#diedrich lying to everyone all the time AGAIN

[bluberimufim]

🎶 For the ask game!

🎶 Share a happy moment. ANY happy moment. You must have ONE.

Ok so, here's the thing. My writing tends to stick to more serene moments when there isn't anything horrifying happening, so a lot of the happiness is kind of "quiet" and peaceful, you could say. I looked very hard bc I wanted this to be a snippet of loud euphoric happiness, and this WIP is 400 pages big and I don't remember every single scene, but I think this one is the closest to what I wanted.

There was a grace to the scarf's movements as it sliced through the air, dragging its orange flames behind it like ripped flags on the wind. Alphonse spun, creating fiery circles and spirals that filled the tent with an air of magic none had ever seen before. It was as if he belonged there, silently dancing around with his flaming scarf. Finally, Alphonse stopped and let the fabric drop, holding onto it with the tips of his fingers. He couldn't hide his smile, which made his eyes twinkle like stars. Nearly bouncing with excitement, he looked at his father with a face full of pride. "That was amazing!" Diedrich exclaimed, making his way down to the stage. "It was, wasn't it? I think it has so much potential! And the fire!" He raised the scarf up to his chest. "It's cold!" "Yes, you're right. If you'll allow me..." With a flick of his wrist, the magician made the flames disappear. The fabric remained intact, without a single hole or charred end. "How do you do these things?" "A magician never reveals his secrets." "Dad, we've been working together for years-" "And you think I'll tell you all my secrets just because you're my son?" he laughed. "But how?" Diedrich shrugged and showed him a smile. "I don't know. It just happens."

...yeah that's the happiest I could think of. I guess it's happy enough, but I feel like it's not that happy in context because the story goes angst -> this -> angst again, and the angst is related to Alphonse's murder so. Yeah.

[vhs-ghost]

My third (and final) fanfic for the Headless fanfic contest! What were the Sleepy Hollow residents like in high school? Well, Matilda will tell you! I really hope to write more about them in high school! I wrote SO many notes on it lol and i have a LOT more ideas!

The Washington Irving High School Yearbook

Ichabod knocked on the old door briefly before letting himself in. “Hello?” he said to the dimly lit witch’s shop. Katrina Van Tassel had insisted that Ichabod see Matilda, the town witch, for a tarot reading. Ichabod was a very skeptical man, but he was also a very smitten man, and he couldn’t say no to Katrina. He didn’t believe in magic, or the supernatural, or anything like that. He was a man of science. He was very smart when it came his studies, but he was a bit clueless otherwise. For example, he set himself on fire while cooking. Multiple times.

“I’ll be out there in a minute!” Matilda’s annoyed voice called from farther back in the store.

Okay!” Ichabod called back. He decided to poke around the shop while he waited. There were many odds and ends lying about. He wondered how much of it was for aesthetic and ambiance, and how much she actually used. There was a large horoscope tapestry on the wall, and tables and shelves were covered with crystals, tarot card boxes, books, candles, incense, and other witchy stuff like that. It also smelled quite good, like lavender and woodsmoke. He started to walk around, and his bodyweight made the floorboards squeak. He picked up a crystal point, that was much heavier than it looked, and promptly put it back down. He picked up an astrology book and began to thumb through it, not really taking note of it’s contents. As he glanced over the pages, another book poking out of the pile caught his eye; the Washington Irving High School Yearbook, year 2008. He tried to carefully pull it out from the stack, but the pile of books fell to the floor anyway. Matilda hurried in.

“Ugh, what are you doing??” she whined, looking at the pile of books now on the floor.

“I- I’m sorry. I, um-“ he stammered, and then looked at the yearbook in his hand. “I was trying to grab this,” he said, lifting the book sheepishly.

“What did you wanna look at that for?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Well I just happened to see it in this pile, and now I’m curious about how you all were in high school,” he said, hoping to not make her any more angry. “Was this your senior year?”

Matilda softened, but only a bit. “Yep. Here, I’ll show all the people you’ve met. It’s always fun to see what someone looked and acted like in high school. More to make fun of them for.” She opened the yearbook. The spine cracked after not being opened for many years.  

She first pointed to a picture of a pretty girl with red hair. “Let’s start at the beginning. Here’s Ramona when she was Ramona Birch. So before she was Mrs. Eugene Trousers and before she was running definitely not a cult with him. The two of them were the pride and joy of the drama club, imagine that,” she said sarcastically. “They were talented, though,” she added.

She moved on. “Now here’s the most important one.” She pointed to a younger picture of herself, looking even more goth and spooky than she did now. She had mall goth vibes. “Look, it’s ME! Wasn’t I adorable?” She did not wait for Ichabod to answer, and pointed to another picture.

“Oh look, it’s Brom,” she said with a roll of her eyes. He basically looked the same. “His first name is Abraham, but he’s gone by Brom even since he was a kid. It definitely sounds cooler, and Brom always wants to be the coolest guy in the room.” She paused. “He used to be a real jerk back in the day, until Kat flipped her lid on him, yelling at him in the hallway, asking him what his problem was. It was SUPER funny, watching him go all pale and stammer, but it worked, and he’s been less of a jerk, but kind of still a jerk, ever since. But hey, character development; we love to see.” Ichabod nodded, taking this information into consideration.

She flipped ahead a bit. “Hm, Diedrich. He’s been making annoying songs about our personalities since he could talk. In high school, he was the kind of dude who’d bring his guitar to class, to every party, everywhere. I mean, he still does that now, but in high school, it was even more douchey.”

She pointed to another picture, of a girl with bold style and pink streaks in her hair. “Lucretia moved here a couple of months in to senior year to live with her aunt, who owned Storms Inn. She was kind of mysterious in school. Still is, in my opinion, like she has something to hide. Anyway, she got most of the WI High senior experience, but she missed the Battle of the Bands auditions when we did that, so she had to be a judge.”

“You had a Battle of the Bands??” Ichabod asked with surprise.

“Yep. Winner even got a record deal, too. But that’s a story for another day. Anyway, Lucretia fit in well with Sleepy Hollow, and has immersed herself in the town ever since. Moving on to-” Matilda turned the page and pointed at a picture of a girl with bags under her eyes, forcing a smile, “your uptight boss!”

Ichabod looked uneasy. He didn’t want to gossip about his boss.

“Eh, she was uptight then, and shes uptight now,” Matilda said. “Douffe was also hella burnt out back then. See those eyebags?” Ichabod nodded. “She also used to drink coffee like water. She always stretched herself too thin. I guess she learned though?”

She continued to scan the page. “There’s Brad, or as you might know him, Officer Meinhof.” She rolled her eyes. “He was super gossipy, and always getting us outcast kids in trouble. Kinda nice, kinda not.”

She turned the page. “Ah, the package deal!” she said, pointing at three pictures in a row; Tripp Stevens, Calvin Stone, and Blair Sullivan. “The Babes have always been inseparable. They even tried to all be in the same photo, but no one was having that. They’ve always been fun. Having class with them was always an experience,” she said with a bit of a laugh.

She ran her finger across the page, pointing at Eugene Trousers. “Look, it’s Mr. Not a Cult Leader! He was annoying, and his mom was the drama teacher. Despite his obnoxious theater kid attitude, drama club was actually pretty fun.”

“You were in drama club?” he asked.

“Yeah, it was that or suspension. We did Beauty and the Beast. It was pretty cool. I’ll dig out the poster to show you next time.” Ichabod nodded, actually very invested. 

She turned the page, and her eyes lit up. “Ooooo look, Ichabod! It’s Kat Van Tassel!”

Ichabod blushed at her name. Matilda proudly laughed at his nervousness. She continued, “She was super popular, but also very rebellious and opinionated too. I think that’s why everyone likes her; she hella down to earth.” She paused, “Also I’m not being sarcastic. She’s just a really cool person. We’re still friends kind of, but she and I used to be a lot closer,” she said, sighing wistfully. Ichabod looked at her pensively. She snapped back from her nostalgia, looking back at the book. “Anyway..”

She pointed to two pictures. “Here’s the Van Winkles, Rip and Judy. They could not have been more different from each other,” she said with a laugh. “Rip was super smart without trying, but also a super slacker. He was always falling asleep in class and coming in late. Amazing choreographer though. And Judy was super studious and ambitious. She also changed her last name to Gardenier a couple years back. I don’t blame her. Van Winkle is uh, quite the last name. Anyway, they were cool. Rip and I were always good friends, and Judy was nice enough.”

She scanned the page. Her eyes landed on a picture, and her cheeks turned the slightest tinge of pink. She talked fast, “And here’s Tom. He was an outcast like me. He liked to set stuff on fire. Some things never change. He was cool. He is cool. Um-” Ichabod noticed her change in demeanor, but didn’t say anything. She’d just get mad at him if tried to bring attention to it. She pointed to one more picture, not lingering on Tom much longer, even though she wanted to.

“Aaaaand, here’s Verla.” She looked exactly the same as she did now. “I don’t know what her deal is, and it bothers me. I think she’s a haunted doll. Or 500 years old. Either way, she’s weird.” She paused. “Here, I’ll show you some more pictures from stuff.”

Matilda flipped to later in the book, pointing at candids and group shots. “Here’s some pics of drama club.” Ichabod was enthralled. “And here’s a pic from Battle of The Bands-“

RING. An alarm on Matilda’s phone rang as she pointed to the page. She looked down at the phone. “I’ll have to continue with the history lesson later, my dude. I’ve got a tarot card reading appointment to do now,” Matilda said, standing up. Ichabod tried to protest, but she stopped him, “Sorry, I can’t cancel… again. I need the money. But look,” she pointed out the shop window across the street. “Looks like Kat just left the post office. If you go now, I’m sure you can catch up with her.”

Ichabod turned, and did in fact see her. “Well, thank you for all of that,” he said. “I definitely want to hear more about your high school days later.”

“You will,” she told him.

“Bye Matilda,” he said, reaching for the door. He paused. “That was actually pretty fun, hearing about your high school days. Again, thanks.” She nodded back to him, and he rushed from the store, catching up with Katrina. Matilda continued to straighten up the shop, waiting for her next customer, and wondering what kind of high school stories she’d tell Ichabod in the future.

[undertaker1827]

I am sorry for bothering you again with another request. But I am in love with your stories and I want to reread Black Butler just because of them. But could you please do a new fic where reader is the little sister os Vincent and he was a super protective brother when alive and he freaks out when Undertaker falls for her (who like him back in secret)? Thank you for the attention and for accepting my other 2 requests

Woahh high praise indeed. I’m honoured. Sorry this took so long to write, I hope it’s what you wanted!

-

You were walking swiftly through the halls of Phantomhive Manor, rushing to get to a meeting involving Vincent, Madame Red, Diedrich and Undertaker, amongst others, in an attempt to find out the latest news and movements of the underworld. It was Vincent’s, and by extension your way of sorting everything out for the Queen. Whilst you were not graced (or burdened, as some may say) with the title of Guard Dog, you were an invaluable source of help to your elder brother, who whilst being incredibly protective over you was also willing to accept that you had to make your own decisions and that it was your choice to assist him.

You flew through the door to the meeting room in time for everyone to stop speaking, realise it was you, then carry on their conversations. All except Undertaker, who was conveniently sat on the pool table and blocking everybody’s shots. You spared him a small smile then made your way to Vincent, who had been taking far more interest in the way the mortician’s gaze didn’t leave you than you had. Once caught up with everything that had happened so far, which didn’t amount to much as you were only behind your time by a minute or two, you removed a book from one of several shelves then carried it to the corner in which your designated chair was positioned. Within minutes, you were so enthralled that you failed to notice Undertaker start to make his way over, as well as Vincent’s quick interception and claim that he required a second opinion on some paper or other.

This set of events were usual for you during this type of meeting. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the mortician’s eyes lingering on you throughout the course of the evenings, and even more so to say that it didn’t take an enormous amount of effort for yours not to do the same. The only thing you hadn’t tacked on to was your brother preventing Undertaker coming over to you where at all possible. As was the case this evening, you usually had your nose too far into a book to see. However, even this wouldn’t prevent him from talking to you this evening.

After everyone had left, you generally stated behind a few minutes for the purposes of returning the book to its proper place on the shelf. Vincent, being an important earl, was required to leave with his guests to escort them. This particular evening, Undertaker too stayed behind, leaning casually on the pool table and watching you examine the leather-bound volumes, fingertips carefully tracing their spines. As you turned to leave, your gaze immediately flew to the mortician, who you hadn’t realised was still present.

“Undertaker!” You cried, hand over your heart in distress, “I didn’t know you were there!” He started giggling rather maniacally at your reaction.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to frighten you,” he offered after the laughing fit had subsided. You simply waved a hand in dismissal.

“You usually go straight off after meetings,” you noted, “How come you’re still here?” He moved from the end of the pool table to the side, repositioning himself closer to you.

“As it stands, I wanted to speak to the very person in front of me now.” You raised a polite eyebrow.

“Oh? What about?” He paused for a moment, apparently forming an answer.

“I must confess,” he began, “That today I realised while we’ve attended many meetings together, I’ve never really spoken to you all that much. I thought I’d take the opportunity.” You thought back to the many meetings you’d sat through, the many times you had avoided the mortician’s intense stare from across the room. To how often you caught yourself thinking about him and how you wondered what his eyes looked like.

“When I think about it, that is quite true for me as well. Nice to meet you,” you stated, a joking smile playing across your lips. His own smirk reappeared at the joke.

“You too, m’dear, you too.” He glanced towards the half open door, then leaned forward conspiratorially, causing you to do the same. “You know,” he whispered, “I think your brother might suspect something of me.” You gave an intrigued look when he paused, encouraging him to continue. “Well, part of the reason I’ve never really spoken with you is that he always stops me before I can get to this side of the room.”

“Really?” You questioned, mirth dancing in your eyes, “And why ever might that be?”

“Can’t say I know, but it was nice to finally say hello.” A frown conveyed your confusion at the sudden change in tone, but you said nothing when Undertaker inclined his head towards the door. It wasn’t until a few moments later that you heard the footsteps. You set up a bright smile and made your way to the door, Undertaker in tow.

“Yes, for me as well. We’ll have to catch up again some time.” He grinned at you in reply.

“Absolutely.”

You both walked out in time to almost run into Vincent, you was glancing suspiciously between you both.

“Hiya Vince! I’m going to the drawing room to have tea. Nice to meet you, Undertaker!” The man in question inclined his head as you turned away. Vincent’s questioning gaze never left him.

“Glad to have finally met your sister, you know,” he commented as the two started walking in sync in the opposite direction. The earl simply hummed in response, eyes fixed ahead. As they were nearing the door, the earl steered Undertaker around a corner and away from prying ears.

“Everything alright, Vincent?” He asked, more serious than normal and considerably more concerned. This was not typical of the Head of the Phantomhives at all.

“Y/N.” When it became apparent that would be the only word to pass his lips without some encouragement, the mortician nodded.

“Yes.”

“I knew it!” Undertaker frowned at his friend’s strange behaviour and tried to ask him what he meant. “You like her! I should have seen this from the outset. Well, do you know what? I don’t allow it. There. That’s your answer. Good day.” He all but threw the man outside, leaving a very confused Undertaker standing on the doorstep and staring at a brass knocker.

Well, I’m not sure I can say I’m surprised, he thought, then started making his way back to his shop. Vincent, on the other hand went straight to the drawing room, burst in, then began lecturing you on you needed to make better life choices and how he wouldn’t allow such a horrendous thing to happen (at this point, you didn’t know what said thing was). You eventually managed to get the partially sensible answer of “You! Him! No!!” Out of him, then somehow calmed him enough to ensure him that nothing was going on. All the same, you couldn’t get the image out of your head from, in the previous few seconds before Vincent had come in, you had leaned forward and brushed the mortician’s bangs to one side, only to be met with the most stunning set of chartreuse eyes you had ever seen.