#i feel like she'd bedazzle everything

[petricorah]

girls being girls [based on that one makeup meme] [id in alt]

[slocumjoe]

Previous relationships

Excluding Curie and X6, as I don't HC them as having experience.

Cait; The other woman's name was Power, a caravan mercenary. She was gruffer than Cait, but quieter. Older, too. Power had been around longer than a lot of fucking people in their circles, but still had the wild-eyed frenzy of youth burning in her almost black eyes. Cait liked her because Power made her feel safe. Power was big and mean and didn't let anyone fuck with Cait, not even Tommy. Even Tommy was on his best behavior when Power was around. Power said she just saw a young woman still figuring herself out. Power said she'd be back one day, with money and guns and she'd take Cait with her. She joined the Minutemen. Only one Minuteman survived Quincy. Power joined the Gunners. She didn't forget Cait, but it was a dog eat dog world. Cait would have to feed herself.

Danse; When he was still a Knight, shortly after Cutler's death, he did everything he could to not look like the mess he truly was. He socialized like anyone else, hid his drinking, spent his few caps on makeup to cover his eye bags and worsening health. Anything to look normal, to look like other young men his age. What they did, often, was talk to civilian ladies and go talk in private. There was one lady in a town he'd been stationed in for a few months. She came up to Danse, first. Her name was Eliza. All they did was talk. She told him all of her secrets, her drunk mother, dead father, little brother she cared for, the bar she worked at, her mishaps in the kitchen. He told her about how he felt like nothing without the Brotherhood, the emptiness behind his armor. He babysat Henry a few times while he was off the clock. Eliza held his hand many nights. He left thinking of marriage, of fatherhood. He still thinks of her freckled hands.

Deacon; Before Barb, there were a few. Sasha sticks out to him. She had bright green hair that was always thinning and falling out, fake teeth she'd made from mongrols, and a knife bedazzled with pink jewels. Deacon saw her across the town and all but ran after her, desperate to know what kind of mechanisms made that clock tick. She was fun incarnate. Sasha had a good spirit about everything, and told Deacon that to really make it in this world, you had to be happy being a fuck-ass loser no one would understand. He broke up with her when he found out she was involved in chem rings with raiders, but it was on good terms. He didn't want to deal with that life, she gave him a hug and told him to live as quietly as he found fun. He thinks very fondly of her. Last he heard, she was a ghoul in Goodneighbor with her own beauty salon.

Gage; By all accounts, Robert was not Gage's type. Unfortunately, Gage has a type, and that type is Fucking Awful. Robert was a rich brahmin baron from a big city who was clean, spoke nicely, dressed nicer, and looked like he walked off one of those old world billboards. That's what he looked like. But he wouldn't have met Gage if he wasn't as black as soot underneath all those shiny bits. Robert had a taste for free labor. Gage's gang at the time was more than willing to help him find it. Occasionally, he paid them to escort him to business deals, be hired muscle. Robert liked Gage immediately, found him smarter and funnier. Took him aside for drinks. Said he'd look good, if he could eat more and put some meat on his bones. Robert kept them hired for years, just to buy Gage steak dinners, just to fuck him once he filled out. Gage liked the meals, but out of all of his partners, would rank Robert as one of the most unsettling people he's ever met.

Hancock; He never got her name, but she was blonde, short, had a foul mouth, and fished off the river for money. He watched her wrestle a mutant fish-thing and fell in love. They had so much public sex, Hancock paid someone to try and figure out how many Boston locals had seen his dick and/or her tits. His name for her was Netty, because she wore fishnets and....well. She fished. With nets. He wrote her poems, she told him to shut up and get between her legs. Netty kept him off chems for a while because she could taste them on his breath and despised the taste. Eventually, Netty told him, naked and beneath the moonlight, that she was going to this old war fishing Hotspot, some place the Americans called Maine. He got a letter months later with fish bones and a lipstick stain, telling him she was getting married to an Atom cultist and asked if he wanted a boat ride up for a threesome. Hancock sent her a letter back, politely declining but wishing her a happy marriage.

MacCready; In Goodneighbor, he occasionally shared a drink with a cute guy named Peter. He was a Triggerman, but had a scrappy charm, nice teeth, and looked good in the suspenders. They hooked up here and there, but mostly they'd just make Kent come out of the Memory Den and talk about comics in the sunlight, playing cards on a bench and debating who was a hotter Mistress of Mystery, or if a certain comic run was good or not. Peter was sweet, and Mac really liked him, both as a friend and as a potential step dad. Peter liked kids, and wanted to meet Duncan. Eventually, Peter fucked up on a job, and the Triggermen didn't kill him, but ran him out of town. MacCready heard he was up in Bunker Hill last, and still occasionally thinks about rekindling that friendship. He knows Kent took the loss real hard.

Nick; Despite his hang ups with his current body, a man's desires are not so easily swayed. Nick has a type. That type walked into Diamond City with a sway in the hips, a cig on his lips, and a well-kept mustache. He was a cattle rustler, a cowboy for local farms. His name was Derek. He heard about Nick and came to see the metal man for himself. Derek was quick to say he didn't look bad at all, no, he was rather easy to look at. Said his eyes reminded him of the orangest part of a sunset. Nick weighed his options, if he was truly willing to drop his pants for someone he met 10 minutes ago. He said no. Derek stuck around and quickly proved to be a good guy. Nick dropped his pants the second proposition. For a farmhand, Derek knew his way around robots. Nick blames it on too many years since his last horizontal-tango, but still heats up when he thinks about the encounter.

Piper; Fell for a male stripper in Goodneighbor and still questions her sanity. She was ovulating, okay? And he was kind, and was patient when she fumbled with her caps and told her she was just fine, and played with her hair while he sat by her, and...Piper has a soft spot. That soft spot is hot people who just stare at her and smile while she embarasses herself. He was ghoul, his name was Garret and he smelled like expired floral perfume, but God damn it, Piper likes expired floral perfume. They were mostly just fuck buddies, but Piper genuinely thought he was fucking hilarious. He was a pre-war pastor and a lot to say on the matter, though his opinions pickled over the years. Garret sends her letters about hot gossip or useful info regularly.

Preston; met a dominatrix for pay. Preston is not a very sexual person. He doesn't have a lot of libido. Queenie liked that, a lot. She liked being able to just talk and talk, and not have to worry about sex at the end of it. Preston thought she was fascinating, having met so many people through her work and seen such weird sides of them. You brought up any topic, Queenie had a story for it. And she was killer at tailoring and sewing, so she patched up his gear while she rambled about how one of her clients got married, again, and how his new wife tried to kill her, and how she had to fend her off with a sack of potatoes. She was constantly flustered and baffled, once her work-mask slipped off, and her turns of phrase were hilarious. Once the Minutemen get rebuilt, Preston got a letter, telling him she'd become a professional tailor, now, asking if the new General needed someone who knew her way around the uniform.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Danger Force Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 1

Episode 12: Down Goes Santa Part 1

Season 1 Masterlist

Click for vibes

Word count : 16K

Pulling into the drive-thru at Nacho Ball – the close one, not the nice one – Ray glanced across at his sweet girl and smiled.

She didn't look much different from usual, staring absentmindedly at her PearPhone's lock screen, which incidentally happened to be a selfie of them looking sun-kissed in Hawaii. As he drove the Man Truck, she played as his passenger seat, and something about her aura made the hero's heart melt.

With Christmas on the horizon, (y/n) didn't have time to stop running around here, there, and everywhere because it was the most wonderful time of the year, and nothing could make her sad. Even if it left her slightly frazzled, clutching a never-ending to-do list, she was bringing all the festive cheer to her little family at home – the very first they would share in the Man's Nest. 

In the light of the neon sign of their favourite, greasy takeout, Ray thought she looked adorable, all wrapped up in a fluffy sweater, warm boots, fingerless mittens, and a gentle smile. Plus, her favourite jeans – the ones that made her ass look great. 

His beloved wife was the picture of Christmas cosiness; he never let her forget it. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Aw, thanks, doofus!" The woman grinned as she looked at him with snowflakes still trapped in her hair from the flurry outside. "It's my new sweater!"

"I can tell. New one every year, huh?" He didn't need to ask. 

Ray knew her traditions better than anyone. Always a new sweater, plus a new dress for the new year. Everyone had to have a stocking, which would undoubtedly be personalised and filled to the brim. They decorated the tree together – no exceptions. A holiday  was practically compulsory, and she always switched her cherry chapstick to gingerbread or cinnamon. 

He could time the changes like clockwork, watching as his life became sparkly, merry, and peppermint-scented in two weeks. 

"It's Christmas, Ray," answered (y/n), squirming excitedly in her seat as she looked out across Swellview, smiling at the twinkling lights and decorated trees on every street corner. "I'm allowed to treat me. And you. And everyone I know."

Her answer made her husband chuckle, her happiness making him happy as he rested his hand on her upper thigh – the other on the steering wheel. "Don't I know it. We bought out half the mall."

He glanced at her feet, between them, and then, over his shoulder, like he could see the open trailer behind them. He shook his head at the dozens of bags they had from too many stores to count, although he'd get a complete list on his crying bank statement next month. The man had only himself to blame, following behind her like a lost puppy, carrying everything she purchased – with the black card he gave her. 

"It's worth it to see people's faces when they open their presents."

"Uh-huh. Sure." He didn't sound convinced. 

Eyeing him, (y/n) giggled, shuffling as close as the bags allowed and hugging his arm to her fluff-covered chest. She'd gone a little crazy during the shopping spree, spending way more than she'd originally planned, and her tummy tingle still wasn't sure if nunchucks were a good idea for Chapa. 

She didn't know, but the girl would get them, anyway. It was the season of giving, and if Miles had a silk yoga mat, then a little weapon would do no harm. Hopefully. 

Staring up at Ray's handsome visage, she admired him silently, enjoying every inch from his crystalline eyes to the tip of his nose. His shirt might have been plain and boring – not all bedazzled and merry like hers – but God, it made his muscles look fantastic, and since no one was around, she had no shame feeling them up. 

"You're such a grumpy grinch, doofus," she said, poking her lover's cheek as the car inched forward in the queue. "A...groofus, or a doonch."

"Come on, darlin'," Ray replied as he laughed at her antics, although he had to disagree. "It's not like I hate Christmas."

She quirked an eyebrow at him – the one sans festive sweater – appearing entirely unconvinced. "Oh, yeah?" 

"'Course not!" The hero exclaimed, keeping one eye on the vehicle in front as he squeezed the soft, squishy flesh of her leg. "There's one thing I love about it."

Judging by the grin slowly spreading across her pretty features, (y/n) already knew. Of course, she did. It was her favourite thing, too, but she loved to hear him say it—loved to be reminded that Christmas, above all else, was especially important for them. 

"Which is?"

"I got to kiss you for the first time on Christmas Eve." Her squeal was music to Ray's ears.

He might have been remarkably calm about it – not one to sing and dance about some dumb holiday – but deep down, he was painfully nostalgic, smiling from ear to ear. 

His chest felt fluttery and tingly at the thought, remembering how his tummy flip-flopped when he tasted those honeyed lips for the first time. And there he was, sitting so many years later beside the same girl, only she was his wife now—not just his desperately loved, endlessly pined-for, requited, unrequited crush. 

"Can you believe it's gonna be our fifth kissaversary?" (y/n) asked with a dreamy sigh, breaking him from his thoughts, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Feels like yesterday, sweet girl," the hero answered, and despite knowing better, he longed to pull her into his lap – make up for all those lost years. "...You sure I can't tempt you into a little...?"

Upon noticing his pursed lips, she pushed him away, shaking her head firmly, even if she craved a kiss just as much as him. Everything felt slightly colder when they didn't sit hip-to-hip, but the temptation was too much. "No, Raymond! You know the rules!"

Ray pouted at that, hoping she'd live a little – just for once. It would be worth the wait once the hour struck twelve, but he couldn't wait that long. "Stupid rules..." 

He didn't know what was worse – waiting so long to date her or being denied her kisses for one whole day every Christmas. How could he have a taste of heaven and then  to give it up? 

Huffing heavily, the hero steeled himself, gripping the wheel so hard it might break as the line finally moved, allowing him to concentrate on what they'd come for. It was early evening, they'd been shopping, the refrigerator at home was solely for the turkey and trimmings, and they were hungry.

They approached to the drive-thru window, and Ray stuck his head out into the snow. He didn't mind; he'd order the entire menu for his sweet girl if she wanted it, and the kid standing before him looked like a pubescent idiot. Or just a teenager working part-time. It was the same thing to grumpy, old him. 

"Hi, sir. What can I get for you today?" The girl asked, smiling like she was dying inside, and (y/n), who craned her neck to smile back, didn't blame her. This was the close one, after all. 

"I don't know. Can you get me something that makes time go faster so I can kiss my wife again?" He asked dryly, rolling his eyes at the grating cheeriness of everything.

Yet, the girl stared at him blankly, not understanding his sarcastic wit as she twiddled her thumbs. "Sir, this is a Nacho Ball."

"Fine." He said nothing else – made no more jokes. They never worked on everyone except his wife.  "I'll have two Cheesy Nacho Sacks with—"

"One soda! Two straws!" The heroine said in the background, rubbing her hands together and chuckling like an evil mastermind.

"One large soda, I guess." Ray stroked his chin thoughtfully, not one to argue with his pretty girl. His drinks were her drinks; that fact he had just accepted. "Oh, and onion rings! My incredibly hot wife, by the way, loves onion rings."

The girl blinked slowly, her mouth set straight as she stared at the odd man at her window. She was a lowly worker with little energy to deal with weirdos like him, even if they were a cute couple. Glancing between the guy and woman in the car, she pointed to the next hatch along, unfazed by his blatant showboating. 

"Just pull forward to the next window to pay, sir."

The hero did as she said, muttering his thanks with a slight scowl. The Man Truck crept forward, hindered only by the car in front, and the constant waiting irked him more. Ray hated how drive-thrus weren't speedy– fast food, his butt.

He turned to his sweet girl, hoping for love, affection, or anything else to occupy his mind in the boring line when he noticed how her shoulders shook. She pressed her hand to her mouth and giggled silently, trying not to be seen by him. 

"What?" He asked cluelessly, wondering what was so funny.

(y/n) couldn't explain, merely bemused by how brazenly he said such silly things – and to complete strangers. Her ears and cheeks burned from the laughter and his shameless flirting, and she felt a little embarrassed to know a random teenager was aware of her hotness. "You're such a doofus, doofus."

"Huh? Why?" And his obliviousness was adorable. 

"Nothing," said the heroine, leaning close to him as she patted his knee and flashed him a warm smile. 

Silence fell over the car, with only car horns on the freeway and distant carol singing a few streets over. It was peaceful—it was nice, and Ray sighed contently, intertwining their fingers and thudding his skull on the headrest. In a moment of rare solitude, he was happy to just be with his beloved wife in that car when— 

"Hey!" 

He sat bolt upright, all twitchy and awake, as a buzzing, beeping noise reached his ears. "What?"

"Emergency alert!" (y/n) exclaimed as she grabbed her phone and saw the red alert on the screen. They looked at his watch, too, and saw the emergency signal – how Ray missed it was beyond them, but they didn't have time to think about that. 

"Oh, sh—" The man muttered, stopping his foot just before he instinctively slammed on the gas. There was nowhere to go, not with about fourteen other hungry vehicles in the way and no takeover lane. He could honk all he wanted; they weren't budging. "We gotta leave!"

His wife put her hand on his arm, ceasing his panic as she slumped in her seat and rubbed her forehead. "Well, we can't move forward! The line is taking forever, and we haven't paid!"

"I won't tell if you don't, sweetheart..." Ray said suggestively, his gaze darting to the next window as he debated how mad the Nacho Ball people would be. Perhaps if he used his Captain Man authority...

"We are not stealing, Ray." There went his plan, and he thumped his fists against the dashboard, gritting his teeth in frustration. 

But (y/n) quickly soothed him, imitating a motion that encouraged him to take a deep breath. As ever, she was rational and calm, unbothered by the traffic before them – or that's what she kept telling herself. 

"It's fine. I'm sure that whatever is happening, the kids can handle it until we get there."

Ray said nothing, but he wasn't so sure. Had she forgotten the last time they sent those miscreants out on their behalf? The result was pure chaos and humiliation. 

All he could do was squeeze her hand and hope for the best, bouncing his leg up and down as he sent kids to do a Captain Man's job. If they were lucky, they wouldn't have to scrape a Danger Force-like jelly off the walls when they arrived.  

"Yeah, like that's ever happened before."

~The Man's Nest~

After beating the endless holiday traffic and parking the Man Truck, the couple raced through the winding corridors of their home. 

The presents would be safe in the car, and right now, Ray and (y/n) were more concerned about whatever crime or horror needed their attention. At last, they made it to the main room, skidding along the waxed floors as young voices reached their ears; it sounded like the kids, at least, managed to get there before them. 

"Santa—delivers presents—girls and boys—the world—" They overheard snippets of the conversation, with none of it making sense, not that Ray stopped to think about why they'd be talking about the Big Man himself. 

(y/n) could barely keep up with his long strides, thankful she had his hand to clutch and pull her along. Her little legs ran after his as they stormed toward the metal door, passing through it to see a peculiar sight.

"—and a magic bag of presents that never goes empty, and his reindeer—"

"What's the emergency?" The hero asked as they burst through the door, looking flushed and breathless from all the running. 

Three pairs of eyes turned to them, blinking in surprise at the sudden entrance. The woman smiled at Miles, Mika, and Bose, glad to see them all right, although they'd been caught unaware, too, judging by their pyjamas. Chapa sat in a fancy, leather-backed armchair, scowling over the pages of a thick book in her...unusually festive attire. 

"Sorry, we're late. We got stuck in the drive-thru line at Nacho Ball," explained (y/n) as she dropped her husband's hand to dab at her warm, slightly sweaty forehead. "I think some jerk just left in the middle of his shift—didn't even give us our food!"

They didn't need to know Bose's secret. The kid tossed his headset behind his back, awkwardly avoiding eye contact as he tucked the wire and microphone under the cushion he sat on. And now (y/n) had a minute to think, she noticed they were all sitting on the floor, listening to Chapa...like a cult. 

"Er...what's going on here?"

The girl just looked up at her with a weirdly happy grin, almost making her look cute and cuddly. Neither Ray nor (y/n) would tell her that, and the man hooked an arm around his sweet girl's waist, not liking why the psycho one was being so nice. 

"Nice to see you're appropriately dressed, (y/n/n)," said Chapa sweetly from underneath her novelty reindeer antlers before she glanced at Ray. "Grab a sweater. I'm reading a Christmas story."

Suddenly, the hero understood, smirking and leaning his weight on the back of the chair. "Oh...you guys wanna hear a Christmas story?"

"Ray..." His wife answered warningly as the children shook their heads. They were more than content with the one Chapa was reading, and undoubtedly, whatever he had planned would be wildly ridiculous. 

"Sit. Just sit." But, of course, he ignored what everyone had to say. 

Grabbing a chunky-knit sweater – the garish, strangely itchy one his sweet girl bought him – Ray sauntered to the armchair, tugging the woollen garment over his head. He looked so handsome and cosy in it, the blue and red really bringing out his eyes, even if the heroine still wasn't sure if an eagle was Christmassy. 

"When I was a kid..." he began, making the kids roll their eyes, "I heard all the traditional Christmas stories, but there's a lot more to Christmas than what they teach you in schools."

"Do you know how air quotes work?" Miles asked, watching with his chin propped on his palms as the man quoted every other word – for no reason, as far as he could tell. 

Ray just glared at him, disliking the unnecessary interruption. "Yes. Move it."

"What? No!" Chapa stared at him in confusion, although it rapidly descended into disgust when the man wiggled his butt into her armchair. Given the steaming cup of hot cocoa in her hand, it was difficult to hold her ground, but she tried, resisting his attempts to force her out as (y/n) facepalmed. 

"Get out of my seat! There you go!"

"Raymond!" The woman grumbled, shaking her head exasperatedly when her husband slid into the chair, forcing the poor girl onto the floor. She was instantly by her side, taking the cup from her as Chapa adjusted herself to sit on the cold, hard floor, glaring at her teacher. 

"What have I told you about doing that?!"

"No, sweet girl! Come sit with me!" Ray whined as he relaxed against the plush leather, watching with a deep frown when his wife went to kneel beside the miscreant. 

Making grabby hands toward her, he pulled the woman toward his vast bulk, encouraging her to sit on his knee while leaving the children to sit beneath them, where they belonged. 

"I don't think—" (y/n) didn't have much of a choice. He swept her legs over the chair's arm and allowed her to lean into his shoulder, smiling at how he could hold her close, even if it made her feel a little bashful. 

"Now!" Ray said happily, blissfully ignorant of Danger Force's flat expressions. "You guys wanna hear The Real Story of Christmas?"

They didn't, but he wasn't much of a listener as always. To their shock and mild horror, the man reached behind himself, searching for something under his butt before he yanked a book from beneath the cushion. 

(y/n) stared at it with a perplexed face, noting its similar size and thickness to Chapa's, so he couldn't have hidden it in his pocket or stuffed up his shirt without her noticing. "Where the hell were you hiding that?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets, darlin'," Ray replied with a cunning smirk, booping her nose. There was nothing in their rules about kissing her forehead, so he did, taking  he could get as he cracked open the big, green book. 

He rested it on her leg, allowing them both to see the large, fancy text and vividly rich illustrations. If their affection made the kids gag, they practically vomited when he licked his fingertips, using the moisture for extra grip as he turned to chapter one. Remind them never to touch any of his books again. 

"A long time ago, on a little planet, I like to call...Earth, Mother Nature and Father Time got married, kissed, and had two boys."

(y/n) giggled at that, touching the picture of an elderly man shaking hands with his presumably beautiful, young wife. "Is that how babies are made, doofus?"

"Well, I could demonstrate the proper technique to you later..." he replied with a suggestive smirk, his face so close to hers that their noses nudged together. The kids groaned, scrunching up their faces and gagging, although it was a relief when the heroine steadfastly refused the near kiss. 

"What has this got to do with Christmas?" Asked Mika as she interrupted their little, lovey-dovey moment, and the hero gave her a flat look. 

"Next questioner owes me ten push-ups!" Said Ray curtly, and the girl firmly shut her mouth. Even if (y/n) whacked his shoulder and told him to be nice, Ray wasn't buying it, turning his grumpy frown back to his storybook. 

"One boy was generous and jolly. The other was hot and fun."

Chapa tilted her head in confusion, not knowing where the guy was going with his story, as she raised her hand—forgetting what he'd just commanded. "Was the jolly one named Santa Claus?"

"Yes, and that's ten push-ups." Ray pointed to the cold, empty floor, and a frustrated grunt left the girl's mouth. She reluctantly did as she was told – rolling over onto her hands and knees as the story continued. 

"And his brother was named...Krampus!"

An electric guitar sting sounded when the doofus said that accursed name, suiting his grungy, emo persona in the book. Yet, everyone couldn't help but look up, wondering where the music came from, until they saw Schwoz across the room. 

He riffed on a classic red guitar, strumming the strings like a true rock as his fingers danced on the fretboard. Ray, however, didn't see it like that – he hated anyone being cooler than him.  

"Quiet, Schwoz! I'm trying to tell a story!"

The genius just pouted, stroking the guitar's neck like its feelings had been hurt. "But I  to practice my guitar at this very moment!"

Ray groaned and rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue with the fuzzy weirdo. His sweet girl's loving kiss on his cheek helped, melting his grumpiness and practically making him putty in her hand. 

"Ugh, fine! But only play when it makes sense in my story."

"You got it, boss!" Schwoz replied happily, glad the hero was as smitten as ever on their kissaversary – he never forgot about the tradition. He turned his attention back to his guitar and couldn't stop playing another sick solo, creating the perfect soundtrack as Ray turned a page. 

"One year, Mother Nature was going to give Krampus a jet ski for Christmas, but on Christmas Eve, Krampus took Father Time's El Camino without permission and went to an Ugly Kid Joe concert at Red Rocks."

"—Excuse me." Miles butted in, appearing thoroughly lost after his teacher said something about a jet ski, and honestly, (y/n) was with him. "When exactly does this story take place?"

"Long ago!" Answered Ray, angrily sliding his finger across the hardback cover, where it said just that in an elegant, metallic, gold font. "And you owe me ten, friend!"

"No, but for real, doof..." his sweet wife said, comfortingly rubbing her hand against his chest, her head falling against his shoulder. "How old are these characters?"

As Miles accepted his fate, Ray smiled at the heroine and poked a finger under her chin. He looked so lovestruck, but maybe that was a ploy. "You look real pretty today, darlin'..."

(y/n) felt her ears warm and glanced away, knowing it was his favourite diversionary tactic, second only to stealing her breath with a kiss. But that couldn't happen, so Ray went for the next best, allowing himself no more than a peck on her forehead before his eyes burned into the book once more. 

"Anyway... So, Father Time gave the jet ski to Santa Claus instead. In fact, Krampus didn't get anything that year. Or any other year. Then, Krampus spent the next one thousand years on the naughty list."

"Aw..." (y/n) muttered, feeling kinda bad for this Krampus guy. Even Bose gasped at such a terrible thing, but the childish tale easily enraptured him. Miles, though, not so much. 

"The math of this story does not add up," said the kid as he lay on his belly, his arms too squishy and pathetic to do a single press-up. Still, he tried, summoning all his strength to lift himself off the floor, no matter how much it hurt. "Two..."

Ignoring him, Ray snuggled a little closer to his beloved wife, enjoying the fluffiness of her sweater as he turned yet another page. "Krampus was so cheesed off with his family, he ran away from home to the desert, somewhere out of...San Bernardino."

That made everyone retch – from Chapa to Bose to Mika – disgusted at the idea of  to such a hole. not been there per se, but  heard stories of clamping their hands over their mouths to keep the vomit in.  

"That's right. For thousands of years, Krampus drank Deadbull energy drinks in San Bernardee-sgusting and grew jealous of Santa Claus. He also grew two weird horns because of all the Deadbulls."

"You know, Miles is right, doofus," said (y/n), tilting her gaze up at her handsome lover, "this timeline is weird."

The man just gave her a pouty frown, hating how she fell in line with the miscreants. Pinching her chin between his forefinger and thumb, Ray sighed, wondering if he'd ever get to the end of the book. 

"Normally, I'd ask for a kiss as punishment for interrupting, sweet girl..." he mumbled, steeling himself when he nearly dipped his head. She quickly looked away, hugging him a little tighter as if that was any substitute, and Ray forced himself to focus – he just needed to think about things other than kissing. 

If only it were that simple for a guy who thought of very little else. 

"The jealousy turned him into a powerful demon—a twisted, annoying, anti-Santa, who hated his brother and everything about Christmas." 

"Where did you get this book?" Asked Mika, who couldn't help but question the disturbing tale, even if it meant she'd get her favourite festive sweater all...sweaty. "And I'll take my answer as I do push-ups."

"I got it from the truth store! Because it's all true!" The hero replied angrily, gritting his teeth as the girl rolled onto her belly like her brother. A gentle hand stroked his chest, and he calmed down a little, but why did children have to be so irritatingly curious?

"Then, one day, in the mid-nineties, Krampus lured his brother to the desert with promises of fish tacos, motocross, and illegal fireworks. But! When he arrived, all he found was his angry demonbrother, whose very touch can turn even the goodest of boy and girls into Christmas-hating dill-weeds..."

"Three!" No one knew what was more concerning: Ray's weirdly scary story or Miles as he strained and panted through his push-ups. Chapa refused to do hers, listening to the lurid tale, and even she, Swellview's top hater, hated the sound of this Krampus guy. 

If anyone was a dill-weed, it was him. 

"Santa and Krampus fought an epic battle in the ruins of San Bernardino's once mighty outlet malls," Ray continued, deepening his voice for dramatic effect. The rumbling of his chest made (y/n) squirm, burying her face further into his shoulder as he stroked her hair. 

"But Santa defeated his brother and locked him inside an abandoned clothing called Punk Function that sold nothing but boot-cut jeans, giant belt buckles, thumb rings, trucker hats, and long-sleeved t-shirts with flames on them."

Each hideous item drew more horrified gasps from the kids, who pictured dweeby millennials and outdated styles. They weren't sure if they liked this story, even if Santa was the victor.

"Some say that Krampus is still in that Punk Function outside of San Bernardino, biding his time, waiting for a chance to strike back at his brother and destroy Christmas...forever. And to all, a good night."

"Wow, Ray..." said (y/n) dryly once the book snapped shut. She looked up and saw her husband's beaming smile, thoroughly pleased with himself for traumatising their young wards with such a ridiculous story, but she had to admit...damn, he looked cute. 

"Nice story."

"I don't believe any of that, (y/n/n)," answered Miles as he abandoned his work-out punishment. Using his floppy arms, he stood up and shuffled over to his smug teacher, who glanced up from nuzzling his wife's neck with his ever-grumpy scowl. 

For a long moment, Ray glared at him, saying nothing. He acted like nothing was wrong, cradling the girl in his arms like a baby until he lulled the boy into a false sense of security. By the time Miles grimaced at their blatant affection, he was already a goner. 

"KRAMPUS TOUCH!" The doofus yelled, reaching over his wife to swipe at the kid, and to his delight, it worked. 

Miles fell onto his butt, screaming like a terrified little girl as he scrambled to get away—just in case he got Krampused. He didn't want to become a mean, taco-eating loser, and if it meant he had to endure a few teasing heckles, he wasn't ashamed. 

"Raymond!" (y/n), however, was not impressed. 

Her adorkable idiot may have found it hilarious, holding his abs from laughing so hard, but she nearly fell on the floor. Whacking his arm, she gave him a firm stare, feeling how her spooked heart pounded against her ribcage, and she didn't even get the full fright. 

"Schwoz, will you stop playing that stupid guitar?!"

"Oh, come on, sweet girl! It was comedy gold!" Ray chuckled, smooching against her cheek as she wiggled to get away. His hold was like iron whilst the genius across the room played on, regardless of her warning, and she could only offer the poor children a sorry smile. 

"Did you see his face? I got him good!"

"I'll get you good!" She replied sharply, pointing a finger under his chin once she finally prised their bodies apart. "If you're naughty, there'll be no kissaversary for you!"

That made his grin fall flat. Ray blinked in surprise, fisting the wool over his heart at the idea of being denied such a sweet, tender thing...and he was already dying at the thought of waiting. "But that's the best part of Christmas..."

"You need to behave, then," said (y/n), saying no more about it as she gently patted his cheek and took his huge hand into hers. 

"Yes, dear..." 

He had no choice but to follow, and the kids watched from their cushions as the heroine tugged her doofus out of the room – back through the door they came in from. At least if he were out of sight, he would do no harm, and they sat in silence—only occasionally broken by the sound of Schwoz tinkering on his strings. 

"Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?" Chapa asked after a beat, looking at her friends perplexedly. 

"Why did she marry that man-child?" Answered Miles sourly, as he still felt the heat on his cheeks from his embarrassing tumble. 

Deep down, he knew why (y/n) forever tied herself to the doofus – something about love and longing, and he was actually a sweetheart underneath all his faults. It made him want to be sick, pounding his fists into a rogue pillow, pretending it was the hero's indestructible face. 

"No..." Chapa shook her head. 

Mika looked at her curiously, tilting her head, and not just because Bose chewed his own fingers beside her. "Then, what?" 

"What the hell is a kissaversary?"

~

The following evening, (y/n) walked into the Man's Nest with Schwoz by her side, her usual spring in her step since it was only a handful of hours until the clock struck Christmas Day. 

Still clad in her fluffy sweater, she and the genius were surprised to see three-quarters of Danger Force in the room when they entered. More so to see their frankly laughable efforts to cheer up the sorry décor they had going on. 

Mika was appalled at The Nest's lack of Christmas tree, garlands, tinsel, glitter, fake snow—you name it, it wasn't around. To say the woman loved the holiday season, she was letting the side down, having not even lifted a finger to pin a single sprig of holly anywhere. There was no wonder Chapa was skulking around like Miss Misery-guts. 

Where was the Christmas magic? Well, Mika was bringing it. Sort of. 

"What is that pathetic shrub doing in my home?" Asked (y/n) jokingly as she approached the kids, leaving Schwoz to tinker with a special little doohickey. 

The girl did not look impressed, standing over the world's tiniest Christmas tree. Aiming for a winter wonderland, she'd hung tiny baubles on the branches and found a small, silver star as the centrepiece. It could've looked nice—if it didn't look so tragic. 

"It's Mika's Christmas tree," answered Bose, although he couldn't say much more with his happy, go-lucky optimism, watching as it drooped under the star's weight. 

"Well, if you replant it now, it might be the proper height this time next year," said the heroine, which only drew a weak, unsure smile from poor Mika. 

She tangled her fingers together, trying to see the bright side because at least she'd tried. It made her want to sob, but she'd tried to be nice. "Okay, yeah, this isn't much, but I think Chapa will appreciate us trying to Christmas up the Man's Nest a little bit."

"I don't know..." replied Bose, shrugging his shoulders, "that tree's a beater."

"But it's our beater!" Miles told him – as supportive of his twin as ever. "Besides, it's not like you've exactly gone ham on the decorations this year, (y/n/n)."

He looked at his friend, who could only clear her throat when she heard Schwoz behind her. The kids took no notice of him, and the doohickey—a weird, glowing orb that kind of looked like a kooky snowglobe—as they were too busy giving her daggers. 

"I'm just starting a little late this year," she replied, folding her arms whilst trying not to giggle at the wilting tree. 

"All our old decorations got blown up in the Man Cave, so we had to buy new ones. Honestly, me and Ray have been so busy—we nearly forgot our kissaversary!"

Glancing at each other, the kids silently nominated Mika to be the one to ask. Seriously, they searched that on the web and everything, but nothing came up, not even when Chapa trawled the slang dictionaries. 

"Yeah, we've been meaning to ask you about that." The girl swayed a little awkwardly, fiddling with her fingers. "What exactly is a kissaversary?"

"Oh, yeah! You weren't there..." (y/n) smiled warmly, although she looked a little melancholy, too. This would be her first Christmas in five years without her other babies – the ones who catalysed her fledging relationship. 

"Well, Ray and I had our first kiss at midnight under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. We were in jail, we looked up, and there it was... So, he kissed me."

"Aw!" Mika cooed, a hand over her heart at the romance of it all. She had no idea their story was so sweet; of course, Ray hadn't stopped kissing her since, but under the grossness, she'd always been a massive Captain Man-Miss Danger shipper. 

Yet, her brother frowned and interrupted, holding a hand up as the girls sighed dreamily. "Hang on...did you say jail?"

"Long story..." The heroine chuckled nervously, knowing she'd need at least twenty-two minutes to explain it again. They just had to be there to understand it, but she still smiled brightly when she remembered how soft and warm her then-crush's lips were...

"And that's when Ray asked you out?" Mika questioned, bouncing up and down in her eagerness to lap up every juice detail of their relationship. 

"But I thought there were muffins when you and Ray started dating..." Bose muttered, his two brain cells working for once because he could swear he'd heard that story. He rubbed his forehead, trying to put two and two together as (y/n) laughed. 

"Again...long story," she told him, waving off his concerns before his overworked brain began smoking. "All you need to know is that every year, me and Ray don't kiss each other until midnight because it's the anniversary of our first kiss—our kissaversary."

"That's dumb, but I can get behind it," said Miles, thinking perhaps the childish hero had a soul. 

He was annoying and immature for a man on the brink of his forties, but his love for the sweet girl before them was genuine. It made his sister all doe-eyed and most lovelorn, eyes sparkling at the thought of one day having even a fraction of that love, and momentarily, she looked down at her tree through rose-tinted glasses.

"You know what?" Said Mika, the same wobbly, unsure smile returning to her face. "Christmas isn't just about trees or decorations. If (y/n/n)'s story has taught us anything—"

She never got the chance to convince herself, let alone the others. 

After twiddling a button on his glowing doohickey, Schwoz tossed it into the air, blinding the unsuspecting kids when it exploded in a burst of bright, white, glittery magic. Everything felt scorching hot for half a second before the temperature dropped to just right – not too cold like the snow outside, but just warm enough to feel cosy.

The scent of gingerbread, peppermint, and vanilla filled their noses, and the children opened their eyes to see the greatest of Yuletide's miracles. The Man's Nest looked like Santa's Grotto, much to Schwoz and (y/n)'s smug smirks. 

They hadn't been idle. Thanks to the genius' complicated, inexplicable technology, twinkling lights now snaked around every post, pillar, and ceiling beam; tinsel and garlands twisted around the tube and doorways; and a tall, silvery tree stood proudly in the middle of the room, decorated to absolute perfection. It made Mika's shrub look puny, seemingly radiating pure joy and warm light, even when the sparkles settled. 

"This is so much better!" Unafraid to admit it, she squealed when she saw the presents around the tree's skirt and elf and snowflake-shaped ornaments strewn around the room.

"I could not love this more!" Miles agreed, punching his fist into his palm as he inhaled the rich, heavy spices – cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg – all that Christmassy stuff. 

Bose giggled, feeling as giddy as a little kid as he sneered at their old tree. He couldn't believe they'd considered showing to Chapa. "This tree is the worst!"

"I hate this stupid tree!" (y/n) loved their reactions, a grin on her pretty face upon seeing their unfiltered joy, but watching Mika kick the shrub to a shadowy, unknown corner was a little extreme. 

"What did that tree ever do to you?" She asked jokingly, chuckling when the girl hid her warm cheeks behind her hands, feeling embarrassed. 

"I just hope  alive until Christmas!" Bose noted, gazing upon the silver tree longingly. 

He remembered last year when all the trees in Swellview withered and died, but he didn't have to worry. Miles gave him a side-eye glance, knowing the shining silver wasn't real, and even if it was... "It's Christmas Eve, man."

"It is?!"

"Kinda says it on every calendar in the world, Bosey," (y/n) said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder when the boy ran his fingers through his long, luscious locks. He swore it crept up on him every year. 

"But I haven't told Santa what I want!" The boy whined, visibly distraught since he believed in everything magical – even the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny. 

But, surprisingly, Schwoz stepped forward to comfort him, flashing an easy-going smile as he sauntered past the kids. "Well, the Big Man will be here in a few. You can tell him yourself."

"The Big Man?" Bose gasped excitedly, hardly breathing and shaking as the handyman gave him a strange look. "You mean, Shaq?"

"No, he means Santa. Saint Nic. Fat man in a red suit," answered (y/n), despite having been sworn to secrecy many years ago. 

The revelation forced ecstatic squeals from her students, who grabbed her hands and tugged on her arms, begging to know if Schwoz was fibbing. "Like, Santa-Santa?"

"The actual Santa Claus?" The Macklin Twins asked squeakily, their voices so high that only dogs could hear them. Mika latched onto her friend, shaking the woman desperately until she took her trembling hands and gestured for her to calm down. 

"Is coming to town?! Don't tease us now, (y/n/n)!"

"He'll be here in five..." Schwoz told them, allowing the children to pile on the poor heroine – as long as it wasn't him getting smothered by their excitement. 

"Schwoz tunes up his sleigh every year before Christmas," her muffled voice said from underneath the heap of bodies, although she'd never thought to push them away. 

She'd give them one if they wanted one of her snuggly hugs – made even better by her sweater. "Sometimes, he lets me help!"

The genius smirked at her praise, glowing whenever someone recognised his talents. For that, maybe he'd let her varnish the paintwork again this year. "How do you kids think he makes it around the whole world in one night?"

"I thought it was his reinde—"

"DO NOT SAY IT'S HIS REINDEER! IT IS NOT HIS REINDEER! HIS REINDEER DID NOT INVENT A POSITRONIC FUEL INJECTOR!"

(y/n) probably should've warned them. The kids leapt off her upon hearing the typically mild-mannered man's outburst, cowering behind the woman who'd heard it all before; Schwoz and his complex about reindeer were something to behold. 

"Temper, temper..." she scolded him softly, patting Bose on the head to show the boy that it was all okay now. The mean man wouldn't shout again, well, as long as no one mentioned the R-word. 

"Schwoz..." Miles muttered softly, tentatively approaching the fuming handyman like he would a wild animal. "Did you invent a positronic fuel injector?"

He pursed his lips, looking slightly calmer but no less sour. "Maybe..."

"And I'm sure Santa is very grateful," said (y/n), giving Danger Force a look as if to say, no one mention reindeer again. She had enough fragile egos to deal with. "As am I for your help getting the Man's Nest decorated in less than five seconds."

Her kindness brought a smile to Schwoz's face. His bashful gaze turned downward, and his hands were deep in his pockets. At least someone appreciated his work, but he never got to thank her in return. 

Suddenly, a gentle, tinkling melody filled the air, sounding like raindrops falling on piano keys, and it had the kids standing up straight. They knew that sweet chime, gasping in excitement when it only grew nearer and louder. 

"The Corn Lady!" They yelled together, already smelling the buttery goodness that came with Swellview's famous Christmas corn. All warm and grilled—they had to get some for tradition's sake, but only one person had money. 

"(Y/N)!" They huddled around her again, clawing and pawing at her body as they tried to drag her and her wallet to the door. "The Corn Lady is down there in her Corn Truck!"

"Please, buy us some corn from The Corn Lady's Corn Truck!" Bose begged, literally falling to his knees and pressing his palms together as he gazed up at the bemused woman. 

"Pleaseeee! The Corn Lady's Corn Truck has the best corn! Pleeeeeeeassseeee!" Mika turned on her charm offensive, batting her eyelashes and cosying up to her friend's side, hoping she'd get through to that kind, tender heart – the one that melted even Captain Man's frostiness. 

"We'll love you forever..."

Listening to the truck's jingle outside, (y/n) didn't even have to think about their request, nor did they have to beg. Like she'd said to her doofus, if there was one time of year when she could spoil everyone she loved, it was Christmas – and who was she to leave her poor babies cold, starving and weak?

"Forever, huh?" She giggled, dragging out the moment just a little longer as they hugged her arms to their bodies, heads resting on her shoulders. "...Okay, come on! It's Christmas!"

Their cheers were worth the fifty bucks she'd inevitably spend on corn, and the radiating happiness was infectious. The heroine turned to Schwoz, who scuffed his foot against the shining tiles, and (y/n) knew she couldn't leave him behind. "You coming, Schwoz?"

"Who, me? Schwoz?...From work?" He asked, blinking in surprise when she looked at him so sweetly. 

"No, the other Schwoz I know," she retorted dryly, rolling her eyes playfully, "yes, you! Do you want some corn?"

"Sure!"

"Great! Hats and coats on, though, guys! It's freezing out there, and I don't want anyone getting sick at Christmas!" She told the kids, who didn't need to be told twice. 

If it meant they got corn from the Corn Lady, they'd do anything she asked, including getting out their gum balls. Not only did it allow them to transform into their alter egos, but Schwoz included some quick-change outfits, chiefly some warm winter gear that meant they'd waste no time getting dressed whilst their sweet, sweet corn grew cold. 

Shoving the gum into their mouths, the kids couldn't chew quickly enough. In a flash of light, they donned hats, coats, scarves, and gloves as (y/n) went for the more traditional route. 

"Come on, Schwoz. They'll eat us if we don't get them some corn," the heroine said to the genius, watching as he dashed over to the supercomputer while adjusting the fluffy hood on her jacket. 

"Hang on—just let me just turn off our Protective Aerial Neutralising Threat Systems," he replied, tapping a few keys to lower the guns, shields, booby traps, and whatever else he had primed to protect the Man's Nest. 

"I don't want our air defences to blow Santa out of the sky!"

"No way!"

"That would be terrible!" The boys agreed, looking all cosy in their coats – although (y/n) had to help Bose zip up his. He was all fingers and thumbs, particularly with gloves, but for that toothy grin, she didn't mind. 

Mika hurried after the boys, smiling from ear to ear as they ran towards their lockers – the ones with the chairs that would take them downstairs to SWAG. Or rather, to the Corn Lady. "Christmas would be ruined!"

"But now, thankfully, it won't be!" (y/n) told them reassuringly, plonking herself in Chapa's chair since the girl wasn't around. She was probably out frolicking in the snow or doing something festive, so they didn't worry about it. 

It was a little awkward; she and Schwoz had to share, with the genius squatting on her lap since they only had so many seats. Luckily, Ray wasn't around, or he'd be furious, pouting because the fuzzy coconut got to be that close to his wife and not him. 

But (y/n) didn't mind; five seconds of discomfort and awkwardness for a bellyful of delight made the trip downstairs less painful. And Schwoz was kinda small, so really, she barely felt a thing. 

As the chairs disappeared downstairs, two figures dressed in their super-suits emerged from the tube. 

Chapa hadn't been frolicking as her friends thought but had found an unlikely companion in Ray. He'd been a little on edge recently, and in the spirit of all things Christmas, she'd lent him a friendly ear, although she was beginning to wish she hadn't. 

"So, that's what a kissaversary is?" She frowned pensively, glancing at the hero once the tube came to a standstill. 

"Yeah!" Ray grinned at her over the bundle in his arms, standing still as they chatted.

They'd met outside; she'd been revelling in the freezing flurry from heaven whilst he needed a moment away from his sweet girl—and that didn't happen often. 

She looked too beautiful – too radiant under Swellview's merry lights and holiday cheer, so he had to take a breather. Otherwise, she'd be pressed up against a wall and kissed senseless before she could remind him of their little tradition. 

"First time I ever kissed her was on Christmas Eve. It's only gotten better since then."

"I don't need the details," the girl replied dryly, shuddering at the idea of her teachers locking lips, but deep down, she loved mistletoe smooches. "But I guess it's kinda nice that you have the tradition. You can't ruin that just because you think (y/n) looks...hot."

Ray supposed Chapa was right; it would break his wife's heart knowing they came so close, only to fail because he couldn't resist. He'd hate to see that heartbroken face, but he was desperate – three whole days had passed without kisses. 

"But she looks ! You can't tell me she doesn't!" He whined, only to receive a disgusted sideways glance.

"Dude, I'm not even going to think about that, or I'll puke," muttered the girl, shifting from foot to foot because she only ever saw her friend. Her pretty, kind friend. Ray was just an exceptionally needy man. 

"Just think, in a few hours, you'll be able to kiss (y/n) all you want."

"Yeah..." Ray sighed, his eyes glazing over as he imagined doing just that, but not yet. He had to get his mind out of the gutter. "Do you know what I love the most?"

Chapa didn't even need to think about that, having heard all about his utter adoration since she decided to be nice for once. "(y/n)."

"Okay, yeah—" Ray nodded, admitting to it, but he was trying to think pure, innocent thoughts. "Do you know what I love second of all?"

He glanced down at what he cradled in his arms, and the girl grinned in understanding. Her arms were full, too, aching slightly from holding it all – bundles and bundles of it – but it was worth it. They'd been so sneaky, if a little unfair to everyone else in town. 

"Buying all the corn from The Corn Lady, so no one else can have any?"

"Oh, that's good, too!" Answered the doofus as they walked down the steps. It was probably a good idea to put the corn down, having been holding it in their arms for a while now, and it wasn't going to eat itself. 

"I was gonna say when I punch a bad guy so hard that he farts, and then, he's like, oh, it was something I ate.But we both know it's because I punched him, so ha—"

The words died on the hero's tongue once they reached the final step, and Chapa finally got a good look at her surroundings. Her tummy dropped and tensed, her mouth hung open, and a soft gasp left her lips because she was standing in the most magical spot in Swellview. 

The lights, the décor, the beautiful tree—who needed corn when she had Christmas?

"Did you do this for me because you know I love Christmas?!" She asked excitedly, utterly uninterested, tossing her corn ears onto the floor.

Ray blinked, barely acknowledging that his Nest was all glitzy and festive. He surmised that Schwoz must've finally gotten off his ass and done some work, but he wouldn't let her know that. It would rain on her parade. 

"Sure did!" The hero replied with a soft smirk. 

"Thank you!" Chapa grinned, looking more cheerful and sweet than she had in years, and the hero didn't think she'd thanked him before.  

"Yeah, Schwoz was like, don't do it! But I said to him—Schwoz. I'm the boss around here, okay? And Chapa and my incredibly hot wife really like Christmas, so we're gonna..."

As the girl admired the delicate baubles hanging from the tree branches, Ray admired his so-called handiwork. Admittedly, Schwoz had done a good job, and he couldn't wait to relish his sweet girl's happiness when she returned from wherever she was, but then...

"Wait. Something's wrong."

A deep, foreboding sense swept over him, and the man ditched his corn on the floor, too. He didn't feel hungry anymore, glancing around the room because something was different, and it wasn't the tinsel and fairy lights. 

"...Did someone turn off the Protective Aerial Neutralising Threat Systems?" Chapa asked, feeling the weirdness, and when she said it out loud, it all made sense. 

"Our P.A.N.T.S. are down!" Ray gasped in horror, and his face immediately fell into steely determination. "We're exposed!"

He ran over to the supercomputer and pulled it into the centre of the room before hurriedly sitting down, with Chapa doing the same. Maybe they should've called for backup; (y/n) and Schwoz were the experts, but there was no time, and Ray wasn't one to take chances with his security measures. 

"Why are the P.A.N.T.S down?" Chapa asked, tapping away on her keyboard to bring them back online. She swallowed thickly, alarmed by the big, red, flashing warning on the monitor, but her teacher remained calm. 

He wasn't good at much, but he was the best superhero in Swellview.  "The only possible explanation is that the Man's Nest has been infiltrated by a saboteur, and we're under imminent attack from the skies!"

A beep sounded from the computer, and to their horror, the P.A.N.T.S radar picked up a signal flying dangerously close to their airspace – the invader. 

"Incoming!"

"Oh, my God..." Ray muttered, his darkest fear about to come true, and he didn't know where his wife was or the rest of Danger Force. Perhaps they'd been kidnapped or worse – these enemies had already gotten into his P.A.N.T.S. What else could they do?

Yet, Chapa remained calm, an idea popping into her head at their direst hour. It was reckless and challenging but brilliant compared to Ray's floundering. "I've got an idea!"

"I don't have time to arm the Man-Missiles!" 

"I'll handle it!" She told him, and the hero ran after her, tearing his nervous gaze away from the screen at the very last moment. 

He watched as she ran through the doors and onto the patio – the one at the summit of Mount Swellview, but he didn't know what she was planning. "What are you gonna do?!"

Diving into the snow, Chapa turned her eyes to the sky, quickly finding her target. Whoever the invader was, they must've been an idiot; their aircraft was painted fire-truck red and gleaming in the starlight—she couldn't miss it. 

Ankle-deep in the freezing cold, fiery sparks flew from her fingertips, and for once, the girl was glad for (y/n/n)'s constant accuracy lessons for her lightning. "I'm gonna wish this guy a Merry Christmas and a Zappy New Year!"

The scarlet bolt hit the target dead on, bathing the mountain in pinkish light, which faded to orange when the flaming invader fell toward Earth. She hadn't quite thought about the aftermath, but that didn't matter; she waltzed back through the doors with an icy calmness, certain she'd saved them from doom. 

"Got him!" 

"Way to sleigh, Volt!" Ray grinned, surprised but not ungrateful that her powers actually worked for once. Sure, he had a raging inferno on his doorstep, but he'd get Schwoz to clean it up later. 

"Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!" Their fist-bump celebration did not last long. 

All happiness and pride drained from their bodies when that jolly voice filled their ears; it didn't sound so happy, but it was more like the person was in pain. Moments later, a fat man in a red suit burst through the doors, and they didn't need to see his bushy, white beard or sizzling sleigh to know who he was. 

"Ho, ho, ho—hot! Too hot! Too hot!" He was Santa. And he was on fire. 

Chapa felt like she was gonna puke, frozen in place as Ray reached for a fire extinguisher and quickly doused the flaming legend. His suit was sooty and ashy, not because he'd been down any chimneys but because they'd fried him. 

"Is that, uh...?" Asked Ray, not entirely wanting to believe their heinous act. 

But Chapa knelt and peered at the stranger's rounded face. It was a little crispy and dirty, but the kindness in his eyes and rosiness in his cheeks told her everything. 

"It's Santa!" She hissed, feeling like weeping as her idol of the season lay moaning and groaning on the festive rug. "It's Santa Claus! We shot Santa Claus!"

"Oh...You shot Santa Claus," Ray replied with a nervous chuckle, not that his finger-pointing helped anything. 

The girl wanted to cry, feeling terrible for once because she didn't mean to hurt the man. It was just a misunderstanding. A terrible misunderstanding that might have suggested a few presents would be late this year. 

Besides, he was the ringleader. She was just following orders—that's what she'd say when they asked who ruined Christmas. She and Ray. Ray and her. 

They were in this together. But how could they get themselves out of it?

~

Fifteen minutes later, the partners in crime were resigned to their fate. But that didn't mean they'd go down without a fight. 

If there was one thing Ray and Chapa believed in, it was innocent until proven guilty, so their strategy was to deny, deny, deny. No one could pin anything on them so long as they kept quiet and removed all the evidence. It wouldn't be easy to hide a massive, charred sleigh, nor a dazed and confused man, but they'd do it. 

If it meant they didn't have to answer for their crime, they'd manage.

Ray was in charge of Santa, who, after the crash, was acting a little kooky, but that didn't matter. He shoved the jolly, old guy into a corner and told him to be quiet whilst he rummaged around for a distraction, an explanation—anything that would keep his sweet girl from discovering what they'd done. 

Meanwhile, Chapa hid the sleigh. A blanket and a light dusting of snow helped it blend into Schwoz's festive trimmings, and hopefully, no one would go outside until the garbage men came in the New Year. 

Pleased with her quick work, the girl closed the doors and brushed her snowy footprints away – no one would know what she'd done. As she did, Ray reappeared, running into the room sans Santa and carrying a comically large ball of yarn. 

"Okay, I found a bunch of yarn and some knitting needles!" He said, breathing raggedly as he showed her his haul, not that Chapa was impressed. 

"We just blew Santa Claus out of the sky, and you want us to knit?!"

"It'll give us something to do with our hands, so we can act natural when everyone comes back!" He told her sternly, already nervous as it was, and he didn't need her crabby negativity to make it worse. 

But the girl just shrugged, looking lost and desperate because she didn't want to be judged. She hated upsetting her friends—hated (y/n)'s disappointed face even more, and she was terrified. "I don't know how to knit!"

"Yes, you do! Yes, you do!" The hero barked lowly, not taking no for an answer. "People can knit anything when they're covering up misdeeds!" 

They didn't have time to argue about it. The supercomputer beeped, signalling the others were coming from downstairs. The man and girl couldn't run fast enough, scrambling for their seats, and they grabbed a pair of needles, forming rows and stitches in the blink of a nervously twitching eye. 

Mika, Miles, Bose, (y/n), and Schwoz returned from their trip to The Corn Lady, although they didn't look nearly as happy as the heroine wanted. The Corn Truck was a massive let-down; some jerk bought out her entire stock mere minutes before they arrived, and all the Lady had left was accompaniments. 

They went home disappointed and dejected – cornless but not empty-handed. 

"—Surprised The Corn Lady was out of corn!" Miles said grumpily, stomping across the floor as he licked the ice cream cone in his hand. The sweetness did nothing to help his bitter mood. 

"Yeah!" Bose agreed, even if vanilla was his favourite. "All she had left was this stupid ice cream!"

(y/n) gave him a sympathetic glance, although she was fed up with all their complaining. If anything, she preferred the creamy dairy goodness, and besides, she was the one who'd paid for it. Theirs was free – what were they gonna do? Ask for their money back?

"Hey, come on, guys! Ice cream is good!"

"Not when your heart is set on corn, (y/n/n)," argued Mika, her bottom lip stuck out in a child-like pout. 

Her friends nodded, all voicing their bellyaching complaints as the woman shed her coat and scarf. She tossed them over a chair and noticed their absent friends across the room, particularly her handsome husband. 

"Hey, doof—what are you doing?" Her smile, which echoed Ray's upon seeing him, slowly fell when she noticed their slouched, bizarre behaviour – the most alarming being the clicking needles in the girl's hands. 

"Are you two...knitting?"

"What's that?!"

"Hello, my lovely, sweet wife!" Chapa and Ray smiled tightly at her, trying to suppress their nerves, which was near impossible when the doofus bounced the yarn ball on his knee as she was well on her way to making a new sweater. 

Ray could hardly meet his wife's eye, dying internally because he wanted to drink in her beauty, not avoid it, but he couldn't lie to her face, not if she looked him in the eye. 

"They are!" Miles gasped, who'd never seen his friend knit or crochet in his life. It was way too babyish and girly for the likes of Lula Elena Chapa De Silva.

"And knitting well!" Bose added, and he would know. He didn't know much – hardly anything – but he knew home crafts, strangely enough, and when he crept closer to Chapa, he witnessed her expert work. 

"That's a four-row yarn over buttonholes if I'm not mistaken!"

That was all Miles needed to hear to point the finger of blame. Unlike (y/n), who tried to see the best in people, he saw them for what they were—sneaky sneakers.

"You're covering up misdeeds!"

"What?"

"Bunch'a hooey!" They could try and deny it, but their friends saw straight through their lies. 

Ignoring her dribbling ice cream, Mika glared at them, endlessly curious about what they could hide. "While we were down there, not getting any corn—"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Ray said softly, mirroring the mournful expression he always saw his sweet girl use. Of course, he wouldn't tell the girl that he and Chapa bought all the corn, but she didn't need to know that. 

"Save the puppy-dog eyes, Raymond!" (y/n) said, hands on her hips as the hero gulped. "We saw some lightning in the sky above the Man's Nest."

Chapa stared at her blankly, having long since perfected her poker face. "This Man's Nest?"

"No, the other Man's Nest down the street—yes, this one!" The woman snapped, tapping her foot against the floor since the troublemakers were deliberately obtrusive. 

She wasn't blind; she'd known that doofus for too long not to know when he was hiding something—he never did a good job of it, anyway. She had eyes in her head that hadn't failed to notice the misshapen lump wedged between her plant pots on the doorstep. 

"And would either of you care to explain what's out there under that sheet, with a sign that says none of your b'yazness?" 

Perhaps Chapa's great idea wasn't so foolproof. The blanket might have been white, but it still stuck out like a sore thumb, and she should've known the woman would have questions. Still, she didn't back down, returning the sharpness with all her metaphorical spines standing on end. 

"Pretty sure it's none of your b'yazness!" 

"Hey!" Ray poked her arm, and the girl glanced at him to see his dissatisfied frown. "You tell her it's none of their business more politely! Don't be rude to my wife."

Chapa just rolled her eyes - (y/n) had to hide how her heart melted. If her doofus wasn't in bother, she'd squeeze him so tight, wishing their kissaversary would come quicker. 

"Did my friend, Santa Claus, ever stop by?" Schwoz asked quietly, a little suspicious that the man was late when, every year, he was so punctual. 

Ray froze, hugging the massive ball on his lap, wishing it was his precious wife. The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them as the guilt ate up his insides – he just couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to his sweet girl. 

"Chapa zapped him!"

"Dude!" The girl growled, livid at his utter betrayal. So much for them being partners in crime.  

For his mutiny, she zapped him, too, sending a jolt of lightning that fried his nose, making the hero wince. "Ow!"

"You zapped Santa Claus?" Miles asked, his face twisted into outrage and bewilderment. 

"We thought someone was attacking the Man's Nest!" Chapa said, sneering at their hideous accusations to hide her remorse and sorrow. She felt awful—worse now they knew. 

"So, we did what anybody would do when they're caught with their P.A.N.T.S. down..." Ray continued sadly, squirming under their intense scrutiny like a little kid after being caught his hand in the candy jar. 

(y/n) sighed, aware of the smothered giggles from the children because Ray loved his acronym – the sillier, the better. "Do you always have to phrase it like that?" 

"We pulled them back online, and I blasted Santa Claus out of the sky—and I feel terrible, okay?! Is that what you want to hear?" Chapa yelled, her voice becoming scratchier and more emotional as she admitted her guilt. 

When (y/n) cautiously approached her, tears had gathered on her lashes, sniffling quietly because it was all her fault. She should have waited. "It's okay, Chapa. We all make mistakes."

She hugged the girl lightly, knowing she wasn't overly fond of the mushy stuff. But to her surprise, the girl wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed, unashamed, to let a few tears moisten her friend's sweater since no one would know. Only her, and (y/n/n) wasn't one to go blabbing about things. 

Behind her, Ray's eye met his wife's, and she saw how sorry he looked. Part of him wished he could be in her embrace – God knows he loved it more than anyone – but he'd let Chapa have her moment. She needed it. 

"Wait..." Bose piped up, those two brain cells working again as the girl quickly steeled herself, wiping her damp cheeks. "Is Santa okay?"

Ray and Chapa glanced at each other, pulling faces that worried their friends even more. "Eh..."

They could barely admit that they'd shot the guy down. How were they supposed to tell them what happened after?

"What do you mean, ehhhhhh?" Asked (y/n), her pretty face looking concerned as Ray fiddled with his gloved fingers. 

The truth was, and he had no idea how to tell her, that they'd tried to revive Santa. After accidentally setting him on fire, he may have stopped...living. But that was nothing they couldn't fix, so Chapa zapped him again to restart his heart, which worked. 

Everything was fine; the colour returned to the jolly man's face, and their worries were over...until Santa didn't know where he was. Or who he was. Or anything. 

"What's a Santa Claus? What do you mean, he said, what's a Santa Claus?" The heroine asked incredulously, going from concerned to horror-stricken in point-five seconds. In fact, Ray did know how to tell her, but his sweet girl didn't like the answer. No one did. 

"Santa Claus doesn't know who he is?!" Miles frowned, shaking his head at their mother of all fuck-ups. 

"He must have hit his head when he fell because Chapa insisted on blowing him out of the sky." Ray really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. His subtle dig earned him another zap from the grumpy girl – this time to his forehead as she silently seethed. 

"Ah, stop it!"

"So, where is he?" Mika asked, ignoring their little spat because they were both to blame as far as she was concerned. 

Schwoz nodded, more worried than most since he knew Santa personally. They were friends, and the minute they said he had amnesia, his heart sank. "Yah, is he running around Swellview on Christmas Eve, not knowing who he is?"

"No!" Ray replied defensively, not liking their snappy tones. "Chapa and I stashed him behind that door with a bunch of our corn."

"What corn?" 

"Who cares?" He didn't waste time with any of Bose's suspicions, although (y/n) would grill him on that later. She knew he knew something about the Corn Lady, but her doofus swiftly changed the subject. "What's important is that Schwoz figures out a way to science Santa's memory back!"

He made it sound so easy, and the genius gave him a bored glance. It was always him who had to save the day, which was ironic since that moron was the superhero. Still, they didn't dwell on it; taking his sweet girl's hand, Ray guided her and the kids toward the metal door where they'd locked Santa in. 

"Until then, the Big Man is safe and sound behind this door." With a press of a button on his remote control, the door slid open, revealing...nothing. 

There was no Santa. Not even down the corridor. Just a strangely Santa-shaped hole in the wall where their charge had bolted like a spooked reindeer the minute those two freaks left him alone. 

"Huh..." Ray muttered, staring blankly at Chapa as they peered through the hole to see the Swellview skyline. "I'll be darned..."

"Oh, Raymond..." His wife rubbed her tired eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head at the mess he'd got them into this time. 

"What have I said about being a doofus all your life?"

~

Not long after they had a thorough telling-off, Ray and Chapa stood awkwardly in the middle of the Man's Nest.

Like the Macklin twins, they paced back and forth anxiously, awaiting any news about the sleigh – whether it was kaput, if Christmas was cancelled, or if they would be on the naughty list. Having dragged it inside – Ray's job since he always boasted about being the strongest – Schwoz pounced on it, changing into his overalls with (y/n) by his side since she was no numskull. 

With a trusty toolbox by their side, the two Smarties tinkered away at the undercarriage, causing all sorts of clanking and thumping noises that the others couldn't discern. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long; a sneaker-wearing, overalls-wearing, lanky figure rolled out from underneath the sleigh, completing his assessment. 

Only, it wasn't who they expected. 

"This thing's toast. I can't fix it!" said Bose, giving Ray and Chapa a defeated shrug as he sat up. They didn't know why he was dressed like Schwoz or why he was doing the small man's job, but he sounded so serious – like he knew what he was doing. 

"Whelp! You tried!" Miles said sweetly, and Mika backed him up, even if they were a bit defeatist. 

But the destroyers of the sleigh didn't need to panic; the real mechanics were on hand, and Schwoz's gleaming, egg-like head poked out with a cheesy grin. (y/n) did the same, although Ray thought she looked much prettier than the fuzzy weirdo, and that boiler suit hugged her in all the right places. 

"But we think we can!" 

"Oh, thank God!"

"Problem solved!" Captain Man and the kids breathed a sigh of relief – as if they ever doubted them. It wouldn't be easy, but Schwoz was a dab-hand at sleigh science, and if he needed help with the wiring or circuitry, (y/n) had it covered. "And to make up for what Chapa did..."

"Oh!" The girl glared at the hero, wishing he'd share the blame or stop mentioning the whole thing. 

"I'm gonna give you Christmas Day off!" Ray's generous offer brought mixed reactions; Mika wanted to work, being the goody-two-shoes she was, whilst Bose cheered and fist-pumped the air. "But Christmas Night? You're working!"

Rolling her eyes at her doofus, (y/n) got off the floor and strolled over to him, clapping her hands to get his attention. She'd inevitably distract him all day with presents, cuddles, and other stuff, allowing the kids to spend Christmas with their families, but she wasn't sure if they'd even get the chance. 

"Doofus! The problem is not solved!" She said, cutting through Danger Force's excited chatter.

"What's your deal, sweet girl?" Ray frowned, stepping into her space to put his hands on her waist – a smirk growing on his stupidly handsome face. 

"Ohhh, I get it! You don't want us to work Christmas Night 'cause you want to make up for lost time after our kissaversary! Well, me, too—"

"No, you big doof!" She held him at arm's length, forcing those crystal blue eyes to look into hers before he got distracted. "My deal—our deal—everyone's deal is that because of you and Chapa, Santa Claus is running around the streets of Swellview without a brain!"

As much as he adored her, the hero gasped, mimicking Chapa's offended scowl at such an accusation. "I think he has a brain, sweetheart! It's just not working very well."

"Could be worse!" Bose hummed, shrugging his shoulders with an innocent smile. He'd survived years without a brain; he didn't see the problem, but he didn't have to jinx everything like that. 

"See, now, why would you say that?" Asked Miles as he was a big believer in karma, bad juju, fate—all that good stuff. And for good reason.

Bose really needed to keep his mouth shut as Ray and Chapa discovered how their mistake was going from bad to worse. Suddenly, the lights flickered, the room growing weirdly cold, as a screeching, nasally voice boomed from God knows where. 

"Standing five-foot-sick, straight out of San Bernardi—nasty! Ladies love him, men also love him, it's K-K-K-K-Krampuuuuuussss!"

The doors burst open, and out of a thick, choking fog, a...creature stepped into the Man's Nest. 

(y/n) would have deemed him a man, but he looked too much like a douche for that. His style was about thirty years out of date; so was his long, thick mullet and goatee beard, and the trucker cap on his head looked disgusting dirty, but that was probably because of the thick, curling horns that grew out of the guy's head. 

What was he? Some kind of weird, grizzly goat man? The heroine wasn't sure, wrinkling her nose when the overpowering stench of cheap, masculine body spray hit her nose, but Ray didn't let her suffer for long. He pulled her behind his back as the douchebag invaded his Nest, wearing a cocky smirk and striking a pose that made the man want to punch him in the nose. 

"Hey, I was right! It's worse!" Bose exclaimed, grinning dimly as his friends waved the smoke from their faces. 

"Isn't that the bad guy from your Christmas story, doof?" (y/n) whispered to her husband, clutching his arm since she didn't know if she wanted to hide or fling herself in front of her babies as a human shield. 

For once, Ray was speechless, his mouth bobbing open as he tried to find the words to describe what he saw. "I...think so?"

The guy sneered at them, his wicked face scowling at them from underneath his sloped forehead. "Where's my brother, uglies?"

He pressed a button on his wrist because he was so irritating that he had to have personalised sound effects. They reminded the grown-ups in the room of the nineties, when that sort of thing was all the rage, hearing the oversaturated, tinny voice coming from the terrible speaker. 

"Sick burn, Krampus! That's gonna sting!" Well, at least they knew who he was now. 

"I hate him," Mika murmured to her brother, although she didn't keep her voice down. 

That ugly mug turned to her, and Krampus snarled, barely keeping still as his feet twitched and moved like a shitty breakdancer. "What's the matter, Hooba-stanks? Never seen a Christmas-hating desert demon look this hot before?"

"I also hate him," replied Miles, watching in disgust as the so-called hot demon struck another dweeby pose, crossing his arms. 

"Me, too!" Ray agreed, and he wasn't about to let some loser waltz into his secret hideout and cause havoc – not on his kissaversary. Plus, he had a rule about being the hottest guy in the Man's Nest and wasn't about to break it. 

"Get outta here, Krampus! Why don't you go back to San Bernardino, where you belong?"

"Oh, I'll go back to the nine-oh-nine!" Krampus said, swaying his head like an idiot before he turned his snarl toward the fearless hero. "But not before I destroy my brother and Christmas—forever!"

He took a step closer to them, but (y/n) held her ground, folding her arms and glaring at the asshole because no one, not even a super powerful demon, was going to ruin her favourite holiday. "What are you going to do? Breathe on him?"

"Oh, you're feisty! I like that!" She gagged, and Ray growled when he seductively ran his tongue over his teeth, waggling his slanted eyebrows in her direction. "Don't worry, sweet cheeks, flirtin' with smokin' hot babes has always been my strong point!"

"Brushing your teeth isn't." She leaned away from his nearing face, swearing he smelled like burnt sugar and cat food, but Krampus didn't back down. 

He wasn't afraid to lunge toward the couple and the kids, meaning Ray shoved everyone behind him since he didn't want to find out how much of his story was true. "Any of you other baby wipes see a magic bag of presents in here?"

They cleared the floor as the demon searched around the sleigh, ducking under the dust sheet and kicking Schwoz's toolbox out of the way before leaping into the driver's seat. "If I'm going to put the Kramps on Christmas, I'll have to destroy that thing, too!"

"Oh, I think you'll find that bag shockingly close," Ray replied, glancing at Volt beside him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all!" The girl smirked, raising her hand to send a sting of lightning toward Krampus, but despite her newfound accuracy, he dodged it. 

Or rather, he disappeared completely in a flash of light, reappearing across the room with a sadistic grin. 

"Sorry! Can't catch Krampus! But if you do, consult a physician because you'll be sick!" He said in an adenoidal tone, pressing another button on his sound effects machine. "Side effects include hotness and diarrhoea!"

He was annoyingly coarse, squatting and pulling a dumb face as Mika rolled her eyes. She'd had enough of his chaos, and he'd only been around for two minutes. "Oh, my God—SHUT UP!!!"

She tried to super-scream him, but like with Chapa, the demon teleported away, materialising across the room with another devilish grin. They jumped at how quickly he moved, with Ray holding his sweet girl against his chest.

"Missed me, missed me, now you gotta—Krampus!" 

"Hey! I can teleport, too, you know!" Miles yelled, even if it was just to prove a point. His superpower wasn't helpful, and their enemy just laughed, shrugging because what would he do?

"So?"

They couldn't answer that, talking amongst themselves as (y/n) placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. He was helpful in other ways, just not on the offensive side, and he was grateful for that. But Krampus snarled at all the chitchat. 

"Where's my brother?!" He growled, crawling around the room whilst sniffing the air like a mad dog. "Ooh-yeah! I can smell his Santa stench all over this place!"

"Nobody say anything!" Ray said, and the kids agreed, zipping their mouths shut. Swellview was a big city, and as long as they didn't tell him, Krampus had no hope of finding—

"He left!" Only they forgot about Bose. 

"Seriously?" (y/n) facepalmed, giving the boy an exasperated look, but he just smiled toothily – there was no intelligence behind those empty eyes. 

"Yeah! Ray told us he lost his memory and ran off, remember?"

Not only did he blab their secrets, but Bose was the idiot Krampus dreamed of. He didn't care who Ray was or anything else, only that he now knew where to look. And, even better, they'd made his revenge easy, so it was no wonder the demon cackled as they groaned. 

"Sweet! Looks like you after-school-specials did half my work for me!" He grinned, twirling in the chair by Chapa's locker before extending his fist towards the clueless kid. "Bump it, lil' dude!"

"Bose, don't!" His friends shouted after him, but he was too naïve and kind to turn down a seemingly harmless fist-bump. 

And (y/n)? She couldn't watch him go without trying to save him. 

"(y/n), no!"

As Bose's knuckles pressed against Krampus', she grabbed the boy's arm, hoping to pull him away before it was too late, but she was too slow. 

Everything Ray said about the Krampus Touch was true; his evil magic burst through their fists, running through Bose before jumping into the heroine, and even her super-regeneration was powerless to fight back. In the blink of an eye, their overalls - under which (y/n) wore her beloved festive sweater – became dark and grungy, complete with skulls, chains, combat boots, and, in her case, smudged eyeliner. 

"Sweet girl?" Ray asked softly, his face twisted in terror when his precious wife became the anti-(y/n). She wasn't dark and angsty; she was kind and lovely, yet she batted his trembling hand away when he reached for her. 

"Who you calling sweet, chunky cheese?" She spat, laughing cruelly when the man's face fell, utterly broken at the harsh rejection. The chain on her belt clinked with every move as she jutted out a hip and flicked her hair over her shoulder, glaring at him without hinting at the pure love she used to have. 

"This girl is all about the Kramp Lyfe! And that's life, spelt with a Y!"

"Welcome to K-K-K-K-K-K-K-Klub Krampus, dude and dudette!" The demon said, dancing like a douchebag, and his newfound followers were happy to do the same. 

"Excited to get my Kramp on!" Answered Bose, pulling his grungy cap further down his brow before he noticed that pack of losers staring at him—and why did they look so sad?

"What are you doorknobs lookin' at?!"

"No!" Mika yelled although it was too late to turn them back. One look at Ray's face, and she knew that, having never seen such heartbreak or fury. 

Chapa was the same, ready to break Krampus' face if she had to; Bose was too innocent to be mean, and (y/n) didn't dress like a Hot Topic reject. "What did you do to them?"

"I made this sweet thang even hotter—that's what I did!" Replied the demon, looping his arm around the woman's shoulders. 

Ray clenched his fists at the sight, lurching to rip the guy's head off, only for Miles to hold him back. They didn't need Captain Man becoming all Kramped-up, and besides, their powers had already proven useless against him. 

"I got a brother to find, a sack to snatch, and a beloved holiday to ruin!"

"Wow, you're such a bad guy, Krampus..." (y/n) said, practically purring as she walked two fingers across his chest. It was like she was trying to crack Ray's heart in two, but he didn't blame her, swallowing a lump in his throat and forcing back tears. 

"You know it, hot mama. Katch you later—Krampus out!"

Pinching her chin between his fingers and throwing her a stomach-turning wink, the demon disappeared in a flash of light. Where? Probably to hunt Santa, but Ray didn't care; he stared longingly at his sweet girl, wondering if it was a horrific joke or a hallucination. 

"That guy is sick!" 

"Okay, this is bad..." But judging by everyone's grave and sombre faces, the hero was stuck in his living nightmare. 

"Yeah, it's bad!" He hissed at Miles, wishing he wouldn't state the blindingly obvious. "My incredibly hot wifehas been Krampified, and now, she looks like that! You're all definitely working Christmas now!"

"If we don't find Santa Claus before Krampus does, there won't be a Christmas for us or anyone else in the world!" The boy replied, equally as sharp. 

He couldn't be too mad at his mentor; if he was upset about Bose and (y/n), he couldn't imagine what it was like for him – the world's biggest simp. 

"And you can forget about sharing your kissaversary with (y/n)!" Mika added, bringing yet another tear to the man's eye. 

"No..." He muttered, sniffling as he turned to his uncaring wife, who merely stuck out her tongue and gave him a rather crude hand gesture. "Not my sweet girl..."

Chapa was strangely kind toward his pain, patting him lightly on the back. In the spirit of all things Christmas, no one would be disappointed this holiday season, not if she could help it. "Then, let's go get him so Schwoz can fix his brain!"

"Copy that!" She didn't need to tell Ray twice. 

He yanked an alarming big blaster from some unknown spot and powered it up, ready to burn holes in bad guys' faces if needed. Passing a smaller one to her, he smirked at the girl, figuring that the sooner they found the jolly, fat man, the sooner he'd have his wife in his arms again. 

"Volt... We're going Santa hunting."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Wait!" Mika quickly jumped in, much to their disappointment. "You two have harmed Santa enough for today."

"Mika and I will go look for Santa." Miles' tone left no room for arguing, nodding with his sister. "You two, go find his magic bag of presents."

"How are we gonna do that?" Chapa scoffed. 

"Okay, I know me and (y/n) are the only ones who set up their phones to get news alerts..." Said Mika, rolling her eyes when they all laughed and called her a nerd, including the grungy losers behind her. 

"News alert—y'all are Jingle-Dorks!" Bose said, laughing and snorting along with (y/n), who had no idea she was one of the dorks. She liked to know what was happening in Swellview – it made her a better hero – but that went against the Kramp Lyfe, and she was all about that now. 

"But! Sometimes, the news alerts come in handy." The girl guided her friends across the room, ignoring the giggling idiots near the lockers. 

She turned on the monitor, which was already on the news channel, and the others listened carefully upon seeing Trent Overrunder and Mary Gaperman looking particularly perturbed. Well, Mary looked a bit vacant, like usual. 

"Breaking news!" Announced Trent, his stern staring glaring down at the front camera. "A large bag of presents has fallen out of the sky."

"Experts say it's a sign that the clouds are happy!" Added Mary, looking much more cheerful, even if she talked nonsense. 

"That's wrong, Mary, but witnesses say it landed right on top of two dirty kids."

"We'll have both those kids and their bag in our impact statement when we return." The pertinent segment ended, and Mika turned off the monitor, giving Ray and Chapa the biggest hint they needed. 

"Go!" She told them, pointing to the door with the same edge of authority that the hero's wife used. 

It made him pout and stamp his foot, blowing out his cheeks like a petulant child since it was menial work, but one glance at his freshly emo girl and Ray suddenly . "Fine. I'll see you later, sweet girl..."

"Yeah, sure." (y/n) rolled her eyes, chuckling when the man's hopeful smile wobbled. She'd never be seen dead with someone who wore spandex, and when the moron instinctively went to hug her goodbye, his heart broke a little more as she shoved him away. 

"I'll see your mom later."

"Ooh, sick burn!" Bose cheered, jeering oafishly as the hero cleared his throat, staring sadly at the woman unknowingly tearing his dreams apart. 

He could do little more than wave her goodbye, hating how wrong it felt to leave without first pulling her into his arms. But he had to go. He had to save Christmas. He had to save her. "Just...stay here. I promise I'll make you better in time for our kissaversary."

"Kiss my a—!"

"—Okay, let's just go." Chapa pushed him away, not wanting to watch things get ugly. That wasn't the woman he fell in love with, nor her friend, so they plodded toward the tube, Ray swinging his blaster over his shoulder. 

"Oh, hey, Chapa?!" Miles called after her as they speedily crossed the room. "Is there anything else we need to look for?"

Mika nodded - a soft frown on her face. "Yeah, like, what happened to the reindeer after you blasted Santa's sleigh? Did they just fly away?"

"WHO CARES ABOUT THE REINDEER?" Looks like someone forgot rule number one. The girl jumped at Schwoz's outburst, suddenly remembering his hatred for anyone and anything that didn't recognise his contribution, although his reaction was a little extreme. 

"Sorry..." she muttered, hands raised in placating surrender. 

Meanwhile, the tube fell around Ray and Chapa, sending them south in one down the tube, leaving Schwoz and the Macklin Twins alone with the Krampified nitwits. They took out their gum, quickly shoved it in their mouths, and blew their bubbles to transform into AWOL and ShoutOut. 

To (y/n) and Bose, who watched on with sneering smiles, they looked like spandex-wearing dorks—chain belts and flaming T-shirts were much cooler. 

"All right..." muttered Miles, turning to his sister, "Let's find Santa before Krampus does and cancels Christmas. 

"Christmas is the worst!" The angsty heroine yelled after them, unaware she still had remnants of gingerbread chapstick on her lips and a whiff of candy canes clinging to her clothes. 

Bose laughed with her, having swiped Schwoz's guitar from its stand since he wasn't about carols or festive tunes. He preferred sick guitar riffs. "Best holiday? T-T-T-T-Taco Tuesday, amirite? Nerrrrrrdz!"

Mika and Miles had to ignore them, limbering up for their search and, hopefully, a solution that would return their friends to their sweet selves – perhaps Santa's magic? Schwoz waved them on, rolling his eyes at the troublemakers in the corner. 

"I'll work on the sleigh and keep an eye on them."

"We got a scorching case of Krampus..." (y/n) said, crassly scratching her nose as the genius shook his head, wondering how one so bright could become such a degenerate. "Symptoms include...finger-tats!"

She thrust her knuckles in his face, stopping just short of whacking him in the nose, and Schwoz saw how she had Kramp Lyfe emblazoned on her fingers in patchy, faded ink. Yeah, no, it was a terrible look, with only her and the boy thinking it looked dope. 

"And sick guitar riffs!" Bose rocked out on his swiped guitar, spinning his arm in a wild circle as the room filled with obnoxious music. 

"Please hurry!" Yelled the handyman as the kids followed after Ray and Chapa. He wasn't sure how long he could tolerate the noise, clamping his hands over his ears when Bose sank to his knees. 

Grabbing his toolbox to begin his work, he could only pray his friends would be quick. It hurt to see them like that, even if they were annoying, but deep down, he knew the real (y/n) and Bose were in there. 

He still saw that kind-hearted boy and the girl he met many years ago. He wondered...did she remember the joy of Christmas? Perhaps the magic of a kiss under the mistletoe? 

There was a reason she loved the holidays, and it sure as hell wasn't for the eggnog. 

~KLVY News~

Following up on the lead they saw on the supercomputer, Ray and Chapa high-tailed it to the news studio downtown. 

They were determined to right their wrong, marching up to the gate, kicking and punching through it, before storming toward the set with Trent and Mary. No one could stop them, not when they needed to save Christmas.

Or, in Captain Man's case, save his beloved Miss Danger. 

He was noticeably tense and irritable, snapping at the security guards outside, barking orders at his young sidekick, and never taking no for an answer. Ray wanted results, and he was going to get them, even if he had to take them from the hands of starving, homeless orphans. 

"You okay, big guy?" Chapa asked as they speed-walked down a corridor, and she didn't need to be psychic to see the burden on her boss' mind. He kept muttering to himself, grinding his teeth, and clenching his fists – not helped by not having a sweet girl to calm him down. 

She couldn't help in that regard, but maybe, for once, just on this occasion, since it was an emergency, she could be nice. Friendly. Kind. Everything (y/n) was. 

"'Course. Why wouldn't I be?" The hero replied gruffly, not even stopping to look at her once he set his stern gaze on the studio door at the end of the hallway. 

"You look...mad." She shrugged, jogging so her little legs could keep up with his massive strides. 

Ray gave Chapa a look like that was obvious. He wouldn't say he was mad; more like raging with fury. Krampus would pay for what he'd done, and if he listened closely, he could hear the bastard now, taunting and playing his wicked games after interrupting the broadcast. God, he couldn't wait to punch him in the face.

"This is my I-want-that-demon's-head-on-a-platter-and-nuts-in-a-bag face," he answered dryly, already cracking his knuckles in preparation. "Can't blame me for wanting him dead for what he did to (y/n). And Bose, but mostly (y/n)."

No, Chapa did not blame him. She offered as close to a sympathetic smile as she could muster, lightly patting his back because that's what nice people did, right? 

"Don't worry. We're gonna beat his ass and fry it with lightning."

"Hell yes—" The hero smirked, only to look a little sterner once they were just outside the newsroom. "—But, for real, don't let (y/n) hear you use language like that. I'll let it slide just this once..."

She rolled her eyes at that, letting the moment go the minute he decided to play teacher – the guy who still laughed whenever someone said sausage. "Dude, you used to be cool."

"Whatever—listen." He held up a hand as they crept through the door, signalling for silence. 

Whatever Krampus was doing was causing absolute chaos. As far as the heroic duo knew, Trent and Mary were in the middle of an interview when he entered unannounced and unwanted—and that was before he started Kramping people. 

"I'm gonna blast some Smash Mouth and light it on fire!" They heard his annoying voice yell, followed by the yelps and gasps of Swellview's favourite news anchors. 

"Who are you?" Asked Mary, staring in horror at the man-beast who'd turned her regular afternoon into a nightmare. The interview was over, with her and Trent cowering in a corner—cue, Captain Man. 

"His name is Krampus!" Ray answered as he dramatically rounded the corner, closely accompanied by Volt. "And he better take his hands off that sack before I smash his stupid face for hurting my wife!"

Their stares remained hard and hate-filled, even if it was alarming to see Krampus already holding the Santa bag hostage. He'd come, seen, and he'd ripped the studio apart, leaving it like a high school locker room, with the rancid odour of fishy tacos and MAxe body spray. 

The heroes didn't miss his victim, either; it was those annoying orphans again – the Brits who tried to colonisethe Man's Nest. Percy and Mirin, if Chapa remembered correctly, and although she didn't care much about them, she gulped upon seeing the young boy, noting his boot-cut jeans, flaming t-shirt, and fake tattoo sleeves. 

He looked like Krampus two-point-oh, jeering at them in a whiny, nasally drawl. 

"Oh, it's my sack now!" The demon taunted, flashing his crazy eyes at the man as his tone turned whiny. "And I'm gonna put my hands all over it! Just like I did with your wife!"

Ray saw red, and he charged before Chapa could hold him back. Really, he wanted to kick him in the balls and leave him in the gutter – anything to keep his sweet girl's name out of his fucking mouth. 

"Let me have it!" He growled, snatching the sack from the demon seconds before he teleported away with it. The hero didn't know how he moved that swiftly, but he wasn't complaining, aware that his time for revenge would come later. 

Smiling at Chapa, he hoisted the sack over his shoulder – their job being more straightforward than expected – and they moved to make a speedy exit... Only to hear an excited squeal from across the room. 

"Ah! You saved the bag of presents!" Mary cheered, clapping her hands together. "Now you can give them back to the orphans!"

All they could do was glance back awkwardly, not knowing what words to use since they all made them seem heartless and thieving. 

"Uh...it's actually Santa's bag, so..."

"And we need it to save Christmas."

"Good lord!" Trent frowned at the girl's admission, which earned her an elbow in the ribs when her placating smile did nothing. "Is Christmas in danger?"

They couldn't leap in front of the camera quick enough, grinning charmingly and calmingly before the dozensat home. 

"Nothing to worry about! Santa's brain is totally fine!"

"Christmas is not in danger! Everything's going to be A-Okay!" Maybe they reassured the panicking masses – maybe they didn't – but they didn't stick around to worry about it. Captain Man tugged the sack over his shoulder again, jerking his head for Volt to follow him as Krampy Percy whined and whimpered. 

"Christmas is for babies!" He yelled, spraying more choking mist as his baffled sister watched on. "When's Taco Tuesday?!"

"Uh...Tuesday?" Trent replied with a judgemental expression, jumping when suddenly, a flash appeared behind him. 

Standing with his arms crossed, Krampus glared at his enemies, having teleported to the moon and back after realising he'd lost his brother's sack. And he wasn't the kinda guy who liked when people messed with his meddling. 

"You got quick hands, but you better give me that bag or Blondie here gets Kramped." He raised a hand against Mary, who shrank away and plugged her ears – an odd defence choice.

She was frozen in place, shaking under his fingertip, and Ray gritted his teeth at the impossible choice. It was like Krampus knew his golden moral compass; on one hand, he wasn't one to let innocents get injured, but on the other, he had Christmas to save. 

And, more importantly, his beloved wife. 

For Ray, the choice was obvious, if a little heartbreaking. He'd choose his wife any day, any time. "You know I can't do that, Krampus!"

"Suit yourself, Armani. News flash!" The demon grinned and stomped in front of the still-rolling camera, making Mary glance up when he didn't Krampify her immediately. 

"Another stunner just washed up on Krampus Island!" Well, she assumed too soon. 

The heroes reached to try and save her, but poor Mary's fate was sealed when he gently tapped her shoulder – just enough to transform her into a grungy loser like him. The guilt ate at Captain Man immediately, observing with an equally horrified Chapa as her business casual turned into trucker-from-hell chic. 

"Who has two thumbs and hates Christmas?!" She yelled obnoxiously as the demon stood back and admired his handiwork. "This gal!"

"Give it up, Krampus!" Ray seethed, knowing it was too late to help Mary, but they hadn't lost yet. "We've got the bag, we're gonna find Santa, we're gonna save Christmas, and I'm gonna have my kissaversary with my sweet girl!"

He said that, but everyone was still painfully aware that the cameras were live, meaning he had to poke his head into the frame again. The hero didn't want to cause mass hysteria, no matter how bad things were. "Once again, Christmas is in no kind of danger. Please, don't panic."

"Oh, yeah?" Hissed the demon, finding their constant optimism and bravery so damn exhausting, not to mention lame. "How are you going to save Christmas when there's no one left who even likes it?"

With every step, he inched closer towards Miriam, who stared at the scary man in confusion, not knowing she was like a lamb to the slaughter until he was right before her. One touch and she turned, swiftly followed by Trent, who didn't run fast enough. 

Ray could only protectively push Chapa behind his back and groan defeatedly, watching as two more fell to the Krampus curse. 

"Who's got an energy drink?" Miriam yelled in a rough, scratchy voice, squeezing her fingerless-gloved hands into fists. 

"Coming right up, Krampons!" With a snap of Krampus' fingers, he summoned a can for them all, delighting his followers with the sugary, caffeinated crap. 

They clinked them together, cracking them open with chimp-like shouts as they celebrated the revolution – that Taco Tuesday Lyfe!

"Let's bolt, Volt," said Ray, nudging Chapa so they could escape whilst the others were distracted. 

"Hang on a second—" Yet, the girl made him wait, hanging onto the crook of his elbow for a split-second as she lagged in the doorway.

To his sheer surprise – and profound pride – Ray watched incredulously as she took her chance and blasted Krampus, hitting him with a particularly nasty zap of lightning. It hit him squarely in the chest, and the demon crumpled to the floor – not talking, not breathing, not even twitching. 

"That was easy..." the hero complimented her as they dared to venture a little closer. 

"Yeah, I didn't even think it would work," Chapa replied, feeling slightly smug as she loomed over her prey, noting his pale, waxy complexion. "I just wanted to get him back for hurting—"

But when she crouched beside him, she got the shock of her life. "Just kidding!"

Volt scrambled away, tripping over her feet, when Krampus raised his head, decidedly not dead—not even stunned. He was a sadistic bastard, toying with them, and all with that shit-eating grin before he kip-upped onto his feet. 

"No, no!"

"Go, go, go, go!" It was time for a tactical retreat. Seeing they were beaten, with nothing left to salvage in the studio, Ray and Chapa legged it, taking the sack with them as Krampus danced across the floor. 

He hated that they'd stolen the bag of presents, but he didn't care, full of confidence and swagger as he called after them. "Gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna save Christmas, kiddies!"

His Krampons cheered, fist-pumping the air as the babyish heroes ran away, proving what they already knew. The Kramp Lyfe was way better than whatever those losers did, and they chugged their energy drinks as Trent turned to the camera, snivelling from under his cap. 

"Looks like this story—will be continued!!"

[innytoes]

You have one of those 12 foot skeletons in your yard and you caught me trying to take selfies with it / Sweet Tarts

Also for @invisibleraven who asked for the exact same thing. Who knew this prompt had Carrie/Reggie vibes?

When the Wilsons celebrated, they went hard. Their birthday blow-outs were legendary from the time Carrie had been in kindergarten. Their Fourth of July drones show (fireworks were so 90s) was epic and set to their favourite music. Christmas? Their mansion was covered in so many lights they had their own generator, and every room had a Christmas tree. (The one in Carrie's room was all pink, of course.)

So of course they went all out for Halloween, too. It was pretty hard to convert a sleek white modern mansion into a spooky old Victorian house, so instead they went all out with other kinds of decorations. Like the skeletons that hung out in front of the large windows on the second floor, having cocktails. Or the ghosts hanging from the trees and railings. Or the spooky lights and glowing orbs in the pool. Or the gazillion decorative pumpkins around the place. (Again, the ones in Carrie's room were pink.)

This year's new showstopper, though, was a twelve foot skeleton that her dad brought home. He showed it off, jazz hands and all, like the dork he was, and she could only barely hide her smile even as she eye-rolled at him.

"Not cool enough?" Dad asked her. "Don't worry, I thought of that."

And then he pulled out a pair of giant novelty sunglasses from somewhere. That got her to crack, and she laughed, which made her dad beam, which made her feel gooey inside. Out in public, they had to be perfect, and cool, and flawless, but when it was just the two of them, they could goof around and be dorks.

Now, while all of October was Go Hard On The Spooky Stuff, their Halloween basically had two big nights. The first was their Big Halloween Bash, where dad invited all his famous friends and people he worked with and Carrie got to invite some of her friends as long as they all promised to be cool.

The second, which deep down Carrie liked much better, was Trick or Treating. Because what was the point of living in the rich neighbourhood if not to show off all your badass decorations and costumes and spooky playlists and wow kids with amazing treats.

Full sized candy bars? Pah, those were for the old money losers down the street. Carrie and her dad got custom made edible crystals. Kids could pick out their own colour and shape, and eat something that looked like it shouldn't be eaten. Did you want a neon green orb, or a jagged piece of quartz, or even a candy beetle encased in 'amber'?

Carrie, of course, made sure to grab some in all her Candi's colours and put them aside. (And a few pink ones for herself.)

But the big holiday bash had come and gone, and trick or treating wasn't until tomorrow, so what the hell was this guy doing in their yard?

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" she asked as she flung the door open. Usually, if someone was lurking around like that, she'd call security, but this guy didn't seem to be paparazzi or a crazed fan who wanted to murder her dad. Also, she'd shoved her taser in the pocket of her cardigan before opening the door. (It was pink. And bedazzled.)

The boy, who seemed to be about her age, yelped and flailed, nearly dropping his crappy little phone. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I thought nobody was home!"

Carrie raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make it better?" she asked in her nastiest mean-girl-voice.

He flushed, looking ashamed of himself. Suddenly, even with the leather jacket, he seemed a lot smaller. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "It's just that this is the first time I've seen one of these giant skeletons in real life and I really wanted to take a selfie with it. I mean, he's wearing sunglasses and everything."

He looked so sad, like a kicked puppy, and really, she couldn't begrudge him too much. Their skeleton was pretty awesome. And he was pretty cute.

"You're never going to get all of him in frame with you like that," she rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys and demonstratively pulling the door closed behind her so he couldn't slip inside in case this was just a ruse.

She made sure to keep her hand on her taser as she passed him, but he just gaped at her. When she was far enough away to get all of the skeleton into the picture, she pulled out her phone. "Smile!" she said, and on instinct, he did. She snapped a picture, and when he realised what happened, he beamed, begging for another one.

She had to admit that the one hugging Skeletor's leg (yes, her dad had named their giant skeleton Skeletor like a massive dork) was pretty funny. As was the one where he was bowing down before it. And pretending to run away from it.

They had a little photo shoot for like two minutes, before he seemed to run out of ideas, and thanked her profusely, before moving to leave.

"Hey!" she shouted after him, and he froze in his tracks. "You have to give me your number so I can send these to you!" Okay, so he was cute but not very bright. She could work with that.

He looked a little flustered, but gave her his number to put in her phone. She sent him a test text, and his entire face lit up when he saw the first picture appear on his own screen.

And if maybe she texted him again the next day inviting him over to try one of their gourmet crystals and see the whole yard done up right for trick or treating, well, she just wanted to share the holiday spirit.

[samila4life]

Sam x Mila ~ Pink Meets Black

Mila.

She was like a constant pink blur in his otherwise gray and black world. A bubblegum explosion of frills and lace, with a smile so wide and sparkly it practically screamed fake. Her long blonde hair was always perfectly curled, her nails were always painted the most obnoxious shades of pastel, and her high-pitched giggle grated on his nerves every time she saw him.

Sam didn't know what he had done to deserve her undying affection, but for some reason, she loved him. She'd pop up when he least expected it, bouncing into his personal space like an overzealous puppy, trying to break down the walls he’d spent years building.

It was infuriating.

"Sammy!" A familiar voice chirped from behind him. He froze, already knowing who it was without turning around.

He felt her small hands tugging on the sleeve of his black leather jacket. "Sammyyy!" she repeated, drawing out his name in that sugary tone that made his skin crawl. He sighed deeply, clenching his fists in his pockets before slowly turning to face her.

There she was, wearing a pink miniskirt that barely covered her thighs and a matching crop top with the word "CUTIE" bedazzled across her chest. Her heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her head, and she was holding a glittery purse shaped like a cupcake. Everything about her was wrong, from her obnoxiously happy aura to the way she always smelled like cotton candy.

"What do you want, Mila?" Sam growled, his voice low and rough.

Mila giggled, oblivious to the venom in his tone. "I was looking for you, silly! We were supposed to meet up, remember?"

Sam frowned. He did not remember making any such plans. But then again, Mila had a tendency to create plans in her own mind and assume he’d agreed to them.

"I never said I'd—"

"Anywayyy!" she interrupted, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I was thinking we could go shopping today! You know, maybe get you some clothes that aren't all black? It’ll be so fun!"

Sam stared at her, utterly bewildered by her persistence. "I don’t do shopping," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to put more space between them.

Mila pouted, her glossy lips forming a perfect little frown of disappointment. But within seconds, the pout was replaced by a blinding smile. "That's okay! We dont need to buy you things! You can just carry my bags! Pleeease?"

For some inexplicable reason, the word "no" stuck in Sam’s throat. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone and stop pestering him with her endless enthusiasm. But something about the way she looked at him, with those wide, hopeful eyes, made him feel... guilty? No, not guilty. He didn't care about her feelings. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Before he could respond, Mila grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, dragging him toward the shopping district. Sam resisted at first, but Mila was surprisingly strong for someone so small and, well... pink.

"Fine," he grumbled under his breath. "But don’t expect me to enjoy this."

Mila squealed with delight, completely ignoring his reluctance. "Yay! This is going to be the best day ever, Sammy! I promise!"

As they walked through the crowded streets, Sam couldn’t help but feel like a dark cloud trailing behind a ray of sunshine. Every step he took beside her felt wrong, like he was breaking some unspoken rule about who he was supposed to be. Mila represented everything he hated: happiness, brightness, optimism. But no matter how hard he tried to shake her off, she kept finding her way back into his life — and maybe, just maybe, into his heart.

PT. 1

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Now I am curious about the girls day with batmom, can we have it pls?

Bruce looked around the table at lunch and frowned, "Alfred where-"

"Miss Y/N took the other ladies in the house for a girl's day. Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie needed school clothes and Miss Barbara offered her assistance," Alfred said simply.

Bruce's frown faded slightly and he grunted, "Did they take-"

"They took the Jeep, I believe."

_________

You look at the flamboyant bald man currently trying to persuade Barbara into much longer nails and raise your eyebrow over the rim of your mimosa glass, "Roland, the girl said no," you tut. "They all do too much work with their hands to have the Dragon Talons you like designing."

Roland sniffed, "It's a pity any of you work with your hands- these callouses are a crime. What are you doing anyway-"

"Whatever they like. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Just do what they ask."

"I don't know why I bother with you," he scolded without any real heat. He bothered because you tipped well and told the best dirty jokes... but. He was still irritated that you hadn't let him bedazzle your fingertips.

"I thought it was because you like having something to complain about," you tease. Next to you, Cass smiles a little where she's watching with interest as someone applied lime green sparkly polish to her toes.

"I just can't believe Bruce agreed to pay for all this stuff," Steph snorted.

"Oh no sweetie," you laugh, "I just don't give him a chance to say no.."

'She really doesn't," Barbara said grinning when Steph's eyes went wide as she deliberated over purple polish colors. "She just declares she's doing something and if he doesn't like it, he can sulk about it."

"Charmed life," Cass said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Roland made a soft envious sound, "Does he have a brother?"

__________

Steph eyed clothing racks and frowned, making a soft discontented sound. It was nice, being out with the girls. But it didn't magically make her mom less shit. Or the ongoing mess of her love life any less draining.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?" you answer, holding out a shirt for her to inspect- 70's inspired. Purple. And would look nice with a pair of the flared jeans she'd already bought.

She took it, feeling the fabric and crinkled her nose at the price tag, "How did you do it?" she asked quietly

"What specifically-"

"I mean, after everything. Like- with-" she broke off the word 'cult'. Not sure if she was actually allowed to ask about that. Or about the time you left. Things that weren't really secrets but just not things you LIKED to talk about; not as anything more than a passing comment.

But when you pat her arm and add the shirt to what was laying on her arm, she gets a sense that you know.

"It took time," you answer after a moment. "But I had to make the choices that were best for me- even if they didn't make sense to anyone else. And more than that, I had to learn that it was okay to do that. That I didn't have to let my past determine my future. Any more than I ever had to be that... powerless ever again."

Stephanie bit her lip and you smile a little. "When my sister was killed," you pause and tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "I couldn't stop them. And I carried that guilt with me for a long time. Still do. But. I know that I can stop other girls from meeting the same fate. So- I focus on that. Because I can't control the past; or other people. All I have is right now. That's all anyone really has."

"That's- kinda depressing."

"It can be," you hum, "At least until you get used to it. There's something liberating about just saying 'fuck it' and learning to live for yourself."

Stephanie smiled. It was less rare to hear you use swear words but it still sounded funny, given that your usual curses were "Hell's Teeth" or "Son of a biscuit" around the house where the kids could hear you.

"When did you hit 'fuck it'?"

"About the time Dick and Tim gave me my new 'pet name'," you muse. "I think that's when I really figured out I didn't have to let ANYONE tell me what to do anymore."

[glowmiko]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍚 . . ★ く♡ __ 🍯 ~ ANGEL ! SHENHE

cw › tit grippin' n suckin, scissoring, pet names ( baby, darling. ) soft!sub!virgin!shenhe, top/dom!afab!reader, clit rubbing, rough fingering(?) . non wlw &&. minors dni.

a/n › ik we know absolutely nothing about shenhe, but I jus wanna make her my soft baby 🥺 tis not proof read soo.. 🧍‍♀️reposted cause my tags ain't work.

. . ★ she was your everything, raising your temperature so high you could almost feel yourself exploding to dust and bits. beautiful. that was the word for her, catching your eyes with every slight turn of her head, silky hair falling off her shoulder in such swift movements. she had you whipped, without even trying she'd already swooned you with her angelic looks. hair seemingly sparkled and bedazzled in angel dust.

she was everything you've ever wanted, and now, your soft hand cups her fluffy cheek. looking up at you with such cute eyes— you could almost burst into a fit of tears. "gonna make you feel good, you want that, baby?" you spoke in such a gentle manner that shenhe could only submit herself to you. with a small gesture, she nodded, her plump tits being uncovered by the protection of her arms.

you made haste moves, pushing her back down against the soft and welcoming plush of the bed, your lips colliding with the smooth skin of her neck. a small sign of pleasure moved past your lips, she was squirming, her legs spreading and closing around your waist. you giggled, moving your head down to her breasts, a swift lick to her left nipple.

"a-ah!" her face flooded in rosy pink, her buds perking up as you lapped your tongue around her perky breasts. she was wet, oozing in arousal. she wanted you, she wanted to be explored in ways she couldn't ever imagine.

your lips did a satisfying pop, scattering pink (soon to turn purple) kisses along her tits. "feel good?" you hummed, littering her tummy in kisses. you were making rapid moves, after all, you really wanted something.

shenhe squeaked, clutching your head in her thighs, you'd pressed a kiss to her cunt— she wasn't expecting it, not yet as she was entranced in the way you fondled her breasts.

"'ts okay my darling, I'm gonna be real gentle, unless you'd like otherwise." you tossed a wink at her, spreading her thighs; a galore of glossed pussy showcased at your very sight. you flushed, cheeks warm, gentle fingers spreading her labia. you bowed down, tongue molding against her clit.

she squealed, a hand thrown at your head. "please... want more!"

who were you to deny her requests? you kissed her cunt, lolling over her clit, your fingertips pushing against her hole. she yelped again— it was cute, nearly getting an 'aww' out of you. she was perfect. you were drooling, spit smothered against your face as your rubbed your chin up and down her slit, she was shivering and you could feel her tremors. you almost thought she was crying. you could feel your lips swelling, you were so focused, tongue fastening around her pussy, your finger pumping in and out of her. You'd gone wild, your fingers nearly completely sucked into her cunt, you were rapidly moving in and out of her, her walls tightening against your fingers.

her fingers gripped your hair, "close, so close..." she chewed on her bottom lip, her ghostly eyes barely visible as she squeezed her legs around your head, the stirring in her stomach finally reaching its point. she nearly screamed, thrusting her hips against your face, riding out her first orgasm. out of breath, her chest rose and dropped in action, meanwhile, you were soaking wet, she was so damn attractive.

you sat on your legs, spreading her legs, you crossed your leg over hers, your heart dropping as you felt the slight stimulation of her pussy touching your own. "fuck, shenhe..." you were done being as gentle as a cloud, thrusting your hips, your left hand gripped her thigh, keeping her open. you moaned, her whimpers igniting you further. you slapped her tit, your body facing away from her as you used her knee to rock you farther.

"mmph— gonna cum a-again!" you made her wanna thaw into the sheets, her face so hot it drastically changed the color of her smooth skin to a blush red. your clit swabbed against hers, her eyes rolling as her teeth gripped her lips. you gasped, your hips hugging her shaky leg, your cum oozing down your thigh.

shenhe completely melted. moaning into the pillow, her body dropping in exhaustion. she came. the stimulation drove her so wild, she couldn't stop the shaking, heart throbbing so harsh she thought it'd burst through her rib cage.

you sighed with satisfaction lingering in your throat, "you're so perfect, baby."

[sansaorgana]

eek ofc u (and us) gotta respect your time! just wanted to check what you were g with 🙂 condensed brain worms:

- love bimbo!reader for aegon because ya gotta be mildly dumb to look at weed-soaked hentai sweater ass aegon and think that's good boyfriend material

- the crisis aegon would get when he realises he wants to stick around after they fuck makes me laugh

- she could fix him, a la 'i want to be a better man for my girl who sees everything in me', and she would praise him every time he made the tiniest effort which makes him chase more. she can't believe he washed his dick before sex. alternatively, they could both just be degenerates together. both is good.

- yk she's got fire nudes. aegon's got enough to make his own porno mag out of

- she thinks viserys is mid and alicent could do better. will say it out loud.

- she might be scared of insects but her bestie's besties are her besties. she will hold quentin tarantulino or die trying.

- if they were dating, would bedazzle eyepatches for aemond. feels like shes got a hot pirate boyfie at all times. curious to hear your thoughts on this dynamic! haven't thought it through much.

- yk she's lowkey into criston. u KNOW she is.

ty for your patience ❤️ it is a joy to see your posts 😚

thank you for understanding, darling 🤍💓

• I laughed so much at the first part omg hahaha yeah you gotta be a bimbo to love a dude like that hahaha

• when Ageon falls in love, he thinks he's actually sick and the he needs medical help because he doesn't know what's happening to him

• i think she would fix him without realizing, you know? she wouldn't even put much effort in it. she'd praise him because she loves him and it's her boyfriend and there's no philosophy in that for her but for him it means the world

• oh yeah, her nudes would be FIRE and he'd always buy her the prettiest sets of lingerie

• Viserys is a dinosaur 🦖 Alicent can do so much better and our bimbo!Reader says it out loud in front of him. she doesn't care!!!

• oh yeah she'd probably hate bugs but she'd want to be friends with Helaena so badly. once again, not because she wants something. she just finds Hela cute

• she'd be into Criston 1000% and she'd tease Aegon how hot their bodyguard / driver is 😵‍💫

• if you want me to make a post with Aemond and bimbo!Reader like the one I made with Aegon a few days go, send an ask!!! 💓

[tierra-paldeana]

☠🌏– The good ol' mundane Rika found herself going through some very strange feelings right now. She's always been entranced by nature, from the day she stepped foot on it long ago - she was familiar with its beauty as well as its dangers, at least in the south of Paldea. The mud on her skin, the grass between her fingers, the water in her mouth, the sand at her feet. And although she had been frequenting the north more often thanks to the visits she gave Grusha, every time she did she found something new to stare in awe at, mouth agape and eyes wide as she took in the sights of whatever new little thing she had noticed about this environment.

It wasn't usually this breathtaking, though. She had seen sunsets and sunrises all over the south, the way they illuminated or darkened the environment, the hues they'd bring to everything under them, the change in the scents and the mood they'd produce. And she's definitely seen some in Glaseado, but... for some reason, tonight, something so simple yet visually distinct brought warmth within her.

...Something tells her, though, that's not the only reason she's feeling so bedazzled. After all... sharing a beautiful view with someone you're fond of was much better than being the only one to witness it.

''Hehe... It's real nice, indeed. The sunsets here are always so pretty. Really give the ones of the south a run for its money. I'm happy I got to see it with ya', Grush.''

Her smile is full of fondness, and she's so so tempted to reach for his hand and give it a little squeeze in appreciation, but she doesn't want to give him the wrong idea... The 'wrong' idea?

''Sure! Ah, man... I wish I could take a photo o' it, but I'm pretty sure my phone wouldn't make it justice...''

Her eyes glance back at the rosy mountains - if she squints, she can see the vague figures of Sawsbuck and Deerling strolling and prancing around. Her smile never falters.

''Sure is one o' those views I wish would last forever...''

The beauty of the snowy mountains. The time she spent with Grusha... Both precious things she'd love to not let go of.

''Y'know, Grush. If ya' ever wanna come over to my house in the south, yer more than free to. I'm more than cool wit' it if you'd ever like to stay overnight as well. Just sayin' cause yer a cool guy and I'd love to spend more time wit' ya if yer okay with it, heh.''

She's honest and open and friendly. Why wouldn't she? The more she looks at the icy Gym Leader, the warmer her chest feels...

⠀he's sure to scoop his bag of groceries back up as they prepare to leave, brushing the flakes of snow still clinging to the bottom.⠀once more it hangs around his arm, giving his hands the freedom to burrow into warm pockets.

⠀the trail from montenevera to home is one he's walked thousands of times.⠀though no clear sign directed them there—⠀ah, the solitary life had its downsides—⠀he remembers each step by heart.⠀just stay close and don't wander off.

⠀his eyes trail wherever they may as their trek continues, noting little things here and there.⠀he's beginning to see the timid glows of buried greavard off from the path, the glint of snom clinging to branches, and distant splotches of white huddled near a riverbank.⠀there's that little pod of cetoddle he often sees—⠀their mother cetitan must be out, but they seem to be having fun trying to catch fish with clumsy fins.

⠀then, those eyes trail to rika.⠀she seems equally distracted, and when she stops, so does he.

⠀“ hm? ”

⠀he can't see a thing where she's looking, but then it clicks—⠀was she watching the sunset?⠀how different were they in other parts of paldea, for her to seem entranced by these daily hues?

⠀his gaze on the sky is brief;⠀within moments, they're back onto rika.⠀and she looks back at him, and though usually he'd promptly cut off eye contact, uttering an apology for being caught staring . . .⠀today, for some reason, he simply can't.

⠀he doesn't want to.

⠀that light in her eyes . . .⠀he finds it striking, that bold color a fire.

⠀“ um . . .⠀y - yeah.⠀it is. ”

⠀they're just talking about the sunset, but she was looking straight into him as she said it.⠀something about that made the blood rush to his ears, heartbeat like a drum;⠀it's just below freezing and he can't feel a damn bit of it.

⠀“ . . . we're almost there.⠀but we can stay and watch it a little longer, ”⠀and delay inevitable departure,⠀“ if you want. ”

[kopikokun]

Not My Taste༄ l.dh

↳ Your youth was, to make a long story short, bedazzling. But that sparkle faded long ago, and all that it left is hundreds, thousands, of people asking: What’s next? Thing is, you don’t know either. Washed-up, overshadowed, and still unacclimated to your newfound repetitive life of solitude, your odyssey lacks direction. That is, until a friend of yours materialises bearing a solution: reality TV. Paired with a sunny co-star and a multi-talented cast, maybe this’ll be when the pivotal revelation arc you've been craving starts to take shape.

pairing: lee donghyuck x celebrity!reader (fem)

featuring: ten, jaehyun, johnny, winwin, mark, yangyang, taeyong, wendy (rv)

genre: fluff, angst, fake dating!au, celebrity!au, reality show!au, baking competition!au, enemies to lovers, co-workers to lovers, suggestive

warning(s): intense argument, negative media attention, public pressure, feelings of inadequacy, living in someone else's shadow, self-deprecation (yn's just going through it lmao), expletives

word count: 4480 words

author's note: this is far from perfect but i had loads of fun with it and it was a great change of pace. despite its imperfections/shortcomings, i hope you get something out of it! feedback/constructive criticism (either positive or "negative", so long as it's constructive) is always appreciated ♡ let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for future installations!

☆༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: 1692 (cottonwood firing squad) ✧ cigarette daydreams (cage the elephant) ✧ freakin' out on the interstate (briston maroney) ✧ fluorescent adolescent (arctic monkeys) ✧ hazey (glass animals) ✧ holiest (glass animals, tei shi)

EPISODE LIST # 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

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# EPISODE 1: Five Star Shit Show

Growing up, when your father returned late from table reads, your mother would cocoon you in your feather duvet, kiss both temples, and whisper the same tale to you, word-for-word each time. Souls draw lots to determine their life's odyssey, she'd murmur. They huddle around an iridescent goblet—its mouth a gaping black hole—and draw strips woven from rainbow; seven colours on every tape, yet none the same shade. Her eyelids drooped as she spoke, lashes brushing her cheekbones, tinted golden from your bedside lamp. She always mumbled gratitude for her lot—for her husband's success, for her healthy daughter, for the roles you already had flooding in—as she fell asleep before you, soothed by her own stories.

Though you listened, you never believed, because while the notion is fantastical, it's depressing too. If everything was predestined before you could even seize your first breath, effort would be futile. Your achievements wouldn't be earned, they'd be assigned. So, perhaps out of spite, you believe everything—every single damn thing—that's happened in your life is a consequence of your actions, not because fate strummed her strings or some ridiculous goblet spewed prophetic rainbows.

But now, standing in this lurid kitchen setting with a camera crew and nineteen strangers, your mother’s philosophy sounds tempting, because there's no way in hell your choices landed you here. A reality show.

“Hey,” someone whispers, elbow jabbing your side. It’s Ten, the assistant floor manager, your friend, and the reason you're here to begin with. “How is he? You two get along well?"

The ‘he’ is Lee Donghyuck, another ingredient in the reasons for your presence. He's in hair and makeup, eyes lidded as the stylist pats his face with powder. "He's fine. Nice smile, contagious laugh." You pause. "And he's cute."

"'Course you'd say that." Ten rolls his eyes.

"Can't help that I have eyes. And I'm sure everyone here's thinking the same thing."

"So, are you glad you agreed to join this season's cast?" Ten's lips quiver with a smile.

"I only came because you threatened me."

Reality TV is for spectating, not participating. It’s something consumed when there’s nothing else to watch and you just want the day to end. When you watch Masterchef—or Masterchef Junior when you’re disinclined to Chef Ramsay’s degradation—you never think Wow, I wanna be in this. But here you are—not in Masterchef but in World’s Worst Bakers, where the worst of the worst unite for the most disastrous bake-off imaginable.

"I did not threaten you," he pouts.

"You said you'd vomit in my shoes the next time you get drunk, and you do that like every other day. Pretty sure you were drunk when you threatened me too."

"I was stress drinking! You're just jealous I didn't invite you." Bingo. He's absolutely right. "But, seriously, thanks for being down for this. I thought I was totally doomed when Donghyuck's partner said he couldn't make it."

Your cheeks warm. "It's whatever, Ten. It's not like I've got anything going on for me right now." And you're not exaggerating. Since moving out, the vapidity of your day-to-day constitutes daily deja vu. If not for your phone, you doubt you’d even know today’s date. You look back to Donghyuck. According to Ten, he's just one of the contestants who manually applied. “He really isn't one of the celebrities the casting director snagged for the show?” Ratings had tanked last year, a far cry from the first season's monumental success. The crew hoped the inclusion of a few illustrious names would restore the show's declining popularity.

"Nope, just some kid," he says, though Donghyuck's only a few years younger than him. "But he's a natural, isn't he?"

You nod. Just moments after Donghyuck capered in,  people swarmed him like ants to sugar. His presence overshadows even the actual celebrities on set.

There’s a single beep—sharp and blaring—before Ten turns to scurry away. “Showtime,” he grins, tossing you a cheeky wink.

Shit, you’re really about to do this. Everyone at home's going to see what an atrocious baker you are. There's three ways this could unfold:

People will coo at your ineptitude, deem you quirky and hilarious. You'll be loved, not in the way your father is—a respectable figure in the field—but as the cooky, skittish friend whose failures are inexplicably funny.

People will boo at your ineptitude; deem you incompetent and spoiled. She can't bake because she was coddled growing up, they'll say. All she knows how to do is drink and sleep around.

Nothing happens. The show's a flop, and so are you. The media writes a few lazy articles about you at parties from weeks ago, or an ex starts shit. They’ll call you a wild card again. You'll be nothing but washed-up, a has-been, only recognisable as a vignette of your father's glory.

The final option is the best. Zero media coverage means people'll forget you. They'll stop badgering you about your next upcoming project when there is none and their expectant stares will shift elsewhere. You'll be a nobody, just like everyone else.

You don't want your parents uncovering what you've been up to since moving out either; that a reality TV baking competition is the most productive you've been since then. Your mother had only relented to your request of moving out after insistent persuasion. Your father hadn't been very keen either, but eventually he'd laughed and said, She'll be fine. The next time we see her, she'll be an A-list actress, in all the latest movies, plastered on all the billboards we drive past. We'd probably get sick of seeing her face everywhere. You'd laughed too, but guilt thrashed violently within you, tearing at your conscience. How would your parents react if you told them you wanted nothing to do with the limelight anymore? That you didn't even know what you wanted to do anymore?

You shudder the fret away. Worrying before a competition never did anyone any good.  Ten weeks will zip past, and once again, life will adopt its monotonous course, as it should.

“Hey!” Donghyuck’s voice punctures your internal monologue. It’s ecstatic, like he’s known you forever, when you've only spoken once or twice before. “Ready, partner?”

No. “Not really.”

“That’s fine,” Donghyuck grins. “More fun when you’re unprepared.”

What does that even mean? “Uh... sure.”

“It’ll be fun! Don’t sweat it.” One of the crew members waves wildly, gesturing you to your station. Don’t sweat it? Just wait till I lift my arms.

Donghyuck’s affable, his elation virulent. Sure, you aren't friends, but maybe you could be. He looks like he'd be a great drinking buddy too.

Your life is your own, and you—not some shiny goblet—have decided that you're going to have fun.

Spoiler for episode one of World’s Worst Bakers: it was not fun.

It commenced flawlessly, at first. The sprightly young host, Liu Yangyang, had revealed the judges, each with their own introductory quip. As they sauntered in, you had tried to ascertain their respective cooking-show-judge archetype: the nice one, the funny-in-a-dad-kind-of-way one, and finally, the you-fucking-donut one. You’d hoped that since the competition’s meant to display the worst baking monstrosities comprehensible, the latter was exempted from the panel range.

Your efforts proved fruitless however, the saying ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover’ prevailing in the end. The panel consists of retired bakery owner Johann Wiles, prodigy baker Lee Taeyong, and home-baker extraordinaire Son ‘Wendy’ Seungwan. None of them fit into any one cliche, actually, they all possessed each quality, just in different measurements. Wow, who would've guessed people are multifaceted with many layers to their personality?, you chide yourself.  Have you learnt nothing from Shrek? Now, in the final fifteen minutes, you wished you had mentally prepared yourself instead of judging people by physical appearance. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be encrusted in wet flour, sweating your ass off because your buttercream frosting won't retain its shape.

You and Donghyuck stand shoulder-to-shoulder before not a whimsical goblet, but an array of cupcakes; his arms akimbo and yours crossed.

“Why do they look like that? Why are they all melty?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, mussing his hair, wedging clumps of flour between the strands. “They look like...”

“Wet shit,” you mumble. He nods.

You tilt your head back, shoulders creaking with an ache. The other contestants seem to be doing fine. Why wouldn’t they? This first round is supposedly the easiest, meant to wean you in to the next nine weeks of baking. The judges had even distributed a recipe to minimise catastrophe. So, what on Earth had gone wrong?

“You two doing okay?”

Chef Lee’s voice is mellifluous, like spun sugar. He exudes an air of genuine concern, eyebrows bunched. One of the cameras pivots to you and it takes all of your remaining energy to not flinch.

You shake your head, while Donghyuck says, “Our frosting’s liquified, Chef.”

“Just Taeyong. Chef makes me sound pretentious,” he says, waving dismissively. Man, so you don’t even get to bark ‘Yes, Chef!’? What’s the point?

Taeyong bends forward, laser-focused on your pathetic cupcake. It was palpable from the get-go, but up close, you really marvel in how attractive he is—and how young too. How old did Yangyang say again? 25? 26? In fact, there’s an appalling concentration of attractive people here, from the unfairly gorgeous judge panel to the celebrity contestants, even Ten, a crew member, is pretty good-looking. You glance at Donghyuck, eyes roving his figure. And him. He's just... some guy. Why is he so stupidly attractive? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try to be a little more than drinking partners.

“How long has the cream cheese been out of the fridge?” Taeyong’s flinty gaze latches onto you. God, you look abysmal right now, and you're being recorded in the same frame as two beautiful men, one of which is staring at you in a room full of equally attractive people. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, hoping to efface any smears.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes?”

Taeyong raises a brow. “You’re sure?"

“Uh... yes?” In your peripheral, Donghyuck frowns. Did you say something wrong?

Taeyong cocks his head to one side, lips pursed, before reaching down to cup the bottom of one cupcake. “Ah,” he smiles, “did you let the cupcakes cool before frosting?”

Your heart plummets, fizzes in your stomach acid. Cooling was mentioned in the recipe, but you’d skipped it in favour of time-efficiency. You’d even told Donghyuck you’d let it cool when prompted, thinking it’d been a beneficial decision. Evidently not. “...No?”

“You need to let them cool completely on the rack before frosting, or else, well, this happens. Scrape off the buttercream. It should take about ten minutes to cool.” He sets the cupcake down, beginning to walk away. “Good luck.”

You bury your face in your hands. Ten minutes? That only leaves three, at most four, left for piping and plating. You’ll need more than luck. Then, just give up. There's nothing to lose, right? That's a dumb question, of course there is. What will people think if you can't even make it past the first round?

The cameraman lingers, and you’ve half the mind to swat it away to save face when you inevitably yank your hair out. You know you're still being filmed for the drama, reality TV thrives off of it after all. The editors will add in a tense instrumental, rich with dissonance and key changes, cut to a confessional they'll have you record tomorrow, and really milk the suspense. Maybe you should yank your hair out; higher ratings, possibly higher coin. You shake with a silent laugh. It probably looks like you're crying. That would definitely get a few clicks. What a drama queen, would be the consensus.

“Hey, hey, hey,” whispers Donghyuck, lips centimetres from your ear. He's muffling the lapel mic with one hand, the other on your shoulder. He must be frazzled, but like the excellent partner he is, he remains poised. It assures you. Maybe he’s leaning in to murmur encouragement. “Don’t you dare panic. I’m not going to lose this competition because you fucked up."

The fuck? You swivel to gawk at him, faintly aware that his lips are now centimetres from yours. “Excuse me?" you whisper, smothering your own body mic. “You’re being a dick.”

“I will be when there’s money on the line,” he hisses. Where’d that sweet guy go? The one everyone was fawning over forty-five minutes ago? The kind stranger with the lucent smile and boyish laugh? “Now, get scraping," he spits.

Then, as quickly as it erupted, his anger dissipates, eyes creasing and smile shy. He removes his palm from your shoulder and cradles your chin, thumb—which is more calloused than expected—swiping the corner of your lip, so delicate your skin prickles. You stare as he dips the digit into his mouth.

“You had some frosting on your face,” he says, uncovering his lapel mic so his pretext doesn’t go unheard. He turns to start scraping.

Your index and middle finger hover over where Donghyuck’s thumb had been. Unfortunately, there’s no time to dwell, so you stiffly resume your duties.

But you’re distracted. Your eyes keep wandering to Donghyuck, and though you pry them away, they always crawl back, more tenacious than before.

When the timer buzzes and you’re standing before the judges, your eyes are on him. When you’re presenting your cupcakes and answering questions about them, your eyes are on him. When you’re thrust to the bottom two and narrowly evade elimination, your eyes are on him. When you’ve wrapped up for the day and are reminded about recording confessionals tomorrow, your eyes are on him.

It’s only when the losing pair are sent home—a father son duo—that Donghyuck hauls you away and finally, his eyes are on you.

“What the hell is your deal?” he whispers. “You’ve been staring at me for the past half-an-hour.”

You blanch. He’s done it again; that abrupt personality flip. Just moments before he’d laughed and joked and flushed pink at praise, but now he’s snarling in your face like you’ve cussed him out. And honestly, you’re considering it.

You clench your jaw, relishing in the screech of teeth abrading teeth. Heat pulses in every crevice of your body, gripping the gummy flesh of your innards, seeping into your blood, fuelling your every thought.

Ten had been wrong. Donghyuck must have some sort of background in acting, because wow, can the bitch put on a performance. Unbeknownst to everyone here, his entire persona’s been a facade. He isn’t a kind, endearing stranger, no, he’s a conniving, sly, little prick. No, you’re not mad. You’re pleased, pleased that he’s shown his full colours, pleased that you’ve dodged a bullet. You’d been intending to exchange numbers. Imagine that! It would’ve been devastating if he’d only shed his charming glaze after you’d grown attached. You would’ve gone out for drinks, confided in him after a few, and he would’ve laid every dirty secret bare for the public to scarf down, telling the media: I never really liked her anyway.

Cuss him out. No, what would he think of you? But then again, you’re strangers. It’s not like he’s afforded you an ounce of chivalry, why should you? He doesn’t deserve even a morsel of pity or remorse from you.

“My deal? What the fuck is yours? Fine, I screwed up back there, but you didn’t have to be such a bitch about it. What happened to having fun?”

Donghyuck looks at you like you’re a moron. “Of course you think having fun means fucking about. I didn’t mean for you to disregard the steps to the recipe. It explicitly said ‘let rest until completely cooled’. You said you’d let it cool. You lied! You could’ve ruined our chances! I was being nice when I said that, but look where that got me.”

“You? Being nice? You’re the furthest thing from it.” You groan. “You’re just making a fuss out of nothing. We didn’t get eliminated and we’ll be moving on to the next round. What’s the big deal?”

“The ‘big deal’ is, that isn’t the only thing you fucked up. How about the butter that you forgot to put in?”

“I did not forget that. You did. The butter was not my fault. I told you to add it in during mixing after I left it out to thaw. Don’t try to pin your faults on me.”

Donghyuck flushes, and you swell with righteous pride. “Alright, fine, but that’s only because I was too busy picking up after your messes.”

“Picking up after my messes?” you scoff. “I’m not a child, Donghyuck. I was making no messes.”

“Holy shit,” he laughs, bitter and indignant. “You didn’t even realise that I saved your—our asses, did you? ‘No messes’? What about the frosting?”

God, does he ever quit? “What about the frosting? You upset I didn’t milk a cow and make the butter myself?”

“You forgot to put it in the fridge.“

You weave your arms across your chest. Yes, you’d prematurely made the buttercream, but it was an accident. And besides a minute or two squandered, it hadn’t reaped any severe  repercussions. “No, I didn’t. I took it out from the fridge. It wouldn’t have been there if I had forgotten, now would it? I definitely remember putting it in.”

“Of course, that’s how you remember it.” He rolls his eyes. “I put it in the fridge, not you. If I hadn’t been aware of my surroundings or neglected common sense, our buttercream would’ve been unsalvageable. Your mistake would’ve single handedly gotten us eliminated. So, yeah, no big deal.”

“Okay, fine, I get it, Donghyuck. I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? You’re being so dramatic. It’s not like getting upset’s gonna change what’s already happened. Why’re you still so pissed?”

“I’m pissed, because when I win, I’m going to have to split the money with someone who did nothing but drag me down the whole way. A freeloader, riding on the coattails of my effort. I’d tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it seems like everyone was right about you.”

You bristle. Freeloader. How many times have you heard that before? And what had he heard about you? Everyone? Who else in this room, on this set, in the cast, has something against you? A bottomless chasm of pent-up resentment behind smiling masks? Do they whisper about you behind your back? Does Taeyong? Wendy? Ten?

“The fuck does that mean? Don’t act like you know me when we only met two hours ago! Nothing? I did nothing? Are you so far up your own ass that you didn’t see how I was helping you out the entire time? So what I made a mistake? Surprise, surprise, I’m a shitty baker, Donghyuck! You are too! That’s why we’re on the show!” Your fists are curled, nails piercing the flesh of your palms. “You’re so full of yourself for thinking you pulled all the weight. You prance around smiling and laughing, bluffing about who you really are, pretending like you’ve not got a bad bone in your body, when really, you’re full of shit.”

Hurt shadows his face, but the flames of his ire are quick to extinguish it. He’s not tall, but in this isolated moment, he towers over you. “If being full of shit is what wins me this competition, then so be it. You might have come here because you’ve got nothing else to do, and hey, if you win, there’s a bit of easy cash and publicity, but there is no ‘if’ for me.” His cadence is feral, convulsing, voice cracking as if he’s trying to emphasise every word. His breaths are manic. Each syllable strangles him, pressing tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s frantic, pupils dilated, almost... terrified. “I didn’t come here—didn’t take money out to audition, didn’t spend weeks in anxiety waiting for a response, didn’t take days off my job—just to lose. So, start taking this seriously, or don’t. Get. In. My. Way.”

He’s so close; it’s suffocating. The air between you is congested with all the words  uttered, so many that there’s no room left for oxygen. They taint your trachea black, shrivelling your lungs. Your exhales are stifling. The room seems to shrink. The ceiling begs to cave in. It’s claustrophobic. You want to claw at your throat, but instead, you tip forward, glaring, your voice low and vicious, “I hate you.”

Donghyuck smiles, crooked, sadistic. He stoops lower, so close you can taste his rage; tangy and sickly saccharine. “Then hate me,” he whispers. Your gaze flickers to his lips, the way he enunciates each word with escalating menace. His eyes skim your face, before he rights himself, tongue prodding his cheek. You shudder with an exhale. Asswipe. He beams, and it’s only now you notice that it’s stretched too far to be sincere. “See you tomorrow.”

Nothing happened during confessionals the next day. You had expected overt hostility, but Donghyuck was insouciant. He smiled, conversed effervescently, and met your gaze despite your blatant aversion, as debonair as before. You would’ve been piqued by his nonchalance, but yesterday’s outburst had wisened you. Lurking beneath that sunny pretence was, unmistakably, irritation; you only had to learn where to look, and yesterday’s ordeal had been a spectacular lesson in the matter.

Though he approached you with a skip in his step, and a lilt in his laugh, it tormented him more and more every time. The cracks in his charade were laughably transparent when he’d talk to you. From the too broad smile, the too high giggle, the twitch of the jaw, the dart of tongue over upper teeth, he hates being around you—despises it. Well, that makes two of us. Partner.

Now, four days since you last saw him, you smile just reminiscing about his distaste. Obviously, he’s not as unbothered by you as he tries to exhibit. Good. He can pretend as much as he’d like, but you know from experience that bottled-up aggravation is going to simmer to a boil, and just one teensy turn of the gas knob is going to make him go boom. And luckily for him—

No, this isn’t a matter of luck, this is the result of your doing, because you—not anyone or anything else—have decided you’re going to turn up the heat.

Your phone rings, buzzing on the dresser. It must be your mother, harassing you to contemplate moving back in again. Or maybe your parents found out about the show. It had just aired yesterday. Shit. You roll over in your bed, face mashed into the mattress as you blindly reach for your phone.

You clear your throat, and answer with your chirpiest voice, “Yes?”

“Why do you sound like that? Are you sick?”

“Oh, it’s you.”

“At least try to sound enthusiastic,” Ten mutters.

“Yay.”

He grumbles. “I called to ask if you’d seen the episode yet.”

“No.”

“Typical,” he groans. “Do you really not give a shit about it?”

“Should I? Why? Do I look bad?”

“When do you not?” he asks. Silence. He cackles at his own ingenuity. You can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Anyway, check your texts. I sent you a link. Really, I had no idea you were into guys like that.”

Guys like what? But Ten’s already hung up. Curiosity nips at you, so for once, you immediately enter the Messages app after Ten’s told you to. Hopefully, whatever the hell he’s done now won’t afflict you.

He’s attached a single link; an article. An article with your face on it. Your heart lurches, palms beading perspiration at the sight of yourself. The choice of colour and font of the article is garish, something only a tacky gossip column could get away with. What are you doing in a gossip column? You’ve abstained from anything remotely scandalous for weeks since moving out, refusing to supply any ammunition your mother could use to justify you staying home. So what had soured?

‘BITTERSWEET ROMANCE?

'Just last Friday, the world of reality TV was shaken to its core when the first episode of season three of World’s Worst Bakers aired. The show pits the worst of the worst against one another in an ultimate bake-off to find out who will succeed as the best among them (is that really something to be proud of?). The show itself boasts an impressive cast from rising actor Jung Jaehyun, gorgeous part-time model Johnny Suh, award-winning traditional dancer Dong Sicheng, singer/heartthrob Mark, prodigy baker Lee Taeyong—’

Yeah, yeah, whatever. But why is your face on an article titled ‘Bittersweet Romance’? You scour the page, eyes bulging when you discover what’s been written about you.

‘...the former child star and daughter of esteemed actor seems busy on the show; busy with love that is. Introducing Lee Donghyuck, indiscriminate and humble, perhaps lacking in notoriety, but certainly not in looks. The two seem to have struck a passionate romance, seen in the clip below sharing a tender moment together as Donghyuck soothes his lover’s anxieties about the competition, even slipping in a swoon-worthy gesture. Allegedly, the two were so enamoured by each other, they were nearly eliminated! Ah, young love. Sources say they witnessed the young couple’s hurried departure for privacy the moment filming ended, and we don’t think we need to spell out what probably happened next. Though reports state the couple seem end-game, is that really a possibility considering our darling lover girl’s history? It’s public knowledge that she’s quite a wild card; who knows how she’ll break this poor boy’s heart, if it ever comes to that. Her ex-partners—’

You refuse to read further. Nausea clings to your stomach. A mixture of mortification and abhorrence batters your skull. Passionate romance? Tender moment? Enamoured? Love? And what are they implying with ‘departure for privacy’? That you and Donghyuck had a quickie while the entire crew was milling about? If only they’d heard the berating the two of you had dished out, then the article would probably be singing a drastically different tune. Temper Tantrum: Former child star lambasts her baking partner! They’d regale and call you bitch instead of censoring themselves with ‘wild card’. Wild card. Even in an article claiming you’d found potential true love, they’d wormed it in. Would they be calling you wild card even in seniority? You snort. Imagine that: an eighty-year-old you plastered across gossip columns. Maybe they’d find another washed-up star instead. They probably would. They always did.

Your phone chimes again, screen alight with a new text from Ten.

Looks like we’ve got ourselves a pair of stars.

You scoff, tossing your phone back on the dresser. Yeah, a pair of five star shit shows.

[lins-fandom-hub]

sunrise

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Alanza’s eyes were wide as she looked out at the sunrise over the Black Lake, lights dancing over the rippling surface of the water like sequins on a dress. Clara only smiled and nodded at her words, humming in content.

“Yeah. It is.”

The two girls spread a large blue blanket beneath them and sat down, wrapping their school robes over themselves to keep warm. The air was still chilly, the night winds nipping lightly at their cheeks, but their smiles were just as bright as the first rays of sun that beheld their vision. It was a rare opportunity to see the sunrise over the lake right on the shore, especially when most students would rather take this time to sleep in until breakfast called their name. The peace and calm of the atmosphere draped over them like a light veil, obscuring most of the past as they drank in every second of the present.

"I'll have to say, this is probably my favourite place at Hogwarts," Alanza finally said after a few moments of comfortable silence. "You rarely get the chance to revel in such a vast open space where you can reach every possibility if you tried. Of course, any area can be vast and open if you think of it to be. In Castelobruxo, though, we don't have many wide vast spaces like this."

"It can't be that hard to see a sunrise in Brazil, though," Clara pointed out quietly.

"Oh, it isn't, but with so many things in front of you, the sun feels so far away," Alanza said. "But here, it's like you're up close and personal with everything going on in the sky. If I could grab a broom right now and fly right through the skies, I'd be content."

To this, Clara gave a light laugh--a genuine happy laugh, one she had not given since the incident. "It would feel like you'd be a part of something bigger indeed."

"And to think that you can just reach up and touch the clouds and the first rays of light every day if you had the chance. That would be splendid, don't you think? A real brilliant way to start every day."

All Clara could do was nod, smiling encouragingly at Alanza. She'd grown very used to her talking by now, she didn't mind in the slightest that she was taking over most of the conversation.

"One of my friends, Chiara...when we became friends, she gave me a photo of a sunrise at Hogwarts," Clara recalled fondly now. "It was passed through quite a few hands, but all for the same reason: to remind ourselves that no matter how bad the night gets, the morning will always come. That no matter how bad the past could be, there's always a tomorrow to look forward to. But not everyone gets to even live to tomorrow..."

She trailed off, eyes lingering on the sunrise as tears began to brim in her eyes again, burning as they blurred her vision.

"I really wish I got the chance to know Rowan," Alanza murmured. "She sounded like a wonderful friend."

"A friend, a helper, and...someone who made a difference in everyone's lives," Clara agreed. "Rowan and I went much farther than that, though. We met in Diagon Alley before we started at Hogwarts. Only a bit later in our first year did I think to call us 'tree twins'."

"Tree twins? Why's that?"

"Rowan used to grow up on a tree farm with her family. And my last name in Chinese actually means 'forest'."

"Wow. I have no idea!"

"Mhmm. Every moment with Rowan was always so truly special since then. We shared such a close bond."

And as Clara reminisced over Rowan with Alanza, and as the other girl listened intently, the sun began to bedazzle them as it slowly inched its way higher up through the sky, the warm scarlet tones now turning into a brilliant yellow hue. The higher the sun rose, the lighter Clara's heart felt as bit by bit she shared her memories with Alanza, reliving her happy carefree past where everything wasn't so complicated.

"You know you can always count on me too, if something goes wrong?" Clara finally asked. "I mean, I know Dumbledore assigned me as your tour guide and to help you get settled down, but if there's anything you want to talk about, I'm all ears."

"Me too," Alanza reassured her. "After all, you did tell me about the Circle of Khanna. Now I know of the legacy that inspired the name. She'll be so proud of you going through life one sunrise at a time."

"I'm just happy that you're here to share this sunrise with me, Alanza," Clara finally said with a grin. "And with it, a fresh beginning to a new day and a mew friendship."

One day, R would get what's coming for them. But for now, she was ready to heal and be, with Alanza by her side.

[jsdgfsdf]

Pics i took like 5 hrs ago before i passed the hell out i think these capture thje tone well enough tbh i only took 3 these are the best ones imo. My literal 900 word elaboration⬇️

worlds shittiest turnaround gif this is legitimately 10% of the original filesize

ok first I got the rest of the starry night set like 2 days ago and since i saw like the preivew for it i think the day before the actual update ive been like Oh yeah. Aliens but like ofc i have. its such a nice looking set though so sleek and cooool and futuristic. Chrome. the monroefish one too that was like a week before then I didn't even bother with the croaker one tbh i maybe did 1 soloyolo on that banner on complete accident because i was flicking thru the menus too fast to get to the monroefish one. What was i saying

Anyway i thought that & a combo of the monroefish set would be pretty perfect for her what with the "wealthy" look..mostly the dress from starrynight cus its got the slit in it & i just paired that with oine of the "unstyleable" tops orange rebel yoiu can see it under there a little re:the orange. It clips a fair bit in the back but it's fine this dress clips with everything. I was gonna go with this 3 star tanktop thing but i thought it looked a little bad so i didn't but it was kindof a last minute change so, A for consideration

"the original idea" i thgink it was mainly the straps that got me theyre so chunky looking it throws the whole thing off nevermind the clipping

I was gonna add rings too well 1 ring but the only ring accerssory i have is from the crystal poems outfit and it goes for both hands. Yk cus marriage but it clashed too hard so whatever. i don't think she and adam would really be married in a legal sense anyway imagine having to sign legal documents with a 1 word name what a damn nightmare

I think overall my idea for this was just "ok i gotta make her look rich and fancy and jewelry and myeh" because i think they (she and adam) would be pretty loaded tbf at least to start with idk what the economy would look like in evocity if there even is one at that point (gunther delsantiago is right once again i really can't imagine what kind of socioeconomic impact an alien presence would haveo n earth). Skeyes on park avenue and all that though. Dunno i was mostly taking inspiration from 22 brides also even though i don't like how they wrote adam in it like WTF you mean to tell me this guy has morals no he fucking doesn't not to that extent at least hes been alienstyle experimenting on humans and animals for the past ~60yrs morals where bro., You're assuming he has one. That's my main gripe also. see this panel though

+ adam dialogue at the bottom there also for context. hurk i can't look at him. Listen they gave me essentially nothing to work with in terms of anything it might just be boobie comix logic(>might be) but i guess i can sorta see adam preferring that kind of fashion or just not giving a fuck either way ummm i don't know. How do i explain this ive been brainstorming a workaround for a potential backstory but i don't have anything concrete so i dont really wanna say anythingh about it. Uh. Yeah

+ For the inspired thing i also kinda just bedazzled my initial idea i don't think shed have yellow eyes or wear those alien glasses or have nearly as much star symbolism all of that is mainly just for show tbh. "Eve if she were an alien also" i guess. tahts kinda it though everything else is pretty much on point. i also don't think shed be that white but i have to make do with like 4 skintones gimme a break

OH YEAH Speaking of white i feel like she'd incorporate a lot of white into her wardrone for that metaphorical "symbolism" aspect she's eve. Purity and angels or smth.. tried going for modesty also... in a sense? With all of the white lace and everything i feel like that would be good enough in the "not showing too much skin": department. does the boa also add to that im not real sure. I feel like it would cus you can just wrap it around you but idk. Other than that though wel;l you can see it it's not that deep. It's deep but its not that deep. The colors aside from that were pretty random choices i had to make everything work with the chrome/navy blue/orange thing and i don't have any blue stilettos so i went w the dawn fox ones.. Same problem as my main fit i dont have any DAMN blue shoes that arent too dark or too light or the wrong shade or too short heelwise. All that to say i don't think shed wear orange. Or chrome

i forgot to add i feel like her fashion sense would be real ollldddd maybe justb20s inspired in general

The hair i wanna taslk about her hair a little bit. I don't think it be nearly as wavy do you see any waves here i don't (pic 1) i was also kinda takng inspiration from myself (pic 2 not the best example but the only time ive actually drawn her so far) A Lol a teehee i feel like shed have the same floppy hair as adam too but definitely nottt blonde. Little more on the dark brown side

So yeah

My infinity nikki eve inspired fit (+ adam so nobody gets image blasted). Emphasis on inspired tbh ive been cultivating a very clear idea of what i think she looks like this is basically just my picrew rendition. my hands are freezing cold id elaborate more ifthey werent

[cricketcampbell]

Once Cricket's confident the glue is set, she looks back over her shoulder to the source of the huffing and puffing and can't help but roll her half-bedazzled eyes at the blonde's stubbornness.

Knowing she won't just ask for her help, she sets her tweezers down and scoots from her own position on Lorelai's floor towards the center of the room. A hand is held out for the bottle of polish, while the other reaches for her hand.

"I thought you asked him to Sharky's tonight?" Cricket's eyebrows furrowed, both in confusion and concentration as she began to apply a careful coat of the color. "Isn't he like the vampire to your vampire slayer?"

There were no ways in which that could possibly end poorly tonight. Cricket wondered if she should maybe warn Atlas about just how sharp that stake prop actually was...

"Obviously." Her and Keo had actually been friends before the reveal, but not so much in the days after. It'd been Cricket's doing, as it tended to be in situations like this, something she feels the stirrings of guilt about in the pit of her stomach up until Lorelai shares just why he was relevant to the conversation. "Wait, what? You slept with Keo?"

She attempted to run back through her mental calendar to locate when that family barbecue might've been. Last month? August?

"But that was, like, two months ago! Why didn't you--" tell me, Cricket started to ask, though the time she'd taken to start the question was enough for her to answer it, and it had everything to do with the 5'7 sized Floridian elephant in the room.

Right.

Slowly taking Lorelai's hand back to her lap, Cricket began to polish her next nail.

"Well?" Her eyes flicked up after a second to meet Lori's. "Was it good at least?"

@lorelailewis

Lorelai is sat with her legs crossed in the middle of her bedroom, an opened bottle of Chanel nail polish in the shade Rouge Noir placed carefully beside her so it wouldn’t be knocked and spilled all over her boucle rug.

With one set of nails already painted, Lorelai is careful not to smudge the still wet coat as she begins painting her other hand. There’s an irritated huff of her breath as she tries painting her nails with her non-dominant hand, wiping any excess nail polish away with a cotton wool soaked in nail polish remover.

“So…” Lorelai repeats impatiently, glancing up at Cricket through her lashes, wondering where she was going with this. She could tell by tone-alone that Cricket was approaching something sensitive, which set Lorelai’s teeth on edge.

“We didn’t make up,” Lorelai clarified with a long suffering sigh, “Your cousin was the one with the issue.” She added stubbornly. Throughout the time Atlas had spent giving her the cold shoulder, Lorelai had remained adamant that she hadn’t done anything wrong—they weren’t exclusive, she was free to sleep with whoever she wanted.

If Atlas didn’t like that then perhaps their arrangement had ran its course—though she hopes it hasn’t.

“Remember the ex I told you about that ghosted me out of the blue?” She blew on one of her nails to dry the coat of nail polish. “We slept together at one of my families barbecues.”