "He look once—now he outta luck." 🎵
The girls behind her cheered, laughing, clapping. Cleo let out a whoop and spun into a dirty drop. Frankie popped her shoulder like she was prepping for a fight and grinned.
🎵 "Backseat, backstage, anywhere’s right—🎵
🎵 "Throw this cat back, keep him up all night." 🎵
Catty bent at the waist, slowly, until her fingertips brushed the floor, tail lifted. She bounced once, hard enough to make the hallway echo, then straightened with a sharp hair whip.
🎵 "Purr when I move, scratch when I come—"
🎵 "Leave him in bed lookin’ broke and dumb." 🎵
Behind her, Draculaura laughed so hard she nearly dropped. Clawdeen was already up against a wall, grinding solo like her hips had their own metronome. Ghoulia clapped on beat and pushed up her glasses as she twerked low beside her desk.
🎵 I don’t chase—he chase my tail."🎵
🎵 "Sit on his face while he read fan mail. 🎵
She mouthed “hi babe” to the imaginary camera like she was shooting a music video and kept walking forward, steps heavy with intention.
Then it was Pharaoh’s turn.
He didn’t jump into it—he leaned.
One shoulder pressed to the wall, head tilted like he was thinking real hard about whether he wanted to deliver this verse.
Then his lip curled. He started moving.
🎵 "Said I sing with soul, but I pipe like sin." 🎵
He dragged his hand down his chest, slow, then threw his arms wide like he was preaching. His followers—because that’s what they were now, students marching behind him in step—clapped and shouted as he passed.
🎵 "Got nine lives and I ruin her grin." 🎵
One girl leapt forward and tried to grind on him. He dodged with a laugh, spun her around, and slapped her ass before she landed the twerk against a locker instead.
🎵 "She said “make me purr”—I said “say less.”🎵
🎵 "Now she textin’ my phone like “I need that stress.” 🎵
Behind him, someone actually pulled out their phone and started showing off the fake texts, scrolling through like they were getting the messages right then.
🎵 "No lullabies, no soft talk slow—🎵
🎵"She bite this lip, I lose control." 🎵
He did exactly that—bit his bottom lip, slow, deliberate—and let his eyes flick up toward Catty like he was trying to memorize her from the inside out.
🎵 "Grew up on love songs, but I learned fast—🎵
🎵 "Freaky little girl got a whole lotta ass." 🎵
The crowd exploded.
And now?
Now the hallway was gone.
Not transformed, not magically altered—just claimed.
Students were everywhere. Leaning on walls. Spinning in circles. Twerking in clusters. Grinding like the hallway was their club and the dress code was tight and filthy. Backpacks were used as stools. Lockers became poles. Someone was trying to teach a first-year how to do a slut drop.
Holt leaned back against his boombox, arms crossed, nodding to the beat.
No powers. No spells.
Just sweat. Rhythm. Heat.
And in the middle of it all, Catty and Pharaoh dancing toward each other like the rest of the world had been waiting for them to start the fire.
The wheels screeched against the tile, loud enough to make heads turn three corridors down.
Ryder didn’t slow.
His hands gripped tight to the push rims, shoulders hunched with focus, teeth clenched. His chair was cranked to max speed, glowing faintly at the base with that pulsing blue streak that only lit when he was pissed.
The hallway blurred. Students parted. Some cheered. Others dove out of the way. One kid dropped his vape in shock.
He took the corner like a drift king and locked his eyes on the destination—Detention Room 2C—reinforced door, frosted window, and five guards standing outside, caught between mission and survival.
They’d heard the music. Felt the bass vibrating through the walls. Watched students pour from classrooms like a mutiny in motion. Watched guards get pummeled once again. Every instinct said run.
But orders were orders.
They squared up.
Ryder didn’t even flinch.
He barreled straight into the first two, the front wheels of his chair slamming one in the shin and catching the other square in the stomach. The collision sent both sprawling—one hit the wall with a grunt, the other landed on his ass and stayed there.
The third lunged with a shout, baton raised.
Ryder ducked low, spun the chair hard, and clotheslined him with his own armrest.
The fourth tried to grab the back of the chair, but Ryder twisted and slammed his elbow into the guy’s wrist, then yanked the detention room key straight off his belt as he reeled.
The fifth?
Didn’t even try.
He ran.
Ryder skidded to a stop in front of the door, heart racing. He shoved the key into the lock and kicked the handle down.
The door swung open.
Gigi was the first to lift her head.
Her eyes lit up. That signature glow returned instantly—cheeks flushed, grin blooming wide.
“BABE.”
She leapt out of her seat so fast, her hair flared behind her like fire. Across the room, Casta Fierce arched one perfectly shaped brow and gave a slow clap.
“Took your time,” she said, but her voice carried no judgment—only approval.
Ryder flashed a grin. “Needed the dramatic entrance.”
“Mission accomplished,” Casta muttered, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve.
They stepped into the hallway together, ready to join the madness.
And there she stood.
Bloodgood.
Blocking the hall, arms crossed, legs wide, head tucked firmly under one arm as she scowled through glowing eyes.
“No,” she said flatly. “I don’t care what musical breakdown you think you’re part of—this ends here. You are not joining that—”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Casta didn’t even look at her.
With a flick of her wrist, the hallway rippled, and Bloodgood was launched like a ragdoll through the nearest set of double doors. Her body vanished through the opening. Her head screamed something about policies. Nobody listened.
Casta dusted her fingers, eyes flicking ahead.
“I’ve got a harem waiting,” she said simply, and vanished in a blink of purple smoke.
Gigi turned to Ryder, eyes gleaming.
Without a word, she leapt into his lap—straddling him without shame, arms around his neck, ass sliding across his thighs in a way that had him immediately gripping the wheels tighter.
She leaned in close, voice sultry.
“Drive fast.”
Ryder swallowed hard, then grinned.
“Buckle up.”
They shot down the hall, heading straight for the beat, the heat, and the party waiting to erupt.
The hallway was packed, pulsing, alive.
Bodies moving, grinding, bouncing in time with the beat blaring from Holt’s boombox. Catty and Pharaoh were at the center, riding the rhythm like they’d been born to it, eyes locked, mouths spitting bars like bullets.
Then the crowd parted.
Gigi stepped into the chaos—legs bare, lips glossed, eyes glowing.
She didn’t say a word.
She slapped her hands together.
And reality broke.
The walls didn’t just shake—they peeled back like cheap wallpaper, revealing something hotter, darker, wetter underneath. The floor shimmered and turned to black glass, catching reflections of strobes, neon signs, chains hanging from the ceiling, glitter-stained poles spinning slow.
Holograms flickered to life along every wall—looping, twerking animations of students mid-grind.
Classrooms vanished. Lockers crumbled. The entire school transformed into a multi-level rave-club-strip-party hybrid—equal parts hell and heaven.
One hallway pulsed with red lights and velvet ropes. Another glowed under UV, fluorescent graffiti scrawled across every surface:
“LICK FIRST, ASK NEVER.”
“RIDE OR DIE (ON ME).”
“DETENTION MEANS DOMINANCE.”
“I MAJOR IN HEAD.”
Posters lined the halls, but the content had changed—glossy, low-res edits of real students caught mid-hookup, sexy selfies blown up like album covers, and in big bold letters:
“MONSTER HIGH: FREAKS ONLY.”
Crumbled lockers turned into cages. The ceiling looked like a strip club’s VIP suite. Desks transformed into platforms. Poles rose from the floor like they’d been waiting underground for this moment.
Every student’s clothes changed in real time.
Crop tops, fishnets, nipple pasties. Thongs, latex, sheer fabrics, assless pants, furry accessories, chains, glitter, whips. Naughty words printed bold across backs and thighs.
“SPIT FIRST.”
“TAKE ME TO DETENTION.”
“EARN THIS.”
“MONSTER MILF.”
“SLUT-FANGS.”
Students who’d barely had the guts to kiss behind the bleachers were now shirtless, topless, dripping in body paint, grinding like they’d been trained in strip club choreography.
Skirts turned into straps. Uniforms into mesh. One girl wore nothing but caution tape that read: "EXTRA CREDIT."
And in the middle of it all—Catty and Pharaoh didn’t miss a beat.
🎵 "Tail too tight, hips too mean."🎵
🎵 "This kitty got claws and a head game clean." 🎵
She spun on her heel, dropped to a crouch, and let her hips snap side to side like a whip. Her tail flicked high over her back, and her hand traced down her inner thigh in one long, obscene drag.
🎵 Gold chain, gold heels, spotlight flash—He play my songs while he smack my ass. 🎵
She leaned into a student who was too stunned to move, bent forward till her lips were at his ear, and then slapped her own ass so hard the sound popped over the bass.
🎵 "I write hooks but she write the rules—Choke me out and call me fool." 🎵
He stepped through fog, head held high, shirt open and chains gleaming. He spun a mic stand like a weapon and let it drop beside him as he walked.
🎵 "Used to sing clean, now I sing dirty—She call me dog, I come in early." 🎵
He mimed a bark. Someone screamed. Two girls fainted.
🎵 "Slide in raw, no breaks, no grace / 🎵
🎵 "She said “sit down”—I kissed her face." 🎵
He acted it out—slow drop to one knee, then a sharp lean forward like he was diving between thighs.
🎵 "That ain’t romance, that’s straight up trust—🎵
🎵 "We started with love, now it’s pure-ass lust." 🎵
And that’s when it happened.
People lost it.
Boots stomped.
Hips clapped.
Frankie jumped up on a bench, eyes wild, sparks flying off her bolts. She started dancing like she’d just blacked out in a club, hips sharp, arms loose, mouth open in an electric moan.
Clawdeen was down in a low squat, knees wide, tongue out, shaking her ass to the rhythm like it owed her money.
Draculaura had snatched someone’s necktie and looped it around his throat—yanking him in, fangs flashing, lipstick smeared.
The crowd roared.
Hands in the air. Tongues out. Clothes flying. The music wasn’t just sound anymore—it was a disease, and everyone was catching it.
Then Pharaoh stepped forward.
Grinning like a prince about to drop the throne and start sinning in public.
His chest rose and fell with the beat. His eyes locked on Catty like he was ready to make every lyric physical.
The floor beneath them throbbed.
And the dance was just getting started.
The dim glow of the monitor cast long shadows across the faces of the gathered parents, their expressions a heartbreaking mix of shock, grief, and helplessness.
The footage played on—raw, unfiltered, undeniable. Their children, their babies, moving in ways that twisted their stomachs with dread.
Viveka sat with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked her body.
"How could one science experiment gone wrong turn my daughter into this?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "She was perfect. She was mine."
Dracula stood rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it might shatter.
On the screen, his daughter—his Lala—moved in ways that made his blood run cold. Not because he judged her, but because he knew.
The moment this footage leaked, the elders would descend like vultures.
They wouldn’t just demand her marriage—they’d ensure it.
And even if they found a cure, even if the gas faded from her system, the stain on her reputation would never wash clean.
His fists curled at his sides. They will not take her from me.
Across the room, other mothers sat in stunned silence, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Some clutched each other’s hands, as if physical contact could anchor them against the storm of their despair.
Others stared blankly at the screen, as if willing the images to change, to not be real.
A soft, broken sound escaped from Harriet. "She was supposed to be safe here," she choked out, her voice raw. "We sent them to school, not some… some…"
She couldn’t even say it.
Viktor sat with his head in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling. "This isn’t them," he muttered, over and over, like a mantra. "This isn’t my girl. This isn’t Frankie."
But it was.
And that was the horror of it.
The floor was slick now—not from spells or illusions, but from sweat, glitter, spilled energy drinks, and whatever was dripping off that kid who hadn’t stopped grinding since the second verse.
Every corner of the building was throbbing with beat.
Gigi was up against Ryder, both of them laughing like maniacs while she bounced in his lap. His hands gripped her thighs like handlebars and he looked high on adrenaline. Her voice purred into his ear.
“I ever tell you how good you look when you disobey?”
He didn’t answer. He just leaned forward and bit her neck.
Romulus had both Meowlody and Purrsephone pinned against a wall, arms stretched above their heads, both girls giggling as he growled into their ears.
“Y’all still call me Alpha, right?”
Meowlody moaned. “Only when you make us.”
He licked her collarbone and whispered, “Bet.”
In another corner, Ghoulia was bent over a table, twerking while Slo-Mo stood behind her, grinning like a toddler offered his favorite candy. His eyes didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.
He just muttered, “amazing…”
Ghoulia grinned. "Good to hear!!"
Cleo had Deuce seated on a glowing bench, her gold-lined thighs straddling him as she ground in lazy, slow circles. The glow from her tattoos lit his lap. Her arms were behind his neck, lips brushing his.
“You gonna worship me yet?”
Deuce’s voice cracked. “I already am.”
She smiled and leaned in. “Then kiss your goddess.”
Frankie had Holt pinned against a locker, lips locked on his neck, one thigh between his. He looked like he was on the verge of short-circuiting.
“Babe,” he panted, “you’re gonna fry my vocal cords—”
“I’ll fry more than that,” she said, and shoved him harder.
Draculaura rode Clawd’s thigh like it owed her a favor. One hand in his hair, the other holding the same tie she’d used to leash a stranger ten minutes ago. He was panting. She was laughing.
“You said you liked being teased,” she whispered.
He barked, sharp and low. “I like earning it.”
“Then beg.”
And dead center, Catty and Pharaoh circled each other, hips swaying, sweat glowing.
She pointed at him like a loaded gun.
He shot a wink back and licked his lips.
The beat pulsed.
The crowd froze, waiting.
Then Catty stepped forward, hand to her mic, and called it out—
🎵 "Who want love?" 🎵 Catty shouted.
"Not me!" The crowd screamed.
🎵 "Who want freaks?" 🎵 She asked.
"Let me see!" They replied.
🎵 "Who eats good and still hit raw?" 🎵 Pharoah chimed in.
"Y’all know who the real ones are!" They replied.
The lights weren’t pulsing anymore—they were flashing, rapid-fire strobe stings that made every movement hit harder.
Students weren’t dancing in pairs now—they were climbing on top of desks, tables, each other. Bodies moved like choreography had been hard-coded into their bones.
Shirts were gone. Skirts tied up. One guy had the word “SPOIL ME” written across his chest in red lipstick.
Someone had filled the principal’s office with fog and flashing lights. There was a pole in the center of the library. Nobody asked how.
And down the center hallway—a spotlight snapped on.
Catty and Pharaoh stood face to face. She in gold heels and fishnets, body glitter glowing under UV. He shirtless, chest gleaming, chain swinging, pupils wide with lust and rhythm.
They raised their mics.
And together—they slammed into the final chorus.
🎵 "From love to lust, we flipped the scene," 🎵
Catty flipped into a full split—heels sliding on the slick tile.
Pharaoh leaned back as four ghouls ran their hands down his chest.
🎵 "Turned heartbreak slow into trap-queen dreams!" 🎵
Draculaura climbed a bleacher and dropped into a bounce so hard it shook the frame.
Cleo straddled Deuce’s lap in the DJ booth and rode the bass with her hips.
🎵 "We moan in tune, we grind in pitch—"🎵
Kala and Lagoona twerked back-to-back, tongues out, knees wide.
Frankie spun a locker door open and used it like a pole, dropping into a grind so tight her bolts sparked.
🎵 "This ain’t no fairy tale—it’s filthy and rich!" 🎵
Spectra floated upside down above the crowd, twerking in mid-air, chains glowing.
Meowlody was getting ridden by someone on top of a table. Purrsephone was slapping her own ass to the beat.
🎵 "So light that beat, raise that glass," 🎵
Ryder lifted Gigi with both hands as she bounced on him like her life depended on it.
She arched her back, laughed loud, and made a shot-taking motion with her hand.
Everyone followed suit—fake shots to the beat.
🎵 Bounce so hard they suspend our class! 🎵
The floor literally bucked—not from magic, just too many students twerking at once.
One kid screamed, “MY ASS HAS A GPA!”
🎵 "From clean to dirty, from high to bust—🎵
🎵 "We started with love… now it’s pure-ass lust." 🎵
Catty whipped her hair back and climbed Pharaoh like a throne.
He caught her, held her up midair, face buried in her chest, as she screamed the last word of the chorus into the sky.
The crowd collapsed into chaos.
Twerking, grinding, stripping, licking, ass-smacking, moaning—everything, everywhere, all at once.
And in the surveillance room—
Bloodgood stared at the monitors, hands trembling, eyes wide.
Students grinding on lunch tables. Ghouls bent over in science labs. Posters saying “Sex Ed Starts Now” plastered on walls. Her own desk had a thong hanging off it.
She whispered, horrified:
“They’ve taken the entire school.”
On screen, someone held up a sign:
“COOCHIE FOR CLASS PRESIDENT”
Another monitor cut to Holt yelling “CAN I GET A FUCK YES?”
The entire school screamed: “FUCK YESSSSS!”
Bloodgood fell back into her chair.
The feed crackled.
The music roared.
And somewhere in the chaos, someone shouted:
“This is Monster High now, bitch!”
The final fireworks burst into the air above the school—hot pink, gold, and deep violet—crackling like a final orgasm. The bassline choked on smoke. The spotlights died.
And then—reality snapped.
One blink and everything was back to normal.
The lights were harsh fluorescents again. The floors were squeaky clean. No more poles, no more thongs on desks, no more moaning or mist machines or stripper bleachers.
The music cut. The fog cleared.
The students stood frozen in the middle of empty hallways and classrooms, breathing hard, clothes wrinkled and makeup smudged. Some were still half-undressed. Others were slick with sweat and glitter. No one spoke.
And then—cheering.
It started soft. A nervous giggle here. A whistle there.
Then claps. Then stomps. Then full-on screaming.
Someone tackled Catty in a hug. Another flung their arms around Pharaoh.
High-fives. Happy tears. Air-humps. Cheers.
“THAT WAS INSANE!”
“YOU BROKE REALITY!”
“CATTY FOR PRESIDENT—AGAIN!”
Pharaoh spun Catty once, then pulled her close, sweat glistening on his bare chest. She smiled—glowed—and they leaned in, lips meeting in a kiss as the crowd whooped around them.
But then—
“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere.
The overhead intercom screeched. Lights buzzed harder. Doors slammed shut all around the school with metallic force.
Then her voice again—louder this time, the sound of a woman on the verge of snapping:
“IF YOU ARE NOT IN YOUR DORM IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES—”
She paused, breathing like a bull.
“I SWEAR ON THE GRAVE OF THIS SCHOOL’S FOUNDERS—
—THE REST OF THIS WEEK AND YOUR ENTIRE NEXT WEEK IS GOING TO BE HELL.”
Silence.
Then—Screams. Running. Panic.
The entire school exploded into a mad dash for safety.
Someone tripped over their own shoe. Another scrambled to untie their crop top and yank their sweater back on.
One girl grabbed her bestie by the tail and dragged her down the hallway, yelling, “COME ON, BITCH, I’M NOT GETTING ANOTHER DETENTION!”
The building emptied like it was on fire.
Doors slammed. Footsteps echoed. Lockers rattled.
And then—quiet.
Dead quiet.
Headmistress Bloodgood stood alone in the hallway, the echo of her own threat still bouncing off the walls.
Her jaw was tight. Her hair crooked. Her hands balled into fists.
She took one breath through her nose—
And stormed toward her office with boots that hit the tile like gunshots.
Each step a promise:
Tomorrow would not be so kind.
A loud BANG echoed through the office as Bloodgood stormed inside, trailed closely by Mr. Rotter.
“Bloodgood!” Rotter called out, his voice serious. “I know you’re frustrated, but—”
“I’VE. HAD. ENOUGH!”
The sheer pitch of her voice froze the room.
For days, the parents had been yelling at her—scolding, shaming, accusing her of negligence.
They all expressed how disappointed they were in her for allowing this to happen to their children.
But somewhere along the way… they had forgotten why she was one of the most revered headmistresses in the history of monster education.
Bloodgood marched to one of her filing cabinets, yanked open a drawer, and began rifling through the contents with sharp, agitated motions. Her muttering was just loud enough to catch.
“For the past week and a half, I’ve been nothing but a punching bag and laughingstock to these students!” she shouted, flinging folders aside. “I’ve been ignored, screamed at, cursed, assaulted—treated like some kind of party pooper!”
Then her hand stopped. She pulled out an object.
A telephone book.
“I’ve watched teachers get turned into piñatas, classrooms reduced to sex dens, and historic monuments destroyed anytime a student wanted to ‘impress their boo!’”
Her voice rose again, fury sharpening her words. She flipped through the pages rapidly, the sound of paper tearing under her fingers.
“Relationships are forming overnight! Fights over boys and girls are happening every hour! And now…” She paused, raising her voice even louder.
“MULTIPLE STUDENTS ARE NOW PREGNANT!”
Gasps rippled through the room.
But Bloodgood didn’t care. She wasn’t looking for pity. She wasn’t looking for sympathy.
“I’VE BEEN MADE TO LOOK LIKE A DAMN FOOL!” she screamed. “I ALMOST LOST MY JOB! I ALMOST LOST THE SCHOOL! THE OTHER PRINCIPALS LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M SOME USELESS MOM WHO CAN’T CONTROL HER OWN KIDS! AND NOW—NOW MY ENTIRE REPUTATION IS IN SHAMBLES BECAUSE OF THESE... ANIMALS! AND I’M DONE!”
The room fell silent.
No one breathed. No one spoke.
They looked at her as if she were a genuine monster.
“Bloodgood…” Viveka said gently, voice shaky. “What are you about to do?”
Bloodgood straightened. Her eyes burned with determination. Her grip on the phone book was unrelenting.
Her voice dropped—quiet, cold, and terrifying.
She spoke calmly. Clearly.
And her words terrified everyone.
“I’m calling the Obsidian Order.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
That name.
The Obsidian Order.
That name hadn’t been spoken at Monster High in decades.
No one in the room ever thought they’d hear it spoken again—especially not in reference to their children.
Once, it had been a whispered threat. A myth. A nightmare tale told to unruly young monsters to scare them straight.
But it was real.
While Monster High had known mostly peace for decades, there was a time—back in the 1980s—when the school had descended into complete chaos. Species-based violence was rampant. Fights broke out daily. Riots engulfed the halls. Students went missing. It was chaos. Bloodshed.
The school had been on the verge of closure.
And so, in in order to stop the madness, the administration brought in an elite unit.
The Obsidian Order.
Within days, the chaos was snuffed out. Peace returned. Discipline reigned.
At first, parents were satisfied. Relieved, even.
Until they found out how the Order had done it.
Not just corporal punishment. Not just detentions or suspensions.
But psychological warfare.
These weren’t just guards or enforcers. These were hardened war monsters—veterans of ancient, brutal conflicts—trained not to counsel or correct, but to break. When presented with a disobedient child, they didn’t discipline. They crushed.
The Obsidian Order had no place in a school.
They were not police.
They were not teachers.
They were not counselors.
They were soldiers. Trained to seek out the worst of the worst in the monster world and bring them to heel—by any means necessary.
They weren’t there to reform.
They were there to dominate.
And once they were done with you, you were never the same again.
Hundreds of parents pulled their children from the school in protest. Lawsuits piled up. Monster High barely survived the scandal. And the Obsidian Order was disbanded… or so they thought.
To monsters, they were the equivalent of Beyond Scared Straight—but stripped of any cameras, mercy, or second chances.
And now… Bloodgood was about to unleash them on this school.
“Bloodgood, calm down!” Viktor said, alarm spreading across his face. His usual calm tone was gone—replaced with frantic panic. That alone sent shivers through the room. “There’s no need to go that far!”
“Shut it, Viktor!” Bloodgood snapped, venom in her voice. “I’ve especially had enough of your daughter! I told Frankie to go home. She refused. Now she struts around these halls like she’s royalty—like she owns the place!”
“I understand your anger,” Dracula tried, holding up a hand. “But this isn’t the way to go about it.”
“SILENCE, VLAD!” Bloodgood roared, eyes blazing. “I’m calling them!”
She raised the phone and began dialing.
But before she could press the final button—a hand grabbed her wrist.
Bloodgood turned to see the Phantom of the Opera staring at her, his expression unreadable beneath the half-mask.
"Unhand me. Now!" she hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut stone.
The Phantom didn’t flinch. His hand remained firm on her wrist, his tone calm but piercing.
“Your anger is justified, Headmistress. No one is denying that. But if you go through with this—if you call the Obsidian Order—you’re not saving anyone. You’re just creating more enemies.”
Bloodgood yanked her arm free.
“I don’t care if they hate me,” she snapped, voice trembling with fury. “Let them curse my name in their sleep! Let them think I’m the villain! Because I’d rather be the villain than the failure who let her students ruin their lives over hallway lap dances and bathroom quickies!”
Her hands slammed against the desk, scattering papers everywhere.
“I have tried everything! Warnings, discipline, rules, punishments—and nothing has worked! They act like they’re untouchable. Like Monster High is some breeding ground for corrupted fantasies and hormonal anarchy! And the worst part? THEY THINK IT’S NORMAL!”
The Phantom stepped forward, lowering his voice. “And unleashing a battalion of war-hardened monsters is the solution? You think turning your students into traumatized shells of themselves is going to solve this?”
“I TRIED GIVING THEM A CHANCE!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “They laughed in my face! I’ve had furniture set on fire, fountains converted into wet t-shirt stations, and students hooking up during detention! I’m done!”
The room fell quiet, the only sound the rustling of her breath.
The Phantom’s gaze softened. “I understand, Bloodgood. More than you know. My own daughter’s been affected. But what you’re doing now... it’s not helping them. It’s not helping you.”
Her glare sharpened. “Then what’s your solution, Phantom? Huh? Since you’re so wise and calm and composed—do you have some magical idea to fix this hellhole of a situation?!”
Silence.
Then, the Phantom spoke—quietly, but with conviction.
“No. I can’t fix this. But... I know someone who might.”
Bloodgood blinked, caught off-guard. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a group,” he said, turning to face the rest of the adults. “They’re not scientists. Not miracle workers. But they’re trained to handle monsters dealing with emotional and hormonal instability. Basically, your standard teenagers. They can’t cure the students—but they can guide them, help them regain control over their impulses. Teach them how to master their own desires instead of being ruled by them.”
Bloodgood frowned, unconvinced. “And who exactly are these people?”
“They’re counselors,” he answered. “They work at a remote facility called... Camp Dreadmoon."
At the mention of the name, a low chuckle rumbled from the back of the room.
Wade, Lagoona’s father, stood up with his arms crossed.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “You said Camp Dreadmoon?”
The Phantom nodded.
Wade stepped forward, his Australian drawl thick with amusement and nostalgia.
“Years ago—long before Lagoona was even born—there was this fish bloke I knew. Rough around the edges, temper like a storm, couldn’t hold a thought in his head that didn’t end with a fist. Parents were desperate, so they sent him to that camp for a week.”
Bloodgood arched a brow. “And?”
Wade grinned. “He came back... different. Quieter. More thoughtful. Like somethin’ inside him had been realigned. I didn’t believe it at first, thought maybe he’d been hypnotized or drugged. But nah. Turns out those counselors just knew what the hell they were doing. They got through to him in ways nobody else could.”
"True." Coraline chimed in, her expression excited. "We've even had dinner a few times with him."
A thoughtful silence filled the room.
“It may sound far-fetched,” the Phantom admitted. “And I know it’s not what you want. It’s not aggressive. It’s not fast. But it is a shot. A real one.”
He turned to Bloodgood, his tone softer now.
“Leave the students in their hands. Let the counselors do what they do best. I promise you... everything will be okay.”
Bloodgood stood there, her eyes flicking between the Phantom, Wade, and the phone she nearly used to summon monsters of war.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Then, slowly, she exhaled.
“Mr. Rotter,” she said at last, her voice low but firm. “Find the contact number for Camp Dreadmoon. Reach out to their staff. Tell them we need their help.”
Rotter gave a small, relieved nod. “Understood, Headmistress.”
She turned back to the room of adults, her expression stern.
“If this doesn’t work—if this camp fails—then I will be calling the Order. But for now... we get those students out of this school.”
She stepped away from the desk, her spine straightening, her jaw set.
“It’s time Monster High got a well-deserved break. Tell them to pack their things. We’re sending the students camping.”
To Be Continued...
Notes:
I'm sure long time readers know this, but for the ones who came in late, know that I'm a High Schooler whose making this story in his free time to play out some of fantasies I've had.
Well, today I'd like to make an announcement.
Tomorrow (I posted this around 12:00am, supposed to be at 9pm), I will officially be graduating!!
I've have finally reached that milestone and tomorrow, I'll be walking across the stage and receiving my diploma.
I've never been happier in my life for this moment.
And I'd like to thank you all for all your love and support, as it's been the drive for me to keep writing this fanfiction.
Unfortunately, due to all the events I'm having for these next few days, their won't be an update for a while.
And depending on how my summer before college goes, I may be busy with other things.
But, I promise that once I get everything in order and set up a schedule, I will return to finish this story, as I have a lot of things planned for these characters that I am HELL BENT on writing.
But anyways, thank you all for reading, I'll see you again soon, and like Madison Beer always said.
"Don't. Stop. Rocking your right to fright!!!"
Chapter 18: An announcement
Chapter Text
I know a lot of you are going to be mad, but hear me out.
I’ve decided to rewrite "The 5 Horny Weeks of Monster High."
And before anyone freaks out—no, I’m not deleting the original. It’ll still be up, exactly as it is now.
But I need to be honest with you all: as much as I’ve loved working on this story and seeing your reactions, it’s time for a fresh start.
When I first started this fic, it was a chaotic, horny, over-the-top idea that I just had to get out of my head.
I didn’t plan too far ahead. I didn’t map out arcs. I just went for it—and honestly, that raw energy was a lot of fun. But over time, I realized something:
I crammed so much into just five weeks of story time.
Every chapter had to go bigger, crazier, hornier than the last, because I was racing against my own self-imposed clock.
And yeah, I got to write some of the wildest stuff I’ve ever done, but I also skipped a lot of build-up and depth I wish I’d given the characters and their relationships.
Some ideas came out of nowhere—slaves, harems, dominant dynamics, characters having new hobbies like Catrine drawing sexy photos of everyone—and while those things were fun to write, I know they would’ve hit harder if I had planted seeds for them earlier.
Not to mention, there was no breathing room to explore the aftermath of big events, like the initial gas release or the emotional toll of what was happening.
So... I’m rebooting.
The new story will keep the core premise you all came here for: students corrupted by a mysterious gas and turning Monster High into a den of desire, chaos, and freaky monster instincts. But this time, I’m doing it right:
. Things are gonna take place over a longer period of time instead of just 5 weeks.
. It's gonna have slow burns, transformations and some relationship tension in earlier chapters.
. There will be longer build ups to things like the rivalry between Abbey and Jinafire or Frankie's decent into horniness.
. Bloodgood and Hackington are gonna feel less like bumbling idiots and more like how they are in canon, especially Bloodgood.
. And while the plot will feel largely similar, alot of things will be VERY different about it.
This is no longer just "five horny weeks." This is something bigger, darker, longer, and (yes) way hornier—but with purpose and build-up this time.
The new title, story, and updates will be coming soon. I already have chapters 1-7 planned out.
And while they'll still be long, they won't be as overly long as the chapters I've had before.
If you loved the chaos of the original, I promise there’s even more to love coming your way. If you wanted more depth and disturbing monster kink, trust me... you're about to get it.
Thank you all for reading, supporting, and sticking with me through this ride.
The freakshow isn’t ending—It’s evolving.
And I promise you, you'll squealing harder then you ever had when reading this.
Until then...
Stay tuned. 💋🩸🖤
— 3j8
Notes:
The new story will be called 'Monster High : Corruption Semester' and chapter 1 will be coming soon.
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Ktea162023 on Chapter 1 Sun 02 Feb 2025 03:57AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 1 Sun 16 Feb 2025 01:32AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Feb 2025 01:08PM UTC
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HiyaKira on Chapter 1 Tue 04 Mar 2025 03:51AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 2 Mon 03 Feb 2025 01:48PM UTC
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Asmodeusoz on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 01:00PM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 01:11PM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 01:11PM UTC
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Billei (Guest) on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 02:08PM UTC
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katttttt (Guest) on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 11:59PM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 2 Wed 05 Feb 2025 12:12AM UTC
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katt (Guest) on Chapter 4 Sun 16 Feb 2025 05:40AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 4 Sun 16 Feb 2025 06:32AM UTC
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Nadiahilkerfan on Chapter 4 Thu 20 Feb 2025 04:41AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 4 Thu 20 Feb 2025 09:52PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 20 Feb 2025 09:54PM UTC
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katttt (Guest) on Chapter 5 Tue 18 Feb 2025 09:28AM UTC
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White_fox_209 on Chapter 5 Wed 19 Feb 2025 01:35PM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 5 Thu 20 Feb 2025 03:26AM UTC
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kattt (Guest) on Chapter 6 Sat 22 Feb 2025 09:02PM UTC
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kattt (Guest) on Chapter 6 Sat 22 Feb 2025 09:17PM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 6 Sun 23 Feb 2025 01:58AM UTC
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White_fox_209 on Chapter 6 Mon 24 Feb 2025 01:19AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 7 Tue 25 Feb 2025 11:28AM UTC
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kattt (Guest) on Chapter 7 Wed 26 Feb 2025 12:12AM UTC
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White_fox_209 on Chapter 7 Wed 05 Mar 2025 03:32AM UTC
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SSTARRYnightt on Chapter 7 Wed 20 Aug 2025 03:09AM UTC
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kattt (Guest) on Chapter 8 Wed 26 Feb 2025 04:46AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 8 Wed 26 Feb 2025 06:21PM UTC
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Nadiahilkerfan on Chapter 8 Fri 28 Feb 2025 05:01AM UTC
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^3^ (Guest) on Chapter 8 Thu 06 Mar 2025 12:16AM UTC
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3j8 on Chapter 8 Thu 06 Mar 2025 12:18AM UTC
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White_fox_209 on Chapter 8 Fri 07 Mar 2025 02:32PM UTC
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