#clockwork conductors (au)

[curiositykilledtheradiostar]

*slams hands down on the table* STEAMPUNK SUBMAS AU

[uglypastels]

Hey can you do a coffee shop AU ab Gambit where the reader works at the shop Remy frequents? But one day there’s an attack and her mutation manifests?? Love your writing!

stick with me as I try to figure out how to write his accent lol. it's just a quick and fun lil thang but i hope you like it. [also, is this my first ever coffee shop au?? it might be. don't quote me on that tho]

warnings: slight cursing. supervillain attack.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Will that be the usual, Remy?’ You already pulled out the paper cup to write his name and order on it, looking up expectantly for him to confirm your suspicion.

‘You know it, chere.’ 

‘One cafe au lait, coming up.’ You chirped with a smile, noting it down on the side of the cup. Like the well-oiled machine the two of you have become over the past weeks, he didn’t need to hear the price and just slid a five-dollar bill across the counter and pushed another exact bill through the slit of the little tip jar next to the register.

‘Well, you know,’ and just like any other time, you couldn’t help but comment on his generosity, ‘you really don’t have to do all that. It’s just coffee.’ As much as you appreciated his gesture, a twinge of guilt struck you as he practically paid double for what already was an overpriced beverage.

‘It ain't for the coffee,’ he smirked, which, with a flash of heat, immediately radiated onto your cheeks. It all happened like clockwork, and so you reminded yourself that that’s just who he was.  You were sure he did it with anyone, so you mustn’t let it get to you. To not get too hung up over a customer who made it a habit throughout his day to flirt with his barista.

‘Here ya go,’ you presented him with the drink. 

‘I donno how you do it, belle,’ Remy said after his first sip, a satisfied expression spreading over his face. ‘Perfect. Evry time.’

‘Why, thank you.’ You reciprocated his smile, but really, it was no big deal. You were just doing your job—something that was only easier considering your talents. Practically being a human heat conductor made preparing a perfect cup o’ joe fairly simple. Still, when a charming Cajun walked into your establishment and showered you in compliments on a nearly daily basis, the effect might have been a bit stronger than a one-off comment from a stranger. No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to deny his allure. 

For a Tuesday morning, the café was surprisingly clear of customers besides a couple of taken tables at the windows, where some early birds had begun their day by reading the paper or getting a headstart on their work. And so, with no line rushing him off behind him, Remy sipped his coffee right by your side. 

‘Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be, Rem?’ you teased as you wiped the counter.

‘With a beautiful lady righ in front of me, there ain't nowhere I rather be.’

‘Oh, shush, you.’ You tried to ignore it, but the steam coming off from the once wet handtowel you used to clean was saying differently. Both of you were about to open your mouths, the snarky banter already dripping from both your lips, but that all faltered as the ground beneath you shook. The soft ambience brought on by the instrumental music playing in the background over the speakers was overrun by the aggressive shaking of all the products and measuring jugs falling to the ground. But soon, even that was silenced by the screams that followed. A stampede of morning commuters was running through the street, eyes wide and pale with fear. 

‘What the–’ you muttered out, carefully making your way to the window. Perhaps not the smartest move, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you. And it sure had; as right as you had reached your lookout point, all your senses were thrown off guard by an explosion. The world around you turned upside down— or was that just you as you were thrown off your feet and across the room following a million pieces of shattered glass? 

You were ready to fall into the puddle of shards, but instead, you were met with the hold of two strong arms, and once you dared to open your eyes, you saw a pair of glowing red ones. 

‘You alright?’ Remy put you down on the ground. 

Still, in shock, all you could respond with was a nod. You watched as Remy made his way across the glass-covered floor, calling out to the fear-stricken people in the café. 

‘Is gonna be all right, everyone.’ He helped a lady get back up on her feet and make her way to the back of the room. ‘Stay inside. Get z’away from the street.’ And even though you wanted to listen to his command, you found yourself walking back towards him. 

‘What are you doing, cher?’ With his hand on your shoulder, he held you back from taking another step. 

‘I wanna help.’ It was clear enough to you that he was about to fight whatever it was that was scaring all those people outside, and there was no way in hell you’d let him go out there on his own. 

‘Do you even know what you’re up against?’ 

‘Do you?’ you hit back, and that response clearly pleased him. The worry on his lips turned up into a smirk. So, the barista had a spark to her. It didn’t surprise him, necessarily. If anything, the excitement from seeing this side of you sparked a rush through his whole body. 

Side by side, you ran out into the street, avoiding the last few incomers who were trying their best to escape whatever it was you were about to greet. And what that was, you soon found out. All you had to do was look up into the sky.

‘Le Bon Dieu.’ Remy cursed under his breath.

‘Damn.’ You gasped at the sight of what you could only describe to be a giant robot floating above the tall buildings. Eyes glowing with a fire that burst in jetstreams of destruction.

Perhaps you were way in over your head, getting into a fight with a steel giant, fighting with a nearly complete stranger, and yet, when you looked up at him, and your eyes met, you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[miasmaclockworks]

Inhale (killk me)

kinito pet au ideas (all mine now)

Pirate au, swap/opposite au, frenzy au, beach vally au, valentines au, broken computer virus (BCV) au, house care au, real virus au, mimic au, best friend au, candyland au, light's out au, time traveler au, steam punk au, ghost au, phasmophobia au, dragon barrier au, librarian au, magical forest au, fruit au, fruit au, furry au, sailor moon au, pride au, obsessed au, ice cream au, midnight starlight au, AHIT au, star collector au, broken heart au, rejected friend au, accepted friend au, Poppy Playtime au, Five Nights At Freddys au, Warrior cats au, Midnight driver, killer au, prince of the night au, pool swimmer, Magical boy au, Critical au, Escape room au, god au, AU god au, Au hunter AU, scream au, Mii au, plane crash au, pilot au, mc donalds worker au, driver au, smile tapes au, nightmare au, night gamer au, artist au, over eater au, roblox au, creator au, caseoh au, wii au, wand au, childhood friend au, possessed au, apple core au, string worm au, drunkie au, caretaker au, love maniac au, drier au, washing machine au, Im a pretty princess au, venting au, among us au, gentle man au, Youtuber au, Actual axolotl au, you are what you eat au, mince meat butcher au, butcher au, doxxed au, sally the witch au, autistic au, ADHD au, Autistic and ADHD au, Motherborn au, alien au, Mother Mother au, soul au, dragon born au, vampire au, vampire hunter au, it was all just a dream? au, sunshine au, digital circus au, clockwork au, gymnastics au, rainbow factory au, twisted and turned au, patchworks au, unseen au, joker au, minimum wage worker au, skinwalker au, kinito darling au, forever and ever, everlasting pain, story teller au, time teller au, zoo keeper au, smiling critter au, truth be told au, rizzler au, farmer au, anthro au, Digital pop up au, backfired au, chef au, cuphead au, BABQFTIM au, carnival au, internet explorer au, kidnapper au, robber au, parental figure au, parent au, father au, apple picker au, trans au, siren au, mermaid au, cloud critters, monster energy au, emo au, goth au, alt goth, prince au, princess au, priest au, reality au, Epic the musical au, bass voice au, prince of the sea au, stranger au, never used au, stranger things au, abandoned au, hazbin hotel au, lemon and lime au, softie au, grunge au, sugar crush au, rainbow friends au, block break friends au, sugar crush au, sweet tooth au, undertale au, heartless au, toxic au, waist au, epic au, error au, fresh au, reaper au, horror au, other sans aus, medical au, high school au, ruby and max au, little horrors au, planter au, plant au, crystal au, glass crystal au, rockstar au, ancient Greek au, mario au, shroomba au, sonic the hedgehog au, snowday au, cave monster au, dinosaur au, game show hoster au, lunar moon au, bloodmoon au, eclipse au, sundrop au, moondrop au, dignity au, angels gaurd au, demons gaurd au, king of hell, king of the sea au, mother nature au, king of the land, landlord au, your boyfriend au, planetary au, leopard gecko au, leopard au, train conductor au, mountain lion au, polar bear au, Mad Scientist au, don't die au, raindrops au, seraph au, always watching au, teacher au, birthday party au, husk au, royal au, gummy bear au, cannibal au, discord au, My little pony au, bumblebee au, cat au, animal au, sweet treat au, warzone au, warframe au, roblox au, unicorn au, factory worker au, you au, dihedra au, pee au, every au I forget, Deleted forever au (not really), sleep tight au, Fire borne, dragon au, mythical animals au, goodbye friend, rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles au, Replicate au, smartie pants au, femboy au, backrooms au, gurlie au, too silly au, silly au, TADC au, lovesick au, grand master au, crazy au, lab monster au, (insert every animal here) au, Monster under your bed au, sloozy au, nightmare monster au, aroace king au, your imagination au, salamander au, desktop pet au, ukagaka au, he knows what you are au, roller blades au, you can run but you can't hide au, poison rain au, dementia au, mr worldwide mr 305 au, anime au, welcome home au, Yume Nikki au, gacha life au, gacha club au, Battle blocks au,

[citruscitrushope]

👀

I have been having so many thoughts about my anni/lily au my guy-

Basically, there are two kingdoms, one (the Tenma kingdom) says music should be used to emphasize the world's good, the other (the Shiraishi kingdom) says it should heal and acknowledge the bad, and they don't really like each others. The kids in the first (1st anni + Saki, Airi, Toya, Emu, Mizuki) are all connected to the royal court in some way, while those in the second (2nd anni + Shiho, Haruka, An, Nene, Ena) are connected to the Clockwork Museum, a place that preserves the arts.

Eventually, the kids in each group begin to interact across lines, and they begin to realize that they aren't so different. They try to push for the kingdoms to make amends, with...less than pretty results...

Hundreds of years later in what may or may not be another dimension, the group leaders are reincarnated into the regular prsk world as minor dieties (3rd anni cards) meant to help the groups, but they and their respective 2nd anni kid in their group begin to have memories of their previous lives.

Additional Ruikasa under the cut because I've been thinking about these two in my au a lot-

Tsukasa is the crown prince of his kingdom, and is dead set on the idea that music should only be used to bring smiles, nothing else. His kingdom's beliefs leave him a bit stubborn, and make acknowledging when he himself feels negative things difficult. He is closest with Saki, his sister and more of a carefree royal, and Toya, the reluctant conductor for the royal symphony that's like a brother to him.

Rui is a lonely man that lives within the Clockwork Museum, a former actor who works to archive plays, alongside toys and robots, which he himself makes at times. He used to do shows alongside Nene, a songstress with a magical voice, but they drifted apart over time.

Tsukasa eventually stumbles across the Museum for plot reasons I've yet to figure out, and he is appalled by it at first. How could songs about sad things be helpful? Rui is a bit turned off by Tsukasa's stubborn nature and closed-mindedness at first as well, but as they end up spending more time together they start to like and respect each other more. Tsukasa helps Rui see his own worth and reach out to others more, and Rui helps Tsukasa be more in touch with his emotions and improve himself as a ruler and musician.

Eventually, they and the others try working to bring the two kingdoms together as they realize their similarities, but this leads to basically a bounty against these twenty newly-wanted criminals, even when a lot of them were royalty, celebrities, artisans, everything. The two of them end up in the courtyard of Tsukasa's castle, smoke hanging in the air, aware that they will be executed soon, and they decide to spend their last moments ballroom dancing to a music box Rui had made for them before things got so difficult, tears falling down their faces, not only from fear, but from content that they were able to die together.

-

Tsukasa Tenma is a god of happiness, blessed with powers perfect for shows such as telekinesis and element manipulation. He initially starts out simply helping a pair of sibling pianists smile, before finding a girl trying to start a theater troupe to save a struggling stage.

As she and Tsukasa work to find members, he comes across inventor and performer Rui, the two instantly finding themselves drawn to each other, not only because of their abilities, but because of the fuzzy memories that appear in their minds after they meet.

An off-key music box, a slow dance at the end of the world...

[batrogers]

LINK, CHIEF ENGINEER Spirit Tracks, Tri Force Heroes, Hyrule Warriors

[From my Link's Meet AU, That Broken Promise]

GENDER: Agender (amab) PRONOUNS: Any/None HEIGHT: 4'9" AGE: 27 [29] HEALTH: Severe chest scars from acid, shrapnel scars

WEAPONS: None ITEMS: Steel wrench, Whip, Spirit Flute, Medical kit SPELLS: None

On the day Chief went to see Zelda to receive his formal train conductor license, the young Princess Zelda begged his aid. They were ambushed on their way to check on the Temple of Spirits, and Chief travelled with Zelda’s spirit to reunite her with her body. They banished Malladus with the help of the Lokomo scattered across the land, but at severe cost for Zelda’s health. Chief stayed by her side for several years, helping the healers and engineers learn the tracks he’d rebuilt before Zelda threw him out to take a break once she was stable again. While at sea, his ship was forced to stop in a country whose Princess was cursed by an evil witch. With the aid of two other heroes past their own quests, they are victorious and all return safely home. Chief trains as a healer himself, but only a few years later he’s dragged through a portal into a massive, on going war in a world not his own alongside someone he met before in Hytopia who does not know him yet. He sees the war through and returns home, exhausted, to a life handling more the mundane, familiar problem of his trains.

Chief is passionate about his work both as a mechanic and a trained healer. He can come across as strict or standoffish if someone catches him in the middle of a task or who is being unsafe, but he relaxes into being very playful and goofy. He likes people, and likes to be helpful, and does his best to get along with everyone which often works surprisingly well for him.

Chief speaks when required, rambles when stressed, and is silent when comfortable. He is literate, and knows some sign language from his time in Hytopia. Glossed as BSL.

Chief is demisexual, and would not consider someone interesting unless they are as into trains or similar as he is. He is going to have a moment at some point with Hateno.

CURRENT MEDIA: Half-Conscious, rated G, cw for near-drowning Who Hurt You, rated G, discussion of trauma Mouthful of Flesh, rated E for graphic torture All My Fault (I Failed You), rated T, torture aftermath Coming Home, rated T (backstory fic) Unwise, Unknown, and Forbidden, rated E They Held The Sky Suspended, rated E (And its art!) Running the Switch, rated T Fluff Dump, G-T rated short fiction Linkship with Hateno art [updated character design]

Linkship Stimboard by a friend, @triforce-of-mischief

Relevant songs from the playlist for Chief: Steampunk Music: The Gear, by Michel Kuhn Barbie Girl Instrumental, by Tazzy Clockwork, by Aviv Yeyni Deadwood, by Really Slow Motion Crystal Clocks and Music Box, by TheOfficialAOE

[helene-tolden]

🇫🇷 Café Gaudi Avril 2024. Jour 4. Coléreux.

Définition : Qui se met facilement en colère. La colère peut arriver seule, la suite de la présence d'un irritant, d'un besoin non satisfait, ou d'un désir non respecté. Mais elle peut aussi être un moyen de libérer d'autres émotions enfouies telles que la peur, l'angoisse, la tristesse.

😝

Qu'est-ce qui vous met le plus facilement en colère ?

😠

Je pars au quart de tour lorsque je suis au volant. Je n'ai aucune patience ni aucune tolérance envers ces conducteurs qui mettent la vie des autres usagers en danger. Il suffit que le véhicule derrière moi me colle d'un peu trop près, que celui-ci me fasse des appels de phares parce qu'il estime que je ne roule pas assez vite alors que je respecte les limitations de vitesse, qu'un véhicule sur la voie de gauche pile parce qu'il ne respecte pas les distances de sécurité, ou qu'un crétin coupe la route à toutes les autres voies pour emprunter une sortie d'autoroute comme s'il était dans un rallye.

😡

Pourquoi est-ce que je réagis aussi mal ? Parce que je prends l'autoroute tous les jours, que je compte rentrer en vie tous les soirs. C'est pour ça que je fais attention aux véhicules qui m'entourent. Rentrer chez moi en vie et plus important que rentrer vite.

🏎

Mon trajet n'est pas plus important que celui des autres. Tout ce qui ne ressemble pas à un véhicule de secours n'a aucun passe droit. Seuls les véhicules avec des gyrophares sont prioritaires : pompiers, ambulances, dépanneuses, gendarmes, policiers et services d'entretien des autoroutes.

🚒🚑

◽◽◽

🇬🇧 Café Gaudi April 2024. Day 4. Angry.

Definition: Who gets angry easily. Anger can occur alone, following the presence of an irritant, an unsatisfied need, or a disrespected desire. But it can also be a way to release other buried emotions such as fear, anxiety, sadness.

😝

What makes you angry most easily?

😠

I take off like clockwork when I'm behind the wheel. I have no patience or tolerance for these drivers who put the lives of other users in danger. All it takes is for the vehicle behind me to stick to me a little too closely, for it to flash its headlights at me because it thinks I'm not driving fast enough even though I'm respecting the speed limits, for a vehicle in the right lane because it does not respect the safety distances, or some idiot cuts the road in all the other lanes to take a highway exit as if he were in a rally.

😡

Why am I reacting so badly? Because I take the highway every day, and I plan to come home alive every evening. That's why I pay attention to the vehicles around me. Getting home alive is more important than getting home quickly.

🏎

My journey is not more important than that of others. Anything that doesn't look like an emergency vehicle has no right to pass. Only vehicles with rotating lights have priority: firefighters, ambulances, tow trucks, gendarmes, police officers and highway maintenance services.

🚒🚑

◽◽◽

🇪🇦Café Gaudí Abril 2024. Día 3. Feliz

Definición: Que se enoja fácilmente. La ira puede ocurrir sola, después de la presencia de un irritante, una necesidad insatisfecha o un deseo no respetado. Pero también puede ser una forma de liberar otras emociones enterradas como el miedo, la ansiedad, la tristeza.

😝

¿Qué te hace enojar más fácilmente?

😠

Salgo como un reloj cuando estoy detrás del volante. No tengo paciencia ni tolerancia con estos conductores que ponen en peligro la vida de otros usuarios. Basta con que el vehículo que viene detrás de mí se pegue demasiado a mí, que me ilumine con sus faros porque cree que no conduzco lo suficientemente rápido a pesar de respetar los límites de velocidad, para un vehículo en el carril derecho porque no respeta las distancias de seguridad, o algún idiota corta la vía en todos los demás carriles para tomar una salida de la autopista como si estuviera en un mitin.

😡

¿Por qué estoy reaccionando tan mal? Porque tomo la autopista todos los días y planeo volver vivo a casa todas las noches. Por eso presto atención a los vehículos que me rodean. Llegar a casa con vida es más importante que llegar rápido a casa.

🏎

Mi viaje no es más importante que el de los demás. Todo lo que no parezca un vehículo de emergencia no tiene derecho a pasar. Sólo tienen prioridad los vehículos con luces giratorias: bomberos, ambulancias, grúas, gendarmes, policías y servicios de mantenimiento de carreteras.

🚒🚑

◽◽◽

#tolden #fanzine #cafegaudi #grangaudi #toldendegrangaudi #tolden_ln #artchallenge2024 #adrawingaday #aprilarychallenge #colereux #angry #enojado

[moriiartist]

‧₊ THAT’S THE WAY THINGS HAPPEN (ON THE POLAR EXPRESS)

PAIRING: C!Grian x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS: (Polar Express AU) Ever since you were a child, you’d been able to see the mysterious train that would appear to pick up the other children on your street every Christmas Eve. Unlike them, you were never invited aboard. However, upon returning home from college for the holidays, you’re met with the sound of a train whistle outside your bedroom window…

WARNINGS: None!

A/N: This idea came to me at 2:00 AM while I was lying awake in bed, and I’m like 90% sure at this point that it will be my crowning achievement. In a hundred years, when you ask ‘who was Mori?’, somebody will tell you ‘it was that person who wrote the Polar Express Grian fic’. This is my legacy. Anyways, here’s Tom Hanks.

For as long as you could remember, the train had come every Christmas Eve.

It would always start the same, the furniture in your childhood room jostling and shaking as though your town had been struck by an earthquake. On more than one occasion you had only been awoken to the sensation by something falling on you, jolted out of your dreams by the sudden pain.

Then, like clockwork, the whistle would sound, screaming its song into the dark winter sky with the accompanying rhythm of the wheels clanking against the tracks. You would crawl to your window, peeking out through the blinds to see tracks where there had once been only asphalt, a cherry red locomotive where there should have definitely not been one.

With a great hiss, reminiscent of some giant, ancient beast, it would settle in the middle of your street, a sentinel looming over the cramped houses and narrow streets of where you lived. You would watch as doors opened, and small figures shuffled out of their own respective homes- children. Your friends, who you would play with in the streets after school was finished, who you had practically known since your birth.

Every year, you would watch as they went through this routine, congregating in front of the bright red engine in one big group, and being pulled inside by the conductor, golden tickets flashing in their hands and pockets.

Every year, you would watch them depart, chin propped up on your hand as yet another Christmas passed you by.

You had never been able to get a ride. Every time you had ever tried, it had ended up in failure. Either your parents woke up (somehow not being able to notice the giant magic train, but were instantly awake the second you even attempted to head downstairs), or, when you stepped outside into the frigid night air, everything- the tracks, the train, your friends- had disappeared.

It was like the universe was saying, ‘you aren’t allowed to have this’. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t exactly the worst thing to ever happen to you- I mean, you had no clue where the train even went, much less if it was safe.  

When you were younger, the frustration was enough to send you flying into a tantrum, kicking and screaming in your parents’ arms as fat crocodile tears rolled down your cheeks. Naturally, they didn’t understand what you were so upset about- magic train? Oh, that was just a dream, honey. Let’s get you back to bed.

In the end, though, you had made your peace with only being a watcher- an observer of a story that you could never be a part of. Peculiarly, you were still able to see the engine even as your friends grew and aged far beyond the point of believing in silly things like Santa anymore. When you had discreetly tried to bring it up, they had only looked at you as though you had grown two heads, quickly changing the topic back to something a little more grounded in reality.

When you left for college, you had thought that you could leave behind all that nonsense. After all, there were no children on campus. But, as you hauled your heavy suitcase into your childhood bedroom, you realized that you were right back where you started.

A thick, choking wave of nostalgia slammed into you as you surveyed the space, every decoration and speck of paint on the walls untouched from when you had left- packing your things and moving out a little over a year ago.

You hadn’t been entirely sure if you should’ve come home for Christmas when you got your parents’ invitation, an awful mix of apprehension and hope whirling around your stomach as you debated your answer. On one hand, you hadn’t seen them in person for a long, long time, and spending the holiday season with them was more than you could’ve ever hoped for. On the other hand, however, there was still that chance that you would be woken up in the dead of night once more- and you knew for a fact that burying your head under a pillow couldn’t drown out the sound of the engine wheels on tracks.

It was Christmas Eve, and the house was bustling with activity. After you had dropped off all of your stuff upstairs, you were sucked into a whirlwind of tasks to do, shouldering the weight of the chores that were entrusted to you with an ease that came from many years of living with such chaos.

Dinner was a spirited affair, with laughter and vibrant conversation filling the brief space where you weren’t shoveling food into your mouth. Relatives called, taking a brief moment out of their own holiday celebrations to check in with everyone, and it filled you with an unrivaled sense of home to just… be in the moment. To watch your younger siblings fight with each other over who got to eat cookies first, to completely ignore your father’s personal space as you flop your legs across his lap.

You’re a little afraid to admit it, but you’d missed having this while you had been away.

It’s the rumbling that wakes you up from your peaceful sleep first, the sensation of your bed frame rattling and shaking and the sound of the ceiling fan jostling in its mounting sending you shooting up in a heartbeat. Golden light poured in through the window, coming in bursts as something big, something that loomed taller than even your house, screamed past your front yard.

Staggering to your feet, you scramble to the window, clothed in only the oversized shirt and pajama bottoms you had worn to sleep as you pressed a hand to the glass.

And there it was. The Polar Express, the very thing that you had thought you would never see again when you had skipped town.

The polished blue-black carriages gleamed in the low light of the streetlamps, steam swirling from the engine in thick clouds as the wheels screeched to a halt, the sheer shrillness of the noise bringing you to clap your hands over your ears, wincing. The whistle sounded, a high note piercing the stillness of the night air, and everything fell silent. Not even the harsh gales that were so prevalent this time of year made a peep.

You waited for the children to come streaming out of the houses, but as the seconds ticked by into minutes, you found yourself pulling away from your perch and quietly padding downstairs, taking extra care to avoid any creaky floorboards that would wake up anyone else in the house. (You desperately tried to ignore the hope rising in your chest, as light and airy as a balloon, as you managed to reach the bottom step. It wasn’t like you would actually be successful this time, right?)

You hesitated as your hand settled on the cool brass handle of the door, feeling the solid weight of the metal against your palm as the realization of just what you were about to do settled in. I mean, you had never even thought that you would get as far as you had to even seeing to train in-person as you had in this moment. What would you even do? It wasn’t like a ticket to ride would magically appear in your pockets.

… Scratch that, it wouldn’t be surprising if the same magic that kept the Polar Express running decided to mess with you too.

Making the executive decision that you were not about to walk out into the freezing cold weather outside in just your pajamas, you quickly snatched one of the many jackets hanging by the doorway and your winter boots, shucking both of them on as you quietly slipped outside. Unsurprisingly, your breath immediately clouded in the air, subzero temperatures sinking its teeth into your exposed skin and stealing any hope of warmth you might’ve had.

Just beyond your parents’ porch, the glow coming off the train’s windows cast dappled gold and black shadows across the front lawn, lighting up the frost that had collected on the grass up into a billion tiny constellations of glimmering ice crystals. The only sound beyond the crunching of your footsteps as you hesitantly made your way towards the tracks was the soft sighing of the wind, and the slight hissing as steam continued to rise from the engine’s gleaming black sides, obscuring everything around the vehicle in a thick cloud.

You had almost reached out to touch the behemoth train before you when you heard it, a clear voice cutting through the hushed quiet of the night like a bell.

“All aboard!”

Jolting, you spun on your heel to see a figure approaching through the fog, a lantern held in their hand a clear beacon for you to follow. You were frozen in your spot as the person emerged, breath catching in your throat as you beheld the polished red and gold uniform that they- he- wore, a cap neatly perched upon his wild golden-brown curls.

Despite only seeing him from afar before, you knew in your gut who stood before you, the realization prompting you to draw yourself up a little taller, to fold your hands nervously behind your back. The Conductor. 

“All aboard!” he called once more, voice rising in pitch with every syllable, and you resisted the urge to shrink back at the volume. His eyes, as dark as the night sky above your heads, glittered curiously as they took in your figure, already beginning to shiver in the bitter chill despite only having been outside for a few minutes.

“I would hop on,” you started, clearly a little nervous but trying not to show it, “but I’m afraid I don’t have a ticket.”

The Conductor raised an eyebrow as his gaze flickered over your face once more, the arm holding the lantern slackening slightly with his confusion, before a lightbulb seemed to click on over his head.

“Oh,” he murmured, and you were taken aback at the soft quality of his voice when he wasn’t yelling, almost believing that it belonged to someone much younger than the dapper and professional man that stood only a few feet ahead. “It’s you.”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

The blonde seemed to fluster, the faintest dust of pink covering his cheeks as he coughed into his free hand. “Nothing, nothing! I just… wasn’t expecting an adult to be… here, of all places.”

Huffing a laugh, you rocked back on your heels, giving the Polar Express another once-over as you tried to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. “Yeah, I guess that you’re not really used to having anyone other than a kid waltz over.”

“No, not really,” the Conductor appeared to be conflicted, dark brows furrowing over his eyes in an uneven scowl as he met your gaze. It was almost as if he was searching the very depths of your soul as his eyes flickered across your face, unearthing the darkest of your secrets and laying them bare for all to see. You felt a little exposed, to be honest, biting your lip nervously as the man appraised you. “Are you sure that you don’t have a ticket? You haven’t checked your pockets?”

“If I had one it’d be new to me,” you said wryly, absent-mindedly reaching a hand up to brush off the thin layer of snow that had slowly dusted itself across the top of your head, sending the delicate white crystals reeling in the breeze. “I’ve been watching the boardings ever since I was a child, and I’ve never found a way to purchase them.”

“Ever since you were a-?” the blonde cut himself off, visibly biting back whatever words he was about to say in a show of self-restraint that was, quite honestly in your opinion, impressive. His expression was pained, as though he had bit into something particularly bitter. “You don’t- you didn’t have to pay for one. That’s now how it works.”

You shrugged. “I guess it was just never meant to be, then.”

The train whistle sounded once more, and the man before you audibly cursed, scrambling to pop open the ornate golden pocket watch that was previously tucked in the breast pocket of his uniform. Whatever he saw on the device’s neatly polished surface caused his eyes to widen, his head snapping up towards you with distressed openly displayed across his features.

Without him even having to say anything, you already knew what was up- it wasn’t like you were unfamiliar with the concept of regular trains and the tight schedules that they had to conform to. Despite the short amount of time that the Conductor had spent chatting with you, he was clearly cutting it short.

You watched as the man bolted back towards where he had appeared through the mist, the heavy vapor already cleared enough through your brief interaction for you to see the loading platform that was connected to one of the engine’s many passenger cars. The blonde heaved himself up the steps with a grace that only came from muscle memory, swinging his body until he was half-hanging off the side of the train.

“Well,” he said, somehow not even winded by the full-tilt sprint he had made to get over to his spot on the train. “Are you coming?”

Your jaw dropped, and you could only stare at him as he waved towards the front of the train, signaling something to the people manning the gears. What was conveyed, exactly, was quickly made obvious as the piercing shriek of the whistle pierced the night once more and the wheels began to move, a heavy clank sounding through the solid metal train tracks as the engine slowly started to chug forward.

“W-what?” you breathed, shock freezing your feet to the ground even as the Conductor’s car drew nearer and nearer to you. “I don’t-”

The Conductor groaned audibly, tossing his head back. Despite his frustration, somehow you didn’t get the impression that he was actually mad at you. No- it was something a little more playful, maybe even teasing as he looked back down at you with a mirthful gleam in his eye. 

“I am the conductor of this train, and I say, respectfully, screw tickets. Now,” he extended a hand to you, a cheeky grin spreading across his face that sent heat blooming across your face, “Hop on!”

Inhaling sharply, you found yourself trusting him, delicately gripping his hand with your own. You gasped as you were swung up with barely any effort, stumbling into the blonde’s chest as you fought to right yourself. He chuckled, and you were close enough that you could feel the sound vibrate through his body into yours, the sensation filing your stomach with butterflies.

Coughing, you made to edge out of his grip, but your plans were quickly foiled when he shifted to hold your waist, pulling you inside the train car.

“Um, t-thank you, sir,” you stuttered out, a little dazed as the man led you into the bright compartment.

He smirked, an expression somewhere between cheerful and amused flashing across his features as he shifted to look at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s no problem, really-and call me Grian!”

You failed to notice, even as you were tugged along, that the man had never ceased contact with you, even tightening his grip at the flustered look on your face.

You didn’t know it just yet, but as he gazed down at you with an expression bordering on awed, you were about to go on the greatest adventure of your lifetime.

@danny-boy27 @the-tired-system@silently-plotting-murder @g0re-h0und @hermitscapes @peanut-is-freed @itsonlydana @sina-the-idiot @amearla @rabukabait

[mtjester]

BNHA Steampunk AU: My Steampunk Academy Snapshot #1

(I probably won’t write a fully-fledged, contained fanfic for this AU, but I like the idea of little snapshots that I can type out as I feel like it. Maybe I’ll figure out how to put something like this on Twitter, too, since I know that’s a thing people do. Enjoy!)

Deku Finds the Machine

---------------------------------------

The ruins of the skyship were scattered across the landscape. The main hull, now a skeleton of metal rings, was nestled among the rocks near the peak of the stubby mountain, and parts of the engines and decks had tumbled down the slope. Izuku paused at the apex of the neighboring hill, taking in the charred remains of the ship again. Memories of the night before ghosted through his brain: the fire, the smoke, the jarring scream of twisting metal. He had searched as much as he could through the blaze, but he only found the one survivor. The man was safe at his house a mountainside away with his mother doting at his bedside, but he hadn’t woken up. The doctor said he might not, between the shock, the burns, the injury on his side. Izuku had never seen anyone die before, and he wasn’t going to wait around to see what it was like. Even the ghastly sight of the decimated skyship was more welcoming than the man’s labored breathing.

Izuku trudged down to the shallow valley below, where so much debris had collected. In any other circumstance, he would be excited. There was more scrap metal to tinker with than he would ever be able to use. Some of the devices might even survive if he was careful with the repair. But he was too afraid of the possibility of a blackened body emerging out of the rubble to snoop much.

He traced his steps back to the place he found the survivor. It was near the main hull, but not near enough to suffer the worst of the heat while it burned. The whole mountainside was charred. It would be months before Izuku could bring the Bakugou’s flock of sheep this way to graze. The wealthy family wasn’t used to inconveniences like that, but they seemed to understand well enough, even if their tone was lost through the telegram.

Nothing moved. No people clawed their way out of the wreckage, gasping for help. Izuku didn’t know what he was expecting, but his heart sunk nonetheless. He poked around futilely, too afraid to actually find anything to really get anything done. An hour passed, then two. He started a pile of garbage, a pile of usable material. No bodies, thankfully. Then, around the three hour mark, he found something that caught his eye.

At first glance, it was like a backpack. It had two thick straps for the arms and another to go across the waist, as it was a rather large, hefty pack. Its exterior was made of leather and covered in pockets, or it was once, at least, but brushed brass and iron peeked out through burnt holes now. Layers of mechanisms — clockwork-like gears, engine-works, a miniature firebox for steam-power — revealed themselves like a kaleidoscope through the outer layer of leather. Izuku knew even at a glance that the machine was sophisticated, more so than anything he had ever encountered. He passed his hand over the mechanisms shining beneath the burnt fabric, his fingers tracing the intricate designs. His heart beat like he had discovered a stash of gold or a genie in a bottle. A squeezed noise of excitement forced its way through his throat. Any thought of cleaning up the mountainside or finding fictional survivors who clearly didn’t exist evaporated from his mind. 

He grabbed a strap and moved to haul the backpack-like structure over his shoulder. If he got it home soon, he would have enough daylight to tinker without wasting gas for the lantern. But he didn’t expect the weight of it. He lifted, expecting nothing more than the resistance of a sack of grain or a stubborn lamp, but it just about pulled his shoulder out of its socket. With a yelp, he toppled backwards onto it, the small of his back landing on the solid structure that suddenly seemed more brick than machine.

“Geez…” Izuku breathed, rubbing out the new pain in his back. He stared down at the innocuous object. “Is this really supposed to be a backpack?”

He tried picking it up twice more with roughly the same results. He wasn’t weak exactly, but he wasn’t a dedicated sports enthusiast either. He was far from a muscle-man. He furrowed his brow and lifted a finger to his lips to think, muttering his way through the problem.

“Well...I don’t have to take it all the way home, at least not at first...I can ask for help if I need it, or bring a dolly cart...although a dolly wouldn’t work so well over the mountain...maybe a bigger cart? Or I can ask Mrs. Bakugou to lend me their ox...I do have to clear the land...she’d want me to do that, right? In any case…” He looked up at the sky. The day was still young, perhaps just past noon. If he hurried…

“Right,” he said, coming to a decision and dropping his fist into his other hand with purpose. He turned back to his house and began to hike at a quick but steady pace back home.

He returned an hour later with his tool belt. He had customized it himself to hold all his little tinkering odds and ends. It was far from a true machinist’s tool belt, but it did as much as Izuku could afford to do. He skittered up the slope to the mysterious box with a feverish glint in his eyes.

“Let’s see…” he said, plopping down next to the device. He mumbled to himself as he pulled back the leather casing. It was a strange casing, coming apart in odd patterns, covering the device in chunks and strips with a purposeful design that Izuku couldn’t place yet without more examination. He took out his handmade sketchbook and sketched the design in detail, as faithfully as he could. 

Once the leather had been fully removed, the genius of the machine was laid bare for admiration. Izuku spent a full ten minutes just looking, starry-eyed, at the beautiful, intricate works hidden beneath the bag’s casing. It was unlike anything he had ever seen in their small mountain village, leagues above the basic clockwork that made up the vast majority of the machinery he had had the chance to tinker with. He spent an additional length of time — a half hour? An hour? — sketching to the best of his ability the detailed works. It was one of the most detailed sketches he had ever made, and it still wasn’t detailed enough. He chewed on his tongue, erasing and redrawing, erasing and redrawing. Finally, he put his sketchbook down.

“Okay, let’s see…” he said, finally approaching the machine. He barely knew where to start. He hovered over it for a couple of minutes, looking at it from different angles, debating whether to undo this screw or that. Finally, he leaned back. “Well...the logical first step is the most obvious, right?”

He leaped up and jogged to his new garbage heap, searching for something burnable. He found plenty of kindling and returned to the device. The firebox was one of the first and most apparent parts of the machine. It was a steam-machine, clearly, although it was far more compact than Izuku thought possible. He hoped he was making the right choice as he packed the burnable materials into the firebox. He produced some matchsticks from his tool belt and lit the flame. 

The fire would heat the water in the compressed chamber, which would create steam, which would power the engine. That much, Izuku knew. How it all worked with the clockwork elements was the mystery. What was the machine designed to do? What was its function?

Izuku waited, almost buzzing with anticipation. Nothing happened. Cooled steam began to escape, having done what it was supposedly meant to do. Still, nothing. It made noise, at least. But it didn’t do anything. Izuku gradually deflated, realizing he was being silly. Was he waiting for it to sprout legs and walk away? An engine doesn’t just run for show. An engine needs a conductor. He still had a role to play here somehow.

He moved forward to examine the machine again, careful now that it was steaming. For all he knew, it was damaged in the crash and was ready to blow up in his face. He touched it, gingerly, looking carefully along its surfaces, prodding with laser focus. His hands felt the top, the front, the sides. Then, they felt two raised bumps. A button on each side of the machine, almost hidden beneath the layers of leather he had pulled back. Of course — the buttons were meant to be exposed with the leather casing intact, but by pulling it all open at once, he had covered them. It was just where a person could reach if they were actually wearing the dead-weight object on their back. Izuku licked his lips, his anticipation coming back full-force, and he pressed each button at the same time.

Two arms, about the length of an adult human’s, sprung from the sides of the box and launched forward, where a human would stand if they were actually wearing the device properly. At the ends of each, they branched out and formed into something like gloves. Pistons, gears, rods, strange copper wires, and a sturdy metal skeleton ran the length of the arms. Izuku’s heart picked up pace in his chest as he examined them. He reached for his sketchbook, paused, reached for the machine, paused...and his curiosity won over his scientific duty to observe. He scrambled to the front of the machine and dropped onto his butt to wiggle himself into the straps as best as he could. He somehow managed to find a position where he could secure the device firmly around his waist.

The metal arms were too long for him, but they were adjustable to an extent. He fit his hands into the gloves. Each finger seemed to be attached to some element of the machine. Tentatively, he moved just one, the index finger of his right hand. The machine behind him came to life with buzzing, whirring, clicking. He glanced back to see the intricate inner mechanisms catching the light of the sun as they moved. He moved another finger. Something clicked, and the form of the box shifted, opening. His eyes blazing with excitement, Izuku threw caution to the wind and danced all of his fingers in a short wave.

Like it was the signal it had been waiting for, the box burst open. Legs like spider limbs splayed from the contraption, their skeletons made of iron and their muscles, full of gears, pistons, rods, wires, built out of brushed brass and copper. The legs came down hard into the dirt of the mountainside, and before he knew it, Izuku was being lifted. His strangled yelp grew into an actual scream as his butt came off the ground, followed by his legs.

“What — what? What?” he shouted as his feet dangled in the air. The straps dug into his armpits. Without thinking, he flailed his arms around. In response, the machine began to turn and spin on its spider-y legs, circling back and forth across the charred wreckage in an almost impossibly smooth manner, as if the ground were perfectly level and not covered in boulders and debris. Izuku, now dizzy as well as bewildered, reached back behind him, trying to press the buttons he had found before. His fingers twitched erratically in his panic. The device rocketed him forward, and before he knew it, he was sprinting across the valley on bronze and iron spider limps, shrieking.

He did not get home until twilight. Luckily, he did not need to borrow an ox from the Bakugous to get the device there after all.

[dat-town]

Waiting for autumn to pass

Characters: autumn spirit!Young K & spring spirit!You

Setting: fantasy au

Genre: angst

Summary: Have you ever wondered why autumns are so sad? It’s because he misses you so much.

Words: 1.2k

Written for @day6writers‘s myth themed writing event.

You can read the sequel here.

Your story is a never-ending circle of hellos and goodbyes.

Every time he comes, you die a little. The closer he is, the weaker you are. But you can't resist the push and pull, it's too strong and you just stand there, waiting, in a white frothy dress and pink flowers in your hair. Anticipation is eating you up but you don't have to wait long. It happens practised, like clockwork: the door undergrown by tree branches opens on time and a slight tremble rushes through your body as the cold wind sweeps under your sunkissed skin.

A tall figure steps out of the grape and chestnut scented room and elegantly as ever, he makes his way down the marble stairs. Straight towards you without hesitation or any second thought. It drains and suffocates you, the closeness, but you know he feels it, too. You have learnt to live with the heavy burden on your chest a long time ago. Yet, you let out a shuddery breath when he stops an arm-length away from you. You are not sure though whether it's out of relief or disappointment.

“Long time no see,” he greets you, his raspy voice a little cold and distant but the slightest warmth is mirrored in his falling leaves coloured eyes. He looks refreshed, wide awake after sleeping for six lunar months. It is indeed a long time. Even for you, eternal creatures.

“Yes,” you nod with a painful smile, fingers mindlessly tapping on the thorns of the flowers in your hand. You are not capable of bleeding but you wonder, if they opened up your chest, would your heart bleed carmine love?

It's always like that. Bittersweet moments of small talks, avoiding the obvious, never addressing the elephant in the room. Of course, it always has to be that one who you can't have. Even immortals aren't smarter than foolish humans hoping for more than they can get.

You watch the sadness shift and turn in Younghyun's beautiful orbs, the ache written clearly in the wrinkles of his eternally young features and the nostalgia in every swift move of his. You love the sound of melancholy dancing in his voice, the evanescence in his bones, the mystery of his being.

He is like autumn itself: one part warmth, three parts cold. As time goes by he’s rougher and lonelier. Ruthless with storms in his eyes and harsh words dancing on his lips. The nature dies under his watch but he directs it so beautifully like a conductor with a grand orchestra playing Vivaldi all majestic and flawless, like a painter working on an empty canvas, spilling fierce reds, vivid oranges, sorrowful yellows and all kind of browns all over it, painting a colourful chaos pleasing to look at or like a writer typing a story so angst that it tugs on the readers’ heartstrings making them cry but adore his work.

He is one of the creators of withering and you were born to help the world bloom. You two are the same yet you couldn't be any more different: like the day and the night, the sun and the moon. One cannot exist without the other but you cannot exist at the same time in the same place. You are circling around each other like bees around flowers rich in nectarine.

“How has the summer been so far?” he asks and you say: “Hot.”

Colder without you, you mean which is a paradox in itself but you know better. He may bring cool breezes or even vicious hurricanes, but his loving arms keep you sound and safe. Metaphorically, of course.

You look up at sun shining high in the sky, providing the longest period of daylight today of all days of the year. It's the day he wakes up and you go to sleep leaving you only precious moments to meet. The summer and winter solstice, you can only see each other during these events. You miss the autumnal equinox, he misses the spring one. Because that's just who you are: spirits of seasons, guardians of the balance.

“I made you something.” Still lost in your thoughts you find your voice and it's sweet and airy as you lift the flower crown in your hands to eye-level.

“You shouldn’t have,” Younghyun mumbles, his stiff features morphing into apologetic already.

“I wanted to,” you whisper bashfully and standing on your tiptoes, you gently place the crown on his head, careful not to touch him. You are dangerously close and the way he looks at you is so intense, it makes you tremble.

You can't explain the longing in your heart but you have lived long enough to know that this isn't like the respect or fear that you feel towards the spirits of summer and winter. This is something more, a little more intimate and you wonder if anyone ever felt this way. Like the sun that loves the moon so much he dies everyday just to see her shine. Can it be real, a love like this?

Even gods and goddesses aren't immune to love and they are not supposed to be but in your case, it's not that easy. What would happen to the balance? You can't even touch each other without causing a little havoc, messing up the seasons’ order. But of course, everybody yearns for the forbidden fruit. It's something humans took after the deities.

You watch in silence as the flowers in Younghyun's hair change colours and wither in front of your eyes leaving nothing but a thorny circle of branch. You knew it would happen since everything he touches, slowly dies. While you, you are the definition of everything that blossoms and flourishes and wherever you go, flowers bloom. Sometimes you recklessly think about what would happen if you two made love. Would his powers kill you, bare you from your existence, make you grow cold and lifeless? Or would you plant flowers of love in his lungs making it hard for him to breathe?

Silly, silly thoughts. You cast your eyes down at your risky daydreams and Younghyun's voice is soothing when he speaks up:

“Are you tired?”

You nod as honest as you can be. His presence makes you even sleepier.

“You know I am. It's your turn to take the stake,” you force out an encouraging smile but sorrow is evident in your light voice. “But I wish I could stay longer.”

“It's okay,” he says understanding. Nobody can say no to the laws of nature. You are no exception. That's the saddest thing: you are supposed to be deities, yet here you are, slaves of the nature.

“Rest well, petal,” he smiles at you and your heart aches. He has such a beautiful immortal soul, it makes you want to fall in love with him even more.

You don't say anything while he accompanies you to the rose and cherry blossom scented room and from the door he watches you lie down on your bed of flowers.

He is the last thing you see before you close your eyes and you know he will be the first one when you wake up. You just have to wait for another autumn to pass to meet again but until then, you hope to dream about him and the beauty of autumn you have only seen in him.

[brawltogethernow]

Neutral Element - Still a Ghost Piloting Starlight

Yeah I’m still doing that genderswap in-spite-of-a-nail AU. Installment Masterlist | Length: 1k; Tarvek&the gang

The modifications made by Agatha and Gil and Tarveka mean Tarveka doesn’t look much like Tinka anymore. She would be difficult to mistake for any Muse, at this point.

…The three of them might have gotten a bit carried away in the heat of the moment, actually.

Agatha gave the clank “hair”, very much in quotes, during the period at the end when Tarveka was out, apparently after a quick but meaningful nudge from Violetta, in the form of a tangle of wires extending from the skull plate. They glimmer burnt electrum auburn with fiber optics. The whole mess extends barely past her shoulders at its longest point. It should theoretically fall flat, but loose charge makes the fibers twine around her head and among each other like she’s an electric medusa, so she’s tied a low tail. After months of fussing with wigs, it’s…actually nice.

When Agatha tells her she rationalized it by engineering them to act as a dump for power overflow, Tarveka is expecting significant energy use to warm the auburn to bright white-blue. Instead, the first time she arcs power between her palm zappers in front of a mirror, the wires deepen to cherry red. Which is, which is, uh.

Agatha got dragged off to fix another crisis, of which the castle has infinite, but Gil is hovering anxious-excitedly while Tarveka runs the body through its paces, scientific interest too strong to respect that they’re kind of fighting. Neither Agatha nor Gil ever even met Tarveka back when she had a mop of barely tamable red hair, so she has no idea how much of this was on purpose, and she isn’t sure how to ask. The color, maybe, from deductions based off Anevke, but not all siblings resemble each other as strongly as they do in her family. But then, Gil has been a warm weight snuggled up against her mind, Agatha a reassuring pressure thrumming through the bones she doesn’t have. Maybe they could just tell.

The doll-like porcelain look of her eyes has been replaced with stylish matte surfaces, with a glowing ring in each sclera marking out a false iris. The two rings of tiny recessed bulbs are hooked into the same system as the “hair” wires, meaning they go from amber-orange to bloody carmine, too. That’s probably going to unsettle people.

…She can work with that.

To complete the tally, the lightning her palms can generate is purple now.

“Why?” she demands.

Gil blinks at her. “I don’t know? Agatha and I were tinkering, and I found this workaround, and it was more efficient. I can show you, if you want?” She blinks at Tarveka with frustrating guilelessness, then blanks out staring absently at her chromed hands. “Some of the fundamental principles are very intriguing, actually….” she mutters distractedly.

Gil is an uncultured barbarian. And, alright, in the interest of being fair, even native Europans rarely delve as deeply into their own history as Tarveka has. So there’s probably no way Gil has any idea what purple lightning is reminiscent of.

And the conductors are even better hidden now to boot, damn her ham-handed and overly forward brilliant ingenuity.

“Do you realize what this means?” Tarveka says mildly instead of turning her voice up all the way and screaming like she kind of wants to, flexing her clockwork arms. “It means my house colors are going to clash with me again. I could finally wear them without worrying about making myself look like a bright red hazard sign, and now you’ve robbed that from me.” She zaps violet lightning between pinched fingertips, enough to make her clothes flutter but not enough to damage them. “You even managed to make it worse! Which I would have expected to be beyond even you.” She pulls a haughty grimace, and trusts the improved subtlety of her expressions to let the girl in on the joke.

“Not bad, Princess Useless,” says Violetta, appearing from nowhere. “It’s very you. Overwrought and affected, I mean.

Tarveka shoves at her. She dodges. “But alright, listen,” she says, doing an unnecessary twirl to get out of Tarveka’s reach. “You’ve been through an entire body change now and you still have them, so I have to ask. Why do you still wear your old pince-nez? It’s not like you need them.”

Tarveka is glad she can’t flush anymore. “At first they were decorative. Now they just make me feel more like myself.” She adjusts them. “Is that so wrong? Besides, when I’m not wearing them I keep trying to fiddle with them anyway and hitting myself in the face.” She sarcastically makes the Translyvania Standard Lab Safety hand signal for ‘Clank Is Harmlessly Defective’.

“They leave scorch marks on your nose every time you zap someone,” says Violetta, making the hand sign for ‘Defective Clank Is Harmful to Itself’.

“We fixed that!” cuts in Gil, waving her hands excitedly. “They should totally not do that now. They may jump off your nose a bit, but just smack them back down.”

Tarveka stares at her. “You want me to smack myself in the face?”

“What? No, I did not say that. Sturmvoraus….”

Tarveka turns and calls over her shoulder, “Agatha, Zengil just told me to smack myself in the face!”

A distracted voice from the distance: “Be nice!”

Gil pouts. Too easy.

 *

Agatha presents Tarveka with gauntlets cobbled together from spare leather and loose parts. “To ground the charge in your hands, see? I mean, the work we already did will handle the bulk of that, but this is a failsafe….” She busies herself strapping them onto the delicate working of planes and joints that make up Tarveka’s hands. “Now you can zap things without ruining your clothes.” She gives her a meaningful look, explaining with the power of one deeply exasperated gaze that she knows all about the perils of clothes getting ruined.

The gloves don’t look like much (actually, they look kind of like she stuck her hands in a garbage can and this is what clung to them when she drew them out), but Agatha made them, and Tarveka would cherish them for that even if they didn’t plainly work damn well. And oh, they do.

 *

“Hey,” says Moloch, consideringly and with no small amount of trepidation. “You don’t think that now she can shock things without ruining her fancy outfits she’s going to get zap-happy, do you?”

Violetta is silent for a long, slow moment. Then she grips Moloch bracingly on the shoulder. He sweats; Moloch hates being reassured, because it means there’s something to be reassured about.

“Invest in rubber clothes,” Violetta says to him solemnly.

Then she vanishes. Smoke Knights — even Violetta — are into drama.

Moloch sighs. Deeply and from the heart.

In the distance, Tarveka experimentally electrocutes a velvet curtain. The Castle begins squawking chidingly as the princess, briefly, cackles.

About time I got out the part that describes the last part of this lineup. “But Brawl,” you say, "what about the part that explains why this happens at all --” SHHH, I say, pressing one finger not at all gently to your lips, I’m getting to it, if you’re reading this on Tumblr it’s a non-linear experience in nebulous nonsense, I’m sorry but at least we’re all in this together.