#i added this orange layer and it looks sick as fuck so i kept it

[kabukiaku]

where was this band when i was a wee teen questioning my religion man. anyways art dump cause I couldn’t hold myself back. i love Ghost so so so much ahHHHHH- 🖤🤍✨💀

[chenyann]

Cake Bake!!

All boys!!

Today there is a cake bake!, if you don't know what that means let me explain, all students will have to bake a cake in 2 and a half hours.The best cake wins a date with the lovely prefect of ramshackle!

cw: gn!reader, crack & fluff, not much of my normal but I digress, unedited,based off someone who never play the cooking event💀.

Riddle

It looks good

But it's not🥲

It has 3 cups of salt in it

Trey told him it make the sugar sweeter

Plain cake

Plain icing

Plain in general

Yako score:

2/10

Was 0/10

+2 points because the flower

Trey

Looks cute(ˊᗜˋ )

strawberries 😍😍😍😍

tastes just right ✅

He probably added real strawberries inside (´-﹏-`)

Could it be better?

Yes

yako score:

8/10

-2 points because of too much icing

Carter

Looks like red velvet

It's not

It actually paprika

Butter cream icing

It looks like fish food at the top🤢

It's not? I hope

He tried(„• ֊ •„)੭

Yako score:

2/10

-8 because of me thinking it was red velvet.

Ace

No

Let me be like Gordon Ramsay real quick

ITS FUCKING RAW!

Done(•v•)

not only is it ugly

But it's raw

Done eat it babe 😔😔

it's chocolate

Too much chocolate

He probably put salt in it on purpose

Yako score:

0/10

He is gonna kill us both prefect 😪

Deuce

Ummm(·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

He tried

It tastes ok....

I think

Was ment to be a marble cake

Failed

Too much egg in the icing

it's a plain cake

But with a little chocolate

So In taste wise

It's good

Yako score:

5/10

-5 cause it's ugly

Leona

ruggie made it

Told ruggie to write that

Plain

Plain

Plain

Atleast there is a heart

He gonna drag you to nap after the cake bake

Yako score:

1/10

-9 points because it's rude

Kept one because ruggie made it

Ruggie

Yum

It's plain

But it's from grandma bucchis cook book

😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋

I WOULD EAT IT LIKES ITS A **** I just said tart chill yall

4 layers!!!!!

Butter cream icing 😋

It's a bit original but there is bits of orange in it

That's what makes it a granny bucchi special!

Yako score:

10/10

It's a original, it has a twist,the buttercream makes it sweet but the orange makes it pop!

Jack

Oh?

This was unexpected 🤨

I like it

the sweetness of the berries makes the chocolate more flavourful

I would be better if icing was all around it but it's okay ig

he did his best(˶ᵔᴗᵔ˶)

the icing in the middle is lacking tbh

Yako score:

8/10

The aesthetic wasn't there

Azul

Guys

HEAR ME OUT

He can't bake

Poor boy wants that date tho

So who better to bake than the sea witch

He did Ursula dirty💀💀💀

It would taste good tho

It would taste like berries

Don't ask

But other than the...."lovely" art.

It's okay

Yako score:

6/10

-4 cause of the art

jade

Okay

It delightful

Very cute

may or maynot be real mushrooms...😅

Be careful

You dodon'want to be poisoned now do we(˶ᵔᴗᵔ˶)

butter cream flavored ^^

Yako Score:

9/10

I don't want him to poison me okay

floyd

...

Honestly I don't even know wtf this is

Don't eat

Someone put a caution sign on it

I'm so scared

DOES IT HAVE GRAVEY ON IT*@[++[[]*+

Oh no

God no

I think we are gonna die

I quit

It looks like my cats food

This makes me fr sick

Yako score:......

.......no

Kalim

Jamil done it

BUT!!!!

But. Kalim wrote a long and surprisingly good description of what he wanted made

Don't get me wrong tho, he wanted to make it

It's good

I don't like the nut tho..IM SORRY!😭😭

yako score:

7/10

-3 because of the nuts

Jamil

I didn't really try 🤓

He is lying

Wants to 1 up Kamil so bad

Probably sabotaged kalim💀💀💀

if you praise him istg prefect I will wack you

lives off fondant

Vanilla cake:0

It's really plain tbh

Yako score:

8/10

-2 because it's plain

And boring

Vil

Custom made(๑•̀ㅁ•́๑)

But very pretty 😍

Can I eat the butterflies?????

If not this is a scam

Half of it is organic icing

1/3 is cake

2/3 is icing and air

Don't ask

The design is kinda everywhere

But it somehow works

I think its the pink

Strawberry.

That it

MAYBE CHERRY??????

Yako score: 10/10 if I can eat the butterflies

If not then it's 7/10

Rook

Simple

Uhm

It's simple

It's cute

The colors look divine

positive message

I love it

Maybe a plain cake?

I would eat this

He would put a bit of salt too keep you on ur toes😌

Yako score:100/10

I love the vibes he is making

Epel

...

Don't get me wrong it would taste delightful

I just think he wouldn't know how to decorate it

So he did minions

Ummmmm

Rook offered to give tips but epel said no🙂🙂

Should have let him tbh

but i digress

Yalo score:

4/10

-6 for the minions

Idia

Let's be honest now

It's gonna be one of these

Yucky

Ew

No.

Yako score:

-100000000000000000000000/10

I'm being honest

Ortho

Sweet lil bby♡♡

he is a robot

There is no flaws

Unless he wants one

It is kinda plain

He would have done more

But it's still good

A lil bland

Because he won't eyeball the sugar🙄

But still good

Yako score:

7/10

-3 could be better

Malleus

Why yes that is a wedding cake

*hint hint wink wink*

He cheated and used magic

But you don't need to know

HE WILL DO ANYTHING TO WIN THST DATE WITH YOU PREFCET

he would say yall should cut it together

Smh

Down bad 😔

Plain

If it was me I would say no

Because it's plain

Sorry

Yako score:

3/10

-7 plain and cheated

Lilia

Run

And don't even think about eating it

You will get food poisoning

And it won't be pretty

If you wanna sit on the toilet for the next week then be my guest and eat it

Mayo acts as icing

.....the hotdog looks like a penis

Idk what that yellow stuff is😰😰

Yako score:

- ♾/10

We all know why

Silver

Made 3

His animal friend helped

Probably one of the best hand decorator and baker here

He did nice

It's cute

It's fun

Aesthetic was on point

The flavors would clash

the flowers add taste

Yako score:

10/10

This one is going places

Sebek

Nobody said that

It's okay

Everyone loves you

Sebek is just mad

he will get over it

Plain

I like the rainbow tho

Yako score:

2/10

I Liked the rainbow(〃⌒⤙⌒)ゞ

That all folks!!

Who do you think should win?

[sourbat]

Here’s a short Skwismag I wrote today. 

Summary:  Skwisgaar remembers an evening with Magnus.

Warning: Drug use; implied sexual content. 

Skwisgaar remembered sitting at the edge of the old apartment’s railway, legs dangling and swaying in accordance with the late summer winds. Magnus stood beside him, shirtless and elbows pressed on top of the flimsy metal frame. The sun was setting, or had just started to set. Skwisgaar couldn’t recall the exact hour, nor month this memory occurred, only that the sky was a rich shade of orange. Magnus slid a foot back before offering Skwisgaar a hit of his blunt, grinning mad and spilling smoke from the parting rows of teeth, flicking the end and letting the ash rain all over his faded gray Toyota Camry before passing it down to Skwisgaar.

“We ams supposed to be leavinks soon,” Skwisgaar commented, but raised his hand up in agreement.

“I’ve driven under worse.” Magnus retorted, and Skwisgaar, despite knowing it was wrong, had to agree. He drank up the smoke, held it in until his lungs burned, and spewed it all in a long, seamless stream.

A few minutes later, the magic hit and the vibrant orange and burgeoning shades of violet in the distance started to magnify and glisten. Skwisgaar thought it was just good weed, but in six hours would come to terms that he was under the influence of a mixture of dangerous club concoctions. For now, he stared at the setting sun, jaw dropping at the magnificent array of colors that ate his senses whole. High as he was, he knew better than to meet the sun head-on, but witnessed its peeling outer layers melt into the blood orange sky. The stars were there. Skwisgaar remembered there being stars once it hit, and they sparkled and shimmered long rays of brilliant light into the deepening violet and pink. Another warm breeze passed through the streets, and this time Skwisgaar could make out each individual stream of air that tickled his neck and tasseled strands of his long blond hair. Magnus sways to the left, spilling more smoke into the air, and Skwisgaar recalled the strange aftertaste it left in his mouth, and wondered what other drugs Magnus failed to mention.

“What are you looking at?”

Skwisgaar turned. “Them suns.” He answered, pursed lips forming a degenerate smile once he caught Magnus in his sights. “It ams looking like pretty van Gogh painting, what with thems purple and swirly organses and yellows.”

He raised a finger towards Magnus, giving it twirl to indicate the direction of where the light was headed, then another to point out the stars above. Magnus raised his head up, mouth agape as he stared up at whatever mystical performance he witnessed under his high. Skwisgaar snickered, then rested his arms on the bottom half of the railing. His fingers scratched at the peeling layers of metal, unearthing stained rust that collected under his nails. The rust reminded him of dried blood. When Skwisgaar grew sick of staring at his fingernails, he turned and saw Magnus above him, eyes glued on his form. 

“What ims it?” Skwisgaar asked. He blinked madly, trying to make out the man behind the shimmering lights, but couldn’t see past that rose-tinted veil.

Magnus snubbed the end of the laced blunt into the handrail. “Nothing, just admiring you,” he said plainly, which only made Skwisgaar turn and check over his shoulder to see if their apartment door was open as they had left it. It was, but Skwisgaar leaned further, saw there was no one in the living room or kitchen.

Relieved, Skwisgaar dropped to the floor. “You shouldn’t be saying them things out louds,” Skwisgaar warned, then ran a hand across his face. He was starting to sweat, and his throat was dry. “Nathan and the others will hears you.”

Magnus dropped to a squat, or his knees? Or, did Magnus remain put, keeping his limber form against the railing as he let loose a low, almost threatening chuckle?  

“Let them fucking hear. What are they going to do?” Magnus asked with a sharp, antagonistic snap. A finger laced around several strands of his hair. Magnus must have been at his level then. Maybe they were lying together. If he couldn’t remember anyone being there, then maybe this was one of those rare cases where Magnus wasn’t afraid to show more than just a drop of affection in public.

Another veil draped over them. Magnus must’ve been sitting beside him, because Skwisgaar was sure it was his dark hair spilling over his back and shoulders, cascading around them and creating a small reprieve from all other outside stimulation. Skwisgaar stared up  at the shadowy form of a man who was so gone his eyes almost appeared black.

“I like the way your eyes look when they’re dilated,” Magnus told him, then lowered further to meet Skwisgaar’s lips with his own. 

A disturbing compliment, but they were high at the time, and Skwisgaar didn’t know any better. All he knew was Magnus was kissing him in public, on the eve of a hot, summer day, telling him how gorgeous he looked, and how tragic it was that he couldn’t have more to himself. They always kept things casual during the daylight hours, with Magnus performing the subtle art of flirtation whenever the opportunity arose. 

“You ams high, Magnus.”

Magnus cackled at the remark. “And so are you.”

How the conversation turned to the rave, and getting inside the car was a mystery. Skwisgaar couldn’t think straight, or maybe couldn’t bring himself to go any further past that moment where Magnus took advantage of their seclusion, of having him cornered in a spot. He breezed through the fuzzy recollection of a fingertip that curled under his palms, tickled his wrist before snatching and pulling him up so that they could dress and head out of the apartment. If memory serves correct, Murderface just left his room and asked Magnus for a ride to the pawn shop. Or was it Nathan? Another fast forward, and Magnus and Skwisgaar were in the car, ignition on, and faulty conditioner blowing lukewarm air at full blast. Skwisgaar’s seat groaned for him as he threw his head back, letting Magnus brush his nose across his neck, get lost in the nape before whispering hot words into his ear, asking if he wanted to ride to a more secluded spot before they hit the rave.

Magnus tore through the highway, reaching speeds that should’ve warranted their deaths, but always knew when to break at the last minute, when to drop speeds before ramming his clunker into the trunks of bigger, better cars. Trapped in his daze, Skwisgaar rolled down the window to stare out to the setting sun, the purple that shushed and tucked it deeper into the horizon, and the sparkly blue sky that glistened and blanketed the day into night. Skwisgaar saw that familiar set of trees, the bright orange sign located just a few miles away from their exit, and neon lights pointing towards a casino Skwisgaar kept saying he’d visit, but never did.

The exited the freeway, drove up a set of hills and into nicer neighborhoods with fenced yards and two story houses. Skwisgaar fished through the glove compartment for condoms, while Magnus continued to lift and drop his sunglasses, squinting at signs and trying to locate the entrance to a hiking trail no one bothered to visit during this late in the hour. Skwisgaar couldn’t remember the way back to that hill, nor could he recall what Magnus said to convince him that they should stay in the front of the car this time. The summer’s top 10 played, and Skwisgaar pulled the lever and lowered his seat, resting his simmering body against the heated passenger seat. The arid atmosphere seeped into his eyes, adding to the mild discomforts of his already  fuzzy head and cotton-dry mouth. Magnus hummed to one of the songs, then threw his belt on top of the dashboard and–fast forward–black consumed the sky once they were done, and the air outside had finally reached a tolerable temperature for the two of them to enjoy and bathe their sweaty bodies in before hitting the floor.

For some reason, Skwisgaar saw Magnus sitting on top of his car’s hood: pants and shirt on, but the latter only buttoned partway. The man was silent, eyes surprisingly steady given the concoction he’d smoked, licking his chapped lips as he stared down the hill at the city’s glowing palette: the white headlights and red taillights, the blue and green neon lights, flashing rainbows beckoning people over, and glowing balls of office buildings that were coming to their close.

Skwisgaar knew it couldn’t be the case, because Magnus never settled or allowed himself a chance to reflect on their brief liaisons. He was always ready to move on, and once he was off Skwisgaar, asked for the address to the club.

Still…

“What ams you staring at?” Skwisgaar pretended to say to the version of Magnus that was either depressed, ashamed, coming down, or tired.

“Everything,” Magnus answered, then raised a heavy arm down at the city.

Skwisgaar walked over to the front of the car, then sat next to Magnus. The car groaned under their added weight, but Skwisgaar hung low, resting his elbows on top his legs as he and Magnus viewed the shimmering freeway below.

“Ims beautiful,” Skwisgaar said.

And because this was his memory, a made-up figment of his imagination, Magnus looked away from the lightshow to instead witness him. “Not as beautiful as you,” he said, offering a free hand for Skwisgaar to indulge in. And, instead of going to the club, Skwisgaar and Magnus remained on that hill, letting their shared high trick them into believing the glimmering city beneath was made of gold, jewels and lightning. Magnus would divulge into some random diatribe of how everything was out to get him before being snuffed by Skwisgaar’s lips, and for once, Magnus would accept the kiss as it were. They laid on top of the car together, holding one another in the cooling winds and switching between the waves of immersive, incandescent lighting below, the faint glimmer of twinkling skies above, and the joy seeping out from their wide, dilated pupils.

Skwisgaar wanted it to be real. It was a modest way to end the night, but anything was better than what occurred. Magnus would take the wrong exit, and they’d be lost for nearly twenty minutes because Skwisgaar couldn’t remember the exact name of the club, and when they arrived, the line was so long by the time they made it past the front doors Magnus was irritated and already on edge. Someone bumped into him later, and didn’t apologize quick enough, and Magnus threatened to kick his ass. The next time it happened, Magnus swung a fist. Skwisgaar forgot how he calmed Magnus down the first time, but knew he failed miserably to even pull him away the second. Someone caught them together, and Magnus was still recovering from that initial fight, but they made the horrendous mistake to call them a foul name. Magnus just couldn’t let the insult go, and threw himself on their provoker, fists beating down on him before Skwisgaar could shake off the effects of the offense. When he finally did, people were turning on them, and names only grew worse. Although Magnus scared most of them off with his mangled, rage-induced form, the stress and fear he caused led to them getting kicked out, to Magnus telling him this was why he can’t ever really be happy, and blaming Skwisgaar for tricking him into thinking they could be anything more than just a dirty secret.

What really happened… Skwisgaar staring up at the vast night sky, spotting fewer stars than he remembered back at the apartment, when the sun was still falling, and Magnus sitting at the curb, analyzing his trembling, bleeding hands and falling deeper and deeper into a state of self-loathing.

...

Magnus looks so happy. It was all Skwisgaar could think when he stared up at the frozen still of him. Nathan and the others pointed fingers at the massive screen, openly criticizing Magnus’ way of starting fights and disorder at nearly any given opportunity before shifting their attention and the tone to Toki. The man wasn’t around, but he could be seen in the corner of that image, arms up in jubilation as he cheered the older man on, looking equally as excited, if not more for Magnus’ successful attack. But Skwisgaar couldn’t bring himself to rest too long on Toki. Staring too long at his smile only made his throat burn, his heart sour and turn green with jealousy. The image flickered as Nathan hit the remote, skipping several frames, and resting on an image of Magnus taking Toki by the hand, bad eye squinting from the array of flashing lights, but grin expanding beyond what Skwisgaar had ever seen.

People were huddled around them, pointing in their general direction. Even without the disguises, there had to be at least one person there calling them names, and Magnus, donning wrinkled attire stained with flecks of blood, couldn’t have been happier. 

“I’ll be real: they don’t look bad,” Pickles said, dropping his stare to return to the bottle he’d been nursing.

“Still gay, though,” Murderface pointed out. 

“I mean, at least they’re not being sissy about it, right?” Nathan said, then hit rewind once more to replay the scene.

“…which brings us to our two favorite party boys, Toki Wartooth and Magnus Hammersmith!”

Skwisgaar watched the dreaded minute-long clip, lips pulling inward when he saw Toki rush a man in the center of the dance floor, crashing into and bringing him down. Magnus appeared from the corner and pulled Toki up before saying something that couldn’t be heard through the crowds, then patted the man on the back before tugging him close. The host joked about their naturally brutal nature, their shared interest in music and how adorable it was that the two could do both while keeping their image. Hearts filled the screen as Magnus threw a fist at a man, much to the surprise of Toki. Another shoving Magnus just a second later, only to be rammed by Toki. Tweets flashed across the screen, showing dozens of fan reactions. The host returned to the clip, and people were screaming and music was playing, and Skwisgaar couldn’t hear the words Magnus whispered to Toki each time they returned to one another amidst the chaos. The crowds backed away once they recognized Toki without his hat, and the massive applause erupted once everyone realized who had kicked their asses. With just a few seconds left, Magnus turned to the camera recording the scuffle, raised a bloodied hand at him while Toki stood in the corner, beckoning Magnus back with a loving wave and coo. That was all it took for Magnus to turn, the video clip to suddenly end, and for the host to laugh off their violent date with another well-placed joke.

“Hey. Hey, Skwisgaar,” Nathan grunted, prodding Skwisgaar shoulder with his finger. “What do you think about Magnus and Toki being all gay with each other?”

Skwisgaar’s fingers ran up the neck of his guitar as he struggled to keep it all down. Middle and index shuffled between the four strings. Throat tightened at the memory of those cruel words, and Magnus blaming him for their shared suffering. 

“But don’t worry: Toki’s got Magnus’ back!”

Skwisgaar raised his head up just in time to witness the second recording pulled from the internet. Toki and Magnus were situated in the far corner of the club, half a dozen klokateers with weapons aimed at the dispersing crowd. Toki held Magnus’ hand, observing his fingers and scolding him for the damage he caused. Magnus said something in return. Skwisgaar couldn’t tell what it was because his back was facing the camera, but whatever it was, Skwisgaar could feel it, experiencing it when he saw Toki’s eyes light up under the circulating rainbow lights. Just before the video ended, Toki drew forward, eyes lidding as Magnus mirrored him and closed that already small gap.

“Well, ain’t that sweet. Calm down boys, save it for later!”

Skwisgaar looked away, unwilling to partake any further. Next to him, Murderface complained about them being gross, while Pickles laughed at the irony of it all, and Nathan, in his ignorance, nudged Skwisgaar again.

“D’ja see that?” Nathan said, snickering at the now frozen image of their two rhythm guitarists locked in a kiss. “Hey, Skwisgaar? Skwis, get a load of Toki and Magnus, here!”  

So what if they were kissing? So what if it was taking place in public?

“J-ja,” Skwisgaar said, choking through the single word. “It ims really gay and sillies. Kissing in publiks for everyones to see?!”

But Skwisgaar couldn’t bring himself to so much as glance in the direction of the still. He wouldn’t dare face that version of Magnus, the one he dared to make up whenever he tried to reminisce and find something positive, or just malleable enough to hold on to. That version of Magnus that Skwisgaar had to convince himself was real, then later reminded himself that he never existed.

That version of Magnus that Toki unearthed and had the pleasure of showing off to the world.

[the-fiction-witch]

Sick P1

REAL LIFE: COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: SWEET + FUNNY

I slightly shivered as I rode my bike thought the cold autumn streets, the pathways covered in layers of orange, red and gold leaves, the green grass of gardens littered with twigs, a few houses having little pumpkins on their doorsteps, a few evil people daring to have the unholy twinkle of Christmas lights in their windows already. 

I kept my wheels turning as the sky was getting darker and the chill in the air was growing till I reached the little house I had been looking for, I pulled my bike onto the driveway chaining it to the garage door and heading up the little gravel path till I hopped into the porch and knocked on the little door 

"Oooh good evening y/n" she smiled opening the door 

"Hi, how's he doing?" I asked as she let me in and I began to slip off my coat as the heat in here was insane compared to out there 

"Like hell," she says "I'm sure he'll be happier once he knows your here" she smiled "go on you know the way" he smiled "ohh and ask him if he wants some pie"

I laughed and hurried up the staircase turning sharply on the corner to the bedroom door covered in stickers gently pushing it open revealing the blue bedroom, his bed not made tucked up within the corner of the room, his desk covered in paperwork, his TV mounted to the wall with his little sofa facing it, almost every inch of the floor was covered with dirty clothes and tissues, even if the bed was full of them. And I spotted him sat on his little sofa a blanket over his legs, a blanket around his shoulders, he wore his grey sweatpants and an old blue triumph t-shirt, his console controller in his hand and a box of tissues to his side he looked sickly pale...well.more than usual, his nose bright red and his eyes looking weary his hair a bedhead it slowly worsening each day s I know he hasn't brushed it once, I couldn't help but laugh, it was kinda adorable to see him this way.

"Hi germy" I giggled shutting his bedroom door behind me 

He groaned a little holding his throat before he spoke his voice sounded harsh and broken like he had been gargling sand and razor blades yet sickly still almost as if you could hear the mucus in his nose and throat with each word "oohh fuck off y/n"

"Fine I'll go" I laughed faking being offended

"No… I'm sorry y/n" he answered "don't go"

"How are you doing sickie?" I laughed sitting beside him on the sofa 

"Still sick, I wouldn't get too close y/n maybe I'm infectious?" 

"You’re not infectious Thomas you have a cold" I laughed

"I have the flu" he corrected 

"You have man flu" I laughed 

"what's the difference?"

"The dramatics" 

"I have the flu y/n" he complained

"You might but you're not dying," I laughed as I got my bag "medicine… take it" I warn handing him the tablets I got him at the pharmacy he grimaced and put them to the side with his tissues "Thomas" I warn "don't you wanna get better?"

"Not really no…"

"Why not?"

"I get to do my work at home which suits me better, I get to spend all day in my lazy clothes, I can spend all day in bed if I want, and I get you visiting me everyday, everyday and giving me cuddles" he smiled nuzzling into my shoulder "why would I wanna get better?" 

"Take them, before I force them in you" I warn 

"No, I'll keep my mouth shut you can't force my mouth open to take them" he argues 

"I didn't mean your mouth" I warn 

"Where else could you- ooh…" he said realizing what I mean and instantly getting himself a tablet and downing it with his water 

"Good boy" I smiled, giving his cheek a kiss which made him blush "ohh your mum wanted me to ask do you want pie?"

"Not really, I'm not hungry," he shrugs 

"Here's your homework, and today's notes" I smiled handing him all the stuff from today 

"Where would I be without you" he smiled nuzzling closer to my shoulder but he soon moved away to cough and use another five tissues, 

"You need to get to bed Mr" I laughed almost picking him up from the sofa unwrapping him from his blankets even if he shivered before tucking him in his bed with his blankets and pillows "get some rest, okay, so you can get better" I smiled 

"Y/n? Can I ask you something?" He groans almost coughing again

"Go on" I laughed

"Can a dying man have a last request?"

"You're not dying Thomas…" 

"Will you go to the Halloween dance with me? And… kiss me on the wall home, surrounded by the orange leaves in the beautiful moonlight?"

"You're not dying Thomas…" I repeat

"Would you anyway?"

"I'll think about it okay" I smiled "and if you want a kiss you only have to ask"

"Not now… I don't wanna make you sick" he sighed "thank you for visiting y/n"

"It's fine Thomas" I laughed kissing his cheek "I'll see you tomorrow" 

I smiled as rose across town as the sun began to set, the skirt of my dress fluttering in the breeze as I hurried along the road till I got to Thomas’ house just as his parents were leaving “Ohh go on y/n I was just about to lock up” his mum smiled so I chained up my bike and headed in her locking the door behind me so I ran up to Thomas’ room it was as messy as last I saw it but Thomas was nowhere to be found 

“Hu? Where are you?” I laughed “Thomas…”

“Hi Y/n!” he yelled from the bathroom the door open enough to see the light on 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m having a bath” 

“Ohh… should I go?”

“No, it’s fine I can still talk to you”

“You sound less sniffly today” I smiled leaning on the doorframe but as I did “whoa! What the hell smells like Lavender lemon and honey? God damn it smells like what  imagine whine the phoo smelt like” I complained

“Awww yeah…. I was sick of being snuffly so I googled Herbal cures for the flu that I could bathe in and I uhhh I may have put way to much in”

“how much did you put in?”

“Well… I filled the bath, Then I put a couple lavender bath bombs in, then a packet of lemon bath salts”

“A packet! Thomas you're meant to put like a handful not the whole pack!”

“Oooh… that may explain why the sourness is in the air…” he sighed “then I put a quarter of a bottle of honey in…”

“A Quarter! How big was the bottle?”

“Uhh one of those ones that looks like a bear” 

I pushed the door open 

“Hi” he waves from his bath I grabbed the poor little bottle of honey 

“Noooo... you killed the honeybear?”

“I needed it”

“What did the instructions online say?” I asked

“It said a tablespoon per five hhundred mill so I thought that added up right”

“Thomas… thats for tea” I sighed

“Oooh..”

“So your bathing in a cup of tea” 

“Well… I’m not sick anymore” He shrugs “However I am sticky” 

“That will be you know half the poor honeybear” I argue as I sat on the closed toilet lid holding the poor honey bear bottle “If you were a girl I’d say you were gonna get a yeast infection, can you get your dick infected?”

“Ahhhh no no stop! I don’t wanna think about if that's possible!” 

I laughed looking up to him as I hadn’t really focused on him to busy with the bear and I noticed something else in is bath

“Are you eating chinese food?”

“It floats” He shrugs 

“You made a tea bath? And you're eating chinese food because you can float it in your bath?”

“Yeah”

“What you got?”

“Noodles… and chicken balls, Want some?”

“I do want the chinese food… but I don’t know if I want chinese food that's been floating around your bath?” I said “You know the place you are naked?”

“When has me being naked ever stopped you from doing anything?” he asks “case and point” 

“What?”

“You sat with me while I’m in the bath?” He laughs “Your not even my girlfriend” he says eating his food 

“Who says I’m not?”

“Wait what?” he asked in shock 

[keatsblue]

Want a Piece of Me?! - a Kiribaku Baking AU fic, pre-slash.

*** 

It was something he’d picked up from his mother, before she’d gotten too sick.

She’d let him roll out flour-dusted dough into thinned sheets, let him taste a batter mix or two on the tip of her spoon. Whenever he was tasked with packing the buttercream, he’d unerringly return to her with a dollop of icing on the end of his nose. She’d let out a laugh like windchimes as she wiped his face off with a multi-stained washcloth, would murmur, warm against the skin of his cheek as she kissed it—did my little dragon get greedy for some sugar again? Well, here’s some sugar!

Kirishima was her little dragon, and she’d made sure his early life was filled with candied nights and warm bellies, gingerbread castles with marshmallow spires.

After she passed, he kept it up to feel close to her.

He was far from an expert baker, but he knew his way around an oven. His hands were large and not the most suited to handling delicate fondant, but he managed. His arms were strong, good for hefting bags of fresh ingredients.

Pineapple upside-down. Triple-tiered, Italian wedding crème. Chocolate lavender truffles, topping his signature cherry cordial mousse. Delicate macaroons and finicky meringues, mirror glazes so seamless he could see his reflection. Kirishima baked his way through the entire grieving process, inviting his closest friends over for tastings, and he won.

I’m okay, mom.

He wasn’t certain when it had really started, this online business. Mina had actually made the first post, snapped the first photo. He hadn’t expected it to get a single comment.

It got hundreds. Then thousands.

People contacted him, wanting to know how they could make their own cakes look like that.

Kirishima obliged, of course. How could he not? He was going to bake anyway. Might as well help a few other amateur chefs while he was at it!

Mina helped him film. “I discovered you, so I’m your manager for life,” she’d say, with a wink. “Don’t forget about me when you make it big and become a world-famous baker, somewhere.”

World-famous, my ass, he always thought, whenever she’d suggest such a thing. He still made far too many mistakes, for that.

It was okay, most of the time. Many of the people who followed his little baking ‘show’ were more than understanding, and incredibly supportive. When he read their kind comments, it gave him a warm, fluttery kind of feeling—almost like one of his mother’s secure hugs.

There were always those few, though.

He was just getting off the rickety bus that stopped near his neighborhood when he saw it. He almost missed the last step on his way down, stumbling for a few paces as the telltale sound of a screen door sliding shut behind him signaled the bus’s departure.

However, Kirishima wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Instead, his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone, where he’d just called up his latest baking stream.

xxxx: ur cakes suck a**

He frowned down at the comment, checking the timestamp. So, it was just posted a few minutes ago.

Huh.

It was obviously a troll, no doubt about it. They didn’t even have a profile picture to go with the nondescript name. And usually, usually, Kirishima would just let comments like that slide right off his shoulders.

But he’d had a bad day. And it was funny, how something so small could pierce his heart sometimes, a sharp spear to the mighty dragon’s soft underbelly.

It was safe to say, making his way up the rusted-out stairwell to his college-budget apartment took a little more energy than usual. He jammed his key into the lock with punishing force, twisted.

The door swung upon under his palms, and the familiar scent of his home wafted toward him, riding along the sudden gust of warm air escaping. Kirishima was careful to shut the door quickly, before too much of the heat was let out. Breathed in the fruit-sweet smell from his kitchen, so if nothing else, the familiarity of it could ease his scattered mind.

His phone chimed, before he could get too relaxed. When he checked the message ID, though, he couldn’t help but smile.

alienqueen: ughhhhh I hate this asshole already

alienqueen: obviously, he’s never tasted 1 of kiri’s cakes

ducktapes: kiri’s cakes <3 ahhhh my heart

sparksmcgee: dude same, want me 2 get sweet vengeance?

As soon as Kirishima’s smile had appeared, it vanished. He frantically opened the chat, his thumbs too large to type with the speed he needed.

There was no way to tell if Denki was serious. And his friend could do it, too—every day, Kirishima thanked his lucky stars he was on the excitable hacker’s good side.

kiricakes: no need!! it’s just a troll, guys

kiricakes: super manly of you to think of me, though

sparksmcgee: ur too nice, fams

sparkmcgee: guess the troll lives… for now

ducktapes: TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! THERE’S A-

alienqueen: aksnfkasnof

kiricakes: lolllllll

Before long, he was able to lose himself in mindless chatter. The antics of his friends never failed to bring his spirits up. He plugged his phone into one of the few outlets in his crummy apartment, embedded into the wall just over the kitchen counter, so he could continue the conversation even as his battery started to wane.

The hours grew long, though, and time was scarce mid-week for exhausted, assignment-laden college kids. It wasn’t a surprise when Denki soon begged off on some coding or another that he had to re-run, or when Sero and Mina similarly slipped away (they were researching something together for Comparative Physiology, it was all very much over Kirishima’s head). In the end, he was left with only his thoughts, and an empty kitchen.

He locked his phone, and the screen went dark. He could see his reflection in it, baggy eyes and downturned lips. A shock of red hair, which had once been midnight-black.

Like his mother’s.

Kirishima turned his head. In the low light, his appliances gleamed from their shelves. Almost mocking, in a way.

“My cakes don’t suck,” he said, to no one. His grin stretched wide, and he could tell from the burn of it that he was showing far too many of his sharpened teeth. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He set his phone to record, and made another cake. It was triple-tiered, funfetti, because that was the batter mix he had on-hand. He watched the batter rise within his dented iron pans with all the patience of a general considering the battlements—or perhaps, a dragon considering its’ hoard.

Any spare buttercream was packed into a dispensary, silken and primed to hold his creation together. He spliced it evenly between his cakes with a practiced ease, layer after layer.

Then, the whipped frosting. It was a simple recipe, one of the first he’d learned. He worked the whipping cream within a chilled bowl, adding scoop upon scoop of powdered sugar until the mixture obediently began to rise, forming soft peaks.

He made several batches, and then added some orange food coloring to each.

Fuck it. I’m in an orange sort of mood.

His second favorite color, after red.

All that remained was assembly.

… throughout the process, he talked.

Kirishima didn’t typically make a habit of speaking while he baked. He certainly didn’t speak while he recorded, but this—this was a special occasion. Soon, he found himself opening up in front of the camera like never before. He spoke of his mother, briefly. Of his love of baking, and how much he didn’t want to lose that little piece of her he had left.

It was all he had left.

The whipped frosting went on like a dream for him, a smooth and even ombre that when he finished, reminded Kirishima just a bit of an orange sunset. It was soothing, and right, and exactly what he needed.

He didn’t think much of posting the video, largely unedited, to his public account. His was still a small corner of the internet, after all—a solitary baking channel in a sea of thousands. Maybe even millions. How many people would even see it, really?

“Oh, and by the way, can you guys stop saying my cakes look like shit?”

It was only one cake.

With great effort, Kirishima stumbled his way to his bedroom. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how much all that time in the kitchen had taken out of him.

Before his head even hit the pillow, he was out.

He dreamed of his mother’s sweets, and orange.

***

sparksmcgee: dude wake up

sparksmcgee: wake uppppp

sparksmcgee: KIRI

sparksmcgee: KIRI U GOTTA SEE THIS

sparksmcgee: KIRIIIII

sparksmcgee: fine, ignore me, Mr. Internet Sensation

sparksmcgee: wait I was joking, I was joking!

sparksmcgee: I’ll call u! I’ll do it!!

sparksmcgee: damn it kiri

sparksmcgee: just watch the fuckin’ video

sparksmcgee: https://twitter.com/Simplemachines_/status/1297739774795509761

***

Kirishima groaned, slamming a fist down on top of the source of that incessant beeping. It was too early in the morning for such ear-splitting noise.

But what was done couldn’t be undone. He was awake now, for better or worse.

He cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright blue light of his phone screen. Still bleary-eyed, he scrolled through all of Denki’s messages (seriously, man?) and pressed a thumb over the hyperlink his friend sent. It was probably just some dumb meme—

Wait. Wait.

That was his cake video from last night. And… that wasn’t all.

Some blond guy with an angry face took up the other half of the split screen, but he wasn’t doing anything. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Kirishima blinked. A… reaction video…?

He heard himself begin to speak, to layer the buttercream. Internally, he cringed.

Well. In his defense, he had been having one of those days—

He almost dropped his phone when the blond guy yelled at the top of his lungs.

“WHO WAS MEAN TO YOU?!”

Huh? Was this guy speaking… in Kirishima’s defense?

“WHO SAID YOUR CAKES LOOK LIKE SHIT?! POINT ‘EM OUT!”

Slathering on his nice, ombre whipped frosting, now. The blond guy (who was kinda cute, actually, even with his angry face) continued to watch and listen with rapt attention, occasionally letting out another unholy screech.

The video progressed to the part where Kirishima had begun describing his day, and really, he could’ve kicked himself. It’d just been a math test. He’d been excited at the time, because he’d gotten his grade back and hadn’t completely failed it, but now, he wondered. Who would want to listen to such inane, boring—

“YES! I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU, SHITTY HAIR!”

Shitty hair? Inadvertently, he felt the hand that wasn’t currently occupied supporting his phone drift up toward his hairline. He knew he applied a lot of gel, spiked it up on purpose. Surely it didn’t look that bad.

But even with that last comment, the guy had said a lot of nice things. And how manly, to post such a wholesome reaction video, where all the world could see?

His phone beeped again as a message banner flashed across the top of the screen. He opened it with a flick of his finger.

It seemed this time, Denki had messaged in the group chat. He didn’t have long to wonder whether his other friends had seen the video, either, messages were fired at rapid speed.

sparksmcgee: did you see it?!?? I found the guy! Your dream man!

sparksmcgee: his name is **drumroll**

kiricakes: denki, no

ducktapes: denki, YES

sparksmcgee: BAKUGOU KATSUKI, HE’S FROM JAPAN

alienqueen: Kiri go get your mans!!

sparksmcgee: if you want I can also get his credit card

kiricakes: DENKI NO

Bakugou Katsuki. Huh.

As his friends continued to bicker amongst themselves, Kirishima stretched out his limbs. He let out a soft sigh when his shoulders popped, already considering what he would bake himself for breakfast.

Maybe he’d have a slice of orange funfetti. And perhaps as he did, his mind would drift to an angry fan.

One he hoped to meet, someday.

[jasontheoctopus]

So I wrote this short thing about some childhood memories that were haunting me the last week or so, in hopes that writing it out would make them go away. I thought I might share.

I might be the only person alive who remembers the time my Grandma tried to start a family musical tradition. The only people present for the occasion: myself, my Grandma (who’s been dead for six years and who had a failing memory for much longer than that), and my younger cousin who couldn’t have been older than four or five at the time.

I remember it being fall, after school had started but before anyone had started preparing their halloween costumes. Most days the sun still felt as warm as summer in the afternoon but the light had that nostalgic orange glow that it only has in the last third of the year. I think I was spending the night at my Grandma’s house. My cousin was also there, her mom and my dad are siblings. The house was a small, older home, but it was new to my family. My Grandma had sold the stately two story home that my dad and aunt grew up in maybe two years prior, after my grandpa was killed suddenly in a car accident.

I didn’t know this Grandma as well as I knew my mother’s mother (my Granny, I called her) but I wanted to know her, and for her to be proud of me. I think a lot of it was due to my cousin and I both having her in common, and both of us being the only children our ages in the family. My cousin has a much older half-brother, and eventually I had another, much younger cousin on my mom’s side of the family, but at the time, Rachel was one of the only people in my life with whom I shared such a strong, almost sibling bond.

Anyway, I don’t remember much about anything else we might have done that night. I don’t know if we played a boardgame or with any of our toys. I can’t remember what we had for dinner, or if we even ate dinner at Grandma’s at all. However, I do remember Grandma suddenly corralling my cousin and I into her room, her voice more cheerful and excited than I ever remember hearing it either before or since.

“I want the two of you to rehearse those Christmas carols, so you can sing in front of the rest of the family this year.” I remember her saying. The way she worded things, it sounded like there had been previous rehearsals, but if any happened I have no memory of them. Her voice was low in volume, but almost shaking with excitement, like someone sharing a secret, even though in my memory, the three of us were the only ones home. “Let’s start with ‘Away in a Manger’ both of you know that one and it’s not too challenging to sing.”

I did know the song, my other grandmother and mother insisted we to go to church regularly, and while I found most of it boring, I did enjoy the singing more than most things. I shared a glance with my cousin, she was still shorter than me at the time, being younger, and her big innocent eyes and unkempt curled short hair made her seem a bit like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She didn’t know the song. Or at least, she didn’t know the song well enough to sing it by heart on demand.

“Okay, so this one will sound amazing if you two can pull off this two part harmony.” Grandma continued, not registering our panicked exchange as she relayed her master plan. “Rachel, I think you should sing alto since you play piano and have a better ear for music.” My young cousin had been enrolled in piano lessons some time ago. “Melissa,” she continued, using my birth name,”I want you to sing soprano because I think you could at least get the melody right, and hit those high notes.”

I remember my pride stinging at the thought that my cousin, two whole years younger than me, might already be better than me at something. Another part of me felt that uncomfortable ants on chalkboard feeling of wrongness when my grandma pointed out my femininity as my main talent to contribute to this family talent show.

But. Stronger than any of those negative emotions, I felt that urge to do something to make her proud, and that soul deep yearning to be a part of my family’s tradition. We didn’t have too many that I knew of, not like some of my classmates who made grand journeys packed in a car with their many siblings to visit heroic and kind grandparents in exotic and faraway places like New York and Tennessee. Maybe we didn’t yet but this yearly family talent show! It was going to change all of that!

My grandma pointed to a piece of paper in her hand. I can’t remember if it was actually sheet music, or simply the lyrics to the song hand-written on a piece of notebook paper, but she looked from the paper to us with all the poise of the conductor at a grand symphony. “Okay, let’s begin at this tempo, on three.” She nodded, assured that my cousin and I understood her instructions.

She counted up to three, my heart was pounding, this was my chance! “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed!” I belted, pouring all the emotion of every 80s power ballad I’d ever heard into my voice. Rachel joined in, a bit quieter, but trying her best to keep up despite learning or remembering the song as we went, her younger voice in unison with mine. I thought we sounded great! With some practice our parents wouldn’t know what had hit them.

“NO NO NO” my grandma stopped us. “Did you not hear what I said??? Rachel, you’re supposed to sing the alto part. And you aren’t enunciating! I can barely hear what words you’re singing.” She looked at me, “And Melissa, your voice isn’t sweet and light enough, you aren’t getting the emotions we need for the piece.”

“sorry.” Rachel mumbled softly.

“Um, Grandma, How does the… alto... part go?” I asked, trying to help my cousin out, and keep my new dream of our family talent show. “I thought we sounded great.” I added.

“If you’re both singing the same notes, how will anyone tell it apart? Especially with you, Melissa, wailing like a sick cat.” She asked, rhetorically.  “Now Rachel you need to start the song on Do, just like you’re learning in piano lessons” she sang the note, “and Melissa, you need to start on a higher note than you did! On So.” she demonstrated, singing do-re-mi-fa-so.

My mind was reeling. I had no idea that music had so many layers!

“Now, let’s try again.” Grandma said, her tone of voice indicating that she was showing us an abundance of patience with this second chance. Rachel and I glanced at each other, Rachel just shrugged at me. Having spent more of her time with Grandma, she might have been more used to Grandma’s oddities, but I felt dread building deep in my stomach, as I could since my dream barely formed, and yet already fading.

“AWAY IN A MANGER” my cousin and I started again, each picking a random starting note, and repeating the opening verse with even more feeling, which every child knows is expressed by increasing the volume.

“UGH! YOU TWO ARE HOPELESS!” Grandma interrupted again. Her old hands clenched into fists, crumpling up the piece of paper with the key to our star act and tossing it to the floor.

I can’t remember all the details of what happened next.

I remember bursting into tears, of course. I can’t remember if my cousin also cried or not, but I know she hugged me. Grandma might have stayed, or simply left the room to think up a better idea for Christmas in her new house.

----

An older memory flashed bright and vivid in my mind. I was even younger, perhaps Rachel’s age four or even three.

I was in the basement of my parents’ first house. Well, it wasn’t exactly a basement. The side of the room on the front of the house was a bit below ground, but on the back side of the house it had a large sliding glass door. I loved that room. It had plush shag carpet on one side and a big fireplace with a wood stove, and the other side had cool linoleum flooring and my dad’s bar where he kept an extensive collection of beer cans. I couldn’t remember not feeling at home there.

My dad had this guitar. It had a dark chocolate wood finish. The strings made the most beautiful, complex sounds I’d ever heard. I’d found the guitar lying unattended on the light blue carpet and had leaned over to strum the strings. My fingers were very small, and I didn’t know anything about how to play a guitar. So I simply plucked the strings one at a time, and then plucked multiples at once and then all six in quick succession. It wasn’t any song I knew, but just hearing the sounds from the strings vibrating warmly inside the wood gave me this feeling of magic being present and real in my life that I’ve only rarely recaptured. And then…

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Suddenly my father was behind me. Sometimes he was my dad, but the way he was carrying himself, I knew in an instinctual way, it was different. “That’s not how you play a guitar. Stop that.” He yanked his guitar away from me. I remember how small the neck of the guitar looked in his hands compared to mine. Fragile.

“See, you put your fingers of your left hand on the neck, like this.” He shaped his fingers in a funny way. “Then you only PLUCK the strings with your RIGHT hand, like THIS.” he continued, speaking to me as though I was particularly dumb for not already knowing. He ran his hand across the opening in the guitar’s wood. He was gripping the strings in his left hand tightly, and one of the strings made a wooden burring noise when he plucked it. I wondered if the guitar was nervous too.

“FUCK IT, I CAN’T EVEN DO THIS RIGHT ANYMORE. WHAT THE FUCK??” He roared.

I cowered between the coffee table and the couch, from the monster wearing my dad’s face. His reddened blue eyes fell on me, “Why are you hiding over there, are you embarrassed that your dad can’t even play a simple chord?”

I shook my head frantically, NO. I would say whatever he wanted me to.

His eyes took on an even more sinister glint, “Well, I’ll make sure you won’t laugh at me again!”

He threw open the sliding glass door, the glass shaking in its tracks from the excessive force. It was dark outside, and in my memory it was cold, although I’m not sure if it really was, or if I was just shivering.

I saw him raise the guitar above his head, and like it was a scene from a scary movie, I hid my face in the cushions of the couch, peeking now and then and flinching at the sounds of my father bashing his guitar to death against the stones of our small patio that I’d previously associated only with the smells of charcoal and grilling hot dogs.

I remember my mother appearing and yelling at my father for his “childish behavior” and “scaring me” but even though I was happy she might be able to stop the monster, I was still crying because she didn’t have any words of sympathy for the guitar whose strings’ dying music vibrated with pain in the night air.

Then I was back on Grandma’s bed. Rachel was hugging me fiercely, acting the part of the older sister despite her young age, as I told her about the monster. About how I still visited the guitar’s grave, where slowly rotting wooden pieces and gnarled rusted strings were tossed without care into a small heap behind the firewood, with only a light dusting of dried oak leaves to keep it warm at night.

I can’t remember my parents ever taking me to visit my Grandpa’s grave. To this day, I don’t know where he is buried.

“It will be okay!” I remember Rachel saying, offering promises she couldn’t keep in an effort to comfort me, “You can get your own guitar! We’ll keep it here, and I’ll make sure you can get some guitar music so you can learn to play!”

I nodded, hugging her back, but knowing even then that my young cousin didn’t have the power to make her promises a reality. We went into my cousin’s room and I curled into the fetal position on her bed, while my cousin frantically made intricate diagrams of what she imagined guitar music might look like. I remember it looking remarkably similar to the guitar tablature format used by today’s online guitar chord archives, but with more lines and with various shapes of musical notes drawn onto the many strings in her favorite crayon colors.

It was dark outside when my angry father burst into Grandma’s home, something about me telling lies and ruining his and my mother’s night. My mother was there behind him, her lips shut, pulled into a tight frown as she glared between me and my father, upset with the both of us for causing an embarrassing scene. I can’t remember if my aunt was there, or if my Grandma was actually present to hand me off to my parents. I do remember that only Rachel showed any sympathy for my sudden emotions. “It will be okay!” She promised, squeezing my hand before my mother pulled me away into the night, my slightly chubby wrist gripped too tightly in her bony fingers.

My father drove us home. I kept the side of my forehead pressed against the cool rear window of the car as he steered us back to the house. I watched the moon as my parents’ scolded me and each other for snitching about personal family business with others, nevermind if Grandma and Rachel were also family as far as I understood. I tried to remember that feeling I had when I first found the guitar, or when Grandma offered my cousin and I our one chance at Christmas living-room stardom, and wondered if I would ever feel safe and at home like that again.