#suddenly struck with a need for dump cake

[amorest-viesse]

[Fluttering Locks of Milk Tea] - Rustica SSR Card Story Translation

Ft. Mithra and Akira

Thank you @/optimismisgone on Twitter for the raws!

The Mandrotus’ Wish - Chapter 1*

[Doctor Dolce’s Forest]

Chocolates to my right. Chiffon cakes piled to my left. The smell of fresh fruits wafting down from above—.

No matter where I turned, there was something delicious to greet me within Doctor Dolce’s forest.

As its bewitching sweetness hounded my senses, I was suddenly struck with the soothing scent of black tea.

Rustica: My apologies, Master Sage. I do hope you weren’t waiting for too long. I just wanted to let you know that the tea is ready. I believe you’ll find it quite apt for our surroundings.

Akira: Thank you so much, Rustica. Wow… It smells incredible.

Earlier, Rustica had set up a tea party for us. Lifting my freshly brewed cup of tea, I took a sip.

*clink*

Akira: …It tastes delicious. There’s just something about it that really calms your nerves.

Rustica: I’m glad you like it.

Rustica: I chose this blend because I thought it’d pair well with the tantalizing sweetness of this forest.

Akira: Ooh, I see now. I feel like it makes a great palate cleanser for all this sugar.

Rustica: Oh? It seems we’ll need another teacup.

Rustica smiled at someone behind me. Curious, I turned around to see Mithra standing before me.

Mithra: Are the two of you having a snack as well?

*crash*

Akira: Whoa…!

With a loud thud, Mithra haphazardly dumped everything in his arms upon the table.

Rustica: That’s quite a bounty you’ve collected. Are these some kind of fruit?

Akira: D- Don’t they look more like candy…?

Mithra: Don’t ask me. I found them growing around the area, so I picked a few… Munch.

Akira: S- Should you really be eating that without knowing what it is?

Akira: They seem kind of dangerous and the color looks off…

Mithra: Well, I suppose my throat is a bit itchy and there’s been a voice wailing in my stomach for some time now, but other than that, I’m perfectly fine.

Akira: That’s what you call “fine”!?

Rustica: I think it’s wonderful that you can cherish all sorts of foods. Cheers to your strong digestive system.

Rustica: I wonder if that voice in your stomach will sing for us.

Mithra: Maybe. In any case, it’s rather irritating, so please do something about it for me.

Rustica and I brought our ears close to Mithra’s stomach and listened.

*cackling*

Akira: Huh… It does sound like something is crying in there…

Mithra: Crying? If anything, it’s laughing at me.

Rustica: Hmm, I hear it as sobbing as well. However, I believe the voice is coming from someplace outside of Mithra’s stomach.

Mithra & Akira: Where…?

The Mandrotus’ Wish - Chapter 2

Candy Fruit: Wahhh… Wahhhhh… I’m gonna rot right off this braaaaanch….

Akira: (I—Is that fruit… crying?)

Walking towards the sound of the voice, I found myself in front of a quivering piece of fruit dangling from the branch of a tree.

Unlike the other firm, pink fruits around it, this one had turned a rusty brown, its soft, mushy skin collapsing in on itself.

Rustica: I take it you’re the source of the crying.

Candy Fruit: And you are…

Mithra: Oh wait, isn’t this a mandrotus fruit?

Akira: Are you familiar with them?

Rustica: I hear they’re a rather intriguing fruit that’ll call out to unassuming travelers, inviting them to take a bite.

Rustica: However, this is the first time I’ve seen one in such low spirits.

Akira: Even comparing it to the other fruits here, it’s the only one that’s like that.

Rustica: Pray tell—why do you cry so?

Candy Fruit: Waaaah… I’ve become too ripe and now no one wants to eat meeeeee.

Candy Fruit: I keep begging and begging, but no one will stop…

Candy Fruit: All I ever wanted was to be eaten, but at this rate, all I’m good for is rotting and splatting into a pile of mush on the forest flooooor…. Waaaaaah…

The fruit’s desperate cries were full of devastation; it yearned to fulfill its life’s purpose, no matter how short and fleeting.

Akira: You’ll be happy if someone eats you, right? In that case, I can…

Mithra: Do you wish to die?

Akira: Huh?

Rustica: I admire your kindness, Master Sage, but as one of your wizards, I must stop you here.

Akira: Why…?

Rustica: They say a single taste will grant you beautiful hallucinations beyond your wildest dreams…

Rustica: However, in exchange, you’ll grow progressively weaker until you become nothing but the shell of a person.

Akira: N- No way…

Akira: (All I wanted was to grant its wish…)

Rustica: It’s truly a pity that such an earnest wish leads to nothing but great tragedy.

Rustica placed his hand on his chest and mournfully sighed.

Candy Fruit: Waaaaah, this really is the end for me…!

Mithra: What a nuisance.

Mithra: Why don’t I eat you now and shut you up for good? I’ve always wanted to see the effects of a mandrotus fruit in any case.

Candy Fruit: Y- you will!?

Mithra: If I find it displeasing, I’ll simply vomit you back out.

Akira: H- Hold on, Mithra! As much as I want to fulfill its wish…

Akira: (It’s still dangerous even if this is nothing out of the ordinary for him.)

Involuntarily, I look towards Rustica for help. Meeting my eyes, he graces me with a soft and gentle smile.

Rustica: I’ll be the one to eat it.

The Mandrotus’ Wish - Chapter 3

Mithra: You know what’ll happen if your magic is too weak, don’t you?

Akira: Can’t we think of another solution!?

Rustica: I humbly ask that the two of you trust me.

Rustica: As for you, I believe there are no objections?

Candy Fruit: …

Rustica gently reached for the mandrotus fruit as it nodded happily, entrusting itself to his tender care.

*pluck*

Rustica: Unfortunately, you’ll lose consciousness after I eat you. However, there is no need to worry.

Rustica: You will live on as a part of me.

Rustica: From now on, we’ll be able to dance and sing as one… That’s the kind of splendid life you’ll lead.

Candy Fruit: I see… Thank you.

The mandrotus fruit gave us one last smile before silently vanishing into Rustica’s mouth.

*crunch*

Rustica: …

Looking up at the empty sky, Rustica’s face suddenly relaxed.

Akira: Rustica… are you alright?

Rustica: …Very much so. It tasted absolutely divine.

Akira: I- I’m glad…

Mithra: Huh. I suppose it wasn’t a particularly strong poison if it had no effect on you.

Rustica: Well, I’ve felt as if I’ve been wandering in a beautiful dream for some time now. Don’t you think the scenery before us is lovely? Oh how I wish we could stay here even longer.

Akira: But what about the effects of the fruit?

Rustica: Ah, I suppose there is a difference between hallucinating a forest and being in one. 

Mithra: *sigh* If it isn’t poisonous, then there’s nothing left for me to do here.

Mithra: I could be spending time looking for more potent sweets to use in a spell.

*footsteps leaving*

Akira: I’m glad nothing happened to you, Rustica, but, why didn’t anything happen?

Rustica: I owe it all to the tea we had earlier.

Akira: Our tea?

Rustica: Yes, it has the ability to neutralize poisons.

Akira: What!? It can do that…?

Rustica: Yes.

Rustica: I did say you would find it quite apt for our surroundings, did I not? There are all sorts of peculiar sweets here, so I wanted you to stay safe, Master Sage.

Akira: Thank you for helping both me and that fruit, Rustica. I didn’t even realize it, but you were watching out for us all along.

Rustica: Why, think nothing of it. After all, I was able to encounter a mandrotus fruit and have a lovely tea party with you.

Rustica: As such, I've had a wonderful time thus far. I can practically feel the mandrotus’ agreement within me as well.

Listening to Rustica’s words, I recalled the mandrotus’ parting smile, the happiness on its face.

Rustica wasn’t the type of person to discriminate between people and sweets. His warmth and kindness brought joy to all.

Akira: (Still, I wonder what Rustica would’ve done had he not had any tea earlier…)

Rustica: Now then, Master Sage, shall we resume our tea party?

Rustica: There’s still a pile of tasty treats waiting for us after all.

A Delicious Reason - Card Episode

Akira: I’m sure you’ve tried all kinds of sweets before…

Akira: But what did you think of the ones we had in Doctor Dolce’s forest?

Rustica: Everything I tried was absolutely delightful though I must say, my favorite would have to be the cookies.

Rustica: Every bite released a burst of flavorful fruit syrup or chocolate sauce…

Rustica: It felt like opening a treasure chest each time, not knowing what type of filling I would get. As a result, I simply couldn’t stop eating them.

Akira: I totally get you! I loved those cookies too.

Akira: It was super exciting to see what flavor you’ll find next.

Rustica: Exactly, not to mention their warm taste reminded me of happy memories from long ago.

Akira: Yeah… Now, I want to try them again.

Rustica: I feel the same way. However, what truly made those cookies special…

Rustica: Was getting to see you smile with every bite.

Akira: M- me!? Now I feel self-conscious…

Rustica: Ahaha, if it pleases you, would you like to have some tea with me once again?

Akira: Oh, yes! I would love to.

Home Screen Voice Line

“Do you mind staying up late tonight? I’d like to give you a gift—but at a time when I can have you all to myself. It’s quite fun to stay up into the wee hours with good company by your side, and of course, to sleep in as well.”

Translation Note

The original name of the fruit was マンドカレ (romanji: mandokare), but I could not figure out what that meant. As a result, I took inspiration from two different plants—the mandrake, a root said to kill people with its scream, and the lotus, a narcotic referenced in The Odyssey said to make one forget everything but bliss—to create the "mandrotus" fruit.

[deadmomjokes]

Alright, it occurs to me that some of y'all never-went-to-summer-camp folks may not know the glorious goopy goodness that is Dump Cake. So allow me to introduce you to the easiest and most indulgent-tasting dessert you'll ever make, so easy a sleep-deprived group of 20 pre-teen girls can make it over a fire in the rain in the middle of the woods while only endangering the life of their absolutely-not-getting-paid-enough-for-this counselor once!

You will need:

2 big cans of your favorite pie filling

A large box of your favorite cake mix

2 (maybe 3?) sticks of butter-- idk, we're not doing exact measures here, you basically just decide when it looks enough like Julia Child would start to be mortified

A cooking vessel-- at camp we used a cast iron dutch oven, but a 9x13 baking dish will do fine, or a few pie tins, or the biggest roaster pan your mom has hidden in the back of the cupboard for Thanksgiving turkey usage, literally whatever as long as it will go in the oven or in the coals of a fire.

Something to cover your baking dish with, aka foil if you don't have an oven-safe lid

Mix ins, if you're feeling fancy-- nuts, chocolate chips, heck you could even do marshmallows, we don't judge, whatever floats your boat

A healthy disregard for conventional cooking advice, and zero sense of shame

What you do:

Dump the pie filling into the cooking vessel

Dump in the mix-ins if you're using them

Dump the cake mix over the top

Chop up the butter into pats or chunks

Dump enough butter chunks on the cake mix to more or less cover it

Cover with lid or foil

Bake. 350 if using an oven. If cooking over a fire, wait til the fire is burned down to hot coals. Put the dutch oven in the middle of it, then set coals on top of the lid. Bury that sucker in hot coals and ashes. (This is the part most likely to murder someone, only allow the least sleep-deprived and least caffeinated among you to wield the hot-stuff shovel.)

Leave it until you start smelling something tasty.

Bam! You have cobbler's infinitely more delicious and significantly less-healthy hick cousin.

I expect anyone who goes camping in the next 5 months to attempt this recipe, it's literally so easy that the only way you can mess it up is if you accidentally get ashes in it when taking the lid off, and even then you just scrape it off and it's fine. But if you cook it in your kitchen in your perfectly ash-less oven....

All I'm saying is, you now have a low-spoons, high-tastiness recipe for one of the most indulgent recipes man ever created. What you do with this information is up to you.

Note on flavor combos

Literally it's whatever floats your boat, but some of the best (imo) are:

Cherry pie filling, chocolate chips, chocolate cake mix

Peach pie filling (canned peaches in syrup if you can't find the 'official' pie filling), white cake mix

Apple pie filling, chopped walnuts, vanilla cake mix

Berry (mixed or any) pie filling, funfetti cake mix

Chocolate pudding pie filling, chopped nuts or crushed pretzels, vanilla cake mix (adds extra step of making pudding, but SO worth it)

Go forth and dump cake, y'all.

[sleepingdeath-light]

reading the crossover headcanons for TOH was amazing!

i wanted to request a crossover with TOH and Steven Universe if possible! (also with Hunter x Reader) You can decide between reader being half-gem, like Steven, or fully gem! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay! Aand I really love your headcanons! You make them long and detailed! It's truly amazing.

Crossover Headcanons | SU x TOH [Hunter x Gem//Hybrid!Reader]

thank you for requesting, anon

These are written with a gender neutral reader in mind and have a general chronology from the reader’s last moments in little homeworld until they end up with Hunter, so apologies if this gets long!

Note : this is the first time I’ve written for the SU canon, so I’m not as experienced with that universe. Also my portrayal of these characters is still pretty rocky, so I may rework this in the future.

The first few months you spent in Little Homeworld had felt almost like a dream come to life; freedom to be yourself and explore a world full of organic life without the restrictions placed on you by the diamonds? It was fantastic! However, that feeling of unrestricted feeling soon started to grow stale as you realise that the growth of the small colony had already started to stagnate—and that not all humans were welcoming of intergalactic immigrants like your kind.

So to ease your mind you opted to take the warp to the next star system over—craving that same sense of excitement that you had during the gem war

Simply standing on the warp again was enough to get your blood pumping with a reignited vigour for exploration

A feeling so palpable that you failed to notice the array of spindly cracks that spanned the surface of the device, and the way that a sickly dull light pulsated beneath your feet (the sight accompanied by a warning hum far too low for you to notice)

Though you couldn’t ignore the way the warp didn’t immediately go off like usual, nor could you neglect the searing pain that spread through your veins and constricted your throat; leaving you in so much pain that you couldn’t even move or scream before your vision was engulfed in a glitching, sickeningly bright light

It must have been several hours later when you woke up, based on how high the sun was in the sky… was the sky that red before?

Your head was pounding and although your vision was blurry, yet you couldn’t ignore how different your surroundings were from the earth you were used to

The sky was a faint red and the ground beneath your feet was dusted with deep maroon grass—it was soft and warm under your fingertips but with how much organic matter there was you knew that this wasn’t a colony

Hell, you didn’t even arrive on a warp on this end, so either you had been transported to somewhere else because a malfunction (unusual, but likely) or someone had taken you from the receiving warp and dropped you off in the middle of a clearing (far less likely)

Suddenly struck with worry, you sat up and moved your clothes to get a good look at your gem, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw it undamaged (clearly you’d landed where you woke up as most organics would have tried to remove it from your body before dumping you)

Realising that you were mostly safe you slowly rose to your feet and decided to explore your new environment, hand hovering near your gem in case you needed to defend yourself from whatever creatures had made their home here—trying to make yourself appear as small, quiet and unnoticeable as possible as you went

However, your efforts seemed to be in vein as you were quickly greeted by an excitable and loud human girl who practically screamed her welcome to you

You were torn between fleeing and fighting her when she offered her hand and introduced herself as “Luz the human”, her demeanour quite closely mirroring what you’d heard about Steven when he was younger from his mothers—it was almost endearing how much she tried to hold in her joy at seeing another “human”. You almost didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth as she walked you back to her home.

You were accosted at the door by an organic tube with an owl’s face that quickly and gleefully introduced itself as Hooty—the creepy, but rather friendly, house demon

Luz made an effort to hastily brush him off and hurry you both inside where you met with the other two inhabitants of the home as well as Luz’s “awesome girlfriend”, Amity.

Eda, an older witch with grey hair that hardly suited her age, greeted you with muted suspicion, not even taking her eyes off of you as she addressed the human at your side—seemingly unsure of your motives but trusting herself to be stronger than you (if her grip on her staff was anything to go by)

King, however, was much more brazen and blatant in his distrust of you, stomping over and pointing an accusing claw up at you as he threatened you in every way he could muster (even if all that got him was a halfhearted coo from you that left the creature more frustrated and downtrodden than before)

The guest, Amity, meanwhile, looked over at you with disinterest before she caught a glimpse of your (colour) gem peeking out from your clothing—immediately pointing it out and questioning you about it, much to your chagrin

This inevitably led to a very long and semi-complicated conversation discussing the intricacies of your species and how, no, you’re technically not a human

No you weren’t trying to deceive Luz, either, you just felt too awkward to correct her

But when all was said and done (and you were all out of steam after a several hour session of intense questioning and frustration at miscommunications) they seemed much more relaxed around you—even willing to let you stay with them, at Luz’s request, so long as you pulled your weight around the house and helped to keep them safe

And, really, how hard could that be? You fought in an intergalactic war so taking out a few organics should be a piece of cake (as Steven would say)

After spending a few weeks in this strange new world you had come to realise one specific thing; it wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.

If you had to bubble one more guard you were going to scream

What had they done to make this Emperor hate them so much?

It felt as though half of your time was spent bubbling, blocking or disabling people that had made their way to the Owl House—and the rest was spent painstakingly explaining your abilities and species to Amity, Lilith and Luz

Granted, that wasn’t the most stressful part of your stay

No

That was hands down the stresses that came with visits from Luz’s friends from Hexside: the endlessly kind and protective Willow and the ever-curious and annoyingly quick witted Gus

That being said, you did appreciate their enthusiasm to learn about and accommodate you—even if the look Willow gave you when you spoke about the empire’s treatment of organic life did leave you rather shaken

So what little free time you had was spent learning about the local culture and sharing your experiences with them

Training with Amity and Eda

Helping Willow with her plants in whatever way you can based on your gem

Creating gem clones to help Gus perfect his illusions even further

Teaching Lilith and Luz about your abilities as well as those of your fellow gems, even helping the latter learn to write using gem glyphs

It was heartwarming to see others so passionate about your home, even if their insistence on pushing you to your limits could be rather frustrating (especially early in the mornings when your patience ran thin)

However, the longer you spent there the more members of the Emperor’s Coven (amongst others) you ended up coming across. One particularly memorable instance occurred when you were escorting a fretting Amity through Bonesborough with the twins (who’s presence you had grown rather fond of as their visits became more frequent).

Ed had dragged Em back to the library a good few minutes ago, leaving you and Amity to your own decides as you weaved in and out of the foot traffic—only to stop completely when the youngest Blight suddenly froze before grabbing your hand and darting off to an adjacent alleyway

As you went to protest, she promptly clamped one hand over your mouth and gestured rather violently for you to stay quiet before nodding towards a figure just a bit away from you

From the golden mask and white cloak you knew they were a member of the Emperor’s Coven—but you’d seen them before, on the posters littered around the city, each exploring passersby to join their coven

Golden Guard

That was a definite threat

So you passed the girl a spare cloak and did what you could to mask your own appearance before carefully making your way back home, shopping be damned—one hand over your gem just in case he happened to notice you

Though thankfully he didn’t

Not that it stopped you from filing him away as someone to be wary of anyway; he was the emperor’s right hand man, after all, so there was no such thing as being “too cautious”

And for a while that’s exactly what it was, not that you saw much of him that is, but from what you’d been told about Luz and Amity’s run ins with him you were glad to have never seen him face-to-face. If you had, you were almost certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed—teenage protege or not.

So with all that in mind, the last that you were expecting to see on a relatively peaceful Saturday evening was the unmasked Golden Guard practically unconscious and leaning on Luz and Eda for support as they burst through the door

Completely ignoring Hooty as usual as they carefully laid him down on the seat beside you (after you’d hurriedly gotten up, that is)

He looked to be in an awful state, with his visible skin bloodied, bruised and scarred whilst his usually pristine uniform was tattered and caked in dirt and what seemed to be even more of his blood

Seeming to notice your distress, Eda briefly addressed you and her sister before sending you all off to gather supplies (or heal if your gem allowed it)

“The kid’s been through a lot, but he’s with us now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have carried him all this way if I had any doubts about it.”

And that was that

It took Hunter (as he introduced himself) over a week to even be able to get out of bed and walk around unassisted—and whilst he actively avoided speaking about what had happened to him, you had a feeling that Belos was somehow involved

Though things were still rather tense for a month or so after he arrived, no matter how hard Luz tried to integrate him (and no matter how polite and welcoming Willow and Gus tried to be)

And you didn’t even want to recall the shouting match that occurred when Amity saw him in the living room with Luz….

It seemed as though he was just more content to shut himself away with L’il Rascal and only interact with Luz and Eda; the former to learn from her and the latter because she wouldn’t let him get away with anything but

That wasn’t even mentioning the palpable tension between him and Lilith (she would only say that it was from their time in the coven—and Luz suspected he’d annoyed her a bit too much—but nothing else would come of it)

But the others were worried about him, so you were sent in as a neutral party to talk with him about… things. You weren’t really told what and you didn’t have the time to ask.

Initially he was incredibly closed off and would only address you briefly, barely even acknowledging your presence as he gave his full attention to the scattered papers on his desk, each depicting a different spell and each ever so slightly off

So, as gently as you could you took the quill from him and drew a simple glyph on a spare scalp of paper, carefully leading him through the motions before leaning back and activating the spell (and smiling at his much more openly interested expression)

That then sparked a deep conversation about different types of magic—specifically wild magic and glyphs—as you shared what you knew about the topic with one another, every so often breaking off into laughter or patient silence as he’d run across the room to show you his notes or books he’d found

Naturally this would lead to him asking you about where you came from and you discussing your origins with him

Homeworld

The Diamond Authority

The gem war

Colonies

Soldiers

Shattering

The Crystal Gems

Everything

He was incredibly easy to talk to as he listened with a genuine intensity to what you said, nodding along and even asking well thought out questions about your world where appropriate

Depending on how close you were, he may even ask to see your gem and ask about its purpose

If you let him touch it, he’d be so very gentle, almost treating you as though you were made of glass—maybe even sketching it down and noting down your abilities and weaknesses in his personal notebook and apologising if it was weird

This mutual interest in magic and your shared experiences of either having to conform to a specific role your whole life [full gem reader] or feeling out of place and weaker because of your shortcomings [half gem reader] would be the basis of your friendship turned relationship. The transition between the two would be so incredibly seamless and slow that you wouldn’t even notice it happening—one moment you two were best friends sparring and the next you were hiding your blushing face in his neck as he hugs you and apologises for hitting you a bit too hard with his magic.

Your relationship would be sweet and slow and genuine

Hunter is new to receiving any kind of affection, so you’d probably have to teach him a thing or two—but he’d learn quite quickly so don’t worry

He’d spend hours studying your culture and language just to write you notes or offer you affirmations in ways unique to your culture, even calling you “my (Y/n)” after a while

Likewise, the first time you called him “my Hunter” he was left red in the face for the rest of the day (he loved it, though, so don’t stop)

But the moment someone makes a teasing remark about how soft he’s gotten (usually one of the Blight siblings or his own younger sister figure, Luz), Hunter will partially revert to being cold in public (whilst still being affectionate and openly touch starved in private)

In short, your relationship with him would be built on a foundation of mutual trust, affection and understanding that sprouted from friendship and honest conversations about your passions and pasts

[darkpurpledawn]

Diary of a demon in lockdown

6:00am

Birds singing outside window. Gross.

6:15am

Birds now only capable of singing greatest hits of Simon and Garfunkel

6:30am

Adjacent units erupting in screaming match over who is playing radio so early on a Saturday. Excellent. Slightly annoying for sleep.

7:00am

If have to hear “Keep the Customer Satisfied” one more time, am going to swallow ice cubes until blessed ectothermic ears become unresponsive.

8:00am

Upstairs neighbors having morning sex again. Paul still shit at dirty talking. Have said more enticing things to own idiot begonias.

8:01am

Just to clarify, did not mean that in weird way.

9:00am

Trying to sleep. Downstairs neighbors having earnest conversation. Can feel sincerity seeping through the floorboards. Suddenly nostalgic for Paul and boring litany of sexual acts.

10:00am

Still asleep when phone buzzed, email from Demonic Resources denying professional development request. Need to figure out alternative way to pay for whole bitcoin debacle.

11:00am

Gave up on sleeping. Checked to see which of Twitter accounts cancelled beyond resurrection. Released 4 compromising internal emails, initiated 11 data dumps. 

12:00pm

Call with Aziraphale.

12:30pm

Flagged 300 pictures of sponge cake for explicit content. Not like as an obsessive thing.

1:00pm

Began rewatch of Fast & Furious series, mild desperation reached. Recalled time months ago was wishing for break in temptation obligations for opportunity to rewatch Fast & Furious. 

2:00pm, approx

Nap begun.

3:00pm

Nap ended. Wrote mental list of reasons always hated outdoors anyway.

4:00pm

Decided acceptable time to start drinking, prepared and consumed 2 Death in the Afternoons. Any thematic relevance disregarded.

5:00pm

Reorganized terrarium collection in descending order of gamma diversity. Made several vicious allegations about forebears of Spanish moss. 

6:00pm

Drank 3rd cocktail in bathtub, struck terror into heart of Apsidistra on the windowsill. Tried, failed not to think about phone call. Mistake.

7:00pm

Considered phoning for delivery, remembered already ate quintuple order of Nando’s last Sunday.

8:00pm

Ordered delivery anyway, put in freezer for later. Need to find alternate location for angel feathers have been creepily storing. Preferably bottom of ocean.

10:00pm

Self-esteem lowered sufficiently for attempt at video yoga routine. 

10:30pm

Should always try yoga when snake. Also tipsy. Much easier. Self-esteem bit better.

11:00pm

Opened bottle of wine, rewatched The Fox and the Hound. Mistake. Wrote letter to Aziraphale on back of delivery receipt, afterwards shredded.

1:00am

Mistakes. Decided to stop disliking videos of sidewinders on fifth page of YouTube results. Not all snakes can do that, and it is OK (repeat as necessary). 

2:00am

Started watching old infomercial that helped create in 2005.

3:00am

Experienced regret over hand in creation of infomercials.

3:30am

Getting ready for sleep. Attempting to prepare for lucid dream, ideal setting Rome, 41 AD.

4:00am

FUCKING OWL WON’T STOP HOOTING SCARBOROUGH FAIR.

Aziraphale version

[dulce-pjm]

hmm for the mix and match drabbles how about established relationship + prompt 19!!! OR bakery/flower shop/bookstore au + prompt 6!!! you can pick!!!

hmm i see your options and i raise you this: why not all?

lol an epic crossover of prompts: au #3 - established relationship!au, au #2 - bakery/flower shop/bookstore!au, prompt #19 - “No, I have a [girlfriend/boyfriend].” “That’s me! How much did you drink?”, and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

bakin’ me crazy

jimin x reader

word count: 3.4k

genre: fluffy fluff fluff, established relationship!au, bakery!au

summary: despite having one disaster on top of the other and then some, you can’t help but feel better when he’s around

a/n: apologies in advance. i think we’re all learning that i’m a pun-lover and that probably won’t change

It’s everywhere. 

There’s sugar in your hair and lashes, coating your cheeks and sweater, even under your nails and somehow you swear you feel it between your toes. 

It’s been a long day. Up at the crack of dawn to open up shop, meeting with customers until noon, and now you’d found yourself baking way past your bedtime to keep up with all the orders. There’s nothing you’d like more than to eat your weight in cupcakes and enter the subsequent sugar coma on your couch, never to be disturbed again. 

But just as you’d pulled that last batch of cupcakes out of the oven, just as you’d started whipping up a fresh batch of icing, disaster struck. 

You should have known better, should have thought to check. Sunny was frantic yesterday as she rushed out the door, completing her tasks as quickly as she could so as not to leave too much work for you but still be present for the birth of her child who was not supposed to be due for three more weeks. You’d tried to calm her down, tell her to go home already, but you eventually learned that pre-parental panic is just as bad in real life as it is in the Sims4 and let her do what she needed to relieve stress. 

Which included restocking the powdered sugar. 

And in her tizzy, Sunny hadn’t noticed that this bag, the very one she placed on the edge of the shelf, had a hole in it. And you, in your own tizzy of work and stress, hadn’t noticed how it began to slump over, dangerously close to falling. You hadn’t noticed the impending explosion of powdered sugar until it had detonated on top of your head. 

No part of the kitchen seemed to be spared. While you were sputtering and stumbling backwards, wielding your spatula like a weapon as if it could help you, the fine powder coated all of your fresh cupcakes (which were still hot. and thus now had a weird film of dissolved powdered sugar on top), fell onto the clean dishes drying by the sink. 

When the dust settles, you think about crying. Seriously consider it. After the past day and a half, you definitely deserve it. 

Why couldn’t one thing go right today? And now you’ll have to stay even later just to clean things up and check to see if the cupcakes are salvageable. You’re tired and you’re hungry and you really just need a hug. Is that too much to ask for?

And suddenly the tears are pricking at your eyes and you’re sniffling and hiccuping and still covered in sugar. You feel pathetic and exhausted and miserable, the terrible feeling welling in your chest with every passing moment. 

The front door of the shop swings open, the bell attached to it ringing sharply. Who the hell comes into a bakery at this late? And what the hell did you think you were doing, not locking the door earlier?

“We’re closed!” you manage, voice choked as you scramble to your feet, slightly nervous at the sudden intrusion. 

“It’s me, Y/N!” You recognize Taehyung’s voice instantly, though it doesn’t stop you from being confused. “Sorry for stopping by so late, I have Chim with me and he wouldn’t quit asking for you and I saw the lights on— What the hell happened to you?” 

You’ve fully collected yourself, walking out of the kitchen and into the lobby to find your boyfriend of a few months with his arm wrapped around your friend of many years, staring at the floor and giggling to himself. You’re still a bit flustered, inexplicably covered in powdered sugar and very confused by the sight in front of you. 

“Uh, long story?” you manage. “Well, not really. Just a freak accident in the kitchen.” You approach the two of them tentatively. “Is Jimin okay?”

 At the call of his name, he lifts his head and smiles rather stupidly when he sees you. In an instant, he parts himself from Taehyung and stumbles over to you, nearly crashing into a cake display in the process. 

“Y/N!” He wraps his arms around your waist, digging his nose into your neck and shoulder, no doubt covering his blonde strands in sugar as he nearly squeezes the air out of your lungs. 

“‘Missed you,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your sweater. 

Taehyung shakes his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “He about drank his own weight tonight at the bar, that’s all. Let Jungkook talk him into doing shots and well...” You nod knowingly, rubbing your palm up and down Jimin’s back. “He gave me a lot of trouble on the way here, he wouldn’t let up until we came to check on you.”

You laugh when Jimin squeezes you tighter, peppering kisses at the most ticklish spots on your neck. You’re surprised he’s not more talkative, normally babbling on about any and everything he can think of when he’s had enough to drink. 

“You get any good videos of them acting stupid?” Taehyung chuckles, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“I’ll send them to you now. Jungkook was flirting with a pole for at least ten minutes before he realized.” You snort and Jimin smiles into your sweater, nearly pressing his entire body weight onto you and sending the both of you toppling. 

You know Taehyung’s tired, try as he might to hide it. You’ve always appreciated how attentive he was of your boyfriend when you couldn’t be. Their shared apartment is on the other side of town, which means either they were drinking nearby (unlikely, you all hated the bars around here) or Jimin had begged to come see you so much that Taehyung finally caved, despite his exhaustion. 

“You can leave him here, if you want. I’ll let him sleep on the couch.” Taehyung’s eyes go wide while Jimin is still blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him, snuggling into you like you’re his childhood stuffed animal. 

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. You’re clearly all tied up here—”

“It’s okay, Tae,” you insist, smiling warmly. “Go home and rest, I’ll take care of him from here.” There’s a moment where Taehyung opens his mouth to argue, but he closes it, seeing your expression. 

He sighs. “Alright, it’s your funeral,” he jokes. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

“No problem.” 

The bells tingle again as Taehyung leaves, bracing himself against the night air. 

“Alright, sleepyhead,” you tease, ruffling Jimin’s hair. “You’re gonna have to let go of me a minute so I can clean up.” 

You shuffle backwards in spite of his grumbling protests, dragging a chair into the kitchen for him to sit on. You peel him off of you while he’s spouting incoherent sentences, gently guiding him into the chair. 

It’s difficult to resist him when he gives you those puppy dog eyes and that pout like he’s going to cry if you don’t pull him into your arms again, but you remain stern, though smiling slightly at this face and clothes that have also become victim to the powdered sugar explosion, via his contact with you. 

He giggles upon fulling taking you in. 

“You look like you got snowed on,” he says, propping his chin in his hand to keep it from bobbing too much. You shake your head, a cloud of white dust falling off of you when you do. “What happened?”

“You don’t look much better, love bug. And it’s sugar.” His brows furrow in confusion before he licks his lips, smile widening at the taste. “I’ll just clean it up and then we can go home, m’kay?”

“You should let me kiss it off for you.”

You laugh, reaching for the broom while he watches you sleepily. “We’d be here all night.”

“I don’t mind,” he calls back in a sing-song voice, seeming more awake than before, or at least, more talkative. 

You get to work sweeping up the sugar, deciding to put the forgotten cupcakes in the fridge and worry about them in the morning. You’ve too soon forgotten that you were sobbing and contemplating staying here all night to finish this order a few minutes ago, Jimin’s presence, albeit pretty drunk, helping you think a bit more sensibly.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Uh-huh! Had sooooo much fun.” You sneak a glance at him, smiling softly at how his cheek is squished against his palm and his head is bobbing slightly. He starts mumbling something again and you can only catch a few words. 

“What was that?” He sighs as you dump some powdered sugar in the trash, grinning at him sweetly.

“I said you’re pretty, dummy.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly as he shakes his head to himself. “Always making me repeat myself when I compliment you.” He juts out his index finger in your direction as his words slur together. “I know your dirty tricks.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing, deciding to tease him further. “Still can’t understand you, love.”

He cries out in frustration, throwing his arms out dramatically. “You’re hot! Is that what you wanna hear?” Now you can’t help but giggle at his pouting, always so easily riled up both sober and intoxicated. 

You kiss him on the top of his head as you pass by, putting away a few stray dishes. “You aren’t too bad yourself.” At that, he huffs, making a point not to look your way and give you the cold shoulder. 

You still have a few things left to tidy up and Jimin doesn’t question you further while you do them. It isn’t until you hear him snoring quietly as you wipe down the counters that you realize he’s nodded off, neck bent dangerously as his head leans against the kitchen wall. You cover your mouth to keep from laughing at his slack-jawed expression, approaching him quietly and snapping a quick picture. You immediately make it your new lockscreen, just to tease him in the morning. 

You remember the first time you met him, when Taehyung invited you to go get drinks along with the rest of your friends. The shop had been a mess and so were you, so Taehyung picked you up from work as soon as you were done as to keep you from just going home and sleeping. You’d slid into the backseat happily, Jungkook in shotgun and Jimin beside you. 

You hadn’t given him many glances, just polite greetings and small talk, not until he quietly informed you that you had hot pink frosting on your forehead and nose and you were thoroughly embarrassed. Luckily, one thing led to another and the minute you had any alcohol in your system, you were pressed against his side, rambling about the cupcake business and your passion for baking. His giggle was more intoxicating than the drinks and you found yourself unable to part from him. 

At the end of the night, you asked him to go on a date then and there, like a drunk idiot. And he said yes, also like a drunk idiot. 

Neither of you made it two steps before you were passed out in the back of Taehyung’s car, your head on his shoulder and his lying on top of yours. 

The next day, you swore you’d never drink again and hoped and prayed Jimin had forgotten the entire incident. But fate is both cruel and caring, and you’d picked up your phone a few hours into your workday to see a text from Jimin, inquiring about the promised date.

There’s still things to do and you definitely aren’t fully cleaned up, but you make the executive decision for yourself and Jimin to just go home before it’s past midnight and you’re really miserable. 

You remove your apron, tossing it in its designated bin at the back of shop, grabbing a bottle of water for Jimin and a defected cupcake (i.e. you knew you loved this flavor and purposely messed up the decoration so you could sneak it later) for yourself. Your boyfriend is still snoring quietly, head jerking painfully every few minutes as his hand struggles to it upright. You gently shake at this shoulders, keeping your voice low as to not startle him too much. 

“Hey, love bug,” you murmur. “Let’s go home, okay? Get you to bed.” He whines in his sleep, pulling away from you. 

“I can’t,” he mumbles. You laugh at his dramatics, grabbing his elbows as you try to coax him to his feet. 

“You can, promise. My apartment is just upstairs, remember?” It’d been nothing short of a coincidence that the space Sunny found for the business lied right underneath your apartment, but in times like these, it was definitely a blessing. 

He wags his finger in your face, his eyes barely opened. “Nuh-uh. No, I have a girlfriend.” You scoff incredulously, crossing your arms. 

“That’s me! How much did you drink?” His eyes open fully and he smiles sheepishly at his mistake. 

“Oh. Oops?” You roll your eyes, pulling him to his feet unceremoniously and shoving the water bottle in one hand, guiding the other around your shoulder. 

“I barely drank anything, really,” he insists as you lock the doors and turn off the lights. 

“Mhmm.”

“Like— Two sips!” he says, holding up three fingers.

“I believe you,” you lie. “Now drink some water.” He complies, though his eyes lie on the chocolate cupcake you’re taking a bite out of. You catch him staring quickly as you round the corner of the building, entering the hallway that leads to the stairs. You’d take the elevator, but you worry that if you don’t keep him moving, he’ll fall asleep where he stands, so you suck it up and prepare to climb three flights. 

Before he even has to ask, you stick the cupcake in his face and he smiles, licking a big chunk of the frosting right off the top. 

“Jimin!” you cry, yanking the cupcake back. “You know I hate when you do that! Enjoy the cupcake as it is or just ask me for some frosting.” He doesn’t seem the least bit guilty as you glare at him, pretending the leftover frosting on the corner of his cheek isn’t both tempting and adorable. 

“But I loooove the frosting!” he argues. “You know what else I love?” You already know what he’s going to say, he’d blurted out the “L word” on your two month anniversary, totally on accident. Luckily, the feelings were mutual. 

“Me?” He scrunches his nose. 

“What? No.” You gasp, offended. “I mean, yes, you know I do, but I wasn’t talking about that. I love the name of your shop.”

You blink at him twice. “You like ‘Bakin’ Me Crazy’?” You huff. “That was the biggest mistake of my life.” Now it’s his turn to be offended, stopping in his tracks and nearly sending you both falling back down the stairs. “Jimin—!”

“It’s an amazing name, Y/N!” he exclaims, brown eyes wide and earnest. “It’s cute.”

Hmmph. “If you say so, weirdo.”

“Cute like you,” he sings, loud enough to wake the entire building.

“Stop complimenting me. I’m still mad at you.” You shove the last bit of cupcake in your mouth, wiping the crumbs from your mouth with your thumb. He giggles, leaning closer to you. 

“I like you so much, did you know that?”

“I did.”

“I’d really like you if you gave me a piggyback ride, though.” You scoff. 

“You’re such a tease! You always lay it on thick when you want something.” You remember his words from earlier, wagging your finger in his face to copy him. “I know your dirty tricks.”

He sighs, acting extra tired as if to emphasize how deserving he is of a piggyback ride from you. You’d consider giving it to him, if you thought you were physically capable and you weren’t on a stairwell. 

He takes another sip of water as he pouts. “Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“No.”

“And whipped cream?” A laugh slips through your lips, all too soft for him when he’s acting cute like this. 

“What are you even talking about?” you giggle, unlocking the door to your apartment which is thankfully not far from the stairwell. “Just keep drinking that water. You’re gonna be so embarrassed in the morning.” You guide him to the side of the bed next to your dresser, helping him sit down. 

He makes grabby hands at you as you fish through your drawers for pajamas, muttering something about you abandoning him. 

You hold up a pair of bright orange fleece pants decorated with penguins. “You like these? All my sweats are in the wash.” You toss them into his lap when he nods happily. “Do you need help?” He yawns and blinks hard and you smile in satisfaction, seeing that his water bottle is half empty and he’s ever so slightly more sober. 

“I got it,” he says. You go into the bathroom, washing your face and changing into your own kiddish pajamas. When you come back into the bedroom, Jimin’s already tucked in with the covers pulled to his chin. 

You cross your arms. “I don’t remember inviting you into my bed, mister.” He smiles at you as you slide in next to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. You’d had every intention of sending him to the couch out of fear that he’d puke on your sheets, but you reason that you’d be cold without him and you’d rather be close by if he did get sick. 

You dust the last of the powdered sugar off of his nose and brows, pressing your cheek into his chest, exhaustion already overcoming you. Underneath the alcohol, you can still smell the comforting scent of his vanilla lotion, lulling you to sleep. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet!” he suddenly exclaims, pushing you a few inches away. You groan, propping yourself on your elbow and wondering how the hell he’s still awake and bothering you. 

“What is it?” You blink a few times as he smiles cheekily. 

“One more kiss.” You scoff. “You still have sugar on your face. On your lips, actually. So I should get it for you.” 

You’re scoffing but oblige, smiling into the kiss as he slots his plush lips against yours, knowing very well you scrubbed the last of the sugar off your face moments ago. 

--

You wake up to your phone ringing rather rudely. You sigh, peeling yourself away from Jimin and laughing at his bedhead and the displeased expression he makes in his sleep, his face swollen and eyes shut tightly. 

“Hello?” you whisper, pulling yourself into a sitting position. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Once you register her voice, you can barely contain your excitement, bouncing on the bed once before reminding yourself that Jimin’s still asleep. 

“Sunny!” you whisper-yell. “How’s Jisoo and the baby? You a mom yet?” Your business partner laughs on the other end of the phone. 

“Oh, she’s fine. Just tired. The baby was born a few hours ago, but we’re still deciding on a name for her.” You grin. “So yeah, I’m a mom and you can be her unofficial auntie.”

“You’re gonna name her after me, right?” 

Sunny giggles tiredly on the other end of the phone. “I’ll add it to the list, don’t worry.” You’re about to tell her to go get some rest, but she interrupts you before you can. 

“Speaking of names! I got in contact with that guy about changing our sign so we can finally choose a different name for the business. You’re still serious about that, right?”

You glance at Jimin, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips puckered. You run your fingers through his blonde hair and he sighs contentedly. 

“Maybe we should leave it, for now.”

“What? But you said—”

“I know, I know. Let’s talk about it another time. Go get some sleep!” 

The two of you exchange a few more words of endearment and congratulations before you hang up, noting the sunlight cracking through your blinds. 

You know you need to get up soon. There’s still cupcakes to bake and customers to deal with and a temporary replacement for Sunny to find. 

But for a moment, you self-indulge, curling up next to Jimin, letting him wrap his arms around you and warm you back up. He digs his nose into your shoulder as you press a quick kiss onto his forehead, closing your eyes and drifitng back to sleep, feeling weightless as he holds you. 

[aoitrinity]

The “Me Too”

DISCLAIMER: I am about to put forth further speculation about a major Destiel-related event from this season, specifically the confession scene in 15x18. This is 100% pure speculation and I do not claim to have any insider knowledge AT ALL. If you are not in a place to read such things, please go take care of yourself instead of reading this. Do not cause yourself any additional pain. 

If you are here to be an asshole and call me delusional...uh...I mean, go for it, but like I really don’t get what that’s doing to make your life better? If shitting on people’s desire for understanding a TV show brings you joy then uh...that says more about you than it does about me?

With that out of the way...read below the cut for my theory about the “me too” line.

I know I just unloaded my theory about the finale on all of you the other day, and that I should probably give you all a break in between my bouts of theory-dumping, but I had to get this out here tonight.

If you somehow haven’t seen it yet these last few (painfully exhausting) days, there is a rumor going around of a cut in episode 15x18 of a specific line--a “me too” that Jensen supposedly recorded during the 15x18 sequence, which would have given us all textual validation not only that Cas is in love with Dean, but that Dean is in love with Cas. Various people have been trying to confirm or deny this rumor since it surfaced. We all figured it would have happened during the final scene, with Dean crying, alone. It would have been there in place of the crying, and we hypothesized that Jensen had to dub it over with AMR of his sobs. It was an interesting thought, but we had no real proof it ever happened. I, for my part, started to assume it was entirely false.

But then tonight, on the Latin American CW, we apparently discovered that in the Spanish-language dub of 15x18, they had taken Dean’s last line to Cas, “Don’t do this Cas,” and dubbed it as “yo a ti”--translated to “me too,” seemingly confirming to us that the line did exist!

I watched the clip of the dub excitedly, hoping for some secret new shot that we had been robbed of in the original episode, but the “me too” was simply dubbed over Dean’s line of “Don’t do this Cas,” which is definitely something Dean very clearly said in the original recording. That wasn’t a dub, Jensen said that line.

So what gives? Where the heck did the “me too” come from?

Well, as apparently I am wont to do recently...I talked @winchester-reload‘s ear off and was eventually hit with a stroke of realization. 

I don’t think the “me too” went in the crying scene. I think Dean said it to Cas’s face, and we were robbed of it.

Before I go any further, I want to again remind you that this is PURE SPECULATION. PLEASE JUDGE FOR YOURSELF AND ALWAYS BE SKEPTICAL.

So.

The original end of the scene runs as follows:

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Cas: Because it is. I love you.

Dean: Don’t do this, Cas.

*a longing exchange of looks, with Cas smiling through his tears even more broadly than he was earlier*

*the Empty appears and Dean starts to panic*

Cas: Goodbye Dean.

*Cas throws Dean out the way, smiles at him one last time, and is taken*

Now that always struck me as a sort of weird exchange because...I mean, Dean can tell Cas not to “do this,” but whatever he was going to do that would get his ass taken by the Empty, he had clearly already done. But I originally handwaved it as Dean begging Cas not to go and leave him again by dying, even though it was too late, because I was too entranced with the beauty of the scene and of the performances to imagine anything otherwise.

However, after this Spanish-language dub story broke this evening, I started to wonder if the exchange had initially gone a little bit differently. 

What if the “don’t do this, Cas” was pulled from earlier in the scene? 

I would have originally imagined that it actually went between the “Because it is” and the “I love you,” but in the leaked shots of script we got a few days ago, there doesn’t seem to be any line there--Cas goes straight from his “because it is” to the “I love you.” Thus I conclude one of two things: either the line it was adlibbed or added by Jensen on the spot, between the “because it is” and the “I love you,” or it was dialogue that originally came earlier in the scene.

Either way, what matters is that I think that line, “Don’t do this, Cas,” was moved to after Cas’s “I love you” in the final cut and replaced the “me too.” I think the initial episode probably followed the Latin American dub instead, and went like this (with the one line inserted where I feel it best fits, though again, it could have come from earlier):

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Cas: Because it is.

(Dean: Don’t do this, Cas)

Cas: I love you.

Dean: ...me too.

*a longing exchange of looks, with Cas smiling through his tears even more broadly than he was earlier*

*the Empty appears and Dean starts to panic*

Cas: Goodbye Dean.

*Cas throws Dean out the way, smiles at him one last time, and is taken*

Well.

Doesn’t that all hit a bit differently now? Doesn’t it now make sense why, after Dean’s line, Cas starts smiling more broadly than he was during the entire rest of the scene? Doesn’t it make sense now that when Dean turns to look back at the Empty emerging, there are way more tears in his eyes than there were in the prior shot? Doesn’t Dean’s body language line up better between shots if we read it this way? Doesn’t it make Cas’s sacrifice hurt both more and less at the same time, because he could go to the Empty knowing he was loved in return? That he had the one thing he wanted most? 

To me, at least, it does. 

Unfortunately, I think that, similar to what I speculate happened with the finale...they were told by the network that they had to cut Dean’s reciprocation because the CW panicked about coming off as too gay at the last moment. You can read all about that in my other post.

Anyway, here’s more food for thought. Remember @oceaxe-ifdawn’s post about how she had spoken with a cast member about how the script for the finale was being frantically rewritten in March, the weekend after they finished shooting for 15x18? Why would they suddenly have to start tossing out their own ending in MARCH? TWO WEEKS before they were supposed to start filming the finale?

What if it was because that was the moment when the network started to pivot? If their contacts on set told them how very beautifully homosexually gay the scene was, and that was the moment that the CW decided that they couldn’t risk losing a very specific (conservative, heterosexual) part of their fanbase and needed to start toning down the gay before it got out of hand? And since they couldn’t obviously go back and reshoot anything for 15x18, given everyone then immediately went into quarantine for COVID, they had to remove Dean’s reciprocation from the script and replace it with another, earlier shot, that could have FEASIBLY gone in its place. But they couldn’t take Cas’s confession because it was entirely necessary to the whole plot of the season (and that, I think, was a fucking genius move by the writers to at least get us this much--god bless you, Bobo).

And this way, the CW could actually have their cake and eat it too--they could claim they were still being accepting of queer people (look, we let Cas confess his affection for Dean!) while avoiding the potential loss of their favorite cishet male audience (whom they really want to transition to Walker after all of this is over because MONEY) that they might suffer if that audience discovered that one of their two “traditionally masculine” lead characters was in love with another man this whole time.

The only reason they didn’t carry it all off is that, when they needed to send the script over to the Spanish-language dubbers for recording, there was some sort of screw-up. They somehow forgot to have the dialogue swapped out back in March and the lines were never replaced in the dub script.

And that is how we got the “me too” line from Dean in Latin America tonight, a line that we had  heard rumors existed, but had no actual evidence of... until now.

I’m sorry to have pulled you guys into this theory with me, but... It just lines up too perfectly. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, yes, but sometimes that cigar is actually a dick. A big, beautiful, gay dick that your stupid homophobic TV network executives are censoring because they are afraid of the reactions of their more conservative viewership.

On the plus side, I think that this more than ever confirms that Destiel is and was always canon. Textually. Reciprocally. 110%. 

And the CW fucking robbed us of it.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Birthday Fun” Spn Gabriel x f!Reader

(A/N: This is purely self-indulgent. A birthday present to me to share. I haven’t written a songfic in years. Maybe four or five years. Also happy birthday to my twin sister ( @ivorydragoness44 ) who helped proofread and edit this with me! You’re awesome!

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1,315 words)

It was your birthday! Congratulations, you had made it through another year involved with hunting monsters and knowing the Winchesters!

Well, you did prefer research over physically going on hunts. Yet, there you were out of the safety of your home and on a motel bed with your laptop. A notebook with notes jotted across multiple pages, more than one tab open on a browser, and the Winchesters out questioning people in town. Not exactly what you pictured doing on your birthday.

Dean had promised to buy a cake for the three of you to have some sort of celebration. Any sort of normalcy in a hunter’s life should be cherished, you couldn’t deny them that. Plus you adored Sam and Dean like brothers.

Stomach feeling as if it was going to growl, you shut off your laptop and headed for the door to go get something to eat.

You opened the motel door to go outside, but was met with what could easily be taken as a jazz club. The aesthetic was there.

“What…?” You laughed.

There were limited ways that could had happened and you were really hoping there was trickery and not a monster involved.

Taking a chance, you stepped inside. People populated the area either at the small tables, the bar off to the side, or the dance floor in front of the dark stage.

Does this place actually exist? You asked yourself.

The moment your shoes stopped where the tables started, lighting directed attention to the stage. Clapping erupted as a lone figure appeared on the lit stage. Their back facing the awaiting audience.

Is that—?

“Ladies and gentlemen…this is Mambo Number Five.”

“Ohmygod. Gabriel.” Your jaw dropped open before your face split into a grin.

One snap and a live band took their place on either side of the stage.

The musicians started to play their instruments to a very familiar rhythm.

Gabriel’s hips followed suit, moving from side to side.

Your shoulders twitched to the beat.

Up on the stage Gabriel spun around to face the audience. All of which were quite enthused. He held up a finger.

“One. Two. Three, four, five. “Everybody in the car so come let’s ride…” He sung and gestured with a finger, beckoning you closer. “To the liquor store around the corner. “The boys say they want some gin and juice, but I really don’t wanna.”

snap

A path of colorful confetti weaved across the floor from your feet, between the tables, and towards the dance floor.

“Beerbust like I had last week. “I must stay deep ‘cause talk is cheap. “I like Angela, Pamela, Sandra, and Rita. “And as I continue, you know they’re getting sweeter.” He threw his hip to the side and you let out a laugh.

The people in their seats were loving it and the ones out on the dance floor were more so.

You took the first few steps onto the confetti as Gabriel continued singing enthusiastically. As only he could.

“So what can I do? I really beg you my Lord. “To me flirting is just like a sport.”

Did someone close to the stage just swoon?

“Anything fly, it’s all good let me dump it. “Please set it in the trumpet.”

You beamed as you reached the edge of the dance floor. At this rate your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much.

“A little bit of—.” You sang out reflexively.

“—Monica in my life, “A little bit of Erica by my side.”

“‘Ay!” You threw your arms in the air.

Gabriel’s smile brightened the stage.

“A little bit of Rita’s what I need, “A little bit of Tina’s what I see, “A little bit of Sandra in the sun, “A little bit of Mary all night long. “A little bit of Jessica here I am,” he extended his arms out. “A little bit of you makes me your man!”

Without fear of embarrassment or anyone bothering you, you boogied your way out on the dance floor. The other dancers easily made room as you allowed yourself a creative outlet. It was your birthday after all. Might as well have fun.

Up on stage, Gabriel strutted to the beat.

“Mambo number five.”

Happily, you danced closer to the center of the dance floor.

“Jump up and down “And move it all around.”

Everyone around you circled their hips on cue.

“Shake your head to the sound, “Put your hands on the ground.”

Dancers moved in sync as you readied yourself for the next set of lyrics.

“Take one step left.”

You did.

“And one step right.” You sang along.

“One to the front and one to the side. “Clap your hands once.”

clap

“And clap your hands twice.”

clap clap

“And if it look like this then you’re doing it right.” He winked at you.

You struck a pose before singing along to the chorus.

“A little bit of Monica in my life, “A little bit of Erica by my side. “A little bit of Rita’s all I need.”

The people in the room were all suddenly dancing in sync once again, the only difference was that they were doing exactly what you were doing.

“A little bit of Tina’s what I see. “A little bit of Sandra in the sun, “A little bit of Mary all night long, “A little bit of Jessica here I am. “A little bit of you makes me your man!”

Well, alright, you thought and danced to your heart’s content. Gabe is my absolute favorite!

It was like living in a musical or a dance movie where everyone knew the steps regardless of practice.

You grinned up at Gabriel as you and the others covered the dance floor with various movements. The live band was an excellent touch.

“Trumpet.”

The instrument sounded.

“The trumpet.”

The instruments rose to the occasion.

“Mambo number five,” Gabriel snapped his fingers and you were there beside him. “Ha, ha, ha.”

You both shared a grin.

“A little bit of Monica in my life, “A little bit of Erica by my side. “A little bit of Rita’s what I need, “A little bit of Tina’s what I see. “A little bit of Sandra in the sun, “A little bit of Mary all night long. “A little bit of Jessica here I am, “A little bit of you makes me your man!”

During the next session of instrumental, you found yourself twirling around the stage with him. Kicking your legs out to the beat and whatever felt right and spontaneous in that moment.

“I do,” he grabbed your hand. “All to “Fall in love with a girl like you.” Gabriel pulled you even closer.

The grin on your face could not have been any bigger.

“Cause you can’t run and you can’t hide.”

He twirled you away from him, and then spun you back against his side.

“You and me gonna touch the sky.” Again, he twirled you around in front of him to take center stage as only you could.

The audience had since all taken to the dance floor and were in a joyous uproar upon the sight of you.

You doubted that you would ever have a moment like this in reality, so positive and joyful, that you were not going to waste a single second.

So as the song was coming to a close, you had the crowd jumping and dancing without a single care in the world.

“Mambo number five.”

The musicians continued playing their instruments as the audience lived it up. The song at its close.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

The instruments ceased and you hopped over and hugged Gabe tightly. It was indeed the most memorable birthday that you had ever had, and you were going to cherish it. It was only too bad that Sam and Dean were not there to experience it as well.

~~~

(A/N: “Mambo No. 5 (a Little Bit of…)” is by Lou Bega. I literally first remember listening to that song in 1st grade. I mean, I guess it was a radio version maybe. Not sure, but I really hoped you enjoyed this insert reader whether it’s your birthday or unbirthday!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[vex-bittys]

Hm... Its awfully cold here, what if a caretaker was walking down the road or something and saw a box move. And when they investigate, its a Pygmy and a King cuddled up together and the King starts hissing at the caretaker, but somehow enss up adopting them?

A Place Called Home

The dilapidated cardboard box didn’t qualify as a luxury accommodation by any stretch of the imagination, but a life-saving refuge for a pair of struggling travelers doesn’t need to be fancy. The homeless King and his Pygmy friend couldn’t withstand the frigid winds for much longer, so they sought shelter in the box with weary gratitude.

The location was less than ideal. The bottom of the box had soaked up enough melted slush to nearly disintegrate, and the King had to climb into a nearby dumpster to find enough discarded paper and rags to get them both off of the ground that siphoned the remaining heat from their bodies. The two lamias huddled together, sharing what little warmth they had, but as the sun set and night crept over the town, they couldn’t stop themselves from shivering.

Hurrying to get back to their own home, a human passerby spotted the box vibrating gently with two tails sticking out of it, one iridescent blue and one dark red. Curious, they peered inside to see the bedraggled skeleton lamias. The King, worried for his much smaller companion, hissed and flared his hood, hoping desperately that the human would go away. He didn’t really want to bite anyone, but he would defend himself and the Pygmy if necessary. The passerby lifted both of their hands in a gesture of surrender and stepped back, and the King slumped in relief.

The human couldn’t bring themself to just keep walking though. Taking off their scarf, they used one foot to push it towards the box from a safe distance. A skeletal hand reached out of the box and snatched the scarf, pulling into the makeshift shelter.. Digging in their pockets, the human also found a granola bar that they kept with them in case they got hungry. Laying the offering down near the box, they watched as the food disappeared from sight as quickly as the scarf had. The box stopped moving, its inhabitants still; satisfied, the kind human continued onward to their home.

A blizzard struck that night. Temperatures plummeted, and storm clouds dumped thick layers of snow and ice over the entire town. When the human awoke to the signs of a severe winter storm, their mind immediately went to the King and the Pygmy with nothing but a cardboard box to protect them from the elements. In a rush, they pulled on a coat and dashed out the door, feet slipping and sliding as they dashed down the street, hoping that they weren’t too late.

The King opened heavy sockets and sluggishly roused himself to check on the Pygmy. He’d bundled the smaller lamia in the scarf that the stranger had given them and made him eat most of the granola bar. He’d hoped that it would be enough, but when he touched the Pygmy, the other lamia was cold and unmoving. The King shook the Pygmy, trying to wake him, but he barely had the strength to do even that much.

Suddenly, a human face appeared at the opening of the cardboard box, a face he recognized. This time the King didn’t hiss. He gazed at the human with imploring eyelights and pointed at his friend. The human knelt in the snow, not caring about the muck and grime of the alleyway; they reached into the box and picked up the Pygmy, cradling him close to their body.

“I don’t know if I can get him warm enough like this,” the human said in a rush, watching tears fill the King’s sockets and his entire body sag in dejected acceptance. “Please, let me take you back to my place. It’s warm there. I won’t hurt you or force you to stay, but you can’t survive out here like this!”

The human extended a hand to the King, who struggled to slither onto it.

———-

The King and the Pygmy looked at the massive frosted cake in front of them. The helpful stranger, now their owner, made them one every year to celebrate finding them and bringing them to their new home. This cake had a number five on it, and it would be the fifth of many that the trio would enjoy together in the warmth and safety of a place called home.

More Drabbles | INDEX | Read on AO3

[sirius-black-killed-god]

Can we get a small sneak-peak of what's to come in TBWKG? I know you mentioned you were busy, so no worries if you can't share anything at the moment! <3

Yeah, why not. Here’s part of the first scene. My goal is to have the whole chapter up in the next two weeks. :)

The Boy Who Killed God: A Certain Number of Regrets

JANUARY 3, 1972

Remus looked slightly less green when he helped Madam Pomfrey change Sirius’s bandages the next morning. 

It was funny, really. Sirius had seen Remus nearly torn to ribbons himself, but Remus seemed incredibly squeamish around Sirius’s injuries; so much so, in fact, that Sirius would have teased him relentlessly for it, had he not been gritting his teeth and cursing his way through the various Aguamenti’s and levitation spells.  

Merlin, he thought, when Remus finally let out a relieved sigh and Madam Pomfrey finally retreated to her office. Malfoy really did a number on me.

Really, it wasn’t the equal-and-opposite sort of retribution that was generally expected of these sort of pure-blood grudge matches. Sirius had aimed his curse at Malfoy’s face. It had been severe enough to scar, yes, but the scar was no longer than the palm of Sirius’s hand. And he’d struck Malfoy on the side of his face, eyebrow to chin, an area that could easily be covered by Malfoy’s stupid white-blonde hair. 

Malfoy had…

Well, Malfoy had nearly carved Sirius in two, hadn’t he? There was an X etched into Sirius’s chest, from collarbone to hip. 

No one could reasonably say that that had been a proportional response. 

No one had decried this grave injustice and breach of pureblood traditions, either.

Sirius hadn’t been lying, when he’d told Remus he remembered almost nothing after Christmas day. He knew he must have woken up at some point, because when his father had barged into his room yesterday morning—furious at what he’d deigned to perceive as laziness on the part of his eldest son and heir—Sirius had reached for the inkwells Alphard had given him. 

They’d been empty. 

All of them. 

Which either meant Sirius had, in his delirious fever-dream, somehow managed to choke them down in the days he’d lost, or…

Or, someone had dumped them out. 

Utilising his impeccable deductive reasoning skills, Sirius figured it was the latter. His chest certainly didn’t look like anyone had applied dittany before Madam Pomfrey got her hands on him. 

At half past eight, a house-elf popped in, bearing two steaming trays of food. Sirius’s mouth watered on sight, and, with a little strategic manoeuvring so as to avoid re-opening his scars, Sirius managed to sit up. Remus muttered a, “Thanks, Speckles,” as the house-elf set the trays on the pillow-wall between them, then disapparated. 

They ate in relative silence. Sirius studiously sipped on his piping hot broth—this time containing small bits of beef—as Remus devoured his bacon and eggs. As he finished his soup, and sparing a glance to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn’t watching, Sirius snatched the last piece of bacon from Remus’s fingers and more or less swallowed it whole. 

Remus glared at him, but then sighed. He stood, slid out of bed, and placed the empty trays on the cabinet, before stretching his arms over his head. His neck and shoulders popped, and Sirius tried not to cringe at the sound.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked, through a mostly-stifled yawn, and really, Remus looked terrible. His curly hair stuck out in every direction imaginable. His eyes were red-rimmed and opened way too wide in an apparent attempt to fight off exhaustion. His uniform was rumpled and untucked, but that wasn’t all surprising given he’d slept in it. The scar across the bridge of his nose was a darker shade of pink, starkly contrasted against Remus’s pale skin and freckles, almost as if—

As if…

Sirius counted the scars. Then, he counted them again. 

No. No. 

There was no way those were new. 

Remus had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays. He couldn’t possibly—

“Sirius?”

“Hm? Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”

Remus frowned and raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

Sirius huffed. “Fine. I feel like shit, but considerably less shitty than yesterday. Not going to pass out any time soon, anyway. Hopefully. Most likely.”

Remus didn’t look particularly convinced. 

Sirius pushed his luck anyway. “What are the chances of you helping me break out of here before Madam Pomfrey comes to check on me?”

“Not fucking likely.”

“But—“

“Sirius, you almost fucking died.”

“I did not!” 

Piercing, half-golden eyes tracked down to Sirius’s chest, over the bandages, then back up to the tattoo, and—

“Fine! Fine!” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying to block it from view. Slightly mortified, he felt himself flush red. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at his chest, his fucking tattoo, least of all Remus Lupin. It… It was unnerving. “Can you at least get me a shirt?”

He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d taken off his own shirt—the exact events of yesterday were more than a little hazy in his mind—but he was certainly tired of not wearing one. It brought unnecessary attention to things he’d rather keep secret. 

Remus nodded, then gave him a small reassuring smile. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Remus made his way to the opposite end of the hospital wing, crouched by a small, bedside cupboard, rooted a round for a minute, then made a vaguely triumphant noise as he pulled out not just a shirt, but a pair of soft, Muggle trousers as well.

“Here,” Remus said, handing over the clothes. “These should do.”

Sirius eyed the clothes, subconsciously wiggling a little in his own, now-ruined designer trousers. The waistband and front part of his trousers were crusted with quite a bit of dried blood, Dittany, and other unmentionable, yet equally disgusting bodily fluids he’d rather not think too hard about. The trousers were about as far from salvageable as humanly possible. 

“Thanks.” Sirius took the proffered clothes and ever-so-slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a long moment just to breathe. 

“Do… Do you need help?”

“No.” Sirius tried not to snap, but he still managed to answer far too quickly and with far too much conviction. 

Remus clearly didn’t share any of his false bravado, but he turned his back all the same to allow Sirius the dignity of changing on his own. 

Sirius shucked his trousers in one go—they were so caked with filth that they kept their shape, much to his disgust—but kept his pants. His silk pants were equally ruined, but Sirius Black had just enough pureblood formality beaten into him that he wasn’t about to go pantsless in borrowed trousers.

Said borrowed trousers were rather large on him—so much so that Sirius muttered a quick spell to cinch them at his waist. The trousers hung well past his feet, the knees were rather worn, and never had such pedestrian fabric been used to clothe a member of the Noble and Most Pretentious House of Black, but they were incredibly comfortable. Absently, Sirius found himself wondering as to where one might acquire a pair and just what the consequences might be if his mother found out he’d gone to a Muggle tailor. 

Sirius shook his head and reached for the shirt. It was an equally worn button-up, with a patch on one elbow and ridiculously long sleeves, but it was made of thick, pliable material that smelled of… starlight and piping hot tea. Right beneath the collar—

No. That couldn’t be right. 

Right beneath the collar, stitched ever so carefully, were the initials R.J.L.

“Remus, are these yours?” Sirius asked, before he could think too much of it.

Because if Remus had a spare set of clothes in the hospital wing, that might lead one to believe that not only had Remus been a recent resident of said hospital wing, but the injuries he’d hypothetically sustained had also been grave enough to either warrant a change of clothes or an extended stay in the hospital wing that would consequently necessitate a change of clothes, eventually. Which, really, could not be possible because Remus hadn’t gone home for the holidays, so there was no logical reason for Remus to have been in the hospital wing at all.

Right?

Except the back of Remus’s neck flushed red and Sirius felt his heart stop. 

Because Remus had a new scar on his face that Sirius was now fairly certain hadn’t been there when Sirius left. 

Oh, how he’d wanted to believe that it was nothing.

Nothing, as it turned out, hardly ever worked in his favour.

“Where’d you get that scar on your face, Remus?”

“Siri—“

“No!” Sirius had half a mind to throw the shirt at the back of Remus’s head.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus turned to face him, and Merlin, how had Sirius missed it? The scar across the bridge of Remus’s nose was a pale pink, not faded silver. New. Raw. Fresh. 

The fight drained out of Sirius, as though he’d been punched in the throat.

“You were supposed to be safe, Re,” Sirius croaked. 

“So were you.” Remus’s jaw tightened, but this time, he didn’t turn away. ��Our monsters will always find us, Sirius.”

For a moment, Remus looked as though he wanted to say more, wanted to explain, anything. He opened and closed his mouth, his fingers fidgeting all over the place. Sirius waited.

And waited.

Then, suddenly, Remus froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Sirius watched, confused and mildly alarmed, as Remus tilted his head up and turned towards the—

The giant door to the hospital wing was open, just a crack. When and how that had happened without them noticing, Sirius couldn’t be sure. 

Remus frowned and… sniffed? Whatever he was doing, it was beyond strange. Sirius watched Remus’s eyes dart around the room, seemingly unable to settle on anything in particular, always on the move, always searching for… something.

“Remus, what—“

Sirius heard the faint shuffle, the soft whisper of fabric, the slightly too-loud breathing. 

Except there was no one there.

Readying himself for a fight with whatever ghost or shadowy figure that may or may not have infiltrated Hogwarts, Sirius tugged on Remus’s shirt as quickly as he dared without risking reopening his wounds. He shoved the ridiculously long sleeves up past his elbows, called his magic to the tips of his fingers, and took a defensive stance next to Remus.

Someone—something?—hissed out a faint curse. Then:

“Ow!”

“That’s my foot!”

“Potter, if that’s your fucking hand on my arse, so help me God, I will—“

Sirius and Remus exchanged a startled glance.

“Evans?” Sirius called, to the otherwise empty hospital wing.

“Shit.” That certainly sounded like James.

“Weren’t they s’posed to see us eventually?” Peter, maybe?

“Yes, but not until after we scared the shit out of them.”

“That doesn’t seem very nice.”

“It’s supposed to cheer them up. All they need is a good bit of mischief and—“

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

With a sudden whoosh of fabric, James, Lily, and Peter materialised out of nowhere, not five feet from them.

“What the fuck,” Remus deadpanned, at the exact same moment Sirius gasped, “Is that a fucking invisibility cloak?!”

[ladyanput]

A Drop Of Bourbon: The Class

Juleka's eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly, looking around frantically. Relief swamped her when she saw Rose was curled up beside her, passed out. Glancing around the room, she took note that her class was scattered around the room, save for Lila, Alya, Nino, Adrien, Chloé, and Marinette. 

"Where are we?" Mylène squeaked out as she clung to Ivan, visibly shaken. Many of the students stood and began looking around the room, trying to find a possible exit. But there wasn't anything, just white walls, white floor, and white ceiling. A void.

"I deduce that this is being caused by an akuma." Max adjusted his glasses as he stood, then glanced around, frowning as mild panic began to set in. "Has anyone seen Markov?"

"Do not worry, Markov is fine. And you'll all be fine, as long as you keep your mouths shut." Veritas appeared, seated in a chair that hadn't been there before. Rose let out a scream and hid behind Juleka. The rest of the class were on their feet in an instant, their bodies in defensive positions.

"You?! What the hell did you do to us?" Alix snarled, puffing out her chest as she strode over to the akuma. But her bravado lessened when Veritas stood and met her gaze. Those eyes… They were terrifying. 

"I didn't do anything, at least, not yet. Unless you cause trouble, you all can leave and I can move on without worry." She spoke and moved one of her long hands sharply. All of the students found themselves sitting on chairs. "I am here to lead you blind, dumb sheep away from the wolf's jaws."

"Who are you calling sheep?" Kim snarled, his hands curled into fists, but he jolted back when the akuma appeared mere inches from his face, his vision full of white and two piercing spots of purple.

"You honestly annoy me, Kim. You're very cocky and overconfident, but I guess most of your classmates are. The egos are far too large, the spoiled nature almost chokes me every time I come across it. You even bully on occasion, but I guess that's to hide your fragile ego, your fear of rejection and humiliation." Veritas cupped Kim's face in her cold hands, a gentle smile on her face. "You're quite dim, but you have a charm to you. But that doesn't excuse you for abandoning Marinette."

"W- what?" Kim whispered, turning to watch her wander over to Max. Her claws grazed over his cheek ever so slightly.

"You know, Max… For the supposed genius of the class, you're quite stupid. You created Markov, yet you believe the lies that a napkin would possibly blind you. Or you keep falling for Lila's tales, despite being the smart one, you should be the one to see through the lies, instead of hurting Marinette."

"Lila isn't a liar! She's a works class traveller, someone with all of the tight connections. You're just jealous because you're some Canadian woman who lives such a sad life that she resorts to terrorizing lycée students." Sabrina hissed out, now clinging to Alix's arm.

"Oh shush, Sabrina, you have no room to make accusations. Honestly, I'm surprised you can actually form a cognitive thought without Lila or Chloé putting it in there." Veritas grabbed her by the chin and grinned, then turned to Alix and tugged at her one pigtail. "And you, Alix, you really need to learn to think first, so quick to rush in, such a reckless and hot headed girl. But I don't have much ire towards you, I find."

"Leave her alone." Veritas felt herself being grabbed by Ivan and shoved back. That only made her grin widen as she eyed him and his girlfriend who was cowering behind him.

"Oh Ivan… The mountain with a heart of gold, and his little Mylène, who is scared of her own shadow. I can't really fault you both, except for your disgraceful way in how you handle your friendships."

"Why are we here?!" Rose's voice rose to a shrill note, she just couldn't take being in this room without any exits, being trapped with this… thing. Juleka held her girlfriend closer, tensing when the akuma drew near and patted Rose's head.

"Sweet Rose, so kind and gentle, you remind me so much of a Disney princess. To the point where it sickens me, actually." The akuma tapped Rose's forehead gently with one of those sharp nails of hers. "Honestly, you seem to actively refuse to see the real world, believing in fairytales and make believe. I can see it wouldn't be too hard for Lila to get you tangled up in her web."

"And dearest Juleka.." The way the akuma said her name made Juleka's skin crawl, so did it when those long nails brushed her bangs from  her face, making her feel so naked. "You're a really pretty girl, it absolutely breaks my heart that you don't see it. I know you're smart, but you just refuse to see the truth. But about yourself and about Lila. Poor Marinette didn't deserve all of what your class did to her."

"Are we here because of Marinette's over reactions to Lila's stories? Are you serious, she's just jealous because Lila has a better chance with Adrien." Kim scoffed, totally not sounding bitter in the least about Lila's attentions to another. He seemed to have a thing for bullies.

"You're here because of yourselves. Because you refuse to face your flaws. Such things will destroy you in the end." Veritas made them all sit again, then began making large tears in the air. Scenes began to play out; such as the first day Lila came back from her travels 'abroad', or when Marinette hadn't brought a cake for Lila's birthday and everything had shouted at her. 

"Tell me what's wrong with these scenes and I'll let you go." Veritas took a seat, watching them all carefully with those unsettling eyes of hers.

The students were quiet for a long time, before Rose shakily raised her hand, tears brimming in those large, innocent eyes of hers.

"Was it that we didn't ask Marinette her opinion on switching seats?" She whispered, her free hand tightening its grip on Juleka's arm.

"Very good." Veritas' voice lowered to an approving purr before she leaned closer, her grin widening. "What else?"

"... We got mad at Marinette for no reason. She wasn't trying to be rude, she was put off by the change that was made without her input." Juleka muttered, wrapping her arm around her girlfriend to hold her closer.

"So you're not all as stupid as I thought." Veritas stepped closer, and Rose began weeping when she gazed into the akuma's eyes. "You all lost a friend, because you chose to believe in fairytales."

"You're all such fools."

Then Veritas struck out and tore open the air in many locations, the class suddenly being assaulted by the times they were rude to Marinette, the times they had purposefully left her out of group outings, the times they had dumped a dress commission or a needed cake on her very last minute. And it just got worse and worse, until they saw the girl curled up in her rooms, sobbing as they heard Alya screeching something through the girl's cell.

"You all had better drop onto your knees and beg for her forgiveness." Veritas roughly grabbed Kim's chin, leaving him trembling. "I mean, most of you have known Marinette for so long, surely she'll forgive you, even if you completely dismissed her when she didn't start to suit your needs."

They didn't say anything as the akuma began walking between them, her footsteps silent.

"Honestly, I am trying my hardest to see the good in all of you, I really am. But a class full of naive kids who enabled not one but two bullies to go after Marinette, that's just sad, it's pitiful, it's disgusting." With a wave of her hand, the tears closed and many of the students watched her with teary eyes. She merely smiled. "I shall enjoy watching you all grovel at Marinette's feet when we are done."

And with another wave if her hand, they found themselves sprawled all over their classroom, the sudden burst of colour making many of them flinch. They all exchanged glances when they realized… No one else was anywhere to be seen.

[alwayschoosechocolate]

New Years, new starts and wounds not yet healed (jjk)

It’s been three years since he broke your heart. Three New Years without him and still it hurt just as bad every year. If a new start was really what he wanted, then why did he keep coming back to you?

Characters: Jeon Jungkook x reader

Genre: non idol!au, angst, romance, break-up

Word count: 4100

My masterlist can be found here

A/N: Jungkook is in his mid-twenties here, so the break-up would have happened, when he was around 22-23. 

Just a little New Years story to work through all the angst and feelings in the hopes of 2020 being a better year for all of us. 

Eyes sweeping across the elegant room, you lifted your drink to your lips once more as you followed his movements in the other end of the room.

Of course, he would be here. He was always here. Having a large common friend group used to be a good thing, when you’re a couple. Less so if you break up, and spending New Years together with this friend group had been a tradition for as long as you could remember. In fact, it was through this group that you had met him all those years ago.

20 years ago

“Y/n,” your moms voice called you from the doorway, where she was chatting with one of the moms from down the road.

Darting to the door as fast as your legs could carry you, you stopped next to her in the doorway, eyeing the group in front of you with curious eyes.

You knew the mom. Of course! She usually came by with that delicious banana bread, that you loved. Her daughter was standing next to her and behind her stood another kid, you hadn’t seen before.

His dark hair fell into his eyes, as he kept his eyes trained to the tips of his green sneakers that he was digging into the gravel in front of him. His hands were clutched around a small bag, which he held in front of him.

“Y/n?”, your mom repeated, making you look up with a questioning look. “Do you want to go out and play with Rachel and Jungkook?”

“Jungkook?”, you repeated, tasting the unfamiliar name on your tongue as you looked back at the raven-haired boy.

Looking up at the sound of his name, his doe eyes met yours and he unclutched one of his hands to give you a shy wave.

Through the years, the group had grown to the size it was now, yet it had remained a tradition to get together each year for New Years.

It had always been your thing. But more so, it had been yours and Jungkooks thing, you thought with a pang of agony as you emptied your drink and went to find a new one.

15 years ago

As another loud crack of fireworks could be heard outside the window, you squinted your eyes and pushed yourself closer to the wall underneath the table.

Ever since the dad down the road had injured his hand on New Years a few years back, you had been terrified of them, always opting for staying inside and if possible, away from the windows when the fireworks went off at midnight.

“Y/n?”

You heard the shuffling of socks against the carpet, and when you squinted your eyes open slightly, you saw Jungkooks small frame in front of you crouching down to look under the table with a reassuring smile on his face.

“Are you scared?”

“You know, I don’t like the fireworks, Kook,” you whimpered when another crack could be heard outside.

You were vaguely aware of him moving around and suddenly the space around you fell into complete darkness, causing you to look up in alarm, only to see Jungkook pushing the blanket aside he had draped over the table and crawl to your side.

“It’s okay. Now you can’t see them,” he smiled proudly, as he shuffled closer to you. “Do you want me to hold your hand? That always calms me down, when I’m scared,” he asked sincerely, smiling reassuringly at you as he reached out his hand to you.

As the clock struck midnight and the entire sky lit up in fireworks and the cracks and blows became deafening, your body reacted for you and took Jungkooks hand in yours, holding it in a deathlike grip for the remainder of the night.

Even when you ventured out from under the table, you kept his hand in yours as you went to get a piece of cake, much to the grown-ups joy as they cooed over how cute the two of you were.

10 years ago

“Do you want to try and do that thing, that the grown-ups do at midnight?”, you asked Jungkook hesitantly as you observed your parents moving around the room and setting the table.

Jungkook turned his slender body towards you with all the gracefulness his teenage limps could muster, sending you a puzzled look through the long bangs falling into his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you giggled awkwardly as you gave him a light shove with your shoulder.

When he turned towards the room in front of you, you stole a lingering glance at his profile. You had had a crush on him for almost three months now, and in your book that was far too long to not make a move. Kissing at the stroke of midnight was the perfect excuse to move things along, you grinned proudly to yourself, not even bothering to wipe it off your face, when he turned back towards you, confusion still evident on his features.

“Kiss, Jungkook,” you explain with an eyeroll, giggling when his eyes widened in surprise.

“You want to kiss me?”, he asked in disbelief, pointing to himself half a beat later as if his body hadn’t quite caught up to his brain.

“Why not?”, you shrugged, as you turned back to the room to avoid his analyzing eyes. “We’re 15 now. Almost grown-ups. And grown-ups kiss at midnight.”

Though your reasoning wasn’t exactly foolproof, you deemed it good enough to convince a 15-year old boy. But Jungkook stayed silent and another stolen glance at his face, told you how nervous he was, when you saw him gnawing at his lips with furrowed brows.

Okay, maybe another push was needed.

“Don’t you want to kiss me, Kook?”, you asked, batting your eyelashes at him with a lazy smile.

Eyes flickering back to yours, he nodded silently at you with poorly hidden excitement in his eyes, making you return the smile knowingly.

“Great. Then let’s meet in my room just before midnight. We don’t need our parents to see it.”

Grabbing another drink off the bar, you arranged the sheer dress around your hips and quickly checked your reflection in a passing mirror.

Joining a small group of people off the side of the room, you engage in some chit chat about the current political situation, but your mind was still wandering memory lane, collecting New Years memories like seashells on the beach.

Your first time had been on New Years as well. The first time you told each other you loved each other. The first New Years away from your parents. The first New Years in New York. The first New Years after your friends started having kids.

Of course, he had to make it the first New Years where he dumped you as well.

3 years ago

“Y/n, can I talk to you? Alone?”,  Jungkook whispered against the shell of your ear as he smiled at the people you had been talking to, before pulling you away towards the back of the room.

“What’s going on, babe?”, you smiled as you reached up to pull him into a kiss, only to have him grab your arms and pin them at your sides with a headshake, making your smile falter.

Something was wrong. You could feel it in the drop of your stomach when his guilty eyes met yours.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he spoke earnestly with a heavy sigh as he kept his hands on your wrists.

“What do you mean? The party? We can just go home, babe. It’s almost midnight anyway,” you rushed, eager to get rid of the feeling of dread hanging heavy between you.

“No, not the party, Y/n.”

Sending him a puzzled look, you shook your head at him in confusion as you felt your heartbeat pick up pace in sheer panic.

“I need a new start,” he admitted in a hesitant tone, as his eyes flickered to yours and you caught the look of dread and pity evident there.

“I need a new start without you. Y/n, I’m breaking up with you,” he explained, as you heard the countdown in the other room reach zero and the cheers for the new year ring through the small apartment at the same moment your heart fell shattered to the floor.

Shaking your head to rid it of the memories, you emptied another drink in annoyance with both yourself and him, when you remembered the girl, he had brough to the party the year after that. His fiancée to be more correct.

Waltzing her through the room, he had bragged about how he had rescued her from getting drowned in the rain one night in the city, by offering her his umbrella and bring her home to his apartment.

“One thing led to another,” you had heard his voice repeat at least a million times that night, with that annoyingly proud smile plastered to his face. And it only grew in size when he announced their engagement at midnight.

Scoffing in remembrance you politely excused yourself, before making your way back towards the bar for a new drink, only to come face to face with Jungkook halfway there.

He was clad in dark grey slacks and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to display the array of tattoos he had acquired in the years since you had been with him. Briefly wondering if he had tattooed other parts of his body as well, you were soon knocked back to reality, when he flashed you one of his blinding smiles, eyes crinkling in the process.

“Y/n. Wow, you look absolutely stunning,” he complimented you with a sincere smile as his eyes took in the sheer dress clinging to your frame in all the right places.

His compliment caught you by surprise and you felt betrayed by your own body, when you felt a blush creeping its way up your neck. But then reality hit you like a wave of realizations and memories, and the brief soft look you had given him hardened into one of pure resentment, and you saw him take half a step back from the sheer anger emanating from your gaze as you walked around him towards the exit to the garden to get away from him and everyone else.

Stepping out to the cold air, you took a shaky breath and leaned back against the cold wall to ground yourself. Despite all the anger you held towards him, it was nothing but a coping mechanism for all the hurt he had caused you. You had spent enough tear-filled nights to know that you weren’t really mad at him. You were still heartbroken. It had been three years. Three New Years without him beside you and still it hurt just as bad every year.

You should be over this by now, you scolded yourself as you took deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you decided to take a short walk around the garden to calm down. You wanted to make it through at least one New Years without him ruining it.

The icy wind tugged at the hem of your dress and blew the hair out of your face as you walked towards the far end of the garden. Feeling your heart sink in your chest, the familiar heavy cloaked pulled at your shoulders and cause you to draw them up towards your ears. Your heart was thundering away in your chest and your felt like screaming. But you needed to be tough and hard.

It had been three years for crying out loud. You should be over it by now. You were supposed to be over it!

Yet every time the New Years rolled around the wound sprang open again; oozing, red and angry.

As a particularly hard wind tore at your shawl, you shuddered in the cold and pulled it tighter against you.

Just a few more minutes. Then you could go back inside and face everyone with a brave face.

Stopping for a second to admire the pale moon reflected in the pond, the sound of footsteps in the gravel reached your ears.

Whipping around in shock, you were met with Jungkooks apologetic features.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but you’ll get sick walking around out here without a coat,” he explained, lifting the coat in his hands towards you as an offering with a sheepish smile. “You can stay mad at me all you want, but I won’t accept a no. Either you take the coat, or you come back inside with me.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Jeon. And it’s not your job to take care of me,” you spoke defiantly, as you crossed your arms in front of your and sent him an irritated glare.

“I know. And even when it was, I did a shitty job at it,” he admitted as he stepped forward and draped the coat over your shoulders instead of waiting for you to accept it.

“That’s not true,” you contradicted, giving him a small smile as he fixed the coat around you, falling so easily back in the roles. “You were a great boyfriend. Which is why the breakup came as such a shock.”

Looking up at him, as he pulled the collar of the coat close around your neck, you felt his fingers brush against your cheek and saw the guilt in his eyes. His face was mere centimeters from yours and you could smell his cologne – the same one he had used all those years ago.

“I know. And I have no excuse for it,” he sighed heavily. His eyes flickered over your features and you felt the warmth of his fingertips as they ghosted over your cheekbone. “I still haven’t forgiven myself for that. For how I hurt you.” His eyes flickered back to yours, surprised to see them actually soften at him.

As another cold gush of wind swept through the garden, you involuntarily pressed your body closer to his in search for shelter. On instinct his armed wrapped around your lower back, pulling you closer to his chest and for a split second you were willing to give in and just forget about all that had happened. At least for a moment. But how could you?

Stepping out of his grasp, you didn’t miss the hurt and confused look on Jungkooks features as his eyes widened slightly by your action.

“You told me, you needed a new start,” you reminded him, feeling the sting in your own heart as you repeated those words that had haunted you ever since. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? You basically told me that you had gotten bored with me. That I wasn’t enough for you.”

“I..”

“And you did it on New Years, Jungkook,” you interrupted him with an exasperated tone. “New Years! It was always our day, our holiday, and you made damn sure it would stay like that, didn’t you? I’ve hated New Years ever since! All these ‘New year – new me’ only reminded me of how I wasn’t enough. I spent months trying to change myself, because I thought if I could just show you that I was enough for you. That I could change for you, then maybe you would want me back.”

Laughing at your own reasoning, you couldn’t help but shake your head at your own foolishness.

“But then you showed up at New Years exactly a year later with that girl on your arm, announcing your engagement as the clock hit midnight and it broke my heart all over again. But I figured you had moved on and so should I,” you nodded decisively, as you looked out over the pond again, where the few premature fireworks were reflected next to the moon.

He winced at verbal hits you were distributing, but he knew he deserved them. All of them. So he stayed quiet, hoping that maybe there was hope and a second chance for him, after your were done speaking your peace.

“But then last New Years came, and lo and behold if you hadn’t deemed it the perfect opportunity to come crawling back.”

1 year ago

”You broke up with me, remember?”, you snarled in a hushed voice, not wanting to direct too much attention to the two of you, as you stood pressed against the back wall of the room.

“I know. And it was wrong of me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought I wanted something else, but nothing has been able to make me happy like you could.”

The sincerity in his voice was threatening to pull you under, but you were still furious and hurt by how he had ended things and how he had treated you.

“So now, that you’ve tried something else you figured you could just go back to the girlfriend you discarded by the side of the road like some toy you got bored with?”, you asked in disbelief as you crossed your arms tighter in front of you.

“No. Y/n, that’s not what happened. I..”

“You what, Jungkook? What did happen? Cause I sure as hell still don’t understand it,” you snapped at him, acutely aware of how loud your voice had gotten. Defiantly meeting his shocked features and slightly hunched shoulders only fueled your rage further. “You don’t even know why you did it, and now you expect me to just take you back like nothing happened? No way, Jungkook. You can find yourself some other heart to break, because I am not giving you mine again.”

He winched slightly at the memory of your words last year and how you had refused to even give him a sliver of a chance.

“You have broken my heart once a year for three years now, Jungkook,” you admitted with a sigh, shrugging your shoulders in affirmation at his horrified face at your confession. “I can’t do it again.”

Quickly turning around to get a way from him, you felt the all too familiar warm wetness of tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran out of the garden like some modern-day Cinderella.

“Y/n!”

Only spurred on further by the sound of his voice, you didn’t dare look back and pushed your body to move faster, but you weren’t fast enough. Not faster than him.

“Y/n,” he spoke again as his hand locked around your arm and whipped you around to face him.

“Please just give me a chance to explain. If you still don’t want me, I’ll walk away. I promise.”

His eyes searched yours, frantically looking just a flicker of hope, and when you gave him a barely visible accepting nod, he let out a relieved sigh and gave you a thankful smile.

“I never needed a new start, Y/n. I don’t know why I said that. I was young and scared of life and I thought I needed to find something more,” he pleaded with you, a desperate look taking over his features. “But I never needed more. I had everything I needed with you. You were always more than enough for me. You were too much for me. I never deserved you, and I know I screwed up and broke your heart. I know I ruined New Years for you. You always talked about how New Years used to be our day. The day we had all our first, right?”

You nodded silently, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand over your tear-stained cheeks.

“Please give me a chance to make this New Years the first day I mend your heart. I want to make this up to you. I want to be with you. I love you, Y/n. Do you still love me?”

As his words rang out, you took a shaky breath and looked out over the sea visible behind the house, while you mused over his words. Looking back up at him through your tear-clumped lashes, you let your gaze roam his face. His distress had twisted each of his beautiful features into a mask of agony and panic, and for a moment you wondered if your had looked equally distorted over the last few years.

“I never stopped loving you, Kook,” you whispered, smiling softly when you saw his face smoothing out slightly by the sound of his nickname. “But you broke my heart. How can I even trust you now?”

“I will jump in the lake,” he promised with a cheeky smile fighting to take over his tightened lips. “Like when we were kids, remember?”

Chuckling out a sob in memory of your go-to verification of friendship when you were kids, you shook your head at him.

“That lake is miles away and it wouldn’t change anything, and what are you doing?”, you rushed out in disbelief as your eyes followed his body running towards the beach stretching out behind the house.

“I’m gonna prove to you that you can trust me. That I won’t ever do anything to hurt you again,” he called over his shoulder, as he reached the shore and began to undress.

“No. Jungkook, will you stop that? This is absurd,” you called after him in exasperation although you felt the laugh fighting its way through your vocal cords.

“I promise to always get up before you on the weekend and make you coffee,” he screamed as he pulled off his shoes.

“Jungkook, I swear if you don’t stop this right now”, you called, slipping off your heels to run towards him to stop him.

“And I promise to fix anything in the apartment, when needed,” he continued, now pulling his shirt over his head. “And I’ll watch ‘The Holiday’ with you each Christmas without complaining and I’ll wrap all the presents.”

“Jungkook,” you laughed out of breath as you continued chasing him over the sand.

“And I’ll always listen to you.” 

Pushing down his pants and leaving him completely nude, he turned around to catch your barreling towards him and you could have sworn you saw him send you a wink, before he bent down and swept you off your feet as he threw you over his shoulder and casually made his way to the water with you kicking and screaming at him.

“And I’ll tell you everyday how much I love you and how amazing and beautiful you are, because I never told you enough,” he roared to make sure you would hear him, before he stopped when the water reached his navel. “You ready? I’m about to make this the first New Years we skinny-dip,” he laughed over his shoulder, before dropping both himself and you under the freezing water in exactly the same moment as the sky lit up in fireworks.

“Jungkook, you crazy bastard,” you shrieked, when your head came above water again, spluttering and coughing as you reached for him through the icy water. “We’re gonna get sick from this!”

“But it was a first, wasn’t it?”, he laughed at you, as he grabbed your hand and drew you through the reflected fireworks towards his warm body.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his torso, you looked up at the fireworks from the water, unable to keep the laugh from bobbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t believe, I’m love with such an idiot,” you giggled with a head shake, getting a bunny smile back from him.

“Does that mean I get a second chance?”, he shrieked in excitement, as his hands tightened their hold on you.

“One more chance, you idiot,” you spoke seriously, holding up one finger to underline your statement. “If you screw up again, you have to do this again. Skinny dipping on your own!”

Laughing at your serious face, he simply leaned in to place a kiss on your pouted lips.

“I won’t. I promise,” he smiled at you. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can we get back to the beach now? I’m freezing,” you teased, as you pushed back from him to swim towards the beach.

A/N: Happy New Years, my loves! May 2020 be our year! 💜

[gumnut-logic]

Their Island

Ooh, lookie, I managed to write an IRRelief fic myself. The fact that I started it without that in mind is irrelevant. The fact that I found myself typing out one of the prompt words part way through is :D That and it is mostly fluff which is the main requirement. So IRRelief fic for the prompt ‘power drill’...which is one of mine, I know, but it just happened, honest.

Spoilers & Warnings: I have again written this in my Kermadec AU, however the deviations are minor and it can be read without reading We’ll Be Home For Christmas. There are Tracy boys ages in this as it is technically pre-IR. We all have our own ideas on the boys ages. I’ve run with the age scheme I worked out for Parents as it makes enough sense for me to live with...so technically this could be considered part of that fic as well. So, we have younger!Tracys, pre-IR, Kermadec AU (but only a little bit) and lots of fluff. 2949 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It was a tropical island with the foliage to match. Ferns, palm trees, warm air, the distant sound of ocean with a breeze that came with it.

Virgil found himself up high, sitting on a fat patch of moss in a protected nook far above the construction busily happening below.

From here he could see the footprint of the villa, the hole where the pool was going to go, his father directing operations like the commander he always was.

He had to admit, it was amazing.

Seeing the plans was one thing, seeing it being carved out of the volcanic rock was another.

In the distance sat the chiselled-out runway, another of Tracy Industries’ cargo planes coming into land. No doubt it was stock full of luxury fittings. Fancy doorknobs, Scott’s king-sized bed and other frivolities. But Virgil knew that under the disguise of rich eccentricities there were more important things.

The Island was riddled with secrets, most of which had been actioned long before the villa.

But now the house was the final piece. The topping on the cake. And it was amazing to watch it come together.

A scuff of boots on gravel and Virgil jumped.

“Relax, Virgil.” A gentle hand on his shoulder and his younger brother pulled up a chunk of moss beside him. John’s hair always lit up in the sun, almost a warning as to what that sun could do to that pale skin.

There must have been something on Virgil’s face, because John held up a hand. “I have sunscreen.”

“Sure you do, but is it on your face?”

The glare from his twenty-year-old brother tipped the scales into affirmative.

“Just checking.”

The glare turned into a frown. “What are you doing all the way up here?” A twist to his lips filled with put upon sarcasm. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

Well, no, but then Virgil wasn’t used to thinking of that yet. His skin tended to brown with what little sun he picked up in Colorado. John, on the other hand, had been wearing the stuff since the day after he was born.

Virgil wasn’t going to admit that though. “I have protection.”

John snorted. “You’ll learn. This is the tropics, Virgil. Southern hemisphere, just that touch closer to that healing wound in the ozone layer.”

“I’m aware of the meteorological and geographical differences, John. I don’t need a space degree for that.”

His brother just shrugged. “It’s on you, big brother.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just because John was right didn’t mean he had to be all haughty about it.

“You started it, remember?” Turquoise eyed him along with an amused smirk.

Virgil shrugged it off and turned back to staring down at the construction below.

There was silence except for the sounds of nail guns and power tools bouncing off volcanic rock.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s voice was quiet. “Yes, it is.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Almost level with them, a huge bird that just had to be an albatross, wheeled past.

“Wow.” The word was out of his mouth without thought.

“There is a lot of wildlife out here.” John’s voice was matter of fact, lacking the feeling welling inside of Virgil. The wind tousled red hair and the artist inside suddenly had the urge to paint it. In fact, that was the source of it all, Virgil realised. He was inspired. To paint.

Everything.

“Have you spoken to Mel Fisher?”

“Huh?” The bird swooped back out over the caldera and Virgil’s eyes tracked it.

“The director of the Raoul scientific expedition. She should have some data on the species native to the island.”

“Oh, yeah, Gordon has been liaising with her.” It was a welcome distraction from the pool. Virgil had been both supportive and worried about Gordon’s obsession with the Olympics. Combined with his school studies and a gruelling training regime, these few weeks of family leave was exactly what was needed.

Of course, tropical island meant sea water that could replace the pool for that time and his little brother had been in the caldera every morning. Their father had spoken to the local authorities...aka Mel Fisher, newly appointed director of the Kermadec expedition on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south...about what wildlife existed in the region that could kill or injure an over enthusiastic Tracy fish. The list had been considerable.

Gordon had immediately parroted off what he knew about every single one of those lifeforms enough to glaze over his father’s eyes. The Tracy fish had then been referred to the Director.

The speech Mel had given him was long.

Three other Tracy brothers - John was the one escapee having been on the other side of the planet at the time - were dragged into it and lectured on the hazards of living in a wildlife dominated area.

The biggest danger was apparently death enacted by the Director should they impact the area in any way.

Even their father had taken a step back at the passion in the woman’s speech. Young, blonde and ready to kick a billionaire’s butt, if necessary.

She and Gordon had hit it off immediately.

A distracted smirk at John. It could be entertaining to see the spaceman encounter the eco-passionate Mel. “You guys need to meet.”

Far down below, his father yelled something at one of the workers. He stormed across the construction site and by the amount of gesturing, Virgil reckoned the man had committed at least a level three offence. Probably a safety deviation. Virgil was glad he wasn’t down there to hear the lecture.

“Have you spoken to Scott?”

It startled him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. His head was in the clouds and he obviously needed grounding. “Uh, yeah. He is okay as he can be.”

His big brother was suffering from an abrupt end to a career he thought would be his life. Honourable discharge was one thing, but after what his brother had given the Air Force, the strain behind those closeted eyes...

It was enough to sprout a permanent dislike of the military deep in Virgil’s soul.

“He is managing.” A breath. “This should help.”

The silence returned, both men lost in their thoughts.

“What are you two doing up here?”

It was inevitable really. Virgil looked up as his fish brother approached, his eyes curious. Gordon’s hair appeared permanently wet and sticking up in all directions. He had his latest loud shirt on, but it wasn’t buttoned up. Little more than flip flops protected his feet from the volcanic rock beneath them.

“I could ask you the same thing. Do I need to lecture you on appropriate footwear again?”

Gordon slumped. “God, Virg, when are you gonna loosen up?”

“When my brothers learn to look after themselves.”

“If you expect me to wear flannel and steel-tipped boots in this tropical climate, you are dreaming, bro. Not all of us want to smell like you.”

“What?!”

“You do the ‘working class man’ thing just a little too much, big bro. Have you noticed the humidity? We’re gonna have to invest in a deodorant factory if you keep wearing that outfit.”

Of course, John had to throw his dice into play. “Tracy Industries already has a personal hygiene department.”

Virgil turned his glare to his traitorous next younger brother.

“What? We do! We produce some very good quality products.”

“Next supply run, we’ll need to stock up for Virg.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

He didn’t stink, did he? A sniff of his armpit would be too obvious and would just inspire more smart-ass remarks from his brothers. And yes, that was a plural. He could trust John about as far as he could throw him...though admittedly that was quite a distance nowadays, but still…

Gordon derailed that train of thought by dumping himself down beside Virgil. He smelt like seawater.

“So, we spying on Dad, or what?” Gordon pointedly stared down at their father who was still giving that one worker the riot act.

“No. Just came up here for the view.” It was the truth. Ocean for miles in the distance, Mateo and its birds, jagged rock, crystal clear water in the caldera, their future being built beneath his feet.

Gordon didn’t immediately answer and Virgil looked in his direction. He found a small smile on his little brother’s face as he stared down at the turquoise depths below them. It suddenly struck him, that of all of them, this move was going to be the best for Gordon. Surrounded by sea life and the very ocean he adored; his fish-loving brother would be in his element.

Once he landed himself that Olympic medal, finished high school and grew up.

Virgil blinked.

‘Grow up’ and ‘Gordon’ were interesting when combined.

He loved his little brother, but he was a handful. Without thinking, Virgil reached out a hand and squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. That prompted a quizzical look in his direction, but Virgil just smiled a little before letting go and returning to his gaze far down below.

“Gordy! Where are you?” The high-pitched voice of the youngest Tracy bounced freely about the rocks.

Gordon rolled his eyes and whispered. “Keep it quiet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“He’s looking for someone to play that stupid space game with him.”

That earned Gordon a clap around the ear.

“Hey, I played it with him all day yesterday!”

“You could have told me, Gordon.” John was frowning.

“That’s why I came looking for you! I figured if you beat him several times, I wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

Virgil clapped him up the ear again.

“Ow! Quit it, Virg. I don’t see you volunteering.”

“No, I’m too busy with that stopwatch timing your ass.”

Gordon blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“What are you guys doing up here?” Blond, blue-eyed and nine years old, little Alan bounced into the grotto and stared at the three of them before looking around. “Wow, this is a cool spot. You can see everything!”

The kid glared at Gordon for a second before pushing himself in between John and Virgil.

“Hey, sprout. What you been doing?”

“Looking for you guys. Gordon won’t play Star Hero with me.” Those blue eyes shot daggers at the next eldest brother.

“Maybe spending some time outside would be a good idea.”

“Aw, Virg. I’m nearly at the next level!”

Virgil reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders drawing him to his side. “But there is so much to see out here, Alan.”

“We’re gonna be here forever. I can see it then.”

A frown. “Allie, you okay?”

“I just wanna play Star Hero.” That was definitely a whine.

“Alan, if you drop the attitude, I’ll consider playing it with you tonight.” John’s voice was cool and clearly not tolerating his little brother’s tactics.

Alan lit up, eyes widening. “You will?! Be on my team?”

John arched an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t give me a silly name.”

“He called me Drockus Doofhead yesterday.” Gordon growled from Virgil’s other side.

“That’s because you are a doofhead. You don’t know the difference between a supernova and a nebula.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Prove it!”

“Hey, hey!” It had been quiet. It had been inspirational. Now... He shoved a finger in Gordon’s direction. “You, he’s nine. Give him a break.” Another finger in Alan’s face. “You. Respect others’ skills. Everyone is different. Consider how much Gordy does know that you don’t, how much he can help you and how much you can help him.”

The pout didn’t fully disappear, but Alan muttered something that could be considered an acknowledgement.

Virgil squeezed his shoulders, but didn’t say anything further. The breeze picked up a little and played with his hair. “Do you like the Island?” The question came out without thought and it stopped him in his tracks, suddenly wondering what his little brothers’ responses might be.

“Are you kidding? There are dolphins, Virg! I was swimming with dolphins this morning! This place is fantastic!”

Yeah, that was the response he expected from his fourteen-year-old fish.

“What about you, Allie?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Allie?”

“I’m gonna miss my friends.”

“You can still see your friends.”

“How?”

“Hololink.”

“Not the same.”

“We can fly in and out as much as you like.”

“Until you’re too busy.”

Silence fell over the grotto, returning it to its natural soundscape of distant waves, birds and the wind.

“I will never be too busy for you, Alan.” The deep voice of his eldest brother broke into the grotto and Virgil’s heart lurched. He looked up to find Scott staring down at their little group. He was still pale, the gash at his temple still pink with healing.

The walking stick in his hand was being leant on heavily.

“What the hell are you doing all the way up here?” Virgil shot to his feet and hurried over, grabbing his big brother’s arm almost terrified he would fall on his face.

“Can it, Virgil. I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him. “Sit down.” His three other brothers shuffled over to make room and the recovering pilot rolled his eyes before lowering himself awkwardly down onto the moss carpet.

“I should be asking you that question. Is this a meeting I missed the memo for?”

“No. I just came up here for some quiet.”

Scott snorted. “Really?”

“Well, I didn’t expect a family convergence.”

“Can’t escape us, Virg.” Gordon was grinning.

“Wasn’t trying to, Gordo.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?”

“Well, why do you think we’re all up here? You’ve been disappearing every afternoon for days. We had to ask Brains to ping your locator.”

“What?!”

A hand landed on his arm and he turned away from Gordon to find Scott staring at him. “Maybe you should answer your own question, Virgil. Do you like the Island?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

So, he closed it again.

It wasn’t just a question of his liking the Island. The eldest three knew far more than the youngest two. Exactly why they were moving to this isolated chunk of rock.

Scott squeezed his arm. “Johnny is in a star man’s paradise with his observatory, and you know my opinion.” He certainly did. Scott was itching to get back into the sky with that rocket plane. “But I don’t recall hearing your thoughts lately.”

“You know my answer. I agreed.”

Eyes as blue as the sky above them interrogated him. “But what about now that we are here?”

“I agreed.” This was not something he wanted to talk about in front of Gordon and Alan. Hell, Gordon’s amber eyes were as sharp as anything. “This place is beautiful.” It was. As if to emphasise the statement, the albatross reappeared from behind them. Its massive wings were hardly moving to keep it aloft. It coasted above, its eyes passing over all five brothers. “I think we can be happy here.” He hoped.

That hand squeezed his arm again and the grotto fell into a thought-filled silence.

The albatross caught a thermal and rose far above the Island.

Virgil watched it grow smaller and smaller.

Scott’s hand did not leave his arm.

Alan clambered around Gordon and curled up next to Scott. Just as Virgil had done earlier, Scott automatically reached out an arm and pulled him close.

Gordon threw a nasty glare at his little brother, stood up, stomped around Alan and Scott and pointedly dumped himself on the other side of Virgil. There may have been an exchange of raspberries between the two youngest, but Virgil tuned them out to protect his sanity.

He did not fail to notice John closing the gap left by Gordon and sidling up next to their littlest brother.

He ignored the sputtering of the fourteen-year-old he grabbed and drew close to his side in a sudden need for closeness. His other arm snaked around behind Scott, snagged John’s collar and gave a yank. The astronaut let out a yelp and nearly fell on Alan. Virgil’s fist caught in the back of his shirt and he managed to sandwich all his brothers together.

“Virgil!” His name was protested vehemently, but he had to smile when none of his brothers pulled away.

“Love you guys.”

Various sputterings of affirmation had him grinning outright. Gordon was literally squirming.

“Love you, too, Virgil.” Alan’s high-pitched voice was refreshingly honest.

“Thanks, squirt.” It was whispered.

Scott’s hand moved from his arm to wrap around Virgil’s back. A tired forehead dropped gently onto his shoulder.

His big brother didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Virgil’s voice was rough. “Dad has called this place Tracy Island. We are the Tracys. Let’s make it ours.”

“Except the crabs.”

A blink. “What?” He stared at Gordon.

The kid was still under his arm, but was grinning up at him, mischief in every line.

“Half the crabs are on the endangered list. Mel has already laid claim to them.”

Another blink and Virgil just drew his little fish in tighter.

“Oh, god, Virg, need to breathe.”

A laugh welled up and burst out of Virgil from somewhere deep inside.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” The words were perturbed and put out, but John’s struggles were strangely in vain. Alan put an end to them by wrapping his arm around his astronaut brother and dragging him even further into the pile.

No one could resist the squirt.

They sat there together, quiet except for a few sputters from the fishy teenager.

Down below Dad was waving his arms around in front of the tiny figure of Brains.

The sun glittered off the turquoise caldera.

Virgil smiled.

They were the Tracys.

And this was their Island.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[nicolewrites]

are these helium balloons

the roommate au makes a glorious return...

Rating: G+ Genre: Friendship Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea Words: 2,035

Ingrid and Sylvain have to pick up some party decorations. It goes about as well as planned.

AO3

“No, Sylvain, we are not going to spend forty dollars on balloons,” Ingrid grumbled. She was leaning her head against the steering wheel of the car to avoid looking at her roommate.

“Oh, but come on! Can you imagine the look on his face when he sees all those balloons?”

She lifted her head and stared at him, feeling both annoyed and just in total disbelief. “Sylvain. Where are we going to keep forty dollars worth of helium balloons before Felix gets home?”

He laughed. “Oh, ye of little faith! I promise this will be one hundred percent worth it.”

Ingrid sighed again. “Sylvain, Dimitri asked us to buy reasonable party decorations. What part of reasonable do you not understand?”

Sylvain winked and opened the car door, climbing out. Ingrid huffed and undid her seatbelt, climbing out after him. They stared at each other over the roof of Ingrid’s car and Ingrid narrowed her eyes.

Sylvain batted his eyelashes at her like she was one of his stupid one-off girls. “Come on Ingrid, Ashe is like a big kid anyway. He’d love the balloons.”

She smacked her forehead. “Sylvain, why does it have to be forty dollars worth of balloons?”

“Because Ashe’s name has four letters and they’re ten bucks apiece for the big ones,” he replied immediately.

Ingrid spun on her heel and walked away from her car, lifting up her hand to lock it behind her. The car beeped, confirming that it had locked and Ingrid shoved her keys back in her pocket. She kicked her toe through a pile of leaves on the ground and shoved her hands in her pockets. It was only October, but that didn’t mean that the fall chills weren’t already starting to sink in.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain called.

She didn’t turn around, but she heard his footsteps approach as he jogged after her, pursuing her to the edge of the parking lot where they stood in front of the party goods store. Before they walked inside, Ingrid poked his shoulder with her finger, hard.

“Serious decorations first, okay? We can argue about the balloons later.”

Sylvain braced his hands behind his head, grinning slyly at her. “Alright, alright.”

The doors to the party goods store opened and they walked inside only to come to an immediate halt in front of a massive display of fake gravestones. Ingrid blinked at the display dumbly and then immediately jumped when an automated witch cackled.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “It’s October and we’re at a party store. There isn’t going to be anything here but Halloween stuff, is there?”

Sylvain looked just as struck as she felt. “You know what? I agree with you on that one. I think we’re going to be hard-pressed to find decorations that aren’t orange and black.”

Ingrid took a deep breath and grabbed Sylvain’s arm, dragging him into the store. “If I’m going to suffer through cheap plastic masks and displays that laugh at me in horrible robot voices, you’re coming with me.”

He chuckled and let her drag him towards the first aisle, one that was labelled “Tablewear and Serving”. Sylvain scooped up a basket from the entrance to the aisle and they walked down it. Thankfully, once they left the very front of the store, the Halloween insanity of the store lessened a bit. There was still an abnormally large number of orange and black and white plastic and paper plates, but at least there were some blue ones and normal patterned things.

Ingrid had never been so relieved to see “Birthday Princess” branded cups.

She grabbed two sleeves of blue solo cups and one of yellow ones and dumped them into the basket Sylvain was holding. She moved on to grab a package of cocktail napkins and a stack of blue and white polka-dotted paper plates. She hesitated before placing the plates down, but Sylvain just rolled his eyes and grabbed them, adding them to the basket.

“It’s fine, Ingrid. Dimitri and I are covering the costs and a few paper plates aren’t going to hurt the environment that much.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just hate buying stuff like this when we have perfectly good dishes back at the apartment.”

He shrugged and walked past her towards the end of the aisle. “If you wanna break out the breakable stuff while we’re all drunk, be my guest, but you’ll be cleaning the shards out of the carpet and also possibly people’s hands as a result.”

Ingrid frowned but walked after him. “And this is why we are buying the plates, even if I don’t particularly want to.”

“Oh, hey, look at this!” Sylvain said suddenly, turning left at the end of the aisle and pointing at the wall of the store.

Ingrid rounded the corner and immediately slapped a hand against her face.

“No,” she said immediately. “You are absolutely not allowed to be ghost-decorated anything. Ashe is terrified of ghosts and since it’s his birthday, we are going to respect that, okay?”

Sylvain laughed and held his hands up defensively. “Just relax, Ing, it was a joke. I would never do that to him.”

She turned and walked the other way towards the sign that said “Birthday Essentials”. Sylvain followed her, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors. They turned into the birthday aisle and Ingrid groaned.

It was almost entirely taken over by Halloween decorations.

“Seriously, don’t these places understand that people still have birthdays in October?” she complained.

“Note to self,” Sylvain said, “buy supplies for Ashe’s last-minute surprise party in September or even August before the entire country decides that it’s already Halloween.”

Ingrid sighed again. “Let’s see what we can find.”

They picked their way down the aisle, finding two rolls of blue streamers and a package of green and yellow crepe paper that could be used for decorating. Ingrid quickly added all of them to the basket. At the end of the aisle, she stopped in front of the last shelf and stared at all the options in front of her.

“Will you shut up and stop complaining if I buy a pack of regular balloons?” Ingrid asked. “These are only a few dollars.”

Sylvain flashed her a thumbs up and Ingrid grabbed a party pack of balloons and tossed them to Sylvain. He caught them and added them to the basket. She strode over and looked into it, checking on their collected supplies. She looked up at Sylvain to ask him something and almost bashed her head against his since he had also been looking down.

Ingrid was suddenly flustered at how close she was to Sylvain, so she stepped back hastily and bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that the spark of pain would prevent her from blushing over the encounter. Sylvain didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness and she quickly collected herself.

“Do we need snacks or candy or anything?” she asked.

Sylvain shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Mercedes is doing the cake and Dedue is handling the food. Annette and Felix are distracting Ashe until,” he paused, checking his watch, “eight, so we have three hours.”

Ingrid mentally ran over her list in her head again. “Well, I think we got everything we need here, so should we check out?”

Sylvain nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

The check out was busy, as expected, and filled almost entirely with people buying last-minute Halloween decorations or costumes. The young boy in front of them in the line-up actually gave them a funny look when he noticed that they weren’t buying any Halloween decor. Ingrid just crossed her arms and stared right back at him, daring him to say anything.

Sylvain nudged her as they stood in line and pointed up at the wall of helium balloons above the check-out counters. “I still think that would be amazing.”

She elbowed him. “We’re buying the regular balloons. That’s more than enough. We’re already going to have a chaotic night ahead of us. Annette and Ashe are both sentimental drunks so I hope you’re ready for a lot of hugging.”

Sylvain laughed. “Well, Dimitri will just fall asleep half-way through and we all know that Dedue and Mercedes are the most responsible of all of us so they’ll make sure that nobody dies.”

Ingrid scoffed to hold back a laugh. “Well, just try to make it back to your bed this time, okay?”

“If I recall,” he replied, “you were the one who fell asleep on top of me.”

“Neither of us remembers anything from Die Hard night, don’t even pretend like you do,” she rebuffed immediately.

Sylvain just smirked in reply and followed the blinking lights through the check out lane to a cashier. They unloaded their basket onto the counter and asked for bags as the cashier started scanning all of their items. In total, they were probably over-priced, but at least they had managed to get everything in one place.

As they left the store Ingrid took one bag and left the other for Sylvain. The mechatronic witch by the door cackled and they both jumped, even though they totally should have seen it coming. Sylvain shoved Ingrid out the door on reflex and they speed-walked about halfway to the car before they both burst out laughing.

Ingrid shoved his shoulder, but she couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Why are we like this?” she asked.

“Maybe shopping for Ashe’s birthday rubbed off on us and we’re now just as scared of everything as he is,” Sylvain suggested jokingly.

Ingrid laughed. “I can do without his fear of ghosts honestly.”

Sylvain adjusted the bag he was carrying and held out his hand to take the one she was holding. Ingrid tilted her head confused and Sylvain just wagged his fingers, gesturing for her to hand over the bag.

“To get your keys out,” he explained.

“Oh, right,” she said.

She handed over the bag as they continued their walk to Ingrid’s car. She unlocked the car and pushed the button to pop the trunk. Sylvain dumped both bags in the trunk and closed it, but he hesitated as Ingrid walked to the driver’s seat. She stopped, hand on the door handle, and stared at him.

“I just remembered one more thing that Dimitri asked me to grab. I’ll just run back in and get it,” Sylvain said.

He was turning and jogging back towards the store before she could stop him and Ingrid just sighed to herself, shaking her head. She opened the car and got inside. She put her seatbelt on and started the car, connecting her phone to the Bluetooth before Sylvain would get the chance to do something ridiculous like playing the High School Musical Soundtrack again.

She had just turned on her new favourite Indie album when the trunk opened and Sylvain dumped something heavy in the back with a grunt. Ingrid twisted in her seat, trying to see what he had grabbed, but her view was blocked by the seats in the back. Sylvain closed the trunk and quickly moved around, getting into the passenger seat. He grinned at her and Ingrid was immediately suspicious.

She turned and looked back at the trunk before looking back at Sylvain. “What did you just buy?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ingrid shut the car off. “Sylvain. As far as I’m concerned, we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you just bought.”

His grin widened. “So you know how you said we weren’t going to buy forty dollars worth of helium balloons for Ashe’s birthday?”

“Oh no,” she said reflexively. “What did you do?”

“I did not buy the giant foil balloons,” he defended. “I just bought a small helium tank so we can fill up all the balloons we did buy with helium and have many, many, smaller helium balloons.”

Ingrid groaned loudly and dropped her head onto the steering wheel. Her horn blared loudly and the mother and daughter getting out of the car next to them both jumped and stared at Ingrid’s car. Ingrid lifted her head up and glared at Sylvain.

“You suck.”

“The tank was only twenty-six dollars. It’s fine.”

[marypsue]

who manifest their presences by shadows

This is just a short...experiment? Proof of concept? I challenged myself to write a take on some of the most popular fic tropes for Crimson Peak, just for fun. This one's 'OFC descendant of Edith and Thomas'. If I were to expand it to a full-length fic, it would involve ghosts (obviously), reincarnation and/or reincarnation-adjacent nonsense, and Laura (the OFC) finding Edith's novel and realising the past is trying to repeat itself, with some interesting and unexpected results.

The title comes from Angela Carter's short story 'The Lady of the House of Love'.

[on AO3]

...

It all started when Laura’s grandmother died.

They hadn’t exactly been close, but Grandmother Thomasina had been a lot closer to Laura than she had been to anyone else. Her husband had died before Laura was born, and she had no siblings. And Laura had been the only one who’d had any time for Grandmother Thomasina’s ghost stories.

Still, it came as a surprise to everyone when the will came out and they learned that, first, Grandmother Thomasina had owned a huge estate somewhere in England, and second, that she’d left it all to Laura.

Laura’s father advised her to just sell it all. It was a sizeable chunk of land. It likely would’ve taken care of her tuition. It was good advice. She should have taken it.

But somehow, Laura couldn’t bring herself to let Allerdale Hall go without ever seeing it for herself.

She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like the place had any particular meaning to her family, considering that most of them hadn’t even known it existed. Apparently Grandmother Thomasina had inherited it from her mother, who’d got it from her dead first husband – Thomasina’s namesake – and nobody’d been back to see it since he died. It sounded like there’d been some kind of scandal, maybe – he’d died pretty young. Or maybe after he died, the place had just held too many painful memories.

Either way, by all accounts, it sounded like kind of a dump. The title was not very descriptive, but Thomasina’s will called the estate ‘bleak’, and the hall itself had apparently had a hole in the roof and already been sinking when Great-Grandmother Edith had left, over a hundred years earlier. Laura wasn’t sure how a house could sink. But Grandmother Thomasina had always been prone to embellishment and artistic license, and according to her, Great-Grandmother Edith had been a writer. Between the two of them, Laura was pretty sure it was a metaphor. Somebody had read The Fall of the House of Usher one time too many.

Still, even if she got there and found nothing but a falling-down graffitied wreck in the middle of nowhere, Laura wanted to see it. There was something terribly romantic about the whole thing, about the idea of suddenly discovering she was the lady of a mysterious crumbling manor somewhere in a country she’d never seen. About how both Great-Grandmother Edith and Grandmother Thomasina had apparently kept it secret all these years. About the aura of mystery surrounding Great-Grandmother Edith’s never-spoken-of first husband.

So Laura had packed her bags, booked her flights, and, within a week, was face to face with what remained of Allerdale Hall.

There wasn’t much to come face to face with. Coming up the long drive, under the black wrought-iron arch and handful of tumbled bricks that apparently had once served as a gate, the place looked imposing and impressive up on the peak of the hill, all Gothic arches and jagged peaked roofs. Its empty windows struck Laura as staring eyes, taking in her approach. She knew it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t help but feel a cold dislike in that inanimate gaze.

But when Laura pulled the rented Range Rover up before the ruin, she saw two things in quick succession. One, why the locals had all called the place ‘Crimson Peak’. And two, what Grandmother Thomasina had meant by ‘sinking’.

It was no metaphor. Elaborate, lacy brick railings stood half-buried in the raw red ground as though growing up through it, little more than six inches showing above the earth. They partitioned off a wide, flat space around the door. Laura’s best guess was that the railing had once delineated a patio or drive that was now somewhere under the sucking red clay that clung to her boots. She was never going to be able to get it off, she could already tell.

The door itself might once have had stairs leading up to it, but now was packed close between the jutting brick constructions to either side of it with red earth. It stuck, badly, partly because it was sunk nearly a foot, if Laura had to guess, down into the clay. She could get it to jerk inward, in fits and starts, but something – maybe the dirt she’d displaced on the other side – always seemed to force it sharply closed again. Laura finally managed to force it just wide enough for her to sneak through, putting her shoulder against one ornately-decorated door and pushing with all her strength, her boots sliding in the dirt. And that was when she saw the third thing.

Allerdale Hall was gone.

The wind, howling through the shattered windows on either side of the short entryway, caught Laura’s hair and gave it a playful toss as she crossed the clay-drowned floor. She didn’t take more than five steps before she reached the crumbling remains of a stair, and stopped, staring out at the hilltop opening out before her.

The face of Allerdale Hall, so imposing and solid-looking as Laura had approached, was nothing but a hollowed-out shell. At the end of the entryway, the walls terminated abruptly in broken brick and torn wood, and where there should have been hallways and rooms and ceilings, there was only red earth and blue sky. Only a few hardy yellow grasses were struggling to grow over the vast, pitted red stain on the hilltop where the body of the manor should have been. A few jutting timbers, and the remnants of stone arches rising out of the clay like broken ribs, were the only sign that there had ever been a building there.

The sight filled Laura with an unexpected and unnamable emotion, somewhere between grief and triumph. At least now she didn’t have to feel bad about selling it and having someone knock it all down. But there was still something melancholy about those few pathetic, sinking pieces of debris. And Laura couldn’t help but feel like she’d just lost her last link to Grandmother Thomasina and her mother before her, the last thread binding her to them unravelling. As soon as she’d seen the jagged peaks of its roof, stark and black against the pale sky, Laura had known that this was the haunted house from every one of the ghost stories Grandmother Thomasina had always sworn her mother had told her were true. After Laura had come all this way, after all those long years – none of her family would ever see it now.

She wasn’t going to find any answers here. Allerdale Hall and the past would keep their secrets.

And, she wasn’t going to be able to stay in the manor house. It was probably a good thing, Laura decided, that she’d booked a room at the bed and breakfast in the village.

It took her less time to find her way back to the village than it had taken her to get out to the estate. She’d gotten lost three times on her way out, having to turn back and retrace her path more than once. For some reason, the locals had seemed reluctant to give her any specific directions. And they all relied on local landmarks, which Laura guessed made sense, but didn’t help a foreigner find her way around. Especially when she wasn’t used to driving on the left side of the road.

Laura stopped in the pub that night for dinner, deciding to give real English fish and chips a try. She wasn’t sure that what she got was real English fish and chips, though. The chips were hot but greasy, the fish a lurking whitish, pasty smear inside a proud – and nearly inch-thick – casing of batter. Laura couldn’t say she was impressed. At least the beer was decent.

“Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice – you’ve been up to Crimson Peak, haven’t you?”

Laura looked over to the barstool beside her, and into a pair of the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. They belonged to a man who could, in fact, be accurately described as tall, dark, and extremely handsome. Laura hastily downed a mouthful of the adequate beer to cover her sputtering. “How -”

The man nodded towards her feet with a crooked grin. “Oh, I suppose I must be Sherlock Holmes.”

Laura looked down, saw the red clay caked on her boots and spattered up her jeans. She laughed, partly with relief. The hilltop was so open, and she hadn’t seen anyone else there. The idea of anybody – even this admittedly very magnetic guy – watching her up there, unseen, had left her feeling exposed and uneasy. “God, I’m never going to get these clean.”

The guy’s gaze really was intense, even over that charming, crooked smile. “American! Would you credit that. What brings you all the way out to our humble little village?” He canted his head a little to one side, his eyes narrowing as he said, “Please tell me you haven’t a camera crew in tow. It’s dangerous up on the peak – the ruin’s not stable. And I know television people have no fear for their lives. We can’t afford the lawsuit if someone with a camera decides they need to stand where the house was to get a shot and falls through to the basement, or if the façade comes down and crushes some poor sod.”

He seemed to noticed Laura’s uneasy glance down at her boots, because he grinned and winked. “And, the last time one of those ghost-investigation shows did an episode on Crimson Peak, it was near four years before you could walk down the high street without being stopped by some big-eyed American wanting to hear horrible tales about the clay spitting up skellies.”

Laura nearly snorted beer through her nose. There was a confused moment as she tried to fix her face without blowing snot all across the bar, a moment that ended with a broad, solid hand pressed gently against her back and another offering her a napkin. Laura took it, blew her nose, and then looked up. The guy’s eyes were even more arresting up close.

She couldn’t think of any reason to lie. “My grandmother just died. Apparently she owned Allerdale Hall. And she left it to me.”

The guy’s expression didn’t change. Actually, it was a little unsettling how much it didn’t change. Sometimes, the satellite on Laura’s TV would flicker and the image would freeze while the sound continued on, until suddenly the frozen image would fragment into movement again, briefly warping the image into the shape of whatever was moving before the screen righted itself. For the briefest of moments, Laura got the same sense looking at the guy’s face. Like it had frozen in place while something else went on behind it, some flicker of dark motion just visible behind his eyes.

And then he smiled, wide and inviting, and the raucous good cheer of the pub flowed back in, warming the air between them. “So you’re the lady of the manor now, is that so?” He stuck out a hand, but there was a twinkle in his eye that belied the formality of the gesture. “I suppose that makes you my boss. Tom Latimer. I look after the place.”

“Some place,” Laura said. “Laura. Laura Price.”

She took his hand and shook, firmly. Tom had a solid, reassuring grip, but his hand was curiously cool under Laura’s. She wondered if he’d just come in from outside.

“Laura,” Tom said, consideringly. And then, “Buy you a drink?”

“Please,” Laura said, hopefully not too fast.

She waited until Tom had ordered two more beers before asking, as casually as she could manage, “So what were you saying about Americans with camera crews and ghost shows?”

The grin Tom turned on her, this time, at least seemed to be deliberately unsettling. “Oh, has no one told you?” He pushed one of the foaming glasses the bartender set down before him towards Laura, raising the other to her in a mocking toast. “Your inheritance is haunted.”

…

Two days later

…

Somehow, the ruin of Allerdale Hall was even more unsettling at night.

Laura pulled the Range Rover in behind what remained of the gate and killed the engine. She’d shut off the headlights before she’d even turned onto the drive, inching through the moonlit dark with her eyes wide for any sign of anything living that might choose to dart into her path.

If there really was someone up there, she didn’t want them to know she was coming.

Laura tucked her flashlight – Tom had called it a ‘torch’, something Laura found unaccountably funny – into the pocket of her windbreaker, just in case, before she slipped down out of the Range Rover. She shut the door as quietly as she could behind her. But she shouldn’t have worried. The wind caught her almost as soon as she opened the door, tearing at her hair like it wanted to pull the blonde locks out of their messy braid and flipping her windbreaker’s hood up over her face. The ghastly howling it made as it swept across the hilltop was loud enough to drown out even the noisy metallic chunk of the door falling into place.

It was a long, dark, eerie walk from the gate up to what was left of the house. The clay stuck to Laura’s boots, clumping up on the soles and making it hard to walk. But when she tried to step off the road, the overgrown yellow grass seemed to tangle around her ankles and try to trip her up, dry, sharp blades jabbing her through her jeans. The wind battered and buffeted at her the whole way, swirling around her to slam into her first from one side, then the other, rattling her windbreaker’s hood against her ears.

Now and then, that rattle and the sighing and whispering of the wind in the grass combined to sound like human voices, somewhere in the distance. No less than three times, Laura spun around, half-convinced someone had just breathed her own name into her ear.

“No wonder people think this place is haunted,” she muttered, hugging her arms more firmly around herself, her hands tucked under her arms. She almost wished she’d thought to bring gloves.

Laura was about halfway up the drive when she saw it. Way up in one of the remaining peaks, in a tiny, pointed window stuffed under an eave, the briefest flicker of an underwater blue-green light shone, before disappearing as quickly and unexpectedly as it had appeared. It was gone so quickly that Laura wasn’t sure, for a moment, if she’d seen it at all.

She turned, looking back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of headlights retreating down the road behind her that might have glanced off the window. Besides, the angles were all wrong – even if there were glass left in the window for headlights to reflect off of, what was left of the house was much too far back from the road for the light to reach it.

Which meant that the light had to have come from behind the window. That, somehow, even though the whole building behind that forbidding façade was gone…someone was up there.

Laura quickened her pace.

The hollowed-out face of Allerdale Hall loomed above her, as dark and dead as a tombstone, heavy and oppressive, as she passed between the half-sunk railings and up to the door. The thick brick constructs – balustrades? Bollards? – on either side of the door turned the entry, in the dimness, into a gaping black mouth, opened wide to swallow her. Laura paused a moment before passing between them, feet slowly sinking, listening hard. But if anyone had been moving around, she wouldn’t have heard them anyway, not over the wind.

Laura just didn’t want to admit to herself how much she didn’t want to open that door.

Maybe she should have just called Tom. Asked him to come with her. Asked him to go for her. He likely would’ve been glad to – to watch the silly American wet her pants in terror of the wind and the occasional bat or sparrow, jumping at imagined ghosts. The unkind thought crossed her mind that he might even be happy to see how poorly she, the supposed lady of the manor, handled the house he was so familiar with, that had been his responsibility since long before Laura even knew it existed, that he had no fear of, that held no mystery for him. And, standing out in the middle of nowhere, with the cold wind blowing through her and playing tricks on her ears, far from anyone who might hear if she screamed, alone in the dark, Laura couldn’t deny that even if he were laughing at her, just his presence would’ve been reassuring in a way she couldn’t resist.

But there was…something. Something about his laugh when he’d been telling her stories about things people said they’d seen up on Crimson Peak. Something about how reluctant he’d been to give over the keys. Something about the way something behind his eyes seemed to flicker whenever Laura mentioned her ownership of Allerdale Hall –

No. Bringing Tom would have been a mistake. Laura had to come here alone.

She had to see for herself.

Bracing her quivering heart against that thought, Laura plunged into the shadows surrounding the door. She braced her feet as best she could against the clay, and put her shoulder against the door.

She was expecting a struggle, like it had been that first afternoon she’d visited the hall. But the door swung open so smoothly that Laura, really putting her back into it, overbalanced and fell, face-first, over the threshold.

She was expecting to land with an embarrassing and hideously messy splat right in a puddle of red clay mud. She was not expecting her shins to slam into and her chin to bounce off of hardwood.

Laura lay stunned for a moment, before gingerly pushing herself up. The wood – definitely wood, polished to a satin finish under her fingers, with clay oozing coldly up between the narrow boards everywhere she put her weight – stayed solid under her. She scrabbled in her pocket for her flashlight, giving up any pretense of stealth. If there was really someone here, her thumping arrival would’ve already announced her presence. No use in trying to be sneaky after she’d already yelled ‘FUCK! OW!’ at the top of her lungs.

She did pause for a moment in the dark, listening with bated breath for any sound of movement, and realized something strange. The wind, still moaning, seemed curiously muffled and distant. Almost like – almost like there were walls between it and Laura.

But that was impossible. Because Allerdale Hall was –

Laura clicked on her ‘torch’, and froze.

The flashlight’s beam revealed, in bits and pieces as she swept it back and forth, not only the beautiful, decaying inlay of the floor she lay on, but the elaborate Gothic carving of the stairs that wrapped around and down three floors in front of her before coming to an end a few feet from where she’d fallen, the narrow walls of the entryway opening out into a vast, high-ceilinged hall, rooms upon rooms opening out underneath and behind the stair, going so far back that Laura’s flashlight beam petered out before it could reach the far wall…

There was no other explanation. She was inside Allerdale Hall.

It couldn’t be here. It wasn’t here. Laura had seen the bare red stain on the hilltop where the body of Allerdale Hall had stood with her own eyes, not three days before. Had stood in this very spot, her feet mired in clay, and looked out at the pale grey sky, felt the wind, sweeping unimpeded over the moors, tangle her hair and clutch at her clothes. Had seen the last remains of the wreck, had seen the half-buried and broken shards of some of the arches and carvings that her flashlight beam now illuminated, whole and standing, set neatly and firmly into the walls as though they had never been anywhere else.

And everywhere the circle of yellowish light landed, it revealed only more encroaching, cobwebbed opulence. Everything was sleepily, patiently still and muffled with dust, frozen in the curious neglected way of something disused but sealed away. Like a time capsule. Or the pictures Laura had seen online of a Parisian apartment locked up in the twenties and forgotten, untouched, until the early aughts. From the heavy, pointed arches of the stair railings, broken away on the balcony above her, to the flaking gilding on the ornate frames of the portraits covering the walls, to the heavy, moth-eaten draperies that delineated rooms to her right and –

Laura leapt to her feet, flashlight sweeping wildly over the drapery-hung doorway to her right, heart pounding in her throat. The beam illuminated nothing but the soft dullness of velvet trimmed with dark golden tassels, glistening off the slow drip of clay bleeding down the walls, but she knew.

She’d seen movement.

When the impossible hall remained stonily silent and still, Laura managed to calm her jangling nerves enough to call out. “Hello?”

She’d half-expected the sound to bounce back to her from the vastness of the hall, but instead, the wide, empty space seemed to have a curious muffling effect. Almost like Allerdale was swallowing her voice whole.

As she’d expected, she didn’t get an answer. Laura took one ginger step forward, holding the flashlight in front of her with both hands like a sword. Something slithered coldly between her fingers, and Laura looked down to see that her palms were dripping red with clay from where she’d pushed herself up off the floor. In the dimness, her hands looked bloody.

She took another step forward, the floorboards squishing and oozing under her feet, and then, feeling braver, another. “Is anybody there?”

No answer. In the slowly-sweeping beam of the flashlight, nothing stirred except drifting particles of dust – and the flashing wings of a huge grey moth, startled off a wall and startling Laura almost right back out the door.

She laughed at herself, as the moth’s rustling wings retreated into the depths of the impossible hall. That must have been all she’d seen. Just a moth, or some other wild creature, startled by the light.

Still, though, Laura couldn’t quiet the nagging thought that what she’d seen moving had been, for a single instant, unmistakably a person.

She crept across the entry and up the shallow steps into the main hall, still waving her flashlight from side to side, looking all around her as she went. This place couldn’t be real. A building couldn’t just disappear in the daytime and reconstruct itself under the moonlight. And yet, when she looked up, Laura could see, storeys above her, the narrow sickle-blade sliver of the moon peeking down through the shattered timbers of Allerdale Hall’s roof.

As if in response to Laura’s thought, a horrible, shuddering, wailing moan seemed to fill the gaping darkness of the hall like the sound of an enormous, diabolical pipe organ. It rose like some infernal crescendo, somehow at once both inexpressibly sad and hollow with menace, went on and on and on and then, just as unexpectedly as it had begun, died gradually away.

But in the quiet that sound left in its wake, Laura could hear another sound emanating from out of the vast darkness before her. One that hadn’t been there before the cry.

It was faint, just on the very edge of hearing. But it was, unmistakably, the sound of someone playing a piano.

Laura stood frozen in place, no more able to turn around and break for the door than she was to take another step towards the source of that eerie, melancholy sound. It was a pretty tune, if a little sad, and it sounded like it was being played by an expert and experienced hand, one that knew the rises and falls of the song like its own heartbeat.

No matter how many times Laura passed her flashlight over the dark space reaching back under the stairs, she could see neither piano nor player.

“You can’t scare me,” Laura called into the dark, at last, when the relentless soft chime of the music became nearly unbearable, sounding braver than she felt. She hoped, to the tips of her toes, that she was telling the truth. With every word that fell from her lips, though, with every ringing, real sound of her voice in the howling quiet, she felt a little flame of anger flicker in her breastbone, its heat making her bolder. She thought of Tom’s crooked smile, thought again of his reluctance to hand over the keys, and felt it burn a little brighter. “Do you hear me? I’m not falling for this Scooby-Doo shit! I’m here, this house belongs to me now, and you can’t scare me away!”

From somewhere in the darkness past the stairs, there was a bang, like someone had slammed the cover abruptly over the piano’s keys, or kicked over its bench as they flew to their feet. With a discordant jangle, the music cut sharply off.

Laura stood perfectly still, listening, her fingers going stiff from how tightly she was clutching the flashlight, not daring to so much as breathe. The house was silent again, and perfectly still under its muffling layers of clay and dust, but there was something different about it. Something vital, active, wakeful – and watchful - that had been missing when Laura had first entered. Even the wind had died back to a low, throaty moan in the background, as though it didn’t dare disturb the silence.

As if the whole house was holding its breath.

Right on cue, Laura’s flashlight flickered, dimmed, then went out.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, thumping its end against her palm, frantically clicking the switch back and forth, banging it against her leg. It flickered on once, for the barest sliver of a second, and then died again. The dark of the hall seemed suddenly as thick and viscous as the clay that squelched under Laura’s boots, pouring slowly but inevitably in around her to drag her gently but inexorably under, stop up her mouth, suffocate her slowly. “Come on come on come on -”

She had the flashlight raised to her face, peering in at its deadened reflective eye, when it suddenly burst back into brilliant light. Laura looked up, away from the blinding glare –

And directly into the twisted, wrathful, silent scream of a skeletal face the barest inch from her own.

Laura screamed, too, the sound of it ringing off the walls, and stumbled backwards. She barely managed not to drop the flashlight, but that didn’t make anything better. It only meant that she could see the clawed hands of the apparition as it grabbed for her, its fingers tearing at the sleeve of her windbreaker. It seemed to be shaped from solidified darkness, part woman, part skeleton, all horror. And its grip was like ice, like iron. Laura tried to pull her arm free, but she might as well have been trying to pull Allerdale Hall itself from its grave in the sucking ground.

The creature – ghost – whatever – ignored Laura’s struggling, drawing her left hand up towards its empty-socketed eyes. It seemed to stare, eyelessly, for a long moment, at Laura’s bare ring finger, before pushing her away with a gesture of disgust. There was an inexorable strength in the motion, and Laura found herself spinning across the floor, unable to catch her balance before she slammed down against the hardwood, catching the point of her elbow with a hiss of pain.

The ghost was on her as soon as she hit the floor. It leaned low over her, shoving its twisted face into her face again, what remained of its lips curled into something part sneer, part rictus. For the briefest of instants, with the clarity that comes with sheer terror, Laura had the slightly crazy thought that, in life, the ghost must have once been very beautiful.

Its voice was a whispering, rasping, rattling hiss that was somehow, also, heavy with contempt.

“Liar.”

It straightened, enough for Laura to get a glimpse of the flashlight glittering off the beetle-back embellishments of an old-fashioned dress, its train melting into the darkness that surrounded it. The ghost waved a hand in Laura’s direction dismissively, and Laura watched, fascinated with horror, as sparse flesh withered down to charcoal bone before her very eyes.

“Get out.”

Then the ghost turned its back on Laura, and was swallowed up in the darkness.

Laura didn’t wait for it to come back. She scrambled to her feet, slipping in the clay and falling back to one knee before she got her feet under her.

She wasn’t sure, at first, what she was hearing. It sounded like a distant roaring, like the largest whirlpool she could ever have imagined, like a wave breaking against the shore. Laura paused, curiosity overriding fear for one fragile second, and turned her flashlight back towards the dark space under the stairs.

Just in time to see it collapsing into the ground.

Walls groaned as they fell in towards each other, toppling with a thunderous crash, a crash that went on and on as rooms fell in on the rooms that had fallen in before. The balcony overhead caved in on itself, delicate embellishments snapping and popping away. The stairs gave an ominous moan and twisted, the railing splintering, masonry raining down and punching straight through the floorboards. The floor itself began to unravel around those pockmarks, slender inlaid board by slender inlaid board, to reveal glimpses down into a basement glistening red with clay, far below the growing hole quickly chewing up the suddenly-wobbling floor beneath Laura’s feet. Overhead, a long, drawn-out sigh of wood and brick and stone under stress rose from the broken roof, slivers and splinters pattering down on Laura’s head and rattling down towards the distant floor of the basement below. The walls to either side of her heaved and bowed as though they were breathing.

Laura turned and ran, full tilt, for the door, even as the floor splintered away under her feet.  

She barely made it out, breath half-sobbing with exertion and fear, throat raw, before the deafening roar of Allerdale Hall’s demise rose to a crescendo. With one final crash that shook the ground under Laura’s feet and sounded like it was splitting the sky in two, the remaining walls sheared away from the façade and went tumbling down, carrying its ghost with it, into oblivion.

The door slammed, like the period on the end of a sentence, on Laura’s heels.

…

“You almost make it sound,” Tom said, with the faintest glimmerings of a smile that Laura knew meant he didn’t believe her, “as though the house itself were the ghost.”

Laura sipped at the mug of tea he’d made her. She was still a little surprised that he’d even let her in after she’d shown up, covered in clay and nearly hysterical, at his door in the middle of the night. She’d been too scared to go back to the bed and breakfast alone, and willing to eat a little humble pie in exchange for the sound of a real human voice.

Thankfully, Tom hadn’t laughed. He’d taken one look and invited Laura in, regardless of the late hour, dug her up a robe, and invited her to take a shower while he ran her clothes through the wash. Nearly an hour later, Laura was clean and dry and warm, and starting to feel a little calmer. The tea was definitely helping.

Unfortunately, now that the immediate terror had ebbed, Laura was starting to have to think about it.

Between the ripples and the steam rising off of the tea’s ruddy surface, for a moment, Laura hardly recognized her own reflection. The face looking back up at her from her mug looked like someone – younger, maybe, but also somehow older, or maybe just someone who had been through more than Laura ever had. Wider-eyed, with loose blonde curls falling to frame the heart shape of her sweet face, a stray tea leaf cutting a sharp, ugly gash across one pale cheek –

Laura blew on the tea to cool it, and the illusion vanished.

“You know,” she heard her own voice saying, as if from very far away, “I almost think it was.”

[saifa-ao3]

Writing prompt: Undyne & Alphys are preparing for a date, but not really knowing how this works Undyne asks Papyrus for advice, while Alphys gets her advice from Mettaton. The end result is about what you'd expect.

Late again, but I did it!

Ao3 version here!Rating: General AudiencesTitle: You gotta dress to impress!Summary: For their upcoming date, Alphys and Undyne seek out advice from their best friends. Unfortunately, Papyrus and Mettaton aren't the best advice givers.Relationships: Alphys/Undyne

Tumblr version under the cut.

            Undyne shifted in her seat on Papyrus’ bed, causing the springs in the mattress to creak. Tilting her head curiously, she watched him scan his bookshelf for the fabled dating manual he insisted on lending her. “Papyrus, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Undyne said. She gave him a quizzical look while rubbing the back of her neck. 

            “Nonsense, Undyne!” Papyrus declared, snatching the book from its spot. “You have come to me for help, and it would be absolutely negligent of me to not bestow this upon my best friend! Besides, this dating book was imperative in helping me figure out my lack of romantic feelings on my most recent date. I’m sure it could help you too.” Papyrus thrusted the book out to her while posturing heroically, his grin wide and beaming with excitement.

            “I mean, if you really think so,” Undyne laughed with a crooked grin, unwilling to turn him down. Papyrus was a complete dork, but he was her favorite dork and number one bestie. He was the one person she could confide in about this predicament she had. Hell, why not give this a shot? She had been driving herself nuts over what to do for her date with Alphys, and she did come to him for a creative perspective after all.

            “Wonderful!” Papyrus cheered.

            Undyne flipped through the book and squinted as she skimmed the chapters. “Papyrus, I already confessed my feelings to her. Where does the dating section start?”

            “Seeing as I have memorized the entirety of this manual, I can tell you with confidence that chapter three is the first date, chapter four is the second date, chapter five is the third, and chapter six is—”

            “Okay, okay, I get it!” Undyne grimaced, looking a little overwhelmed. The thought of a potential second date hadn’t even crossed her mind yet since preparing for the first was so daunting. She had never gone on one before, and the only person she knew that had was Papyrus. For better or worse, he was her only hope in getting through this.

            “I assure you it is very thorough!”

            “I don’t doubt you.”

            “But if it helps you with your current goal, it is there to provide the support you need, although not as great as my support since I am the greatest at encouraging my friends! Just let me know how I can be of assistance, and I will not fail you. And remember, I believe in you!”

            “Yeah, you’re right! I can’t go wrong with you having my back!” She turned her attention back to the book and concentrated. “Let’s see… Since this is going to be our first proper date, I’ll go with chapter three.” After a few minutes of reading, her brow furrowed. Special occasion dates? The merits of lunch versus dinner outings? Not to mention the proper attire for each scenario! There was simply too much to consider, it was dizzying!

            “What’s wrong? You look a little frustrated.”

            “How many pages is this chapter?” she exclaimed impatiently.

            “Precisely forty—”

            “Papyrus! My date is in a couple hours! I don’t have time to sit here and read.”

            “How about I summarize it for you then?”

            “Please,” Undyne said, setting aside the book and rubbing her temples.

            “Very well then! First, have you decided on a romantic destination for this date?” he asked, leaning towards her and wiggling his brow.

            Looking flustered, Undyne leaned away from him and directed her sight to the Jolly Roger flag hanging behind him, “U-uh, I just figured we’d go to the dump or something. Maybe hang out in her lab? Really, whatever she wants to do.”

            “Hmmm…” Papyrus tapped his chin and squinted as he looked her over before accepting her answer. “That’s why there can always be a second date! To go on even more daring adventures with that love of yours!”

            “R-right!”

            “Now, let’s skip ahead to your date clothes.”

            Undyne grimaced and rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, uh, about that. My house burned down, remember? I’m a little short on dating attire.”

            “And this is where my greatness and heroism come in! For you see! I have just the thing for you!” Defying physics and the carpet’s coefficients of friction, Papyrus slid backwards to his closet. It was a peculiar sight considering he wasn’t moving his legs and it looked like he was skating backwards. By now Undyne had grown used to such oddities that it had become a normal thing where she no longer questioned it. “Behold! Behind closet number—! Well, my only closet!” Papyrus opened the door dramatically and bowed.

            Undyne knew Papyrus had an unusual fashion sense at times, but nothing prepared her for what hung in his closet. Nothing matched, though she couldn’t pinpoint what style of fashion her best friend was going for to begin with. Her crooked smile remained frozen as she took in the amazing disaster of Papyrus’ dating outfit. She wasn’t sure whether she was struck with admiration by Papyrus’ sheer confidence, or horror at the suggestion that this was the outfit he would lend her.

            But she came to Papyrus for his creativity, and she had to trust that. “Well, here goes nothing,” she said. “Bring it on!”

            “O-oh my god, w-what am I g-going to do?” Alphys spoke quickly, voice rising in panic as she paced her lab. When her hands weren’t fidgeting together nervously, she would adjust her glasses in an effort to keep herself busy. Sometimes it helped her think, or at least that’s what she told herself, but her anxiety riddled thoughts rendered that action useless. “W-what do I-I even wear? D-Do I have anything to wear? If I can’t find the perfect thing, what’s she going to think? Oh god, she’s going to realize how uncool and insecure I am.”

            “Darling, you have got to calm down,” Mettaton said, wheeling around to her in his box form. He held her gently by the shoulders and sighed. “Take a deep breath in, and out. Now, you are going to be just fine. Undyne likes you just the way you are. After all, there is so much to adore about you.”

            “Y-you really think so?”

            “Oh, darling, I know so.”

            Alphys still had doubts, but Mettaton always found a way to comfort her. If anyone could help boost her confidence in this dire time, it was him. She took in a shuddering breath to calm herself and folded her hands. “D-do you think you c-can help me? I-I’ve never gone on an actual date myself. I-I mean, I’ve written fanfiction before, and I-I’ve watched enough c-content about it from anime. B-but this is U-Undyne we’re talking about! I g-gotta impress her!”

            “Leave it to me, darling. I am going to put you through the most glamorous and exclusive MTT-brand makeover.”

            “O-oh, gosh…” Alphys shifted uncertainly in place. She never felt confident in her own skin, so she had doubts a makeover would be the remedy to boost her confidence. But Mettaton was always so confident and sure of himself, especially when he switched to his preferred body. Perhaps there was some magic to all that glitter and perfection after all. Oh, how did it go in Mew Mew Kissy Cutie again? The heroine would magically transform, surrounded by pastel lights and glitter, into a glamourous and stellar form for battle. Even the shyest of her friends gained the confidence they needed when they transformed too. If Alphys’ heroes could do it, then certainly she could too!

            “You are going to look absolutely fabulous, Alphys dear!” Mettaton announced. He flipped the switch in his back, causing his box form to open up and separate into pieces. Pink fog billowed out from inside the shifting box as his form tessellated into the humanoid shape he preferred. Through the pastel clouds, a rave of colorful lights illuminated Mettaton’s silhouette to accompany the blaring music that was his signature soundtrack. Glitter exploded and showered the lab and equipment, no doubt working into the delicate circuitry of priceless computers. 

            Deep down Alphys knew it would take months to clean every miniscule speck of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mad by the show. It was pretty glamorous and the lab was in desperate need of a deep clean anyways. All she could do was stare in awe at the show. No matter how many times she had seen him transform, she could never tear her eyes away. Of course, she took pride in her inventions, but seeing something she designed represent a real life anime scene was a dream come true.

            “O-oh, wow…!” Alphys gasped.

            “Ohhh, yesssss!” Mettaton said in a sultry voice. “Let there be drama! Let there be suspense! Bring out that fire in you, darling, because you are a star!”

            Surrounded by the lights and sounds, Alphys knew the kind of show she had to put on.

            Both of them were in stunned silence as they stared at each other. The constant dripping of water from stalactites in the garbage dump’s damp cavern marked the seconds until suddenly their laughter flooded the space and bounced off the walls. Undyne bent over while clutching her stomach and pointed at Alphys. Her poor girlfriend had makeup caked on her face with pink lipstick layered heavily on her lips and glitter covering her scales and clothes. Not to mention the fake eyelashes Alphys wore were thick with little hearts on the ends. “Oh my god, what happened to you?”

            Alphys snorted uncontrollably and covered her mouth. “O-oh gosh, I-I could say the same to you. A-are th-those basketballs on your shoulders?!”

            “They are!” Undyne cackled. “Alphys, come here. You didn’t have to put on all this makeup for me.”

            “I-it was Mettaton’s idea. I was a-afraid you w-wouldn’t like me after all.” Alphys said sheepishly. She stared at Undyne’s shirt and smirked. “Cool dude, huh?”

            “Yeah, it was Papyrus’ idea. He’s the cool one, honestly.”

            “I-I guess our friends give r-really bad advice.”

            “No kidding,” Undyne grinned. “Now, hang on. Let me help ya out with that.” She picked Alphys up and dunked her in the water, scrubbing away the makeup and glitter.

            When Alphys came up to gasp for air, she looked briefly at her reflection before turning to Undyne. “You really like me just the way I am?”

            “Of course!” Undyne beamed at her.

            “O-oh, wow…”

            Suddenly, a thunderous boom resounded through the cavern, causing Alphys to jump into Undyne’s arms. They held each other tightly as flaming confetti rained down across the dump. Together, they craned their heads up with eyes wide to watch the magnificent disaster that was Alphys’ planned welcome show to kick off their date. 

            “Eeep! S-something must have short circuited and triggered the confetti cannons!” Alphys squeaked.

            “The what?!” Undyne exclaimed.

            Another confetti cannon erupted, this time scattering both flaming debris and glitter. Lights flickered and strobed, making the crystals in the cavern throw a kaleidoscope of blues and greens. From the ceiling a disco ball descended and reflected light to paint the walls with diamond shapes.

            “Here comes the music,” Alphys said ominously.

            Somewhere a boombox played music that soon sped up in increments and increased to a deafening volume. Eventually, the beat skipped and stuttered on the same line until the static grew louder in volume. In turn, the lightbulbs in their fixtures hummed brightly until they were on the edge of burning out.

            Then the cavern plunged into darkness, or so it looked. The brightness of the bursting lights contrasted so harshly to the usual dimness of the garbage dump that they might as well have been blind. After a brief pause of silence, Alphys laughed nervously as she held onto Undyne, her arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s neck.

            “That was—” Undyne began.

            Several flaming towers erupted to surround them while several signs in the shape of letters lowered from the ceiling. One of the canons below belched up a massive fireball to set the letters alight, revealing Undyne’s name. Unfortunately, the ropes holding up the letters caught fire as well, and the letters came crashing down in front of them.

            Alphys, mortified with what her show had devolved into, squeaked and stuttered. She buried her face in her hands and mumbled out apologies. “I-I’m so sorry! I t-tried to make this memorable, and I-I thought a show would make this memorable. It’s like in the animes I watch, the p-protagonist tries to i-impress the one they like. Like in this one episode of ‘Doki Doki I Love You’ the p-protagonist takes this girl he likes to a fireworks show, but w-we don’t have any fireworks down here, at least not on h-hand. A-and I didn’t have a whole lot of time, but I still managed to scrounge this up. A-and, oh g-gosh, this was a complete disaster!”

            “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THIS WAS AWESOME!” Undyne shouted.

            Alphys turned to Undyne and blushed. “R-really?”

            “HELL YEAH!”

            Alphys broke out into a shy smile and giggled.

            “You’re telling me you did this on short notice? You’re amazing! This has been the best date ever!” 

            Alphys’ scales flushed a deep red and she moaned in disorientation and disbelief. “I-I’m amazing?”

            Undyne, flashing a grin, planted a kiss on Alphys cheek. She cackled when Alphys grew limp in her arms and passed out with a smile.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 44: Three Stories

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

Takiyo Aoyama Starts to Shine

When he had accepted the offer from Cellophane—the Number Fifty-Two Hero—Takiyo Aoyama hadn’t been certain of what to expect.  He was not close to most of his classmates, though he was probably closer to Akaya Koda than anyone.  And he maintained a—usually—cordial relationship with Kimiko Ojiro, due to a shared love of gossip.  He had even started speaking more with Isamu Haimawari, after seeing how hard he was working to prove himself, something he could understand.  But he could not claim to be close to Takuma Sero, despite sharing a floor with him in the dorms.

He had certainly spent time around the elder Sero; they’d all been around each other enough for that, but not in years.   So he had little basis to form his expectations on, save for the rather copious amounts of interviews and candid moments available on the internet.  These revealed only that he was personable, humble, and seemed to be rather behind the times in terms of slang.

That was… tolerable. Being able to cultivate a media presence was essential to being a Hero.  Many Heroes never rose very high in the rankings simply because, while they were effective in stopping Villains, they were patently unlikable.   There were exceptions, of course, but it was generally a truism.

He had failed to make much of himself at the Sports Festival, but perhaps he could begin to get the exposure he needed now.

Though he was beginning to wonder if exposure was worth… this.

To say Cellophane’s Agency was casual was putting it mildly.  All of the staff that worked there were in polos and khakis.  And as for Cellophane himself��  

“Yeah, I like to keep things casual when I first come in in the morning,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair.  His shirt was fashionable enough, well-tailored to accommodate his rather unique arms.  But as for the rest of him…  Sandals!  With socks!   Cargo shorts!  “Have a little coffee, catch up on e-mails and paperwork, then get set for a little bit of patrolling.”  He cracked his knuckles noisily.

The unfashionableness of this place was going to give him hives.  How could his papa not have warned him against this?

“You did good, kid,” Cellophane said, “but you’ve really got to learn to unclench.  I can see right now you’re about ready to have some kind of attack.  Don’t stress yourself so much.  Really, you’re reminding me of your dad, back before the whole cheese thing with Izuku. Why, I remember…”

The phone on his desk started ringing and he held up a finger.  He picked up the phone, “Hey, hon, what’s up?”

He went slightly flush as he listened to his wife.  “Yeah, sure, I can pick that up on my way home.  Yeah, that too.  And… sure… I can… do that… when I get…    Can we talk about this later?  When I don’t have a teenager in the room, listening?   Yeah, I know we talk about it in front of our kids, but they’re not a good barometer for that…”

Takiyo was rapidly wishing he’d gone anywhere else for this.

***

“Dump me, will she?” the Villain snarled.  He was large, larger than even Shoji or Koda, larger than All Might, and seemingly built out of black rocks, blazing red lines showing between the cracks.   “I’ll show her!  I’ll show that namby-pamby new boyfriend!  I’ll show everybody!”

He drew back his hand, like he was able to throw a ball, and when he launched it forward, he threw a hot blob of lava.  It struck a car, crashing through it, and melting what it did not smash.  People were screaming, people were running everywhere. If the target of his rage was actually in the crowd, Takiyo did not know.   Cellophane’s Sidekicks, whom Takiyo had not bothered to learn the names of (One had some kind of lubrication Quirk and the other did something with friction?  He really wasn’t paying attention.), were coordinating the evacuation of the area.  So far, all the Villain had done was property damage.  But the odds were increasing that someone, intentionally or not, would get hurt.

“…Well, he’s big,” Cellophane said.  “Maybe I should have left you behind.”

He pulled down the faceplate on his costume.  “Actually, think you could come up with a distraction?”

At that, Takiyo smiled and gave his cape a dramatic flourish.  “Getting eyes on me?  A piece of cake.”

“Good,” Cellophane said, firing off a line of tape and pulling himself with it.  “Just give me five minutes!”

Takiyo stepped into the Villain’s field of view.  “Bonjour, Monsieur Villian!” he said, letting loose a dazzling, strobing beam of light across his field of vision.  

The lava-man’s glowing eyes snapped in his direction, one hand up to shield them from further brilliance.  “Some kid?” he growled.  “That’s who they sent to stop me?  What’re you, twelve?!”

“Non!” he shouted, raising both hands.  He focused the stored light within him outward, raising his radiance until it was blinding.   “I am the one who is going to stop you!”  He flashed again, sending out another pulse of light.  “I am the Dazzling Hero: Radiance!”  Another flash.

“Argh!” The lava man took a step back, glowing eyes dimming and brightening in what must have been his version of blinking. “Damn kid!  You’re like some overgrown glowstick!  But I’ll put out your lights!”  He brought up both of his hands, gathering more lava there.

Fear gripped Takiyo’s heart.  He was going to die.  It was as simple as that.  Burned to a crisp, denied leaving even a beautiful corpse for the world to mourn over. He’d never be a Hero.  He’d never get the chance to make amends for what he’d done…

“STICKY STORM!”

Suddenly, the air was filled with long strands of tape, wrapping around the Villain until he was completely cocooned.  The lava he’d been forming fell to the ground it a heap, eating its way through the pavement, but at least it hadn’t come at him.   From above, Cellophane dropped down, then popped up the faceplate on his mask.  “Good job, kid!” he declared, giving a toothy grin and a thumbs up.  “You okay?  That looked pretty scary.  Didn’t think he’d get that angry like that.”

Takiyo had to wait until his heart started beating again before he could speak. “Fine,” he said, trying to project a confidence he did not feel.  “Only scary for a moment.  One more blast of light and he would have been taken care of.”

“Sure,” Cellophane said, though Takiyo was certain his lie was not believed.  Around them, people were starting to gather. Police, reporters, witnesses.  He put one arm around Takiyo and waved to the crowd with the other.  “Hero of the Hour, ladies and gentlemen!  My Intern!”

***

The picture on the front page of the paper the next day was… strange.  There was the wrapped lava Villain on the ground, there was Cellophane.  And where he should have been… was a vaguely person shaped bright blob.

Takiyo stared at it, mouth agape.

“Not bad, huh?” Cellophane asked.  “Not every day an Intern makes the paper on his first day.  

“I did not realize I do not photograph well,” Takiyo said.  “I did as a child.  My Quirk… it must be getting stronger.  Absorbing more light.  Even the camera flash.”

This was going to put a serious cramp in his plans for fame.

“Eh, relax,” Cellophane said, slurping his coffee.  “You’ll have plenty of photo-ops, I’m sure.  And, if you don’t, well, there’s always radio.”

Takiyo’s mouth opened and shut, but no sounds came out.  He really didn’t know what to say to that.

***

Daisuke Shoji Did Not Sign Up For This

“You idiots!”

Daisuke carefully set the weights he was lifting (roughly 1080 kilograms with each set of arms) down, before looking towards the doorway of the Real-Riot Agency’s gym.  Red Riot, Real Steel, and Shiro Monoma (somehow Red Riot’s intern, the way he was Real Steel’s) all paused in their workout to look as well.

“What,” the small woman said, looking like she was ready to kill the first person who said something stupid, “have I told you about agreeing to things without asking me?”

Red Riot looked a bit sheepish at the accusation.  “Kids, meet Shizuka Yamamoto, our Office Manager.”

“And the only reason you two haven’t done a lot more stupid things!” Yamamoto said, putting one hand on her hip and pointing at Red Riot with the other.  “Which one of you did this?  I need to know who to smack.”

“What’re you talking about?” Real Steel asked, squinting with confusion.  “We haven’t agreed to anythi… oh!  That!”

“Yes, that!”  She reached into her pocket and unfolded a flier. “Red Riot and Real Steel Home Exercise Videos: How to Get Hard!”

“Oh, yeah!’ Red Riot said, flashing a toothy grin.  “Isn’t it manly?”

“The video people thought it was a great name!” Real Steel added, giving an oddly similar shark-toothed grin.

Monoma shot Daisuke a glance.  “This might get bad real fast,” he said.  “If that happens, just run.”

He raised an eyebrow. The blond from 1-B had been unusually sullen since they’d both arrived at the Agency, lacking his usual arrogant sneer he had when dealing with members of Daisuke’s class.  Granted, Daisuke had very little to do with him even under the most ideal circumstances, but his limited experience suggested something was off here.  Surprising, really, considering he’d made it to the Tournament Round of the Festival, something Daisuke couldn’t say.  And yet here they both were, interning with the Heroes who shared the Number Ten spot.

“Yamamoto is incredibly frightening when she’s angry,” Monoma elaborated.  “I’ve spent enough time around the Tetsutetsus and Kirishima-Bakugos to know that.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath and Daisuke assumed she was probably counting down from ten.  She pinched the bridge of her nose.   “Do you two idiots remember the charity wrestling match you did?  When you went off script?  “The power of two hard men?”  It’s like you’re trying to make yourself look like idiots!  Do you know how much of a credibility problem it causes?  Every time?”

“But we are two hard men,” Red Riot said.

“The hardest!” Real Steel added.

Daisuke would later swear he hadn’t seen Yamamoto move, but in the blink of his eye, both Red Riot and Real Steel were on the ground, rubbing their cheeks like they’d been slapped. Yamamoto’s hair was slightly messed up, as though she’d been running the mind.  Did she have a speed Quirk?

“Do you know how much work I’m going to have to do to fix this, you idiots?!”

He felt Monoma give his arm a tug.  “We should run.”

Daisuke looked at him, then at the growing argument. While a Hero should always be ready to intervene when needed, he also made it a personal goal to stay out of other people’s drama.  Considering he lived on a floor with Sero, Sato, and Aoyama, that was frequently a challenge.

“Agreed,” he said.

***

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Daisuke said, as he unwrapped the first of the take-out sandwiches he’d ordered (he needed a lot of calories), “but are you all right?”

Monoma barely looked up from the soup he was (barely) eating, as the two of them sat in the Agency’s breakrooms.  “Mhm.”

Earlier, they’d joined Red Riot and Real Steel on a mutual patrol. The patrol itself had been easy enough. No trouble today, but Red Riot and Real Steel had both been experts at navigating rooftops.  With his Extendo-Arms, Daisuke could easily keep up. They didn’t have a lot of advice for him yet, but tomorrow promised some combat training, and both certainly had the muscle to help hone his fighting style.

While Monoma had more than been able to keep up with them (an impressive feat, considering his Quirk offered him no enhanced physicality), he had seem distracted and was quite jumpy every time Red Riot spoke to him.

“Look,” Daisuke said, “we’re not friends.  But we are in this together.  If you’re distracted out there, it doesn’t just put you at risk.”

That, at least, got Monoma to look up.  “I’m fine,” he growled.  “I’ll get my head back in the game.  Don’t worry about it.  Just having a bad day.”

That was fair enough, Daisuke supposed.  Monoma’s personal problems weren’t any of his business.  Maybe that was all there was to it.  He didn’t have the context to form a proper opinion.

Monoma returned to eating his soup, head down and avoiding Daisuke’s gaze. “Like you’d understand anyway,” he said, under his breath.

Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear that.  It was little more than a whisper and Monoma hadn’t been looking at him when he’d said it. While his Quirk did nothing for his hearing, Daisuke had spent a lot of time with his dad learning how to listen. He did it without thinking now, always listening and paying attention to the sounds others might miss.

“Excuse me?” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “Care to repeat that?”  Daisuke considered himself pretty even tempered, but to just say something like that right in front of him was not something he could just let go.

Monoma’s head snapped up and he fixed Daisuke with a glare.   “…You really don’t know, do you?”

He shook his head. “Know what?”

The blond boy’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know.”

Daisuke stood up. “Stop talking in circles.  What don’t I know?”

“That you’ve been voted the hottest guy in 1-A.  Hell, you’ve been voted hottest guy in the entire damn first year Hero Course. Pretty much everyone who likes men is into you.” Monoma pushed his chair back from the table and stood.  “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know about this?”

At this, Daisuke had to sit down, grabbing his water bottle with his upper-right Extendo-Arm and bringing it to his lips.  He took a long drink before he answered, his other arms slumping.  “Really?  They’re all objectifying me?  Just like that?”

He knew, of course, that Mineta found him attractive.  That was hardly a surprise.  Her type was “has a pulse.”  He was even vaguely aware that Sero sometimes stared at him, though that seemed to have tapered off since he had started dating Iida.  And Tokoyami’s familiar Frog-Shadow was always far too happy to see him.

But all of them?  He knew he was in good shape, but he hardly thought he was so good looking at to be more highly regarded than any of the other boys in his year.

“At least according to Fukidashi,” Monoma said.  “Who’s an ardent follower of Ojiro’s webcast.  If anyone would know, it would be the two of them.  Ojiro’s actually got quite the well-developed analytic and observational skills… she just chooses poorly how to apply them.”

Daisuke just shook his head, closed his eyes, and let out a frustrated sigh. So he was being objectified.  By pretty much everyone.  Great.   “Nice job pivoting the conversation away from you, by the way,” he said.

Monoma let out a squeak. “Not my intention.  I wanted to shut it all down.”

He opened his eyes as a few details finished assembling themselves in his mind.  “Would your distraction have anything to do with Kirishima-Bakugo?  Is that why you’re so jumpy around Red Riot?”

“I… don’t have to answer that,” Monoma said.  His mouth slightly agape in surprise.  

Daisuke shrugged, a movement copied by all his arms.  “It’s not my business,” he said.  “It’s yours. But get your drama figured out.”

When Monoma had left the room, Daisuke pulled out his phone.  The lock screen showed himself, two of his three left arms around a girl with bright blue hair and dark glasses, a white cane held loosely in one hand. “Hottest boy in the Hero Course…? Emiko’s going to kill me.”  

***

Takuma Sero Gets the Money Shot

“Hey there viewers,” Takuma whispered into his phone.  The front facing camera view was a little bad, especially in the low light, but sometimes, sacrifices were made for fame.  “I’m out on Internship with Number Twenty-Seven Hero, Tsukuyomi.”

He adjusted the angle of his phone, to capture Tsukuyomi standing on the edge of the rooftop, peering out over the cityscape, his black cape fluttering in the night’s breeze, before returning it to a close-up of his own face.

“And remember, Kimiko Ojiro and Kenta Sato will be uploading their own video diaries of their Internships later!  Which you’ll get notifications of if you’re subscribed!”

He gave the camera his best grin.  “I gotta say, though, I don’t know about this, viewers.  Best offer I got, but he is a broooooder.  Not at all a fabulous ray of sunshine like me.  But if we’re lucky, you’ll get to see yours truly in action, viewers!  Maybe even a little Swing Cam!”

That was his name for when he affixed his phone to his chest, while swinging from spot to spot with his Acid Tape.  Like first-person roller coaster footage.  Very popular, especially with the adrenaline junkies.

“Oh, and if you’re watching this, Tensei,” he said, giving the camera another grin, a real one, not the stage one he used for his show, “miss you, babe.  Hope your Internship’s going good!  Air kiss!”  He punctuated that with some air kisses.

“Okay,” he went on, “so, tonight…”

Suddenly, something dark snatched his phone right out of his hands!  He turned to watch Dark Shadow flowing forth from Tsukuyomi, his phone in its hands.  “Hey!” Takuma cried out.  “That’s mine!”  He’d had just enough time to hit “post” before it had been torn from his fingers.

Tsukuyomi regarded him with a dark gaze, his beak pressed firmly together.  “There will be no phone use while on patrol,” he said.  

“Yeah!” Dark Shadow added, tossing the phone over the edge of the roof.  “No phones!”

Takuma watched it fall, feeling like his heart was falling with it.  True, everything on it was automatically backed up to wireless data storage.  And true, he’d been meaning to upgrade anyway (the newest model had a really great camera).  But it was the principle of the thing!

The bird-headed Hero recalled Dark Shadow back into himself, his gaze never wavering from Takuma. “Undisciplined, easily distracted, showboating.  All these and more are descriptions I could bestow upon you.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Takuma said, rolling his eyes.  Automatic reflex, he couldn’t help it.  He might be flunking English, but Sarcasm was a language he was much more fluent in.  

“Child, there are so many more words I could use.  Be thankful I chose to limit myself to those.  Your mother may have failed to instill proper discipline in you, but I will more than make up for it this week.”

“What are you talking about?” Takuma demanded, a hand to his chest in indignation.  How could he say he was undisciplined?  Didn’t he know how much effort it took to put together a regular web program?  With three different stars?  All while studying boring regular school subjects and learning to be a Hero?

“You and yours are a den of chaos,” Tsukuyomi said.  “I shall tame it.  And to do so, I have severed your material bonds.”

“But what about my followers?!” Takuma demanded.  If he had a week with no new content, he’d lose countless followers!  His hit count would be in the toilet!  He’d have almost no validation from people he’d never met!

And how was he supposed to talk to his boyfriend?  …If he told this story to anyone, he’d probably better put that concern first.

“They will survive without you, I suspect,” Tsukuyomi said.  “Whether or not you do is another matter entirely.”

“And Mom says you’re not funny.”

Tsukuyomi tilted his head to one side.  “Funny?”

“That was a joke, right? …Tell me that was a joke!”

***

Takuma had officially met his new favorite person.  His only regret was that he still hadn’t been able to replace his phone, because this really, really needed to be recorded for posterity.  This was literally the greatest blackmail material he’d ever been handed.

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. She’s introduced herself as Yuka, though her Pro-Hero name was Shadow-Dancer.   She was one of Tsukuyomi’s Sidekicks, though apparently she was just a few months out from starting her own Agency.  Her Quirk let her meld with darkness and then possess and animate inanimate objects in that darkness.  She was supposed to have been giving them an update on recent Villain activity in the prefecture.  But this was so much better.

“I’ve known Mister Bird since I was a little girl.  He actually helped me out when my Quirk first manifested.”

A mischievous grin crossed her face.  “I was a little afraid of him at first, but I got over it pretty quick.  Of course, he was wearing monkey ears at the time.  I think I even developed a little crush on him after that.”

Takuma felt his jaw drop. He pushed it back up with his hand. “Oh.  Oh.  Oh! Tell me there are pictures of this somewhere.”

She laughed.  “Probably in a box in my mom’s house somewhere.”

Tsukuyomi gave her a scowl. “Must you tell this story to everyone you meet?  I am trying to instill some sense of discipline in the boy and here you are, filling his head with nonsense.”

Yuka put a hand to her mouth, laughing behind it.  “So serious, Mister Bird.”

“And I have asked you to stop calling me that,” Tsukuyomi said.  His feathers ruffled in what Takuma knew from watching Tokoyami was a sure sign of embarrassment.  “For years now.”

“Sure, Mister Bird.”

“You do know I am your boss? Perhaps you should continue your actual presentation?”

“Oh, if you insist,” she told him.  But she gave Takuma a wink.  “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots more stories about Mister Bird.”

***

“Hey there, viewers!” he said, adjusting the angle on the camera, “I’m back!”  He was glad he’d been able to pick up a new model so quickly. Thank goodness for good insurance plans. Too bad it had taken until the third day of his Internship.

Mom was probably going to tear Tsukuyomi a new one when she found out he destroyed his old phone. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, he could actually get that on video.  That would generate a hell of a lot of hits.

It might upset Tokoyami though.  Which would be bad.  She was pretty much the Mom Friend of the entire class.

Maybe he wouldn’t then.

Still, he did have to be quiet about this.  He was supposed to be catching some sleep, bunked down in Tsukuyomi’s Agency.  One other Sidekick was “on duty”, sleeping away on the other side of the room, just in case there were any calls.  Not that he was getting much sleep to begin with.  Tsukuyomi preferred to operate at night, which left him trying to get his sleep during the day.

“And now with improved picture quality,” he added, “you can see my fabulous pinkness in higher definition than ever before.  But sorry, ladies, I just want to remind you I don’t swing that way.  And gentlemen… I’m off the market.  Still all yours, Tensei!”

He flashed the camera another winning grin.  “Seriously though, viewers, this Internship has been intense.  Tsukuyomi knows what he’s doing.  I mean, he is dedicated.  Takes down bad guys hard and fast.  And I am learning.  Got a couple cool new tricks I can’t wait to show off.  Guy really does care about people, behind all the brooding and intensity and brooding intensity and intense brooding”

Not the least of his new tricks was a whole new way to use his Acid Tape.  If he flicked his wrist just right, he could actually start wrapping the tape around his arms.  And if he changed the acidity vs. stickiness factor… he either had an Acid Punch or a Sticky Punch.  Both of which had a lot of usefulness.  Not to mention a whole lot of video potential!

The corners of his mouth dipped down.  “If I can get him to stop criticizing me, that is.  Seriously, dude destroyed my last phone.  Who does that?  And he accused me of being more concerned with my social media presence than being a Hero!  Can you believe that?

Anyway, that’s my update! Don’t forget to hit like and surprise, and leave some encouragement in the comments!”