#fun thing i like we use the same word for sour and acid. eating sour stuff does make me feel like im eating acid so

[aromanticannibal]

Coffee... One of the things in life where you either experience complete joy or utter disappointment at the first taste.

I think, the way it's bitter flavor comes is just like earwax or a bar of soap, things you are clearly not supposed to eat.

the few times ive actually drank coffee i asked for it to have a lot of sugar and cream and whatever in it - its not that i dont like strong flavors but like. coffee is weird as hell

[okmissgirl]

Absolutely Normal Nonsense

HEHE I'm still alive and this some real nonsense y'all 💀

Also happens to fulfill the Future catagory for HellCheer Aniversary Week day 4.

<- Last Nonsense

——————————————————————————————————

🥜 Sweet Nothings (and sour somethings) 🥒

To you I can admit

That I’m just too soft for all of it

“You gotta try it with peanut butter.” 

“I — what?” 

“Take your spoon, scoop some of it up—”

“Is this—?”

“Nuh-uh, you have to get a lot more. Like a heaping scoop. Here, let me—”

“Sweetheart, I know the logistics of it, I can… okay that’s — Chrissy that’s just straight up peanut butter.”

“But it tastes good! Especially when you spread a bunch on top of the pickle and the juice is still there, ugh, the contrast is phenomenal… I feel like I’ve ascended or something.” 

“Ascended? Peanut butter and pickles is a religious experience for you?” 

“Yes and I am a staunch believer and no sacrilege will be permitted in my house, so here comes the um, starfighter airplane jet thing… and…” 

“Wha— don’t just! Baby, I am agnostic at best—” 

“And you will see the light and be compelled if you would only open wide—”

“Ok princess, first, before I poison myself, how did you go from oreo and peanut butter cookies to this?”

“...put it in your mouth first.”

“Wh— I am not—”

“Please? Pretty please? For me?” 

“Oh baby doll, you’re so sweet. No.” 

“But—”

“No ma’am.”

“Ed-die!” 

“Chris-sy!”

“Give it a chance, the flavors, the textures — look at me baby, would I ever steer you wrong?”

“...”

“Eddie!” 

“Sorry, but I am very sure you would, case in point, I can’t even see the beaten path right now—” 

“Oh boo, where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s the man I fell madly in love with who used to do those disgusting beer kegs in college and use the same towel every week for months?” 

“Jesus Christ, woman — that dumbass is dead. Hallelujah.”

“But I want him back! Just for tonight? C’mon sweetie, one lick.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I’ll eat the rest?” 

“And you’ll tell me who put you up to this? I brought that jar yesterday — there are only three pickles left mamacita — I know you’ve been going to town on these all day. That acid reflux is gonna be righteous tonight.”

“I promise it’s 8/10 worth the heartburn — that’s how good they are! … And I was bored, so…” 

“Bored?”

“Eh okay well, not completely, but that’s besides the point! Try it? Please?” 

“Ughhh, fine, fine…”

“Really?! Aw, Eddie—!”

“Hmm, since you asked so nicely… bottoms up, I guess…” 

“Hehe, enjoy…”

“...”

“...and?”

“Uh, cool your jets — I gotta analyze the flavor, the texture and all that shit…” 

“Oh… well, hurry up!” 

“My word, where is your patience, Christine? Hmm, I guess… it’s um… huh.” 

“Huh?”

“...s’not bad.” 

“Not bad? So that means… you like it?”

“I do not hate it.” 

“You love it!”

“It’s palatable, princess.” 

“See!! Oh my gosh, I told you! I told you, it’s the fucking contrast — like peanut butter and jelly!” 

“Uh, strong comparison, but I get what you’re saying. Now, who rummaged through our cupboards and got pickle juice all up in the peanut butter jar? ‘Cause I know it wasn’t you — that’s something you’d get mad at me for.”

“Well… Robin came over…” 

“Of course. Of course — you know, I walked into that one. Like in the back of my mind I thought “Eddie, what if it’s Bucklely who’s eating all your shit?” and at the time I didn’t wanna believe it but, tsk… should’ve known.”

“What! How could you say that? Robin’s so much fun!” 

“Yeah, until she starts packing our food in tupperware boxes and taking it to her place.” 

“She does not do that.”

“I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, Missus Munson.” 

“Edward Munson! You know how boring it is, staying at home 24/7?! All I ever do is fold, wash, and dry all the clothes we brought and then dig out some more for tomorrow to fold again and then I eat and watch reruns of Seinfeld. I try to cook but then my feet hurt. I try to drive to the grocery store but no, I can’t get behind the freaking wheel! I want to practice the stretches we learned in class so I put on exercise videos but I can’t even follow along with them! I sit there like a beached whale! There’s no one to call and everyone’s at work except me! There’s nothing to do, I’m slowly going out of my mind and, and… you know what, give me that—”

“What are you — hey! I was gonna—”

“NO! You don’t deserve a peanut butter pickle! Shame on you, making fun of me like that when Robin was so kind to come over and watch a movie with me, help make cookies, and introduce both of us to this delicious delicacy. You should be thankful!”

“Aw Chris, I am thankful; just didn’t know you had it so rough baby—”

“Ey! Get away, you! Don’t try to kiss me! I’ll stick this glob of peanut butter in your hair—”

“No you won’t.”

“I will.” 

“Uh, okay… I’ll just eat it off, but sure. “

“Eddie!” 

“Okay, okay pretty girl — I’m thankful that Buckley broke into our house so you could have some adventure for the day—”

“— I mean, you told her where the house key is buried, so that’s kinda on you—

“However, I’m at your beck and call whenever you need me.” 

“... I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

“I dunno, Munson. The way you look at those campaign sheets sometimes… kinda has me worried, is all…” 

“Perish the thought, fair maiden! For I find you tantalizing, bewitching — the object of many a man’s desire but alas, you are mine, Christine, and I’ll fall upon my own sword if there ever is a day I find myself blind to such godlike beauty…” 

“... hmm…” 

“Hmm? Too much?”

“No… I never said that… “

“Then pray tell… hmm, what? Is it a secret? Would you whisper in my ear? Don’t be afraid, you can tell me…” 

“No, no secrets here.”

“Oh…? “ 

“I do have a question though.” 

“And I await with bated breath to hear it.” 

“.... you fancy me a goddess, good sir?”

“Of course I... yes.”

“Am I to believe I am just a simple spirit you found looking into the glade?” 

“N-no, never you are not just any goddess. You are more brilliant than Aphrodite herself.” 

“You swear?” 

“On my life…” 

“...”

“... Chris—”

“Alright, help me get down from here.” 

“Oh! Uh, sure, but why do you—”

“Honestly, my ass is getting numb and I didn’t really think this through once I actually got up here so…” 

“Well, can’t have a sore ass on my watch, sweetheart — just lift your—”

“I’m heavier than before okay, so be careful with you back and don’t—”

“Pfft, babycakes you weigh 30 pounds soaking wet as we speak… there we go. Hmm.. I kinda like it, actually.” 

“Like what?”

“You know…” 

“I don’t, actually.” 

“Well… I’ve been meaning to ask… is my queen gonna claim her throne tonight?”

“... Eddie—”

“I’ve been waiting. Thirsting. Praying fervently that I could show my fealty to you once more. So… please…I—” 

“What… what if I’m… I’m not… too…”

“Never, never… ah… never, Christine…”

“Shi… I… okay.”

“Okay?”

“Please.” 

Oftentimes, Eddie is struck by the fact that he gets to come home to Chrissy Munson née Cunningham everyday. To find his wife sitting on the kitchen counter, scooping peanut butter onto a pickle stick, so far removed from the hustle and bustle of his chaotic workday. But he guesses that’s natural. 

He hopes the feeling lasts a lifetime. 

*BONUS*

“fifty-eight one-thousand, fifty-nine one-thousand… and… okay… okay, that’s…”

“...Chrissy? Chris, what are you doing in the shower? Is everything okay…? Cause uh, I woke up and your side of the bed was like wet with… something. I didn’t smell it or anything but uhh… you can wake me up when stuff like that happens. I know it’s normal and I can help—”

“Eddie! You thought I wet the bed? I’m no child!”

“Well yeah, I know that… but you’re also—”

“I’m in labor. Well, I’m pretty sure I am, at least. My water broke in bed.” 

“...what.” 

“Yeah, I woke up and it was like, everywhere, and it kept dripping down my legs… kinda gross. I wanted to take a shower.”

“Wha… holy fuck, can you rewind to, uh, Jesus… um, are you really, seriously—”

“Yup, I think so. Can you help me get out of here please?”

“Uh, uh, okay, yeah, no problem I can — I can do that.”

“Great!”

“Shit… maybe we shouldn't have done so much last night?” 

“No. We do a lot most nights. I don’t think that made a difference here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Honestly? I think it was the pickles.”

[antihero-writings]

His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch1)

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Crossover

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus:  Ciel (Sebastian, Undertaker, Harry, Grell)

Notes: This is a fic I wrote for @elegantkittycat  for a Valentines day secret-santa-style event I made a few years ago!

Yes, I’m aware there are typos in this chapter. I intend to fix them at some point. 

If you’d be willing to comment and/or reblog, it would mean more to me than you know!! They really really help motivate me to keep writing. 

Chapter 1:

The great hall, quite frankly, looked like Valentine’s day threw up on it. Those lurid pink flowers from lunch still lined the walls, but now bright streamers glided across the ceiling, big, shiny hearts fluttered in the air, reflecting mood lighting, and bubble hearts popped out of bouquets of roses, (each flower cut into hearts). The ceiling itself not only continued to drop confetti, but was blighted by puffy clouds that read the same banalities you could find in every Sweethearts box; Be Mine, and True Love, and XOXO. (The clouds may have actually read that outside too, but Ciel didn’t want to check.) The burly cupids from earlier in the week lumbered about the room, continuing to pelt people with off-key music, and cards that only the most hopeless and idiotic of romantics would provide, filled with the same empty statements the clouds read—(every once and a while a howler burst forth, and the actual band would come to a shrieking halt at “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE”).

Lockhart had insisted a Valentine’s day ball was in order—(a lurid end to a lurid day)—and remarked with a toss of his perfect hair and blinding smile that it would be ‘just the thing’ to brighten everyone’s moods.

The fact that Lizzie had been the first (of many, mind you) to offer her decorative expertise and assistance may or may not have contributed to the overall… valentines-day-puked-and-so-will-I vibe of the room.

Currently, said mission to lift the general spirit was failing; aside from the few school lovebirds, (who were already widely despised and avoided, without school-sanctioned and overly sugary displays of affection) most people took this as the perfect opportunity for your daily dose of sulking at the sidelines, and contemplating if magic was quite worth this amount of suffering. Not least of all Ciel, who was currently propped against the wall behind the food table. (Lizzie had pried him away from his brooding earlier to dance, but now he happily returned to the indent he’d made in the wall). He had made many attempts throughout the evening to sneak a piece of chocolate cake, but Sebastian always magically appeared to slap his hands away whenever he got too close.

Most people would have stayed in their dorms, given the chance. Lockhart, however, had sent everyone cards with his kissy face on them, telling them flirtatiously not to dawdle, and his commands got more sugary, and insistent, (not to mention awkward) the longer they stayed indoors, and floated over their heads until they dragged their butts to the ball. This was particularly affective at making sure everyone was there, because the girls melted for his voice, and the boys wanted to shut him up as soon as possible.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Ciel!” A certain Indian prince put his arm around the earl’s neck and noogied him.

“Wha—No!” Ciel struggled like a fish out of water. Upon release he wiped his hands on his dress robes (the robes Sebastian had thrown together for the event—his ‘thrown together,’ of course, looked like others ‘spent-months-laboring-over-this’)—as if he didn’t want to catch Soma’s contagious happiness. “And I’d thank you to not touch me so casually!”

“I’m sorry Ciel, it’s just seeing all this love in the air makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside!” he spun around, “Doesn’t it do the same for you?”

“That’s called acid reflux.”

Soma pouted.

“Ciieel!” Lizzie’s hug was a torpedo. She snared his hands and spun him around, “Come dance with me!”

“Ack…I just danced with you ten minutes ago! How many times do I have to dance with you before you’re satisfied?!”

“Don’t you want your fiancé to be happy?” Her green eyes, (which were already big), became the puppy dog eyes of a little girl who wants an expensive toy.

“Don’t you?” he grumbled.

“I’ll dance with you, Elizabeth!” Soma came to the rescue. “It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely young lady!”

She blushed—“Oh please! It would be more than an honor to dance with a Prince!”—and curtsied, shooting Ciel an icy look, before joining the dance.

The young earl folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

As if that wasn’t enough sappiness for a lifetime, cloying words floated to his ears:

“Oh Professor Michaelis~!”

Ciel’s brow twitched.

“Come now Lavender, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Ahh, he’s so noble!” came a not-so-whispered consensus.

Ciel jerked his head to see the group of girls crowding around his butler, like birds to sunflower seeds in the park.

Rather than sharing his annoyance, and refusing their advances, Sebastian shimmered with flattery and flirtation. A few of them offered him boxes of chocolates and other sweets, which he took with flowery compliments, but surely had no intention of eating—it didn’t take a love expert to know they were all laced with love potions. (Or maybe he could eat them anyways; the jury was still out if love potions had any affect on the demon…some magical methods worked on him and others didn’t).

Ciel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “Don’t you have better things to do?!” he shouted over the throng.

Sebastian chuckled. “Mr. Phantomhive, don’t you know it’s rude to question a teacher?”

Ciel growled.

“These lovely ladies took time out of their day to offer me gifts,” the butler’s calm voice carried across the room. “It would be rude to refuse them.”

There was a syrupy sigh from the group.

“Ugh,” Ciel gave the opposite kind of sigh, and turned away before he gave into the urge to murder.

A familiar laugh at his side made him turn.

“What’s so funny?” he asked the Undertaker.

“Oh nothing much,” Undertaker forwent his usual dog biscuits for a piece of cake, “I just find your sour mood rather humorous.”

“You know me, I’m always in a sour mood.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said, his mouth full of cake, “but,” he swallowed, “it seems the atmosphere of love and joy has put you in a particularly foul state of mind,” he pointed a black nail at him.

“I just don’t find romance being thrown in my face to make for a very fun evening, that’s all. One of Lizzie’s cutsey rampages is enough for me…but this?” he shuddered.

“Well, some would say it’s sweet. That it makes them feel happy and romantic.”

“When I rise to power, those people will be sterilized.”*

He laughed. “Always the life of the party, you are.”

“What? Are you one of those people?”

“I wouldn’t say so. But seeing you in such a state is worth all the romance any day.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he grunted.

Undertaker set down his plate and twirled in front of him, then leaned forward and spoke behind his hand, “What do you say we make this party…a party?” he reached into one of his drapey sleeves and pulled out a vial, teasing it in front of his face.

A quizzical look from Ciel made Undertaker whistle in the direction of the nearby punchbowl.

Ciel sighed and rubbed his temple. “Spiking the punch…really? Isn’t that a little too cliché, even for you?”

“I prefer the term ‘failsafes.’ Even you have to admit, the atmosphere could use a little...” he glanced around the room, “spiking. Besides,” he leaned in close and whispered, “this isn’t alcohol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“…What is it then?” Ciel moaned, eyeing the ex-reaper.

He stood back up to his full height. “I’m not one to spoil the punchline before I tell the joke.”

The young earl sighed, “You really think we should deprive people of their misery? I’m not one to interrupt some good, old-fashioned sulking.”

“The general idea is that those who are miserable would like to…not be.”

“They also say that misery loves company. Misery and I, for instance, have quite the close relationship.”

As if called by them saying ‘misery’ too many times, Lockhart’s pretty face showed up.

Ciel coughed to cover his distaste.

“Ah Undertaker! Good to see you here! Everyone’s loving the party aren’t they?”—He gestured to the glowering room—“It’s so wonderful to see all these young people in love!” he gave a throaty chuckle.

“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone.” Undertaker had a way with honesty.

“What makes you say that? Did someone tell you they weren’t enjoying it? We can’t have that!”

“It’s not so much anyone specific, but—”

“…What’s that you have?” his eyes fell on the vial that Undertaker had barely tried to conceal. Despite Ciel’s theory that Lockhart was dumber than a bag of rocks (even if the rocks were magic), it didn’t take long for the truth to dawn on him, “Spiking the punch are we?” He held up an accusatory finger, “Naughty naughty. I would have expected this from one of the students, but shouldn’t a man of your stature know better?”

“What stature?” Ciel snorted.

“What’s that, Dear Boy?” Lockhart leaned forward.

Undertaker put his hand on Ciel’s head, covering his vision with his sleeve. “The young Er—student was just about to say that a man of my stature is not one to shy away from a little fun.” he put his other hand on Ciel’s shoulder, his grip a little too tight.

“I hardly think it’s ‘a little fun.’ We don’t want any students getting hurt, nor do we the party ruined, now do we? All it takes is one slip of the foot and someone ends up in the hospital.” He held out his hand, expecting him to hand over the vial.

“On second thought, do it,” Ciel whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be the kid who winds up in the hospital. Anything to get me out of this hellish party.”

“What are we up to?” Dumbledore joined the conversation. It appeared as though Lizzie had got to even the headmaster, as he had bows in his beard and hair, though he didn’t seem to mind much.

“I regret to inform you that our dear Undertaker has intents to spike the punch.” Lockhart said like he was a student tattling.

“Ah,” the headmaster said casually, popping a heart candy in his mouth and burping out a heart, “(Pardon me). Well you can’t blame him for trying to bring a little…sprucing up, to the room, can you?” he lifted his hands and smiled genially.

“Are you saying that my party is not of the highest caliber?”

“Oh we aren’t denying that you have an air for the grandiose, Gilderoy,” he began cutting the cake with his wand; “Mr. Phantomhive, would you like some cake?”

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, who was currently preoccupied, and tried not to smirk. “I’d love some, thanks.”

Dumbledore cut him a huge slice, handing it to him gracefully, as if he were dropping a tiny lemon sherbet into his palm instead of a mountain of chocolate. Ciel inclined his head in gratitude, (and made sure to eat a big bite when Sebastian was looking, and the incense on his face was worth it—he, of course, couldn’t do anything butler-like with the headmaster and another teacher standing there).

“Don’t beat around the bush Albus!” Lockhart cut back in, “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“No one denies your party-throwing skills, dear Professor Lockhart.” He stood, placing his hands behind his back, “But your em…” he cleared his throat, “other skills can sometimes be rather lacking…”

“I’m shocked, and hurt, Dumbledore.” He put his hand over his heart. “Shocked and hurt. I’ll have you know that I won ‘best party-thrower’ in three”—he held up three shaky fingers—“countries! I think that should more than make up for any spoiled brats who can’t see fun even if it’s standing in front of their face!”

“Was he talking about me?” Ciel murmured to Undertaker, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “I feel like he was talking about me.”

“And what countries were those?”

As they argued, Dumbledore inclined his head towards the punch bowl.

It was Ciel’s turn to be shocked. Everyone knew their headmaster was rather eccentric, but he didn’t take him to be so reckless. He’d expect this from Undertaker… but Dumbledore? He thought he had at least a little ‘responsible-grown-up’ in him (even though Undertaker was definitely a lost cause).

Ciel turned to stop the ex-reaper, but now a dotted outline remained where Undertaker previously had been, and a second later he saw a long-nailed hand appear above the punch bowl.

Ciel facepalmed.

Any desire he had to drink said punch, as well as be at this party at all, had gone into the negatives.

But, eh, at least he had cake now. So maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Young Master!” Sebastian snatched the plate from his hand, “How many times have I told you—!”

“Oh, so now you can walk away from the girls?” Ciel spun to his butler, whose arms were full of assorted treats. (Ciel, of course, knew he’d probably have walked away sooner if it weren’t for Lockhart and Dumbledore).

He tapped his foot on the ground (which somehow didn’t imbalance the tower of sweets), “I won’t allow it. You’ll get a tummyache.”

“I’m not a child!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at his whining. “That may be…but regardless, you have a delicate composition.” He leaned over and set Ciel’s unfinished plate in the ‘dirty’ pile. “Sweets of this size will certainly impair your gastrointestinal health.”

Ciel looked from side to side, hoping no one was listening, feeling his face grow hot. “Delicate!”

“Would you prefer a different term? Fragile? Frail?”

“I’m not a vase!”

“Tender?”

“I’m not a steak!”

Sebastian looked over his professor-glasses at him as if to say Do you think you’re talking to someone else?

Ciel groaned, giving his butler the victory.

Sebastian set his armful of gifts in a pile along the wall. Clapping his hands clean and wiping his brow.

“What, are you tired?” he mocked, knowing full well the demon couldn’t get tired. “Is having a bunch of high-school-girls fawn over you exhausting?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Sebastian joked back, feigning thought.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of—”

A mischievous idea curled itself around his brain.

“You must be thirsty,” he said in a mockingly-concerned voice, trying to lean sideways on the table by the punch (but he almost fell over, and had to catch himself).

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t really require hydration like you humans do.”

Ciel gave him a look as if to say No, go ahead, I won’t mind. You really do look exhausted.

“But I suppose it couldn’t hurt….If you insist.”

“Oh I do.” He smirked as he watched Sebastian pour himself a cup.

More likely than not it wouldn’t have any affect on the demon, but, presented with the potential, he wasn’t going to deny himself a few hours to imagine what it might be like if it did.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Young Master?” he asked before raising the cup to his lips.

“Oh…I’m just enjoying the party.”

That didn’t clear things up. Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but, after taking a sip, he didn’t have time to ask because—

“The party has arri-ved~!” a certain familiar voice sang.

Ciel was starting to wonder if this was God finally deciding to punish him. Both master and butler felt like they were going to be violently ill, and simultaneously had a thought something akin to that’s my cue to leave! Before they could even make the first step, however—

“Ahh Sebas-chan!”

They winced, turning slowly to see Grell waving a princess wave at the butler over the crowd, while Ronald followed suit, nodding and blowing kisses towards the girls.

“All this love in the air,” Grell materialized beside them (they jumped a little), and crossed his hands over his heart, staring blinkily into the ceiling, “Kinda gets you thinking, doesn’t it.” He sidled up beside the demon.

“If you mean thinking about ending your life, indeed, it does.” Sebastian showed him no mercy.

“Playing hard to get, are we? Ah! How saucy!” he slapped his shoulder playfully,

Sebastian sighed, folding his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the nagging presence.

“Ciel! Ciel! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?!” Lizzie and Soma arrived at his side, as if hopeless romantics were coming out of the woodwork.

“They’re most certainly not my friends.” He cleared his throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Old Chap?” Ronald asked, “We may not be close, but I thought all those times we tried to kill each other meant something.”

Lizzie stared at Ronald, inching slowly away.

“Oh that’s just…a joke we have,” Ciel defended weakly.

“Oh…” Lizzie looked away, then recovered quickly, “Well, anyhow, you didn’t tell me Prince Soma was such a lovely dancer!”

“How was I supposed to know?” he grunted, “I’ve never danced with him!”

“Don’t be so rude, Ciel!” Soma defended her, “Please, you were like a—what are those dancers called? That’s right, a ballerina! —You were like ballerina, Miss Lizzie.”

“Don’t be so modest! Ciel, should take a page out of your book!”

“What page?” Ciel demanded, “The one on being a spoiled brat?”

“Sounds like someone’s already read that one,” She punched his shoulder. Her attitude changed in a second again, “I’m so thirsty!” She reached for the punch ladle.

“Wait—NO!” Ciel grabbed her wrist.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I—uh” his face was a thermometer slowly going into the red, “I just umm…You don’t want to drink that.”

“I don’t?”

“No…yeah…it uh, tastes like uhh… cat pee,” he started to pull her away.

“How would you know what cat pee tastes like?” Ronald’s butted in.

“Maybe a cat peed in my mouth one time, you don’t know my life!”

“I’m having a hard time believing a nobleman such as yourself—”

“I just don’t think she should drink it, that’s all! Is that so inconceivable?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sheesh,” he shook his head, “you Nobles are pieces of work!”

Ciel rolled his eyes, turning back to Lizzie. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm?”

“But… I don’t want to go back to my dorm.” Lizzie pouted, “I’m having fun! …Or at least I was,” she murmured.

“…Look I’m sorry. I’ll-I’ll dance another number with you, okay?”

As they walked out onto the floor, he watched the other students drink the unassuming punch over his shoulder.

*****

At the risk of sounding even more cliché; the day started like any other. Ciel got up before the other boys in his dorm to a chilly February morning, and started his routine—an aspect of which was speaking to Sebastian about today’s mission and objectives before classes began. Their current mission had to do with the Chamber of Secrets—such as figuring out where it was, if it existed at all—and the heir, who they were, and how to dispose of, or join them, accordingly. At this point, they had little to no leads. With his day robes on, and homework and books in hand, he slipped out into the hall.

He’d soon wish he stayed in bed.

Once the common room door closed, his day-from-hell would begin.

For a magic school, not much happened day-to-day. Well, that wasn’t true, Harry Potter added some…pizzazz. But it was still a school, and once you get used to the magic…normal-school-things happen.

Today was one of those days which reminded him that this was not a normal school.

Sure it was the day after Valentines Day, but did those Huffpuffs have to kiss in the hallways?

And guess what? You there, standing in the hall, blocking everyone’s way? Yeah, you. There is a perfectly nice wall behind you, just waiting to be leaned against (ignore the judgmental painting in the background).

And why did anyone who wasn’t in the throws of *shudders* youthful passion have this glazed look in their eyes, like they’d eaten pot brownies for breakfast?

Most of the time, the few students who were awake at this hour chatted and giggled, inflicting the general populace with the daily gossip, at which, sure, he would still roll his eyes and groan, but it was at least better than kissing and clogging up the hallway (as well as each other’s mouths).

He was relieved to finally reach Sebastian in the The Defense Against the Dark arts classroom.

This was one thing that was no surprise, as he shared the teaching position of the class with Lockhart—(no easy task, as they were both divas who didn’t enjoy sharing spotlight, and one was totally incompetent, and the other was as overqualified a professional chef at a kids easy-bake bake off. But their even-keeled headmaster had to give them each equal time teaching. At the beginning of the year, after it was decided which classes would get which teacher, some students begged the heads of houses to reconsider putting them in Sebastian’s class. Sebastian, amicable and excessive as ever, decided to host extra classes after school to satisfy the disappointed students).

“Alright, shall we pick up where we left off?” Ciel marched towards Sebastian, throwing his books on the nearest desk.

However, unlike his usual, attentive I-solved-all-our-problems-overnight-here’s-the-solution self, the butler stared out the window…he didn’t even pay his master immediate attention.

Said master tapped his foot impatiently on the ground and snapped, “Oy, Sebastian!”

“Mm?” the demon faced him, slowly.

Again, there was that glazed look. Like he had been in a donut factory.

“Young Master, I… didn’t hear you come in.” His eyes darted around the room.

“You bloody well didn’t,” he continued to tap his foot, muttering, “Demon hearing my ass.”

When Sebastian didn’t use said demon hearing to reprimand him for swearing, he knew something was wrong. He stopped being aggravated for a second and looked a little closer.

There was a smudge on his glasses. His hair was sticking up in front of his forehead, and there was some cat hair on his robes (probably from a clowder he kept in his room).

He was…imperfect. His appearance, while still practically impeccable by human standards was sloppy by Sebastian’s. His attention, divided.

And that was reason to worry.

Ciel leaned over the desk and snapped in his face. “You can ogle photos on your own time!”

Sebastian looked at him, but every time he focused on him, as if magnetized, his eyes reeled back to a photograph on the desk.

“Do you think…do you think he could like me?” Sebastian said in a strangely uncertain voice that didn’t sound at all like him.

“Huh?”

He had never known Sebastian to be uncertain of, or fascinated by, anything, and, more importantly, he had zero regard for whether or not people liked him. He also never pried his concentrations from the missions, especially not for something so trivial and/or emotional as photos.

Ciel walked around the desk to get a good look at it. He thought it might be Lockhart, as the room was crawling with his glimmering face. Instead, in a shattered case—(Ciel thought he might hurl)—the demon fixated on a picture of Grell.

The young earl vaguely remembered Grell giving it to him—mentioning passionately something about it being a way for him to be with him at all times, with hearts in his eyes. At the time, Sebastian had rolled his eyes, said, ‘is there a version of this when I can see you at no times?’ and tossed it into the drawer with enough disregard that the glass had shattered, and (now this is just speculation) hoped to never look at it again.

For what unholy (or holy, by demon standards…no, it definitely wasn’t holy) reason would Sebastian return to it now? And what’s worse, how could a picture of Grell possibly distract him from the task his master had placed before him?

Was it possible that all those pictures, cards, the cheesy lines, and sappy gestures, all the maudlin advances, had finally made it through to Sebastian?

Hell no. He’d watch the world burn before that happened.

Hang on a minute, let’s check.

Nope, still snow on the ground.

Okay, more plausibly, did he lose his mind?

Let’s tone it down a little; Maybe this was a—albeit not funny—joke?

“What are you on about?”

The demon picked up the picture. “Grell.” He rushed towards Ciel, putting the picture in front of his eyes—“Get that out of my face!”—“Do you think he’d ever want to be with someone like me?”

The earl began to laugh, a fake, loud laugh, then abruptly stopped.

“Very funny, Sebastian, you like Grell. Can we get back to work now?”

Sebastian grabbed a book off his table and Ciel had to duck to keep it from hitting his head.

“What are you on?!”

“I may be cleverly witty when the situation calls for it, but I am not joking, Young Master! And I’d thank you to treat my beloved one with respect!”

Ciel blanched, his eyes glued open, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “You mean this,” he pointed to the situation at hand, the words soft and enunciated, a nervous laugh behind them, “This isn’t a joke?”

“No!” he cradled the picture, “I think Grell’s the most lovely person I ever met.”

He waited for the butler to burst into laughter.

…and he kept waiting.

He knew more than anyone, neither master nor butler pulled stunts of this caliber.

Ciel grabbed one of the scrolls on the wall and wacked his butler over the head with it.

“Quit playing around! We don’t have time for children’s games!”

“I don’t understand, Young Master,” he rubbed his head (as if that could possibly hurt the demon). “You aren’t insulting Master Grell, are you?”

“No, I’m insulting you, you twat!”

He swiped the picture from him (hurt flared in the butler’s eyes). “You see how the glass is shattered here?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “Who would do a thing like that to such a perfect face?”

“You, you bloody idiot! Don’t you remember?” he smacked his head with the paper again, making it crease, “When Grell gave you that you tossed it into the drawer and said you ‘wanted to see him at no times.’”

“Me?” he snatched the picture back, holding it tight to his chest. “No, I would never!” he said like Grell was the purest little ray of sunshine, and Ciel said he’d kicked a puppy yesterday.

“No, what you would never, is return said…” he cleared his throat and didn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t understand, Young Master. Here I am, bearing my heart. Why must you squash it?”

His eye twitched. “To remind you you don’t have a heart!”

“I—”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” he slammed his hands on the desk, “There’s no way this can be real!” he slumped onto the desk and ran his hand through his hair, looking more deranged than the one who was actually delirious, “Why, in all that is—How—Why would you ever—?!”

“Be careful, Young Master, don’t let that anger fester; it’s bad for your health.”

And it dawned on him.

He slammed his palm into his forehead.

The punch at the party—it was so obvious. Undertaker had even told him it didn’t contain alcohol.

“Young Master, are you saying our love is not real? Are you insulting master Grell?” his voice became a sickening tone.

Ciel now fully understood the situation: Sebastian, having been given a love-potion—(turns out they did work on him…or, even if they didn’t, maybe Undertaker made some extra-potent, mutant variety that did)—and Grell being the first person he saw (or heard) after taking it, fully believed Grell to be his one-true-love.

And as he watched a shadow (much bigger than the demon’s human shape) spread across the floor, he realized he believed it enough to attack anyone who stood against said love. Even his master.

The young earl knocked into desks as he scrambled way, his outward attitude towards the situation performing a 180:

“Uh, no no! No, no, no! I believe you!” he grabbed his bag, “There’s nothing weird or horrifying about you being in love with Grell at all. I just was a little…mmmm surprised!” his voice went up an octave. He shoved a desk into the space between them, “That’s all?! I’ll…I’ll just be going, now! You uh…you go back to…what you were doing!” he gave him a thumbs up (something he’d never done in his life) as dashed out the door.

After getting some ways down the hall, he doubled over, breath sharp and fast, piercing his side, his thoughts whirring around.

He’d wanted to mess with Sebastian, but he, first of all, hadn’t thought it would work, and second of all, hadn’t meant to mess with him this much—especially not in a way that affected him. This wasn’t fun or funny, this was just…gross. And now he had to fix it, when, had he left the situation alone and not given Sebastian the punch in the first place, he’d have his demon butler to help him, and the predicament would probably be solved in less than a day.

Now when he saw the students making out, or walking around dazed, he understood the full ramifications of Undertaker’s little stunt.

Speaking of which…

He heightened his pace until he was rushing through the halls, speeding past dreamy eyes, and cuddly couples.

Everyone, everyone had been at that party. Not only had the whole school been at that party, the punch was one of the few things available for the sweaty and thirsty dancers to drink. Even the sulking folks, who didn't intend to dance, surely wouldn't have had a problem grabbing a snack or two, and, well, a cup of punch to go with it. Now instead of one night of suffering in a lovebird’s playground, the whole school could be set to pop music. And, like the villain in a fairy tale, it was his job to break apart the happy couples.

And his first order of business was to find the mastermind who put them together.

Undertaker performed many of the odd jobs around, and often made it a job to make things odd (but Ciel of course knew that his primary function was probably to make dead bodies disappear discreetly). He and Peeves were overly chummy, and their pranks could sometimes be unbearable…but neither had ever attempted something of this magnitude before.

He was close to Filch’s corridor—

When the bell rang.

In the pandemonium he had forgotten today was still a normal school day.

“Sebast—” he began, hoping for an easy way not to be late, but remembered that his butler was …otherwise occupied. He grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and hurtled towards the transfiguration classroom.

*****

“Mister Phantomhive!” snapped a clipped voice as he swung open the door, gasping for breath. “I thank you not to be late! And while you’re at it, not to disrupt my class while in session!”

“Sorry—” he clutched at his side, “Professor— McGonagall.”

“Usually,” she ran her fingers along her wand, stretching out the word, “I would give you detention. However, as it seems you are not the only one…out of sorts this morning” she drummed her fingers on the podium, giving Ciel a moment to look around the room—There were always a few latecomers, especially during first period, but the number of empty chairs rivaled the number of students present—“I will let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you,” he coughed—“Professor.”—And slumped at his desk like an old sock.

Thankfully not everyone had been affected by the spiked punch. Certain kids in class had that far-off look in their eyes, and a few even kissed in class (they were definitely sent to detention, though, of course, nothing much mattered to them but their newfound love). There were also teachers who had starry looks, and instead of giving them genuine lessons, muttered trite words about love, like a broken radio that only plays emo songs. There were, however, others who acted just as confused, annoyed and shell-shocked as Ciel at the current predicament. Clearly they had either found something else to drink at the party, simply not drank anything, or escaped the festivities somehow.

McGonagall was clearly among the unaffected, and while he was grateful for a little normalcy, he might have traded her for someone a little more lenient, and liked to see how her disposition changed while under the affects of love.

Throughout the day, he told the few students who were still awake and alive to the world that someone had spiked the punch with a love potion the previous night. This seemed to give them relief that they weren’t going crazy, still, none of them had any idea what to do about it. Love potions weren’t exactly considered an important course in potions class, especially not with a teacher like Snape—(in fact, a certain Ravenclaw had asked how to make a love potion in class on Valentine’s Day, and later Ciel saw that Ravenclaw mysteriously lost ten points). Some worried for their friends, while others eyes lit with an impish glint at the realization that—as long as they didn’t insult their ‘true love’— they could do anything to mess with their friends.

He had to give Undertaker at least a little credit: that day was one of the most memorable in his entire time at Hogwarts:

During transfiguration, on multiple separate occasions, students, instead of transfiguring their hamsters into dominoes, transfigured them into rings, and flowers used to profess their love, or even propose to Professor McGonagall herself. She only looked down her nose, and demanded where this talent had been the entire semester, and wracked up a body count of detention-bound students.

In Herbology, while not nearly as exciting as others, Professor Sprout went on and on about how amazing Neville was—(whenever he passed him in the hallway that day Neville looked as red as plants they tended to...He probably hadn’t had much of anyone else to talk to at the party).

If Divination wasn’t enough already, Trelawney made them look into their futures and see their potential for romance (…it was hard to tell if she was under the spell or not), and it was both worth noting, and a source of personal pride that she looked into Ciel’s and saw lots and lots of hate.

And best of all, during potions, which was his last class of the day, Snape looked like he was ready to kill someone…and got close when Lockhart burst in and proclaimed that he simply couldn’t take it anymore, that they were made for each other. (Out of all the the crazy, embarrassing things that happened that day, this was the one Ciel guessed would be the most difficult for either of them to live down).

Hilarious confessions aside, Ciel was relieved to find that the potions master was at least trying to counteract the curse himself, by having them make antidotes and anti-love potions, and drink them (allegedly, lots of students refused to drink them in earlier classes, so he had to forgo their Latin name and call them “Happy Sunshine Potions,” which was quite possibly the best string of words he’d ever heard Snape say, and the unaffected students looked like chipmunks holding in their laughter in when hearing it). Although this was another teacher Ciel would have liked to see under the affects, he was guessing the net worth of breaking the curse would be far greater.

However, as far as he could tell, currently, Snape’s attempts to douse the proverbial fire were ineffective. (Yet another reason to think Undertaker’s love potion was some mutant version).

At each break he had, Ciel attempted to find Undertaker—(Except at lunch, when everyone was screaming that Draco was running around, and in increasingly boisterous and/or risqué methods, trying to declare his love for Ron Weasley. While Harry and Ron were also running around, either avoiding him at all costs, or messing with him. It was, first of all, difficult to get around the crowd, and, second of all, not something to miss.)—But Undertaker had an ongoing disappearing act that had nothing to do with magic. The one thing Ciel knew, was that the old coot couldn’t have left; he’d want to see every glorious minute of the chaos he wrought, so Ciel wasn’t giving up on finding him.

After school, hungry, tired, and desperate (especially after a run-in with Peeves, through which he earned the ex-reaper’s location, but also a cluster of lipstick marks on his face) he finally found Undertaker back in the Divination Classroom (of course he just had to pick one of the tallest, most tiring towers to climb). The room was cold, and Trelawney was nowhere in sight.

The pretty, setting sky over the frosty roof outside didn’t provide an iota of solace.

Ciel rolled up his sleeves, his anger a newfound immunity to the cold, and, with fingers curled into fists, marched up to him.

“You.”

The Undertaker, resting against the windowsill, turned to the seething boy, grinned, and spoke as if this was no more than an ordinary meeting.

“My, Young Earl, looks like you’ve been getting busy.”

“Wh—?!” he remembered the marks on his face and rubbed them off on his sleeve as Undertaker cackled.

“You seem awfully upset about something,” Undertaker continued, “Don’t want to let it fester—as your butler would say.”

“You spiked the punch with a love potion.” The boy growled.

“Did I?” he put a finger on his chin as if thinking, “I can’t seem to recall.”

Ciel’s brow twitched. “You bloody well know you did, I watched you. Now tell me how to undo it.”

“How do undo it, you say? And why would we want to do a thing like that?”

“I am in no mood for your games.”

Undertaker shrugged. “‘Fraid I can’t help you then. You know the rules; no payment, no information.”

“The whole school is a joke! That’s your payment!”

He contemplated it. “Sure you wouldn’t like to give an old man a good chuckle?”

“I’m certain.”

He sighed. “I suppose you got me there. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t quite got to the whole undoing it part.” He twirled his hand in the air like the ringmaster in this show.

Ciel blinked, emotion flickering as he spluttered, “How can…? But you—? I—? What?!”

He laughed, and the Undertaker’s nonchalance and disregard made anger jumpstart his tongue.

“You made it, didn’t you?” he kept his voice low, and his hand on the wand in his pocket, marching forward, “You can at least tell me how you made it. Then maybe I can unmake it.”

Undertaker tapped his chin, as if knocking around the marbles in his skull, “Don’t much feel like it.”

“You don’t feel like it?! Listen here—!”

He no sooner pulled out his wand than it was in Undertaker’s hand. He hadn’t even noticed Undertaker draw his own wand.

Undertaker ruffled his hair as he walked by, dropping the boy’s wand back into his pocket, “Part of the fun is figuring it out for yourself, Young Earl. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

He headed down the stairs, leaving Ciel standing alone, angry breaths steaming up the chilly classroom.

*****

When Ciel trudged back to his dorm, all the energy he had used to run around that day had given up the ghost. He barely noticed the smooching and starstruck kids in the hallways anymore, and didn’t have the energy to send even a derisive snort their way.

Sebastian was supposed to be the one running around trying to find answers. These menial tasks were beneath him. Hard work, and running around, looking for answers, was no suit for a fourteen-year-old boy to wear. Oh, Ciel would devise a particularly difficult and useless task for his butler to accomplish once he—or someone—finally broke the curse.

Caught up in thoughts of needless revenge, he ran into someone in the hallway, sending both their books to the floor.

“Sorry!” The boy called.

As they both crouched down to pick up their fallen items, Ciel looked up to see unruly black hair, crooked glasses, and lightning-struck forehead.

“Harry Potter.”

“Yeah…?”

“Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Ciel Phantomhive.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiled, taking his hand.

“Likewise—er, sorry about your books.”

"It's alright. I seem to have some bad luck with that lately! At least ink didn't spill all over everything this time."

"That happened?"

"Yeah...It happened yesterday actually."

"Oh, that sounds awful."

"Nothing a little magic couldn't fix," he shrugged.

They both returned to their task.

“It looks like you haven’t been…love-ified,” Harry noted.

“You seem to have your wits about you as well.”

“Lucky us…Draco wasn’t so lucky though,” he laughed. “I heard someone spiked the punch at Lockhart’s Valentine’s day ball.”

“I heard that too.”

“A perfect end to the night, huh?”

“Hehe…yeah…”

Ciel turned to the next book, about to hand it to Harry.

Here’s the thing, about dark magic.

It has this sort of…pull. The more you use it, the more sway it has on you.

A pure soul looks at a dark object and feels uneasy, but doesn’t know why.

Someone who has participated in the dark before, let it creep in and corrode the soul, is attuned to the darkness. Like a resonant frequency, a humming in the back of their mind, putting them on the same wavelength, (and if they listen too long, they might shatter). They may not always know what it is, or does, and sometimes they wont recognize why something has this aura, but they will know that an object is not just that, in as much as darkness is not just the absence of the light.

Ciel Phantomhive was no ordinary student. While he may have learned from the teachers at Hogwarts, the reason he was here was at the request of the Queen, not for learning, and his most informative teacher, was Sebastian. Before they arrived at Hogwarts, Sebastian, going above and beyond as always, made sure he knew more spells than half the students in his year. More importantly, however, fear of the dark had long left them both. Knowing dark magic, they surmised, would put them ahead of their enemies (not to mention their friends...well, if you could call them friends), and could be a powerful trump card were the situation to call for it.

When Ciel looked at this diary everything slowed. Like in a movie, when you can hear your heartbeat, and the camera zooms in. From the moment he saw it he knew it would be both silly and dangerous to think it was merely a diary. One may pour their soul into the words dear diary, but the Something that lurked beneath it’s pages was far more than the heartfelt and trivial adages of teenage boys and girls. There was something living in those pages.

He knew it was alive. Unlike other dark artifacts, which gave off a hint, a whisper of more-than-I-seem, this was more than a whiff of untapped potential, or forbidden mystery; the resonant darkness, rather than a faint, inanimate hum, was a Horror singing old-fashioned lullabies to himself in the darkest corners of the pages.

Ciel was tired. Tired of running around, tired of searching for a cure, tired of doing all the work himself. He wanted an easy way out. That’s how he’d always been. People who like to take the long way ‘round don’t make contracts with demons.

So, in a moment of weakness…

…or a moment of strength

He slipped the diary into his own bag.

*****

That night, despite being interested enough in the book to steal it, he hadn’t had any energy to begin figuring out what that darkness was, meant, or could do. Nor did he have any energy to spend on figuring out the antidote to the plague himself. In fact, he had had so little regard for either, that he ignored the dumb looks of his roommates, slipped the diary into the chest at the foot of his bed, flopped facedown on top of his covers (screaming into his pillows for good measure), and went to sleep.

The next morning wasn’t much better. He woke up with a splitting headache, the love-zombies were still up to their shenanigans—(he half hoped it would end in the morning)—and when he tentatively checked on Sebastian, the demon had traveled further down the Grell-obsessed rabbit hole than before.

When Ciel entered the teacher’s lounge (it had taken a moment to find him) the smell of flowers smacked him full in the face. Unlike some of the teachers present, Ciel was unimpressed, and quite honestly queasy, to see that he had moved on from admiring the picture of his affection, to creating his own; or rather than a picture, a bust made of flowers of none other than his…erm lady-love, Grell.

Just like Sebastian, he was attentive to detail; only the freshest of flowers for his beloved, and each component of Grell’s complexion was a different flower: the coat was made of red Amaryllis’, the vest, brown orchids, the shirt, white hydrangeas, the face was pale dahlias, the eyes were green carnations, and the hair was, of course, roses. He wondered if Sebastian went far to find all of them, though knowing him he probably ran to the finest flower shop in Paris at 1:00AM that morning for them and was back before anyone could wonder where he’d gone.

Yes, quite far gone. But not far enough to forget the ‘offense’ Ciel had caused to his new master the day before.

Or perhaps Ciel had caused him new offense by blurting out “What the devil is this?!” upon seeing his labor-of-love.

If it was good idea in general for the public not to talk to the young earl, today, it was an inescapable rule: if people didn’t give him a wide berth, they learned quickly he was not in the mood for human (or reaper, or demon) interaction.

Wasting his time before class on pointless attempts to slap the delusion out of his butler was idiotic. So he headed to the library to actually try and make some progress, and picked up a book on love potions—(Madam Pince was too busy writing love poems to scold kids like him for going into the restricted section. Knowing this was a rare opportunity, he grabbed several more books he’d had his eyes on while he was there.)—with the intent to read up on counter curses every spare minute he got, not excluding during certain classes overtaken by horny teachers.

More students were missing from classes today, and those who weren’t were either more randy than before, or losing patience and brain cells every second they were around those afflicted. The teachers who were still in possession of their faculties—namely McGonagall, Snape, Vector, and Flitwick, (Madam Pomfrey was too, but she wasn’t present)—made an announcement at lunch, in front of their dreamy-eyed headmaster, that they were trying their best to find a solution to the problem presently.

While it was comforting to hear they weren’t sitting on their asses, and it would save him a hell of a lot of trouble if they did solve it, he didn’t expect they’d figure it out anytime soon. If Snape couldn’t figure it out on his own, he wasn’t sure they would have much luck, even together. Even if he had had faith in them, he wouldn’t have stopped his own research. He and Sebastian always did it their way, this was personality, not practice—(he’d learned from a young age he couldn’t rely on anyone else)—and a setback, even one that kept his butler from his work, wasn’t going to stop him.

It was during a disappointing lunch that he saw a flash of red in the doorway to the great hall. At first he thought nothing of it—it was probably a banner some kid made to impress their one-true-love, or a bunch of heart-shaped balloons, or a leftover decoration—it didn’t matter, he was going to try his best to eat, and read, in peace.

Until the ‘banner’ came inside to steal his food.

When he finally realized who it was, he practically screamed;

“Grell!”

“That’s my name darling, don’t to wear it out,” he blew a kiss, sitting up on the table.

“Love potions, huh?” in his horror, Ciel hadn’t even noticed Ronald had stolen the book (as well as a sandwich).

“Ooh!” Grell called, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “Is somebody looking to trick some poor soul into loving him?”

“No! No, in fact I’m trying to un-romance someone, thank you very much.” He stood.

“That shouldn’t be too hard…for you.”

Ciel rolled his eyes.

“So, not that crushing the dreams of others isn’t in your repertoire, why do you want to do that?”

“It may be difficult for you to understand, but some of us don’t look for romance in every guy they meet,” he stole the book back from Ronald (who was starting to to look too interested for the young earl’s comfort.)

“Now that’s just rude,” Grell folded his arms over his chest and put his chin in his hand. “But, I’ll choose to ignore your impotence,” he turned, becoming more animated, “because you’re in charge of my Sebas-chan. Speaking of love,” he said the word like it was fine caramel, “where is my precious Sebas-chan?” he looked around, casting his eyes towards the blank spaces at staff table.

“He’s—”

Before the sentence could fall on his tongue, the words snagged on the mental image of Grell and Sebastian canoodling like schoolboys.

“NO!”

That caught their attention.

“I mean uh—” he coughed, “No…He’s uhh…I…”

He could barely think with these images making him sick to his stomach. He set down what was left of the lunch he was no longer hungry for, trying to shove his brain into the mode where it could formulate a cunning plan.

“Well? Spit it out, boy! We haven’t got all day! Some of us have plans. I, for one, have a hair appointment this afternoon,” he fluffed his crimson locks.

“You know what?” Ciel chose a more confrontational approach. “I don’t have to tell you where Sebastian is.”

“You don’t have to, darling, you should want to.”

“No. You know what? I don’t want to. And you know why I don’t want to?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He had to think of something fast. Something clever. A good excuse.

“Why don’t you ever want to spend time with me?” he slammed the book on the table.

So much for that.

“Huh?” Grell, Ronald—(and Ciel’s own brain)—responded upon hearing the words.

“Yeah. You heard me.” It wasn’t the best plan—hell, it wasn’t even a good plan—but Ciel was committed at this point, and came up with a plot fiercely in his mind, “That’s right. It’s always ‘Sebastian this’, ‘Sebastian that’, but what about me?!”

“What about you, brat? You’ve never shown any interest in me. What happened to ‘we’re definitely not friends?’” he mocked his voice.

“….That’s what I say to my true friends.” They definitely weren’t convinced, so he added, “I’m only nice to my fake friends.” (Ronald lifted his head like a dog being told he was a good boy all along).

“Regardless if you’re telling the truth—which, I don’t believe you are—what makes you think I’ll give you the key to my heart now, after you threw away your chances? That’s no way to treat a lady!”

“I…I never had the chance to,” he looked away and hugged himself, trying to look pitiful, “what with you fawning over Sebas…chan,”—it made him sick to speak the nickname, but not as sick as he would feel if they found each other— “you never even pay me any mind.”

“What’s there to pay mind to?”

Ciel bit his tongue, and tried not to let that get to him, reminding himself everything could and would be far worse.

“Hey, hey!” Ronald stepped in the middle, noticing the rising tension of the scene, “There’s a simple solution after all; why don’t you and Mr. Sutcliff go for a walk today? That’s not too much to ask, right?” he turned to Grell, “You’ll still have time to see Sebas-chan before your appointment.”

“I suppose,” Grell bit his nails, ruining his manicure—which he quickly realized, and petted them as if to say ‘forgive me!’ “But I’d better get some quality time with my Sebas-chan!”

“Does that sound alright with you, Mr. Phantomhive?”

The thought of spending any amount of quality time with the reaper was repugnant. But not more repugnant than certain other thoughts and predictions his brain was happy to provide.

“Yes, that sounds just fine.”

“Then let’s get this overwith,” Grell stepped dramatically off the table, twirling his high-heeled shoes in the air.

Ciel’s thoughts exactly.

But there was something he had to do first.

“Erm, Ronald, would you mind doing something for me while we’re on our walk?”

Grell put his hands on his hips, suspicion and curiosity in his eyes.

“Uhh sure—I mean, that depends on what it is”

He pulled Ronald aside, towards the wall, out of earshot of the red-haired reaper.

“I just need to buy some time,” he whispered, “Will you please get Sebastian out of the teacher’s lounge for me.”

“Um…” he glanced between the two of them. “I suppose I could. May I ask why?”

“No you may not.” When Ronald seemed less than happy with this response, he added, “I can pay you back. Money, sandwiches…whatever you want.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he grinned.

“Alright, Grell,” he cleared his throat, “it appears as though you and I will be going for a nice walk together.”

“‘Nice’ would be pushing it.” Grell muttered.

Ciel couldn’t agree more.

*****

The scene reminded him too much of a Thomas Kinkade painting; the snow covered trees and grounds, the faint chirping of birds, the pitter of small animals in the snow, the patter of kids playing, as well as more than a few romantic escapades displayed for all the world to see—like everything else in this sugarcoated nightmare, it was so sweet and was sickening. Ciel spent great lengths trying to avoid the mystic hellscape that was ‘outside,’ and whenever he found himself forced into its grasp, he remembered why.

Well, he supposed it wouldn’t have been so bad…if it weren’t for the blithering idiot beside him.

“Yeesh… love really is in the air around Valentine’s day.” Grell commented in the direction of the kids kissing by the frozen river.

“Oh? I thought romance was…your thing.”

“When I’m involved! Not these ragamuffins slobbering all over each other,” he shuddered.

They spent a while in awkward silence, before Grell spoke, “So, what do I have to do to get you off my back, Brat?”

“Ohh just spend a little quality time with me,” Ciel sang, putting his hands behind his back and stepping in front of Grell like a mischievous schoolboy. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Grell looked away. “I better be Carlos’ last customer today; my hair’s going to be a mess by the end of this.”

Ciel laughed fakely.

“So…” Ciel tried to think of something to talk about, “tell me about Carlos. Is he…cute?”

“Oh come on!” Grell stomped in front of him, “You can’t possibly mean any of this! You’ve never shown any amount of interest in me. I may be prone to fantasy, but I’m no fool!” he crossed his arms and looked away, then his green eyes trailed to him suspiciously, “What are you plotting?”

“Plotting?” Ciel laughed again, “Why so sinister?”

“Oh things are always sinister when Sebas-chan is involved,” he said ‘sinister’ like a radio announcer telling you that sinister is what you want, “usually it sends tingles down my spine! But this is just…” he looked down at the earl, his lip curling in distaste, “freaky.”

Ciel tried to ignore the fact that they were on the same brainwave today.

But he could see that he wasn’t going to fool him for long if he didn’t do something.

“Well…” Instead of formulating a suitable answer, he subtly pulled his wand from his robe pocket sliding it behind his back, and cast a little nonverbal spell that sent a snowball hurtling at the back of Grell’s head.

“Hey!” Grell spun around to two kids playing on the bank. “Which one of you imbeciles did that?! Haven’t I suffered enough?” he held up a split end of his hair.

The kids glanced at each other, confused.

“Now Carlos will have to give me the extra treatment to cover this!” he took a strand of hair and petted it.

Ciel smirked.

Messing with the reaper seemed both more effective, and more enjoyable, than chatting, so whenever a risky topic came up, he had a little extra fun avoiding the subject (goodness knows he needed it)—until enough time had passed that, if Ronald had done his job, Sebastian would be out of the teachers’ lounge, and they headed back into the school.

“Sebastian’s right around the corner.”

“He better be, Brat, after the hell-walk you took me on.” Ciel tried not to laugh when he looked at Grell—the sticks in his frazzled hair, the smeared mascara and lipstick, the muddy clothes (he had eventually stopped trying to protect or fix his appearance).

Ciel gave the fake laugh again, opening the door.

Despite requests and expectations, Sebastian was right around the corner.

There the demon remained (apparently he had been there all day) with a finished bust of the reaper sparkling beside him, not to mention a few more, smaller art pieces of the Redhead in different poses of increasing erotica.

Ciel felt all the anger that had been briefly soothed by messing with Grell re-entering his body with ferocity.

Why hadn’t Ronald removed him from this place like he asked? All he asked for was one simple thing, and he couldn’t even do that. Well, maybe it was his own fault he had put his trust in someone so incompetent as Ronald. Whoever’s fault it was, this encounter, and the memory of it, might just stain his brain forever, and someone was surely going to pay for it.

He turned towards Grell (the real one). Both his eyes and mouth were open wide, focused on the statue of himself, leering down at him with a flirtatious grin.

When the butler emerged from behind it, and saw Grell, he too froze, but in the quiet, reverent way the hot dude does when they see their love in romantic movies.

Ciel wanted to grab one, or both, of them and wrench them away from each other—exorcise the romantic spirits out of them (it’s an odd day when you want to exorcise a demon out of a demon), and maybe wring their necks—but he knew that would be met with more than a little resistance, (and using the Imperius curse in the teacher’s lounge would be more than a little conspicuous), and there was something rather mesmerizing about the scene; like a horror movie you can’t bring yourself to look away from.

Sebastian closed his eyes, giving a small smile before rushing to grab a rather large bouquet (likely made of the leftover flowers) and bowed, presenting them to Grell.

“For you, my darling Mr. Sutcliff.”

Ciel covered his eyes with his hand.

“For…me?” Grell’s words were distant and confused.

Rather than taking them with honors—Ciel saw between his fingers—however, he took a step back.

Sebastian held them higher. “Only you.”

Grell glanced between master and butler, and his hands shook as he took them (then his arms sagged with the weight).

Ciel shut his eyes tight, waiting for hell.

Soon the scene would turn into the amorous novel Grell always dreamed of, and that would be it. They’d find love in each other…or what passed for love when it comes to love potions. Should Ciel leave now and spare his mind the eternal horror? Or should he wait and just make absolutely sure that’s what would happen? Maybe there was some sick part of him that was even curious what would happen.

His patience, however, was rewarded;

“Get away from me you freak!” Grell threw the flowers across the room, and rushed to hide behind Ciel. “What the hell have you done with my precious Sebas-chan?!”

This time it was Ciel’s mouth and eyes that dropped open, staring, dumbstruck, like a bird that had hit a window.

Grell had flirted with Sebastian from the moment he met him (to be fair, he did this with pretty much every attractive guy he came across, still…). There were times when master and butler could use this infatuation to their advantage, but most of the time it was just a gigantic nuisance. Luckily, Sebastian shared Ciel’s distaste for the reaper’s advances, and never returned them. Since it had seemed impossible, before today, Ciel hadn’t had much time to imagine what Grell would do if the butler returned his affection. Not one of the sickening scenarios his mind had provided today had Grell rejecting Sebastian. Grell had always appeared superficial enough that Ciel guessed he wouldn’t care how or why Sebastian returned his feelings, just that he did. The fact that he could tell this was not Sebastian’s normal self made Ciel think slightly higher of the reaper.

But only slightly.

Maybe it should have made sense; it was the flirtation; the game, that Grell enjoyed, more than true romance, and heart. He had said so himself—he was just as disgusted by the teen romances in the courtyard as Ciel. (Though, to be fair, most adults generally found teen romance to be gross).

He couldn’t help but feel a growing pride and satisfaction that he would not have to witness any romance, or worse. That the roles of disgust had now reversed, and Grell could walk a mile in their shoes. Not that he thought Grell would become a better, less annoying person after this.

“I…don’t understand,” Sebastian’s eyes were full of welling hurt. He stood, staring at the discarded bouquet (which had all but exploded on the wall), “I’ve done everything for you…” he gestured around the room, “I thought this is what you wanted.” He looked at Grell like a puppy who had been thrown from a warm and loving upper-class home, out into the streets of London. He pulled out the picture he had barely stopped staring at since the other day, “Remember?” he held it up, “You said you would always be with me.”

Grell seemed torn, almost like Sebastian’s puppy-like disappointment drew his pity, but he backed away further, (still holding on to Ciel, almost making him fall backwards).

“What is this?!” he pointed, “Some kind of sick prank?! I want my sexy, coy Sebas-chan, back! Not this coddling fool!”

Ciel had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. This was too rich.

Sebastian looked at the ground, sadness, anger, rejection flaring in his eyes. Ciel would have liked to stay and enjoy Grell’s blubbering a little more, but he could see a demon-sized tantrum coming a mile away.

He didn’t make it a practice to touch pests like Grell, but in this case, he didn’t have much choice; he grabbed Grell and pulled him out the door, dragging him down the hall.

“What the hell is going on?!” Grell ripped his hand from the boy’s grasp and blocked his way, “Who was that idiot?!”

Ciel could barely breathe from laughing.

Grell blinked at him, then anger flared in his eyes again. Before he could catch his breath, Grell grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him, “What have you done with my Sebas-chan, you little Punk?!”

This made him regain composure quickly. He brushed his hands away and explained, “You remember the Valentine’s ball Lockhart threw?”

“Of course. My Sebas-chan was looking particularly dashing that night,” he blinked dreamily, then his expression changed as he remembered he had just seen Sebastian, and he was not so dashing today as previously advertised. “What did you do to him?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he half-lied, “Undertaker was the one who spiked the punch with a love potion.”

“Undertaker’s the cause of this?! He took my Sebas-chan from me?! Oh that sexy bastard hasn’t seen the last of me!” he started to march past the earl.

Ciel blocked Grell’s way. “I already talked to him. He didn’t have the antidote.”

“Well maybe he just needs a little roughing up!” he rolled up his sleeves and tried again to go around him.

“You really think a man who takes pleasure in ruining other people’s lives will help us fix this?” he said to his back.

Grell stopped, turned around, “Well you would know wouldn’t you?!” He looked away, biting his lip. “You put him back then!” he shoved his chest.

“Why do you think I was reading that book about love potions?!”

That quieted his rage slightly.

In that moment, a certain student walked by, though not one of Hogwarts. He was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and didn’t even see them.

Levicorpus! Ciel cast, and the girls’ gasped as Ronald was hoisted into the air by his ankle, his clothes hanging off him (showing off his stomach, and a bit of his underwear—the girls’ blushed and giggled).

“Whoa, whoa! What’s this—?! Oh…” the young reaper blinked upon seeing Ciel, recalling the task the earl had given him, and he rubbed the back of his head giving a mock-sheepish smile, “Hehe.”

Ciel tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Would you care to offer an explanation?”

Now that he knew Grell had no intentions or returning Sebastian’s artificial affection, the fact that Ronald hadn’t accomplished the task wasn’t nearly as big of a deal, but it could have easily been catastrophic, the anger was still there—someone had to pay, after all—and letting those who disobeyed him off, without even a decent scolding, was a bad precedent.

“I’m sorry, Earl, but these girls…they just kept coming up to me! There must be something in the air today!” he held out his hands as if to say you really think I was going to turn them away?

Ciel rubbed his temple, muttering, “Nope it was in the punch.” He sighed, taking a step forward like a predator. “I’m going to let you off this time, but believe me, I won’t be making that mistake again.”

“Come on, it was an honest mistake!”

“And an honest—”

“Mister Phantomhive!” a deep voice rang out across the hallway.

Ciel winced.

“…Professor Snape.”

His footsteps were a judgment toll.

“Care to release Mister…?” he looked at Ronald quizzically, realizing he didn’t recognize him.

“Knox,” the reaper offered.

“Knox.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ciel murmured.

Liberacorpus he cast, nonverbally, and the reaper spun in the air until he was set upright again.

Strictly speaking, they weren’t allowed to do magic outside class, and the curse on the school evidently hadn’t made the potions master forgo any of the traditional rules.

“I’d like to know who you two are, and what you’re doing at Hogwarts.” Ciel felt a little smug thinking of the potential trouble they could get into….until Snape turned “As for you, Mr. Phantomhive…”

“Yes, Professor?” he said politely, as if his politeness could suddenly change his heart and get him a less-harsh punishment.

“Detention.”

“…Yes, Professor.”

Ciel glanced at Grell, who had crossed his arms and whose look said it’s-what-you-deserve.

“Well!” Grell broke the tension. “We can certainly explain who we are and what we are doing here…at a later date. As of now, I have an increasingly important appointment to get to—Good Professor, I’m so sorry you had to see me like this, I promise wont look this bad when when we next meet!” he bowed low, “Come along, Ronald!”

“Yes, Mr. Sutcliff!” He blew a kiss towards the girls.

“This isn’t over” Grell whispered in Ciel’s ear as he skipped by.

“Nothing ever is with you, is it?” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing, just excited for my detention!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, perhaps wondering if Ciel was under the spell after all.

*****

Ciel didn’t even go to class that afternoon, as it was double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Once again he returned to his dorm, and flopped onto his bed. He had only made it halfway through the day this time, and he was already drained. After some time resting (though his mind raced too much to actually take a nap), he finished skimming through the book on love potions. In the end, the only help it gave was a comprehensive list of the usual ingredients in love potions.

As he was putting the book away a diary fell out of the trunk at the foot of his bed. In the fatigue of the evening, and the tumult of the day, he had forgotten about his run-in with Harry yesterday.

He picked it up; the same simple, dusty, empty notebook as before—the simple, dusty notebook that was seething with dark magic. When he opened it to the first page he saw the smudged name T. M. Riddle. He hadn’t thought it was Harry’s in the first place, but was still displeased that the name didn’t sound familiar to him. He wondered if he was a student who dabbled in dark magic. Still, the power it held seemed more than what a mere student could conjure…

Ciel had never been one for feelings and the kind of sentimentality a diary implied, but it couldn’t hurt to try it out. There wasn’t much else to do but write in it. Evidently it wasn’t just a diary.

Setting it down on his desk, he flipped it open to the first blank page, got out his quill, dipped it in the ink, and began to write:

“February 16th

“Two days ago, Undertaker spiked the punch at Lockhart’s god-awful Valentine’s ball with a love potion.

“Now Hogwarts is infested with a swarm of insolent, love-struck zombies, because Undertaker is a—”

As he wrote, the words, instead of staying in place like words should, they were swallowed by the paper. As the earl stared, the ink resurfaced like a serpent beneath water, a reply forming from secondhand ink.

“My, that does sound awful.”

The words disappeared as soon as they came, then reappeared…

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

That October Mood

Rating: G 1,838 words Gen AO3

Courtney wasn’t really in a mood, despite what her mother might say. She was just… antsy. Sure. That’s why she hadn’t been able to sit still all day. Had bounced off the bus, grabbed her gear and headed towards the Brownstone. She’d maybe been a bit surly to her mom and Pat on the way out. Definitely snapped at Mike. But he was her little brother, these things happened.

No, Courtney wasn’t in a mood because how could you be in a mood when you were flying at dazzling speeds across the country. Her curls whipped in the wind and the cosmic staff hummed under her. The weather was clear and clouds fluffy as she made her way to New York. She didn’t even get caught in the passing shower outside Cleveland. So, definitely not in a mood.

Landing on the roof, Courtney headed for the aviary and the elevator. It was a Friday afternoon, even two time zones ahead, so the place was bound to be filling up soon as members of the JSA came for their weekend meetings and trainings. She just had to find someone to talk to because despite the flight Courtney was still in her not mood. Which was getting worse as she waited for the elevator, the birds swooping overhead reminding her of the fact Kendra had left. Moved out and joined the League. And how Courtney missed her.

But it was fine, everything would be fine. She’d just find someone else or – and though she kicked herself for thinking this – there’d be some catastrophe and Courtney could expel this whatever it was with some punches and shooting stars. Except the halls were weirdly quiet. Almost eerily quiet. There was chatter from the lab as she passed and mention of Ted being down in the gym but that didn’t pique her interest. She headed for Jakeem’s room, only to see the door was still closed meaning he wasn’t here. Courtney grumbled and went in search of Maxine and remembered that she was at rehearsal until well after dinner. Pivoting, Courtney headed back for her own room and silently cursed Billy for having quit.

The not mood maybe be boiling into an actual mood. Which sucked.

Courtney threw herself on her bed, letting the staff bounce beside her and her backpack fall to the floor. She wasn’t going to wallow. If Courtney allowed herself to wallow then she really would be in a mood. She sat up and considered her options. There was clearly no point in disturbing the Brownstone’s other occupants but she needed to do something otherwise Courtney might just burst.

A thought struck her and Courtney pulled her phone out of her bag. She could always call Jack. Since giving her the staff he’d wiped his hands of heroing but delighted in hearing her adventures. Though he usually hid it behind liberal amounts sarcasm and lots of “Ohmygod, kid you’re going to kill yourself”s. In her heart, Courtney knew he loved it. Except, calling Jack meant he’d also want to chatter and it’d probably be about his kids, who were adorable, but Courtney dealt with enough smelly diapers from her little sister and she didn’t really want to hear about them from Jack. He was just as likely to go on at her about potty training as about old records anymore. Loathe as she was to admit it, Courtney would much rather hear about the records. She actually liked swing music. A lot. Not that she’d tell anyone. She blamed all the forties holdouts she found herself surrounded by.

That was it. Courtney wasn’t going to lay here and stew or sour further. Nope. She was getting up and going to find something, anything, to do. Hell, she’d even find Ma Hunkle and offer to clean the bathrooms at this point.

Leaving the staff and her phone on her bed, Courtney headed towards the kitchen. There was the distinct possibility that she was just getting hangry. Besides, eating was something to do. A wind sent her hair falling in front of her face and static electricity tingled down her spine. Jay must have just passed her. She kept walking, except Jay now stood before her.

Unlike Courtney, he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, worn jeans and a polo shirt that really sold his grandfatherly vibe. “Just the girl I was looking for,” he grinned. “Obsidian said you were here early; I’m hoping you might be able to help us out.”

Suddenly everything clicked. No wonder she felt out of sorts and no one was around, Courtney was early! Normally she had a football game to cheer at on a Friday night, except the other school’s coach was in the midst of a scandal and their season had been suspended. Meaning Blue Valley had no one to play against this week and so the game was cancelled. Which meant she missed hanging out with Mary at one of their houses or the diner downtown before getting ready. Courtney also missed the challenge that cheering provided: trusting in her squad to catch her instead of the staff, pushing her own strength and reflexes without the help of the belt as she tumbled and jumped. Pat was always on her about how important balance was, especially for superheroes, and she’d come to really rely on the games to just decompress and reset before the weekend. Be Courtney Whitmore, not Stargirl.

No wonder she was in a mood.

With this realization, Courtney felt the jitters and acid words building in the back of her throat begin to drain away. It was a slow process, but it was something.

Courtney grinned back at Jay. She could help, she definitely could help. “What’s up?”

“You are our resident teenager so Alan, Ma, and I were hoping to pick your brain. Some of the other kids are downstairs already too. You can get changed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Jay said with another smile. Then he was gone.

Standing there Courtney couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the empty air. Jay had asked for her help, not Stargirl’s but Courtney’s. She was in fact going to go put on some jeans and a t-shirt before heading to the kitchen. Her mood was slipping away with each step.

In the kitchen, there was a group of people all clustered around the table. Ma Hunkle bringing a platter of snacks over when Courtney walked in. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about but she had a clear view of Grant and he looked like he was seriously considering getting up, walking to Titans Tower, and asking them to take him back. Though that wasn’t necessarily a bad sign since Grant normally looked like that. Especially with Rick and Jesse flirting at each other from either side of him.

Courtney took the empty chair next to Jay. “What’s up?” She glanced around the table and got the weird sense they’d been waiting for her because the side conversations stopped.

“Well,” Alan started, “the Brownstone always participates in trick-or-treat but we were thinking about doing something else for the teenagers and college kids this year too.”

“And I nixed the haunted house idea already,” Ma added as she slid the platter closer to Courtney. “There’s enough things that could go wrong with the stuff in that museum without the addition of jump-scares.”

Giggling around her carrot stick, Courtney shared a look with Jesse across the table.

“So,” Alan picked back up again, “we thought about hosting a movie night. We figured there was enough space and we certainly have large enough screens.” He smirked at a private joke. Courtney looked to Jay for some sort of explanation but he just seemed to shrug back at her.

“Is there a point to this?” Grant sighed. Though he did pick up a piece of pointedly passed celery.

“We hoped you might have ideas for some movies. Our list so far mainly consists of Hitchcock and Ghostbusters,” Jay broke in with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Grant’s eyes seemed to light up. “You mean like horror movies?”

“We’re open to suggestions,” Alan nodded.

“I’ll make a list,” Grant said excitedly. He was already pushing his chair back and heading for the drawer with the pens and notepads.

“Hocus Pocus is a classic,” Courtney offered. She wasn’t into horror like Grant obviously was, but she did like Halloween movies. “Corpse Bride and Coraline and all those other stop animations are fun.”

“There was one I used to watch when I was a kid,” Rick drummed his fingers on the table. “This girl found out she was a witch-”

“Sabrina the Teenaged Witch is a show, not a movie,” Jesse interrupted.

Rick laughed. “No, not what I was thinking of. She found out she was a witch and snuck off with her siblings after their grandma to this other world.”

“Halloweentown!” Courtney yelled excitedly. “Those are great! There’s four of them, though they changed the actress who played Marnie in the last one. The two Twitches movies are other classic DCOMs.”

Grant brought back his list and laid it on the table. “Here. The Goth movies are really great but the fact he turned out to be a literal demon and a supervillain kinda ruins them.”

Courtney screwed her face up at Grant in the same way she did whenever Mike said something incredibly stupid. Which in her opinion was a lot. “What?”

“Uh, the Titans files have it.” He scratched at the back of his head awkwardly as he sat down again.

“We could run an all-day marathon with these alone,” Jay said as he glanced at the list.

“Why not? A sort of come and go as you please?” Jesse suggested.

“Do some of the darker stuff later with the Disney and like Beetlejuice in the afternoon,” Rick nodded.

“Run Rocky Horror at midnight,” Jesse shared a grin with her husband.

“Oh!” Rick seemed positively thrilled by the idea. “And Lost Boys right before. Great bad movie.”

“Lost Boys?” Courtney turned her skeptical look on Rick.

Rick seemed scandalized. “Only the best vampire movie there is.”

Courtney gave him her most skeptical look.

“No no,” Grant shook his finger towards Rick, “he’s got a point about Lost Boys. Cult classic.”

While Courtney didn’t entirely believe this – The Rocky Horror Picture Show on the other hand sounded like a great idea – she did have to admit the guys’ enthusiasm was fun and infections. “I guess we’ll just have to watch it,” she smirked.

“That’s a great idea, Court,” Jay patted her back. “We could watch a bunch and pick our favorites to narrow it down.”

“Advertise it as the JSA’s favorites too. Be great for marketing,” Jesse nodded.

Ma shook her head, “We better get started then, there’s a lot to get through.”

“I’ll rally the troops then,” Jay was already gone.

Courtney took the initiative to make some popcorn. Her mood really had disappeared. Amazing what the prospect of a movie night did.

[displacedcreativity]

When I was little, I used to love Barney, like most kids in the early 90′s. At one point, I even had a stuffed Barney that was very close to the design of the toy in the show. I knew mine would never come to life, but the extra detail made it feel so magical and for a variety of reasons, it was very sentimental and I loved it dearly. I often played alone so obviously toys and stuffed animals played a big part in my imaginary adventures and this stuffed Barney was no exception.  And then while at preschool. In between arriving and naptime. Someone stole it. And I never saw it again. I was devastated, to say the least.  My grandmother got me a new one, but it wasn’t the same. Literally and figuratively. The new one was wearing a shirt for some odd reason, and it’s mouth was sewn shut and overall it looked very odd. There was no charm, no magic. By second grade, I loathed Barney. Between losing the stuffed toy and having one of the lessons I had learned from the show backfire in a painful way, I wanted nothing more to do with it.  I carried that hate for years, and eventually it turned into a neutral feeling to hardly ever thinking about it. Obviously, I knew all the words to the mean version of the ending song from the show...the “I hate you, you hate me, let’s team up and kill Barney.”  I think that’s still a thing that people start singing when they hit a certain age.  I sang it so much I actually forgot the words to the actual song. Regardless, Barney! Not something I’ve really put much thought into lately. And lately, I’ve been burned out - prior to Covid, though Covid definitely didn’t help. And while burned out I was crushed in all the worst ways possible and if I were the Doctor I would’ve died and struggled to regenerate.  Whatever spark or light I had been holding onto prior to recent events is snuffed out, gone, and it would take an impossible miracle to get it back or at least a similar spark back. Like. That person is *gone* I might as well change my name and face at this point.  Needless to say, my dreams have been various flavors of awful, and while that’s not unusual they’ve definitely ramped up in the awfulness more recently.  Last night was no exception, but the ending took a bit of a turn. I was at a school, like a mix of schools I’ve been to or seen and weird stuff was going on and I’m not sure how old everyone was? Like we were all kids, teenagers and adults all at the same time cause you know. dream logic. But then for a moment, Barney was there. Which is a first, I think. I genuinely don’t remember any dreams with Barney in it before. But. He was there! But then he wasn’t. Turns out the only people who could see him were people who still believed in the power of the Imagination. (Very Hook).  And of course, I stood there in disbelief that I couldn’t see him because  I write and draw characters all the time and imagine things, I love imagining stories and dreaming and this was even MY dream why could I NOT see him? I was kind of insulted and spent the rest of the dream trying to prove to myself and everyone that there was nothing wrong with my imagination.  Except that there was, or, is. As I was saying, that sparks been pretty much gone. The skill to create hasn’t vanished, and when I have the energy I can still make the art and write. But that spark that makes me enjoy what I made or gets the creative juices flowing. That’s gone. It’s all ash, there’s no re-igniting that flame. When I realized that in the dream I was instantly upset because it meant that I’ve failed my inner child, if I even still had one, and myself and everyone there because it meant that I couldn’t see Barney even though I knew he was there. I even went on a rant about how growing up doesn’t equate losing your imagination, losing that spark, and adults aren’t crazy for wanting to play with their imagination as a way to have fun and relax.  But everyone nodded and agreed with me, I hadn’t made any sort of realization I didn’t already know or at least, deeply understand. Like, I was right but it wasn’t what my subconscious was trying to process and deal with. And someone, I don’t know who, asked me if I loved my imagination. As it’s something that has actually plagued me many, many times and well I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve pretty much got 0 self love.  I think I said yes, or that I wanted it back, I’m not entirely sure. But it was this general acceptance that one of my strengths has always been the ability to see the magic in the mundane and to share that magic with others by creating something, be it art or a story or whatever I think is the best medium for the magic. I often squish this down in an attempt to fit in or to not look weird, but.  It doesn’t stop at stories, because I was also thinking how in general I see the potential in things, in people, in stories.  And yeah, that magic can often backfire, and it can hurt, and it can make you feel completely, totally alone when no one else see’s what you do. But that’s what I needed to say. That I can see the magic in the mundane and the potential in every person. Even though I’m burnt out and the spark is gone and I have no real creative juices and no real self love and honestly every year I survive is honestly a surprise and I still can’t promise I’ll make it to 34 for a variety of reasons, (my physical health is rubbish and yadda yadda tomorrow is never guaranteed) but. That’s part of who I am. I see the magic. I see the potential for good, and the potential for bad. And there will be people who will never see what I do, and there will be people who will! And there will be people who don’t see it, but they will believe me - some may see what I do eventually, and there will be those that will never see it even if it’s slapping them in the face and they will take that out on me in negative, awful ways and it will hurt every time. But that’s okay. And it’s okay to be hurt, and it’s okay to lose that spark because the spark is just an energy source. When the batteries die for good you don’t recharge them you throw them out and get new ones! Hell, even dead batteries that are kept in for too long can still explode acid everywhere and eat away at the insides.  So yeah, my batteries are dead, and have exploded acid everywhere, and it will take a long time to pry them out, clean up and repair the damage and get fresh batteries. And it’s always possible that I’ll never make it that far.  But when I realized this, in the dream. Magic from the mundane and the batteries...Barney popped up again. Though more of a strange dream version of Barney this time, and actually to be completely honest I couldn’t see the face because it was taller than me so all I could really see was a colorful torso but REGARDLESS.  I hugged the dream dino and for the first time in YEARS. I remembered the actual lyrics to the ending song from the show. “I love you, you love me. We’re a happy family. With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won’t you say you love me too!” What a thing to forget.  And I realized, that that’s generally my response to when something I love ends up hurting me in someway shape or form. Ever since I was a small child that’s how I learned to react to a lot of my trauma. The logic of...”It can’t hurt me if I hate it.”  Like I’ve known for a while that I’ll avoid something if there’s too much negativity attached to it, and obviously there are lines that will always need to be drawn but. Love won’t always make  you feel good, and that’s okay. But replacing love with hate isn’t always what you should do, and hate with always make you feel like crap.  Anyways, I’m kind of losing my train of thought but ultimately. I woke up feeling... lighter, in a way. There’s still a lot of bad and I’m stull hurting and broken, etc etc etc but I woke up with no hatred for Barney or sour neutrality and generally my feelings for the show (I’m assuming it’s still on) is that I think it’s a great show that encourages kids to be imaginative and to be loving.  And my inability to remember the original lyrics of the song has been replaced with me genuinely struggling to remember the mean lyrics, and I don’t even feel bothered to look them up, because why? Why waste energy I don’t have hating something for unintentionally hurting me, especially when it was something I loved so much and helped me get through other dark, traumatic events that I was exposed to at a very young age? I mean, I’m not about to go out and start buying a whole bunch of Barney merchandise and start watching show, but I can allow myself to enjoy my memories of it from when I was a kid and also forgive myself for hating something just because I was a kid in pain who wanted to protect themselves when no one else would.  This sort of thing is more complicated when it comes to people, but, baring exceptions, it’s okay to love the good memories. It’s okay to still love a place, or a thing, or a food you enjoyed alongside a toxic ex, and it’s okay if you can’t do that.  It’s okay to never want them in your life ever again, and it’s okay to hope that things can heal and mend and the two of you can reconnect in a healthy manner and the second time around is positive and healthy.  It’s okay to grieve a death for as long as you need to, and it’s okay to move on and find love again.

But whenever possible, chose love. Because love will let you know when to change your batteries, hate will make you keep those dead batteries till they explode acid everywhere and corrode you from the inside out because you hate being alone, afraid, or whatever negative thing is eating away at you but I can garuntee it’s not love that’s making you keep the dead batteries, it’s the deep desire to avoid something negative you hate or are afraid of and that’s perfectly understandable and a reasonable response and everyone works at their own paces.  And if you think it will help, write a sticky note that says “change the batteries” or whatever and stick it somewhere you can look whenever you need a reminder. Start with small things! Or don’t! It’s completely up to you! Just whenever you can, remember to chose love, and look for the magic in the mundane and the potential in people. Love can take you everywhere, hate will get you nowhere. 

[honestlyvan]

Some meandering TF-thoughts:

(Crossposted to DW)

So a while ago I was thinking about Earth expat culture for the folks returning to Cybertron after a few decades of being around human people, and a tell that struck me as significant is that a lot of words related to the passing of time and sensory perception would be utterly irrelevant for Cybertron's natives. Like, the word for "the light part of the planetary cycle" probably exists? But it's something that you'd mostly hear, say, opticists or photochemists use, not people who are talking about their schedule. It's not even entirely universal among humans (my native language actually has separate words for day and the-part-of-day-when-there's-daylight) but at the same time, it's convenient enough that most expats would probably just shrug and go "hey, I hung out with a diurnal species for three decades, get off my back." Similarly, the words "rotten" and "rusted" carry... broadly the same connotations, but I've always conceptualised mecha as not strictly speaking having a sense of smell (they have chemoreceptors that double as a sense of smell and a sense of taste, kind of like snakes) so someone saying something "stinks" is a similar tell, as, again, the verb for "emitting volatilised chemicals" does exist, but is similarly broadly a thing only chemists say. Fun enough, there's no reason "rusted" and "rotten" can't invoke similar responses as scents/flavours. Both are chemical processes involving oxides, and rust sticks are a common snack cropping up in fandom, so maybe oxygen compouds have a vaguely "sweet" profile, which gets overpowering and unpleasant depending on the other accompanying chemicals. The odour of rust on "living" metal (i.e. metal involving Energon compounds) could be similarly distinctive as the odour of rotting meat. And while we're on the topic of tastes, my friend @rhpurasu reminded me while we were discussing this that there's no reason mecha can't eat and break down plastic, as it is an oil derivative, and we started joking about mecha on earth snacking on old circuit boards like chips (mecha probably need a bit of iron, but not a ton, so anything petrol based is sort of like anything super salty is to humans), which eventually lead to me realising that soap could also be another potential snack food, seeing as most soaps are just metal salts or mineral oils. They're even conveniently basic, meaning that they could fill the niche of bitter snackfood like cranberries, coffee or salmiakki. This doesn't actually bring me closer to any kind of unified theory of how mecha process flavour, but I think for the purposes of my own writing, oxides being sweet, acids being sour and bases being bitter is plenty. It's also yet another piece on my sensory meta, and I can also link this back to my physiology meta -- corrosive substances are still bad for you, no matter what you are made of -- and I even got some thoughts out of the chemistry of Energon out of it, but that's a post for another time.

[bet-your-ash]

Cotton Candy Conundrum

Cherry Tree: Chapter Four: Cotton Candy Conundrum ~ 1,000 words masterlist | extras | << chap. 3 | chap. 5 >>

“It has no flavor,” Lilac groaned, taking another piece of Ashley’s bubble gum cotton candy anyway. Ashley rolled her eyes, pushing her car into park and taking the stick out of Lilac’s hand. “Yeah,” she said, “it does.” 

“Oh, please,” Lilac sighed. “Bubble gum’s not even a flavor. Technically, it’s pink. The Gold Medal brand started the whole blue and pink thing, you know, and people kinda just went along with it. So yours is actually pink vanilla, which means it’s not only flavorless, but also named in the most unoriginal fashion possible.”

“Okay, first of all,” Ashley argued, “don’t be hating on vanilla - you’re such a big fan of cookie dough ice cream, which is really just glorified vanilla, so don’t even start. And also, originally named or not, mine’s still better than your puke green atrocity.”

Lilac raised an eyebrow. “Ok, I don’t know what you’ve been eating, but puke is not -” 

“Oh, you get my point,” Ashley interrupted. “Besides - no matter what that mess looks like, it tastes like acidic vomit.” Lilac smiled fondly despite herself and murmured, “You’re too dramatic for your own good.” 

“And you’re too sappy,” Ashley said. “We make a good pair.” 

“True that,” Lilac said back. She began to put her feet up on the dash, but Ashley tsked and swatted her legs away. “Absolutely not,” she said sternly. Lilac sighed, mumbling an apology even though she’d known the reprimand was coming before Ashley had said anything. 

They were parked in the lot of the drive-in movie theater, sitting in Ashley’s graduation gift of a bright red convertible Mini Cooper. Ever since she’d gotten it at the beginning of the summer, it had been her pride and joy. Lilac still had the habit of putting her feet up on the dash whenever she could, since Ashley hadn’t given a rat’s ass about her last car (her mom’s Subaru hand-me-down).

They finished off their cotton candy as Jaws started on the screen, and Ashley immediately ripped open her family sized packet of Sour Skittles. Lilac watched her slide a handful into her palm and then into her mouth with mild disgust as she opened her own share sized bag of M&Ms and gently started eating them one at a time. 

Ashley grinned when she caught Lilac staring and tilted the family size packet of Skittles in Lilac’s direction. “Want one?” she asked smugly, already aware of Lilac’s answer. “Those things taste like battery acid,” Lilac huffed, “and I even like most sour stuff.”

“No, you don’t,” Ashley replied. “You think Lemon Tarts are sour, and they’re straight up sweet!” Lilac rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “If I can manage sour apple cotton candy, I’ve gotta have some say in the matter.” 

“Come on, Li, these aren’t that sour - I’ve seen you eat Toxic Waste!”

“Because they mix the sour flavoring with the candy! They don’t just put a huge blast of sour coating on top of the actual candy,” Lilac insisted. Ashley pursed her lips, agreed despite herself, and ate another handful of Skittles. “M&Ms are boring, Sour Skittles are superior, and you’re wrong. 

Lilac scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s just - not even - M&Ms are not boring.” 

“Yeah, they are!” Ashley exclaimed. “They’re, like, all the same flavor but with different color coatings! What’s the point? Like, why can’t they just make them all brown for chocolate? It’s like they’re intentionally misleading you!” 

“Oh, please,” Lilac replied. “When did a pop of color ever hurt anyone?” 

“When -” Ashley huffed, cutting herself off. “Never mind. That’s not the point. The point is that we’re missing the movie, so shut your cake hole.” Lilac grinned, knowing she’d won, and tried to concentrate on the movie. 

It didn’t really work, though, with Ashley being her overly dramatic self and gasping every time something remotely scary happened. And, Lilac couldn’t help but notice, Ashley was creeping closer and closer with every gruesome shark attack. 

“Jesus,” Ashley muttered at one point. “Whoever made this is, like… a genius. It’s somehow terrifying but… gruesomely intriguing at the same time...” Lilac nodded. “Yeah. He actually regretted it, though, the guy who made the book. He was, like, an ocean activist or something, and apparently, the movie just made everybody fear sharks for no reason.” 

Ashley frowned. “Really? So sharks aren’t actually gonna kill me when we go to the beach tomorrow?” she asked, and Lilac raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, no, there are more people killed by cows than sharks a year, but wait - we’re going to the beach tomorrow?” 

“Perhaps,” Ashley said vaguely. “Hey, didn’t your great uncle get -” 

She stopped with a gasp as a sickening crunch echoed through the parking lot. 

“Why did we pick this movie, again?” she whispered when blood tinted water filled the big screen. “Because Connor said you wouldn’t be able to last the whole two hours,” Lilac replied, hiding a smirk. 

Ashley pursed her lips and crossed her arms, feigning nonchalance and leaning away from Lilac, and Lilac immediately regretted answering the way she did. Ashley’s indifference wasn’t quite as impressive as it could have been, because the scene was relatively calm, but the entire facade dropped away when a loud bang sounded throughout the parking lot and Ashley grabbed Lilac’s hand. 

Lilac jolted from the sudden touch, and Ashley blushed. She glanced at Lilac and grinned, squeezing her hand. “Scary,” Ashley said, laughing a bit awkwardly before pulling her hand away. “Yeah,” Lilac whispered.  

Ashley toned down on the dramatics for the rest of the movie, and when the credits rolled, Lilac polished off her M&Ms and glanced over at Ashley, who was smirking at her. “So,” Ashley said lowly, leaning in, “do we have sex now?” 

Lilac paled. She’d fallen asleep. Definitely. This was a dream. An inappropriate one. A very inappropriate dream that she was going to wake up from any minute now. Any second, and she’d wake up, and Ashley would drive them home. 

Another second passed, and she still didn’t wake up. 

“Wha - what?” Lilac stuttered. 

Ashley burst out laughing at Lilac’s scandalized expression and shook her head. “You look like a deer in headlights! Christ, I was joking, Li. Wanna go home or hit the diner for food? I’m kinda hungry…” 

Lilac’s face felt about lit on fire, and she stammered out, “Sure, if - if you want to…” 

“Great!” Ashley chirped. “Let’s go!” 

***

🍒 la fin 🍒

this was fun to write lsdkfjdslf ash is... quite the character!!!! also,,,, cotton candy. anybody have any thoughts? favorite flavors? tell us here! or tell us anything! feedback is always much appreciated :) 

anyway, there’s that! we hope you enjoyed, and we’ll see you Wednesday!

***

<< chap. 3 | chap. 5 >>

[cruelafterglow]

does it burns when i’m not there? (3/3)

pairing: charlie x pansy setting: non magical au, neighbors au wc: 1594 words notes: part 1 and part 2. It’s a wave of feelings and they deserves their happy ending but...they are a mess cuddling on the floor. the end. i will edit later --> tired

Later, he notices the cross hanging between her two breasts. It’s in silver, and almost too tiny for him to see it, but it’s there.

“I don’t believe in god”

“you’re like some hippy crap, aren’t you?”

She hurts but it’s like a game, she bites the tender skin below his jaw and sucks it just hard enough to let a proud purple mark.

“The best kind!” he declares. “Do you want to talk about it?”

They are weirdly cuddling, even if it’s not exactly cuddle because his bed is really messy, his couch is really shitty and not big enough for the two of them, and her apartment is private for god’s sake.

So, they are on the floor, barely clothed, all legs and arms and grins and oh god it’s her neighbor with a too huge family, and it’s her, messed up and working in an office by day, stretching up her workhours so she hasn’t to come home.

“Talk about what? We are talking obviously but do you have anything else in mind? Something like naughty talking maybe?”

She is a little bit in hurry, a little bit panicked and she answers too quickly. She knows why she behaves like she does. And he does too.

So, she tries to distract him, she grabs his lips in a poisoned kiss, in a lethal one that could lose him into oblivion but he doesn’t let go.

It’s at this moment that she connects the dots between him and his family, loving and loud and vivid like a wildfire a little bit out of control and –

He doesn’t let go

And she thinks about how much she was like him before. Before. Before. She thinks about how she was nasty and mean and a true smart devil, and not just mean to fill an empty soul with something hard and suffocating so there is no place for who she was before. Before. She thinks as she kisses, and bites his lower lips, swirling his tongue around hers and kisses and kisses and kisses and –

He doesn’t let go.

He breaks the kiss. She would be almost begging for more, her mouth tending towards the warmness and the simplicity of physical contact. Their foreheads are touching. She hates the fact that he wants to maintain intimacy.

Like they were some sort of couple. Like if he wanted to comfort her, instead of ripping her heart and her shell like a band-aid (with colorful animals on it because she would bet on Charlie’s Weasley goofiness.)

He doesn’t let go and it burns like hell.

“Why are you sleeping with so many guys, Pansy? I see them, when they leave. They are miserable.”

She wonders if he’s angry that she will leave him in the same state. Afterwards. The truth is, she doesn’t know.

Her hands are shaking. She slides them under his shirt. He doesn’t weaken.

Neither does she.

“Be more respectful, Weasley. I must remind you that since you fucked me in your shower, you’re one of these guys. As you can predict, everyone spend a good time with.”

“They must spend a good time since they must not be having a lot of other good times, but have you? Have you a good time when you fuck them, to not even get out of your bed when they leave?”

“You want to know, Weasley? You want to know everything, Weasley?” she whispers with a low tone, a dangerous tone, an old one like an ember not quite dead yet. “I have fun like never with them! I have sex and I have sex and they would do anything to pleasure me and I love that because it’s easy and simple! It’s just great sex and it’s especially great because they are not asking questions! They are not listening!”

She notices the skin peeling on his nose before she realizes that she is shouting. Her cheeks are wet and suddenly she just wants to leave his flat with big wide windows and football posters and books about animals.

She just wants to leave. She just wants to let go.

But, and it’s the third thing that Pansy learns about Charlie, he’s not really an obliging man. He’s more of a fire-fueled soldier and he has an unpleasant tendency to come back for wounded animals.

With a strike of cruelty glowing in her pupils, she wonders if he doesn’t love to watch them struggling in the trap before he frees them.

He is silent but the world around her buzzing and suddenly she wants annihilation.

“People are never listening.” She finishes, with a low broken voice because she has yell at him longer that she would have ever dream to yell at Daphne, or Blaise, or Draco, or Astoria.

Or at all the people she should be yelling at, instead of him.

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal but he stares at her like it is.

“It’s not due to me, it’s the animals. I’m also a good watcher, by the way.”

She giggles and it’s a strange feeling, like eating honey while having a sour throat. It’s soften.

He doesn’t rub her tears with his thumb, he just looks at her crumbling on his wooden floor. She prefers that. He is steady.

“You are good with people too” she adds faking lightly.

“Go tell that to my mom.”

She smirks. He was such a mama boy with his monstrous ego, his monstrous mass of muscle and his monstrous fear of disappointing.

“You run away from her. I see you when they come…”

“You spy on me?” he interrupts.

“I have a routine, you paranoid and self-centered brat. I fuck guys in my bed, I take a bowl of cereal mixed with soy milk, I take a shower, I go to work and then, when I come back at the usually time when your clones arrive, I check my mail.”

He frowns an eyebrow and it stretches a light scar on the side of his temple. He opens his mouth ready to talk, ready to fight because it’s what he does with his burns and his scars and his pretty sharp lips. But because he will contradict her, she pursues:

“You are kissing her but you are distant like if you didn’t want her to leave a print on you, you are watching her but from the sides not right in the eyes like you do with me. And, I know you love watching. So, what’s the deal?”

He takes her hand without a second thought and maybe he’s scared, and maybe he’s ashamed, but he has never looked so juvenile, so terrified. He looks like a kid and it reminds her of herself.

She brushes his knuckles, inflamed by the sun, by the outdoor and physical works, by his own pushing anger and maybe that it hurts him.

But god, were they burning quietly when they were not there for each other?

“Do you have any siblings?” he asks.

“No. I’m enough of a disaster on my own, thanks you. But I used to have a bunch of friends as messed up as I am so it might be just as bad.”

“I’m the second son. I was a great athlete at high school, I had good grades and my parents were proud of me like they always are, with the eternal confidence that you will be at your best forever.”

“Do not generalize, please.”

Her tone is a bit more acid than it should be. She bites down on the inside of her cheeks. She’s not good enough. She was not good enough. Not for her parents and their heavy family name, not for her friends for life, gone doing their own on their side of things.

“Yes. Sorry.”

She doesn’t look at him but she feels as he readjusts his back against the wall for a position more comfortable, that he doesn’t know if he must keep going or stop right there.

He keeps going because he’s not the kind of guy to let go. She doesn’t know if she has enough stamina or indifference or selfishness inside her to tell him to stop.

She wants to be as good as he is. Pansy Parkinson has always had standards. Now it was to be better than he was, stronger, kinder.

So, she doesn’t let go.

“I want to hear your tearful story before you messed up with my sleep schedule, so hurry.”

It’s a I’m here even if it is not one.

“And when it happens that you can’t be at your best, that there is a worst side of you but also a not-best-but-better side for you, you leave.”

It’s a thank you even if it is useless.

He pauses. She feels his big hand pulsing over hers, so big and big that it covers her pale one almost entirely like if it was nothing but something that he could keep for himself.

“Every time I see her, I know how it hurts to be the one who stays, because I see it in her clumsy hugs. She doesn’t know me anymore, but somehow I still know her because she is stayed the same.”

“No. She’s not. I’m not. You learn to change without moving and then one day, you are not the same and it’s easier to move.”

It’s one of the first things that he learns about her: how she’s come from far to end up on his floor a Saturday afternoon, moving on, letting go.

[theinfinityofonekamincik]

Minecraft. Mine-craft. Mi ne craft. Minecra ft? Words are fun. You know what’s funner? Minecraft.

All joking aside, Minecraft! Minecraft sure is a thing. Everyone has heard about it, everyone has had an opinion on it at some point, it’s a straight up cultural fenomenon in so, so many ways. Nothing in Minecraft feels like a coincidence or out of place, it’s a culmination of so many things: sound design, game design, gameplay, lore (or lack of thereof, though I mean, gameplay? In my good Minecraft? It’s literally just a bunch of game mechanics in trenchcoat) graphics, players, ext ext.

Music in Minecraft is... Sure a thing. It has layers, a lot of layers, it’s echoed and it goes in deep. Minecraft music is all chimes and strings overlayed with some sort of tube-shaped instrument, or overlaying some sort of tube shaped instrument, plus some digital sounds, and if a part (one of the instruments) gets taken away it changes meaning. Like a puzzle of sorts. A harmonious, 3D puzzle, where each piece is a simplistic, abstract drawing of its own.

As someone on tumblr put it, Minecraft music is like knowing you can’t go home because it isn’t there anymore. It’s depressing, it weighs down, but it doesn’t lock in place. It grounds. There’s a certain hopeful ring to it, or rather, a predictable ring that has just a bit of fresh sourness to it. Acid.

It can be poison, eat through my gums and hurt my ears, make me wanna cover and cry because it’s bitter, sad, restraining, like heavy chains wrapping all around me and suffocating me with their sheer presence, or... It can be the best. It can remind that I make the rules for myself here, in the empty world of Minecraft, that I can be free, and that to each individual, that reminder is different. It unfreezes by freezing, it rises by falling, it celebrates by crying, it tears and destroys what it can’t let go to be free and makes something new out of the pieces. It’s so, so hopeful, but hope is a restraint in of itself. Hope and expectation go hand in hand. Parallel each other, hope is wanting something to happen and not knowing if it will, while expectation is demanding something to happen and knowing that it must.

Hope leaves me hanging and vulnerable, expectation rivets me in place. Hoping without trust in myself or others is impossible, as I’ll expect a hit all the way. Minecraft, including music, is a place where the only one who could hit me is myself. It helps draw a line between what’s real and what isn’t by being a canvas I can project onto, or rather, one of those paint by numbers things with no numbers. Minecraft is just a bunch of dots, everybody, we cracked the code!

It’s the most fun with other people, so I can paint on somebody else’s connections and they can paint on mine, be it in adding stuff, taking stuff, doing god knows what else with stuff or just... Watching. Watching and thinking. Minecraft is a lot like life in that regard, it’s meant to be shared. It gets boring otherwise. Predictable. It loops. Repeats itself straight into oblivion. When there isn’t enough difference around, that is bound to happen, so freedom is important.

Being able to trust is important. In a way, Minecraft teaches trust. So, it’s important, like a crutch for those of us who can’t trust even ourselves and as a playing field for those of us who can, or are willing to try.

There is also not caring, but not caring is also a form of trust. It’s a sorta trust in self, where I know what will happen, know the consequences or possible consequences or possible lack of consequences, and still do the action. It... May be fatalistic. I don’t really get it.

Anyways! Graphics! Minecraft graphics! They are cool as hell, they are squares! Need I say more. Blurry, misty, sharp and crisp, open for interpretation, cristal clear in their delivery of their purpose, contradictions that coexist in a perfect harmony that can be scaled up and scaled down with the same success. That was me describing Minecraft blocks. Dramatic. I mean, I do use words to get my meaning across, and words have

context

So I guess dramatic words are better for describing something dramatic. There are different kinds of dramatic though, and drama used to mean (still does, in some languages) a theater play, or just something emotional, and blaming anyone for the fact ‘emotional’ has negative connotations is of no use.

Recontextualizing ‘emotional’ is. Which, by the way, Minecraft is a great place to recontextualize stuff because it doesn’t have clear context. We don’t know the history of Minecraft, we know all the consequences of it in its world building (world generation, coding, updates, you name it). Or see. Or learn. Words, man.

Graphics play a role in it cause you can easily recontextualize the appearance of a block, of a skin, of the sky. Shaders are also a thing. They sure are a thing! I hadn’t delved into mods yet, but the amount of freedom with those? The ability to create those? Use them in your gameplay? Holy shit. Cheats, commands, vanilla fixes, oh my! ‘Fixes’ may not be the best name in my opinion, but the fact all of those exist? Are allowed to exist? That they can be disagreed on, but it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things?

There isn’t one way to play Minecraft, and Minecraft makes it clear with every fabric of its being. (every fabric- every cell- every part- very fabric?- the fabric- components- loop-di-loops may or may not be at play. Can circular reasoning be good? Hmmm. Nuance? Is it possible here?)

I don’t have much more to say at the moment, so bah-bye! I’m gonna go to my dads’ Minecraft server and put some jevelery on a bunch of rubber ducks floating in the ocean by a beacon on a quartz pillar now, will come back with whatever that teaches me.

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

The Scoop on Novo's New Faster-Acting FIASP Insulin

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/the-scoop-on-novos-new-faster-acting-fiasp-insulin/

The Scoop on Novo's New Faster-Acting FIASP Insulin

There's a new ultra fast-acting insulin on the market internationally, and hopefully before long it will become available to us here in the U.S. too.

You may have heard mention of FIASP, or Faster-Acting Insulin Aspart, that recently hit the market overseas and in Canada -- and been wondering what the deal is with this new super-fasting insulin. We put our ears to the ground to learn more about it, what PWDs (people with diabetes) who've started on this med are saying online, as well as what its manufacturer Novo Nordisk has to say about this new product that was just recently re-submitted to the FDA for consideration as a new type of medication.

Here's what we've heard:

Getting to Know FIASP

What exactly is Faster-Acting Insulin Aspart? Remember, insulin aspart is the official scientific name for the synthetic insulin analog that sells under the brand Novolog here in the States and NovoRapid internationally.

What's in a Name? OK, so maybe FIASP is not the most creative branding (sounds like a variety of wasps?), but the name certainly fits. Whether it will carry a new brand name here States when launched remains TBD.

By Vial or Pen? Internationally, FIASP is available by vial, Penfill, and FlexTouch insulin pen. Interestingly, we see that in Europe it's approved for insulin pumps but it's not pump-approved in Canada. Hmm. Here in the U.S., Novo tells us FIASP will only be available in pen form.

Timing Flexibility: FIASP can be taken anywhere from 2 minutes before a meal or up to 20 minutes after the start of a meal, and apparently works just as well as NovoRapid/NovoLog that is taken before mealtime. While Novo officially still recommends taking FIASP before the meal, overall they're touting more flexible dosing, mentioning “earlier, greater and faster absorption, thereby providing earlier insulin action." This something that Novo has also pushed with its new Tresiba basal insulin that can last as long as 42 hours.

Faster Absorption: It's twice as fast as regular NovoLog or NovoRapid. Getting into the science, that's because two "excipients" have been added to FIASP’s formulation -- Vitamin B3 (niacinamide) to increase the speed of absorption, and a naturally occurring Amino Acid (L-Arginine) for stability.

Better Post-Meal BGs: Clinical trial data in which more than 2,000 PWDs with type 1 and type 2 were tested using FIASP showed the new insulin was linked to a lower spike in post-meal BGs and was determined to be just as safe as NovoLog.

More Hypos?! However, data also shows patients had more hypos in the first two hours after eating a meal -- most likely, as the result of not being used to the quicker action.

A1C Effect: Yes, data also show that patients lowered their A1C levels. This remains important, despite the fact that PWDs have been saying for years (and the FDA has recently acknowledged) that A1C is not the end-all, be-all guage for diabetes care. So it will be interesting to watch how FIASP proves itself with other measures like time in range.

The FDA actually sidelined FIASP in Fall 2016, asking the company for more detailed information about the "assay for the immunogenicity and clinical pharmacology data." On March 29, Novo just re-submitted their FDA application for review, so it's TBD how quickly it moves from there. The company expects to hear back from regulators by year's end.

Real-Life Feedback on FIASP

How are patients liking FIASP? It's pretty early to tell still. And of course "fast-acting" is often a subjective term just like everything else in this pancreatically-challenged universe of ours; Your Diabetes May Vary.

One of the best visual explanations we've seen on FIASP to date comes from diabetes nurse specialist in London, UK, Ines Parro, who created this infographic for her informational site Daybetes:

And here's a sampling of some of the online feedback we've seen around the global Diabetes Online Community (shared with their permission, where applicable):

"I have been using FIASP for 30 days. I was using NovoRapid/NovoLog before. FIASP doses the same for me. I find that it starts to work faster than NovoRapid and it stops working a little faster as well around the 3-hour mark. It is too early to see results in my A1C. I did find some injection site discomfort the first few days, nothing serious. That has subsided now and I don't feel a thing with a bolus. I have tight control, 5.8% A1C last time. I think it will make a difference as I can stop a rising high post-meal BG much more effectively than with NovoRapid. I do notice that when I bolus there is a sensation similar to what I felt when injecting Lantus before I switched to the pump."

-- Steve, a Canadian in an OmniPod group on Facebook, who also mentions that insulin is available over the counter in his country.

"Have been on FIASP for a week now, and holy smokes -- what a difference that has made for my blood sugars and overall control. I barely have words to describe my gratitude. For my fellow pancreatically-challenged friends, cannot say enough about how much this has helped with meal-time dosing and corrections. Game-changer!! #fiasp #gamechanger #insulin"

- Sandy Struss in Canada

"Someone who has tried it said the initial drop is fast, so make sure you are eating and the tail is shorter... so far she likes it but she is also using it with a closed loop system."

-- from the Women with Diabetes group on Facebook

- Liz in Europe, discussing FIASP on Diabetes UK forums

"I've got some in my Omnipod right now. I don't find it works any faster or shorter acting than the Apidra that I had been using before (but Apidra was a lot faster and shorter-acting for me than Humalog and Novolog). What it did do though, was drop my BG way more than I expected, so I guess it is more effective. My very first meal with it I bolused the same 4 units that I normally would for the lunch I eat everyday, and my BG fell to 2.9 mmol/L (52 mg/dl) around 90 minutes after eating, where as normally, from the 6.5 I started at, Apidra or Humalog would have brought be down to 5.5 or 6.0 after eating. I've had to lower my basal rate as well, because I woke up three times last night to the low alarm from my Dexcom. I am using fewer units per day, but I find its effects less predictable than Apidra for me. There is probably going to be a descent length adjustment period to learn the idiosyncrasies of it."

- Vicka Plume in Canada, as posted on the TuDiabetes forums

We're also following our UK D-friend Tim Street over at DiabetTech, who's been experimenting and chronicling his FIASP experience since starting on it in March -- from his first 48 hours and initial impressions, to wondering if "this is, in fact, the next-gen insulin we've been waiting for?" He was initially enthusiastic, but ran into some snags later, as noted in his latest Further FIASP Insight blog post:

"At first it was a joy, with massively reduced bolusing time and huge efficiencies, however as the month has progressed, our friendship has soured somewhat. I’ve been needing more and more of it and it’s not been much fun trying to work out what’s been going on."

Specifically, Tim notes that while FIASP appears to work faster, it has also increased his insulin sensitivity and he's observing that it seems less effective per unit as time goes on. He wonders whether that could be a long-term issue for this product across the board, or maybe just an effect personal to him.

He also notes: "For meals with a slow absorption profile, there is a real risk of hypoing here if the upfront bolus is too high. It looks like it will be beneficial in the use of a square wave or dual wave/combi bolus though. I think these factors will need to be considered in changing to this insulin. People may need to re-learn their bolusing strategy dependent on the foods that they eat. Something for both PWDs and HCPs to be aware of when looking at changing."

We're happy to see Tim inviting others from around the D-Community to share their own experiences with FIASP, to help everyone better understand how it works in real life. Great idea, Tim!

Access and Affordability?

Of course, any new insulin product these days brings critical questions of access and affordability.

No matter how great the innovation, it doesn't much matter if people can't afford it or get access through their insurance plans. So what's the status of cost and coverage for FIASP?

We're told that in the EU and Canada, FIASP carries the same cost as existing Novolog insulin, whereas U.S. pricing has not yet been finalized, according to Novo.

That's a little unnerving given the complicated drug pricing and insurance coverage system we're faced with here in the States, where insurance plans have no real incentive to let patients change to newer or different medication varieties if they cost more. In fact, the payers are notoriously pushing patients to cheaper alternatives these days (i.e. non-medical switching), which gave birth to the #PrescriberPrevails advocacy campaign calling for physicians (and patients) to have the freedom to select the best treatment for the individual.

At the moment, we can only cross our fingers that PWDs will have reasonable access to any insulin they need, up to and including exciting faster-acting varieties that could improve results.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

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