#i know how to draw skulls but the extra stuff was throwing me off

[kastillia]

I live.

[batboyimagines]

Neon lights PART THREE [Tim Drake x Male Reader]

Reading the first two parts isn’t required, but you may want the context!

That client you’ve been working for, the one that’s been keeping you both busy and afloat with their seemingly endless cash? Yeah, you figured out who that was.

Black Mask. Black. Fucking. Mask.

Now, that alone is alarming. Black Mask is one hell of a name in the underbelly of Gotham. He’s big, controls so much of the city that he can own an entire building legally. Even with the endless list of crimes to his name. It’s a pretty ritzy building too, from what little you’ve seen of it.

But that name doesn’t faze you because it’s big. You’ve gotten big names after you before, you’ve been at this gig for a while. 

No, the name Black Mask makes your blood boil for one reason and one reason alone.

His gang had screwed your life over, majorly. 

Once upon a time, even the very talented thief Nightlight was a normal, plucky kid. Sure, you still had trouble relating and connecting with others, but you might’ve been able to fix that! Had you had the chance.

Black Mask’s people had infiltrated your neighborhood and were starting to convince kids to do their dirty work. Kids couldn’t be arrested as easily, not even in a near lawless city like Gotham. 

The few people you associated yourself with, you hesitate to call them friends, had wanted to pick up some of the tasks the goons were offering. For the extra cash, it was a pretty poor neighborhood after all.

Not wanting to be left behind, you had gone along with it. One thing led to another, and eventually you were a preteen handling highly dangerous equipment that could kill a grown man. 

One piece of equipment in particular got you. You weren’t born with your powers, there’s no one else in your family that can do what you can. Though, you wouldn’t know, you and your family aren’t on speaking terms. For reasons entirely unrelated to your profession, surprisingly.

You had tripped down a flight of stairs and dropped the damn thing, you tried to catch yourself with your hands and ended up smashing the thing under your chest and it had exploded. You totally should have died. But thankfully, someone had called an ambulance just in time and you survived.

The medical bills almost made you wish you didn’t. Life saving surgeries aren’t cheap. You were almost drowning in the debt, it was only recently you’ve been able to pay it off. That’s why you picked up thievery, you would’ve never been able to scrounge up the cash to pay it all working at a coffee shop alone.

Why were you thinking of your tragic backstory? Oh yeah, Black Mask. Yeah, you’re pissed that you’ve been a cog in one of his stupid plans. Again.

So, you’ve decided to pull a hero and foil the douche’s evil plans.

After a lot of searching and eavesdropping, you’ve finally come across one of his hideouts. The plan is to totally trash the place, in hopes it might do... something. Man, you’re not a plan guy. You just want to do something, even if it’s stupid and more petty than anything.

You’re just about to drop in and get to vandalizing when a flash of familiar red stops you in your tracks. 

From the roof across you, Red Robin settles down to scope out the place, just like how you were doing. He must have caught onto Black Mask’s plans. Smartie bird, you think to yourself, just a little fond.

Hang on, you may not be a plan guy but Red totally is. You’ve seen the ridiculous stunts he’s pulled, he’s brought down far crazier schemes than Black Mask’s like houses of cards. If you really want to make a dent on Black Mask, Red’s 100% capable.

Mind made up, you sneak your way behind Red. Man, it’s fun to finally be the one to sneak up on him. Red always gets the drop on you.

A short distance behind him, you wait. He’s still staring down at the building below, but he’s had to have noticed you by now, right? He’s probably just waiting for you to announce yourself. You cough into your fist.

He whips around, nearly toppling over the edge of the roof, and flings a couple of birdarangs in your general direction. You strangle the vile curses in your throat and throw yourself to the ground to dodge.

“What are you doing here?!” He hisses under his breath, hand going for his bo staff.

“What you’re doing, I think!” You shout under your breath. “You’re here to take down Black Mask right?!”

“Why would you want to take down Black Mask, you’ve been working for him!” He accuses.

“My clients are usually anonymous, I didn’t know! Can I come over there so we don’t have to keep whispering like this?!” You ask, pushing yourself to your hands and knees.

Red thins his lips, think for a moment. He gestures you over sharply.

You hop your feet and stride to his side. You kneel at the edge of the roof beside him, a foot and a half away. There’s tense silence.

Even if you did know how to plan, you honestly do want to work with Red. Maybe you’re unhealthily attached to functionally a stranger but you like him a lot. 

“... sorry about your bike.” You say.

“Huh?” 

“Your bike, I’m sorry for painting it. I didn’t think it would bother you that much.” Red lowers his binoculars, furrowing his brow. He inclines his head towards you. Then his face softens a little.

“Thanks,” he says. Oh wow. He sounds really nice when he’s not riled up.

“Yeah,” you say. And when he looks away, you inch closer to him.

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” He asks quietly.

“Just like I said, my clients are anonymous half the time. I was getting paid a lot Red, I didn’t look into it much. I only figured it out a few days ago.”

“I’m surprised that you’re interested in taking him down. You’ve worked for people worse than him, why’s he the one you draw the line at?” 

“He’s a big part of my villain origin story. And who do you mean? Who’ve I worked for that’s worse than him?” You ask, cocking your head to the side.

“Uh, the League of Shadows ring any bells?” He asks, unimpressed. Your eyebrows nearly fly off your forehead.

“The League of Shadows?! When’d I work for them?” 

“That time in Gotham harbor, with the cloud seeder.” What’s a cloud seeder? You mouth to yourself. Then it hits you and you have to bite back laughter.

“Oh my god, is that the time you hit that weird old guy where the sun don’t shine?”

“Nightlight, that weird old guy was Ra’s Al Ghul.” He says, almost amused. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

“You kicked Ra’s Al Ghul in the balls?!” He nods, grinning. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

“It was pretty awesome.” He admits. He pushes himself to his feet and looks down at you. “So I guess we’re working together.”

“What? Really?” You ask in surprise, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.” He fiddles with some gizmo on his wrist. “You could be useful.” 

“Sweet!” You say. He looks at you inquisitively.

“Why do you want to help me? Besides our common goal of screwing over Black Mask,” you snort, “wouldn’t you want to work alone?”

“I mean, I would, but I’m terrible at planning or setting end goals. That’s why I take clients and stuff, they decide what I steal so I don’t have to.” 

“So you’re indecisive.”

“Basically.”

“Alright, works for me,” he says as he walks across the roof, “I can be bossy.”

“I noticed.” You snicker a little as you follow him.

“Did you.” 

[the-edge-of-great]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ JATP WEEK - DAY ONE: FAVORITE CHARACTER(S) ♥

(i don’t have one favorite character, so i wrote something from different POVs of my main five :)) @jatp-week 

also i forgot ghosts don’t sleep. we’re pretending like they do today

––––––

FLYNN

“Flynn, no pressure, but I’m performing tonight,” Julie says while Flynn is dipping her brush into the black paint. “So, you know, make me look pretty.”

Flynn gasps, almost jerking her hand when she looks back at Julie. Julie catches her wrist before she can fling paint everywhere. “You didn’t tell me you were performing tonight!” She pauses, looking over her current progress. “Now I’m nervous.”

“I have total faith in you.” Julie’s eyes dart between the paint brush and Flynn. “But show me how it looks so far?”

Pursing her lips, Flynn shakes her head, grabs Julie’s shoulder, and aims the paintbrush at her cheek. “No way. You didn’t let me see until you were finished.”

“But—” Julie freezes when the brush touches the corner of her mouth, and her eyes quickly move to something behind Flynn. Her lips begin to twitch into a smile.

“Hey, hey!” Flynn cries. “No moving.”

“The guys are confused.”

“I’ll explain. You stay quiet.” Flynn gives her a second to stop laughing before continuing the delicate line she’s trying to curve across her cheek. She takes it slow—agonizingly, if Julie’s eyes are anything to go by. “So,” Flynn begins loudly to the dense air around her, “we’re getting ready for Day of the Dead, which is a holiday Julie’s family celebrates. I’m trying to draw a sugar skull design on her, like she did for me.”

Julie has always been the residential sugar skull designer in the house. She always drew Carlos’ face, her mom’s, and Flynn and Carrie’s. Usually, she does herself too, but this is their first Day of the Dead without her mom, so Flynn has decided to take the paintbrush into her own hands and surprise Julie with something beautiful—or try to, anyway.

Flynn’s face looks awesome. Julie painted only half in white with a fissured edge down the center of her face. From her eyebrow to her cheekbone, her eye is circled in green and lined with black. Half of Flynn’s mouth stretching to the middle of her cheek has been transformed into skeletal teeth with a vibrant green glow. Her dimple has layers upon layers of dark and light green paint, carefully blended to look like a real skull indentation. Small black circles line the top of her eyebrow, and thin black lines curve across the empty space of her cheek.

For Julie, Flynn is going for a more simplistic look—all of the drawing talent in the friendship seems to have been swallowed up by Julie. Right now, she’s focused on a curved black mouth stretching from one ear to another, adding extra detail to her lips to create a stitched effect, and then? She’ll figure it out from there.

“And I’m not taking any opinions from them,” Flynn declares. She holds her breath until the second line finally meets her ear and she’s finished with the mouth base. “They’re probably biased.”

Julie smiles as Flynn grabs her paint cup. “Actually, Alex says he likes what you’re doing so far.”

“… I’m only taking feedback from Alex.”

Julie laughs. Flynn can’t fight back her smile. “Reggie and Luke like it too,” she adds, smiling up at the space behind the couch. “They think I look scary.”

“How do I look?” Flynn asks, brushing her hair out of her face and looking up at the air, as if she can really see them. She wishes she could.

“They say you look amazing,” Julie translates. “I did that, by the way, so thank you.” She grins at them. Someone must reach for a fist bump, cause she moves her fist across the couch.

“Okay, if you’re going to stay, you can’t make her laugh.” Flynn leans forward, carefully painting over the tip of her nose. “She has a performance tonight, and if I mess up, you can’t fix it. I forbid it.”

“No—” Julie whines.

“You knew the risks when you agreed to let me do this!”

“You didn’t give me a choice!”

Flynn smacks her. “Stop smiling!” But she’s grinning too. It’s hard—how can you look at your best friend and not smile? Flynn waves a hand between them. “Okay, okay, we have to get this done. My hand is tired.”

Julie chuckles. “Okay.” She glances to her left. “No, I didn’t tell anyone I’m performing tonight. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Then why’d you tell me?” Flynn demands.

“To make sure you don’t make me look bad!”

Flynn scoffs. Her finger lifts Julie’s chin to make their eyes meet. “Girl, it’ll take a lot of paint to make you look bad.”

Julie grins.

“And Luke better not have said something equally as cute just then.”

“No—” Julie says it like the idea is overly ridiculous, and Flynn wants to roll her eyes. “Of course not.”

“Mmhm. Hold still.”

Julie and Luke are dating. Flynn isn’t sure how that works—him being a ghost and everything—but Julie makes it make sense. And what can Flynn say? As long as Julie’s happy…

Forty-five minutes later, she sits back with a sigh to admire her work. One of the guys poofed into Julie’s room to grab her makeup bag, so Julie’s eyes are shining with pink and purple eyeshadow to match the pink patch surrounding her right eye. Flynn finished Julie’s eye with a thin black ring and pink and purple circles curved halfway around the top and bottom of her eye. Her nose is black—Flynn’s sure she’ll add more detail in her room later. Then Flynn will complain that she messed with a masterpiece, even though she’ll love whatever additions Julie draws in.

“Wow, okay,” Julie says, looking at herself in her phone’s camera. “This looks so good. Way to pop off, Flynn.”

Flynn waves herself. “Thank you, thank you. It’s my hidden talent.”

Julie grins over her phone. They share a beat of silence before bursting into laughter. Julie leans forward, throwing an arm around Flynn’s shoulders and holding her phone above their heads. They take bursts of pictures, some serious, most silly. They play with Snapchat filters, film TikToks. It’s fun—Day of the Dead is always fun. Especially this year: the year Julie found her music again.

–––––

LUKE

He knocks before entering her room. As he passes through the door, he can hear Flynn and Carlos arguing about what color icing should go on the cupcakes. Alex and Reggie are down there too; he hopes Alex doesn’t let Reggie do anything crazy tonight.

Julie’s sitting in front of her mirror, humming and painting over her eye. She glances at him as she walks in.

Luke chuckles. “Flynn’s not going to be happy you’re changing her design.” He pulls her desk chair over and takes a seat next to her.

“I’m not changing it.” Julie dips her brush into pink paint. “I’m just… adding some stuff. I had an idea.”

“Flowers?”

“Dahlias.” She side eyes him and smiles. “My mom loved dahlias.” She balances her palette on her knees, steadying it with one hand while leaning forward to paint a second flower at the corner of her eyebrow.

“Here,” Luke offers, reaching under her arm to grab the paint. He holds the palette next to her, and when she reaches over to dip her brush, she smiles in thanks. “So, what exactly is Day of the Dead?”

“First of all, it’s usually pronounced Día de los Muertos,” she begins. Oh God, he loves when she speaks Spanish. “It’s a three day festival where we celebrate the lives of those we’ve lost. My dad’s side is coming over—we always celebrate with the Molinas. My mom was Puerto Rican; they don’t really observe this holiday. But she celebrated with my dad when they first started dating, and she fell in love with the holiday.”

“What’s so great about it?”

Julie waves a hand at her face. “The makeup. The costumes. The music, dancing, food… Just having family around. Being completely immersed in our culture.” She shrugs at him. “We speak Spanish sometimes around the house, but it’s my grandparents’ first language. They had to learn English when they first came to America, but they prefer Spanish.”

“Where’d they come from?”

“Panama.” Julie pauses, carefully painting leaves around the base of her dahlia. “My grandparents have ofrendas set up at their house—ofrendas are altars where we leave offerings for those who have passed. Tonight, we’re going to the cemetery to visit Mom’s grave.”

He notices the way she falters when she mentions her mom. He hates when that happens; always wants to kiss away the sadness. When Julie puts down her paintbrush, he takes her hand in his.

“Hey,” he whispers, running his thumb over her knuckles.

Julie takes a deep breath. “We didn’t celebrate last year; it was too close to Mom passing away.” She shrugs. “We didn’t have it in us.”

“This is your first year without her,” Luke realizes quietly.

“We have an ofrenda downstairs for her. Dad and Carlos did most of it. I was supposed to find some stuff in the studio, but—” She shakes her head. “It’s just weird. This was her favorite holiday, and now she’s—” Julie rolls her eyes. “I know it’s been a year, but—”

“Hey,” Luke interrupts. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers linger against her skin, cupping her cheek, mindful of the paint. “This is your first year without her. It’s okay to still be sad, Jules.”

Julie’s next breath is shaky; her eyes are glossy as she looks away. “Can’t cry,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “Flynn will kill me.”

Luke laughs. Behind him, he hears the whoosh of Alex and Reggie poofing in her room. Julie smiles weakly at them.

“Were we interrupting?” Reggie asks, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

Alex shakes his head. “Sorry. He kept stealing Flynn’s cupcakes to give to Carlos, and I knew he’d either scare your tía or Flynn would hit him with a spatula if we didn’t get out of there.”

“Carlos deserved to win—”

Julie laughs out loud. She wipes at her eyes carefully; Luke hopes she’s forgotten her grief for now. Luke grins at her. He loves her laugh. Have I mentioned he’s kinda just in love with her?

“We have a little bit before my family arrives,” Julie says, checking her phone. She tugs her lip between her teeth. “And I have extra paint…?”

Reggie bounces on his feet. “Yes!” he cries. “I want a face painting!”

As soon as Luke steps away from the chair, Reggie is there, knees bumping against Julie’s. “Make me look cool.”

Alex lays across her bed, resting his chin in his hands as he watches them. Luke hands the palette to Julie and steps out of her way. While she works on pouring more paint out, he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to her hair. Then he takes a seat next to Alex.

Luke grins. “I want next!”

–––––

REGGIE

He knows the party is really in full swing when the sugar skulls are beginning to set in and the children running around are almost as loud as Julie’s cousins playing music in the living room. Carlos’ real teeth are black; they match the set Julie painted on him. It looks a little creepy; his tía Victoria demands he go brush every time he grins at her in passing.

Reggie ducks past people as if they won’t pass through him; it’s still weird to him, and he knows they feel the same way. At some point, he was separated from his friends. He sees Luke and Julie every now and then—Julie’s making her rounds with her family, and Luke is by her side, always—but he hasn’t seen Alex in a while. He wonders, in the back of his mind, if Alex is even still around. Would he leave a party? He’s done it before. If there’s a chance he can hangout with Willie? No doubt. But would he leave Julie’s party to hangout with Willie? Hm… nah.

His favorite thing, he thinks as he walks through the house, is the atmosphere. There are so many people around—and most are Ray’s siblings! Julie mentioned in the middle of face painting that Latino families are often big, but he wasn’t expecting this! He loves it, though. Sometimes he lingers in a room before moving on, and he hears stories about Ray from his siblings: childhood mishaps and teenage antics.

And with so many siblings comes cousins. They range in age, from Carlos’ to Reggie’s. He overhears Carlos tell the other kids about the ghosts that haunt their house—Reggie leaves with a personal promise to prove him right later.

On his second walk through the living room, he finally spots his friends: Alex is sitting on the arm of the couch next to Flynn with Luke next to him. Julie stands beside an older man with a long beard and a guitar on his lap. Just as Reggie’s about to cross the room to them, something catches his eye.

It’s a shelf to his left, spotted with candles, photos, and flowers. He steps closer, curious. There’s a picture of Julie’s mom in a frame on top, he thinks. She looks… familiar. On the first shelf down is a pair of drumsticks and guitar picks. Reggie frowns. Why are there… drumsticks? He reaches for them. They couldn’t be Alex’s… could they? Why would his drumsticks be—

“I told you our house is haunted!” Carlos cries, and that’s when Reggie notices how quiet everything is suddenly. The drumsticks bounce against his fingers and roll back against the shelf wall.

“Reggie,” Alex hisses behind him.

“Dude, your drumsticks are up here!” Reggie cries.

“My—What?”

Julie moves when no one else does. She’s not looking at Reggie, but he begins apologizing anyway, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare everyone.”

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, reaching for the sticks. “Whose are…?”

“I found them in a box of your mother’s things in the studio,” Ray explains, walking over.

Reggie throws a knowing look at Alex. Alex frowns and summons his drumsticks. They appear in his hand in a flash, and when Reggie turns back, there’s still a pair in Julie’s hand.

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know she played.”

Ray chuckles. “Your mother played every instrument she could. Now, there’s a difference in playing and actually sounding good… Drumming is not something she excelled at.”

This earns a round of laughter from their family. From Julie, who’s beaming under her makeup at the new information. From Alex, who adds a “If that isn’t a mood” under his breath.

“What—” Luke argues. “Dude, you’re literally a drummer.”

“I make it look easy.”

Luke rolls his eyes.

“The guitar picks are hers too,” Ray adds, pushing them into his hand. “Look, they have the logos from each of the bands she was in.”

Julie looks them over. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “I should’ve grabbed these from the studio. You told me to find things for her ofrenda, but I—”

“Hey, it’s okay mija,” Ray interrupts. He squeezes her shoulder. “It was actually fun going through her old stuff again. I, personally, haven’t seen these in years.”

Reggie realizes he’s smiling long before Julie finds her strength again. He loves the father-daughter moments they have, even though he has a nagging feeling that he should be over by Luke and Alex and not intruding. Their relationship is addicting, though. He’s never had that with his father.

Maybe… that’s a can of worms to open on another day.

“Speaking of talent,” the man with the guitar says, “Julie? Cantar para nosotros?”

Reggie doesn’t know what he said, but Julie does. She nods. As they part ways—Ray moving past to fix the ofrenda, Reggie walking toward his friends, and Julie heading for the front of the room—Reggie squeezes Julie’s shoulder in passing. They share a quick smile.

“Good luck,” he says. She can’t respond, but he knows her smile is for him.

–––––

ALEX

Alex has never experienced this type of music live. They have a whole band up there—two guitarists, a woman sitting on a cajón box, and Julie with vocals in the center.

“And now you see Julie’s other band,” Flynn whispers to them. “The Molinas.”

The song begins softly. Alex can’t understand anything Julie’s singing, but he doesn’t have to know the words to hear her voice. As the beat picks up, so does her volume. He can see the moment she loses herself completely to the music; it’s the same at their own concerts: her eyes squeezing shut, one hand pressed in front of her and the other at her side. She can’t stand still, either. Julie steps over her younger siblings sitting on the ground carefully, but she’s bouncing on the soles of her feet. The music’s contagious—by the time she’s danced around the room and made it back to where she started, the whole room is clapping on beat. They’re grinning at each other, some singing along, some cheering.

Alex can’t fight a smile. It’s impossible. He looks at Luke and Reggie—they mirror him. The energy Julie and her family has created is infectious, as music should be; even if he still doesn’t know what she’s saying.

Julie ends the song on her own with a stretched out note, instruments falling away with each beat she holds in a breath he can’t believe is possible. Everyone watches with bated breath, anticipation, building excitement for this girl. Julie Molina—Alex shakes his head in disbelief. What a damn star.

Flynn leaps to her feet when Julie finally takes a breath. “WOO!” she shouts. “Go off girl!”

Alex finds himself laughing when the room erupts into cheers. Luke is practically vibrating with excitement. Reggie shouts with Flynn.

Julie takes a bow, shoulders bouncing with quickened breath and eyes shining under the dark makeup.

Flynn yanks her into a tight hug. “Oh my gosh, that was incredible!” she cries.

“Seriously,” Alex agrees. “You killed it.” He fist bumps her, hidden from the rest of the room in front of Flynn.

“I have no idea what you said, but it was beautiful,” Reggie adds, starstruck.

Luke grins at her. “You never cease to amaze me, Jules.”

As the excitement dies down, so does the party. The family disperses in groups until Carlos and Julie are hugging tía Victoria goodbye, and Ray is closing the door to a finally quiet home.

“So,” Ray says, turning to his kids. “One last thing to do tonight.”

Carlos nods. “I’ll grab the candles.”

"And I'll get… everything else," Julie adds. She glances at Alex and the others on her way up the stairs.

They meet her in her room. Alex sits on her bed. "So, what's next?"

"We're going to the cemetery to visit Mom's grave," Julie explains, opening her closet. She grabs a bag and joins Alex on the bed. "You guys can come if you want. People light up the graves with candles and lights—it's beautiful."

Sounds beautiful, but—Alex looks over at Luke and Reggie. They meet his gaze with as much hesitation as he feels.

"I think we're going to hang back," Luke admits softly. "It's, um… I think it's kind of weird for us, you know? Since we're…"

Julie blinks. "Oh, right. Duh. Of course." She shakes her head. "That's okay."

Alex smiles. "But we'll be here when you get home."

She nods, returning his smile. Her eyes flicker to something behind him, and she hurries around the bed. Alex is just turning to her when Reggie gasps.

“The box," he whispers, eyes wide.

"Don't act like at least one of you hasn't been in here already," Julie mutters, opening the box on her bed.

Alex and Reggie throw a look at Luke, who's chewing his lip sheepishly.

"What're you doing?" Luke asks, moving to her side.

"I—" Julie quickly tucks a piece of paper into her pocket. "I'm just… It's an offering for her."

Luke frowns. "Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's—"

"Julie!" Ray calls up the stairs. "You ready?"

Julie sighs. "Yeah, dad!" She shifts her weight, glancing between them. "I'll tell you guys later, okay?"

Reggie nods. "Yeah, of course."

She takes two steps toward the door before turning back to them. "Group hug?" she asks hopefully. "Real quick?"

Reggie immediately wraps his arms around her. "Like you even have to ask," he mutters. They chuckle. Alex rolls off the bed, and he and Luke join in. They've been doing this a lot more: hugging. Ever since they've been able to touch each other, this has become their thing. Not that Alex is complaining.

When Julie pulls away, she's smiling so wide. Alex smiles back, but he can't help thinking there's something behind that skeletal grin. He doesn't ask; none of them do. They let her go, despite the feeling gnawing at him. Later, he decides. Hopefully they can figure it out later.

–––––

JULIE

The cemetery was always Julie’s mom’s favorite part of Día de los Muertos. There’s a chilling beauty in a sea of lights across acres of land, crowded with people who can all relate on some level.

Rose Molina’s grave is lined with white and blue candles—she always loved the ones that smelled like the ocean. There are guitar picks scattered across the stone, most of which didn’t come from them. Ray suggested previous bandmates; Julie has never met the previous bandmates. She wants to one day; hopes to.

They stay with her for a while. She doesn’t know how long they sit by her, telling her stories about what’s happening in the past year. They have a lot to catch up on—Julie’s sure this is Carlos’ first visit since she died. It’s definitely Julie’s. Her dad’s been here a few times, only once or twice. She wonders if there have been any recent visits.

There are tears in her eyes when they finally stand to leave. Her dad catches it somehow—she’s sure her dark makeup shadowed by the dim light would’ve covered her—and before she can blink, he’s wrapping his arms around her in a tight hold. She would’ve buried her face in his chest if she had washed her paint off. But she didn’t, so she doesn’t hug as tight as she wants, and she pulls away too soon.

As they’re leaving, Julie remembers the note in her pocket. “Wait,” she says, falling out of step with them. “I forgot something.” She lingers, shifting her weight. “Can I meet you in the car?”

Carlos frowns. Dad nods. “Of course,” he says softly.

Julie watches them go, disappearing in the crowd. In just a blink, she’s alone. The note is heavy in her chest. With a deep breath, she turns back to her mom.

“Hey,” she says, sinking to her knees. “I have something I want to show you.” She crosses her legs under her and unfolds the note in her hands. “Remember that song we started writing while you were in the hospital? Stand Tall? We never… got to finish it…” With trembling hands, Julie slips the note beneath a picture frame Carlos left at the base of the stone. It’s a moment captured after Julie’s performance at The Orpheum: her, Carlos, Dad, and tía Victoria, posing under the Julie and the Phantoms sign.

“Well, my friend Luke helped me write that second verse,” she continues. “He’s—He’s kind of more than my friend. You know who he is, and what he is.” She laughs. “Don’t judge me too hard for this relationship, okay? He’s really… a great guy. They all are: Alex, Luke, and Reggie. They’ve helped me in… more ways that I can put into words.” The next time she laughs, her voice is shaking. She sniffs; the black on her nose smears across her hand when she rubs her face. “Anyway, um, I just wanted to give you this. And I wanted to tell you thanks. Thanks for sending the guys to me. Thanks for giving me the courage to get back into music. Thanks for…”

Julie shakes her head. The tears are back—she tries swallowing them back. Maybe if she can just hold it in for a little bit longer, at least until she takes the paint off—

“I really miss you, Mom,” she says carefully, slowly, like every word takes all of her strength. “A lot. Every day. I miss you. I miss you. I love you.”

Someone stops behind her stone. Two people, actually. Julie sniffs. She wipes at her nose again; she doesn’t care what she looks like now.

“Julie?”

That’s weird. Sounds almost like—

“Carrie?”

Julie brushes off her pants when she climbs to her feet. She sniffs again, eyeing the pair across from her: Carrie and Trevor Wilson. Trevor is holding a bouquet of flowers; it takes her breath away—dahlias.

“We were just coming out to pay our respects,” Trevor says. He separates a dahlia and hands it to her.

“Nice makeup,” Carrie says, not unkindly. She’s actually smiling, kind of like she used to when they were friends.

“Thanks, I—Flynn did it. Well, not…” Julie gestures to the smudged paint.

“Right.” Carrie reaches into her bag and offers a wad of tissues. Julie takes them with a smile. They share a nod, Julie thanks Trevor for the flower, and they go their separate ways. At least Julie doesn’t feel as heavy as usual when she walks away from Carrie.

At home, when her face is clean of any paint and she can see herself again, she steps into her animal slippers and makes her way down to the studio. The guys are waiting, just like they said they would. They smile when they see her, and she smiles back, but her gaze settles on the piano, and then she can’t look away from the piano.

Two years ago, she played a song while her mom strutted around the studio, pretending to sing terribly and still managing to sound like an angel. The year before that, Julie and her family sat on the floor surrounded by candles and told ghost stories because an earthquake knocked out their electricity (that’s where Carlos’ fascination comes from). The year before that, they—

Julie’s lip quivers. Her fingers curl around the arm of the couch, her vision blurs, and everything hurts. Someone’s in front of her in seconds—it’s Luke. He’s holding her close, tight against him, fingers in her hair, and she just breaks.

Her hands tighten into fists around his shirt. She buries her face in his shoulder; now that she’s started, she can’t stop. She tries to speak, to explain, but—

“Shh,” he whispers. He rubs circles into her back. “I know. I know, baby.” He kisses her hair. “It’s okay, Jules.”

She doesn’t try speaking again, and when Alex and Reggie join the hug, she just cries harder.

When she wakes the next morning, she’s on the couch. Luke’s behind her, an arm around her waist, legs tangled. Alex is in front of her, sitting against the couch with his cheek pressed against the cushion. She grimaces for him; that can’t be comfortable. On the floor, with his head in Alex’s lap is Reggie, curled in a ball against the couch. They never left her side last night.

With a heart swelling with warmth, Julie snuggles closer to Luke. Her movement causes him to hold tighter, which takes her breath away.

Julie smiles at something across from her before going back to sleep.

Laying on the coffee table in front of Alex, at the edge, as if it doesn’t want to leave her side either, is the dahlia.

[fakeloveaskblog]

Ooh, ghost cookies! *takes one, remembers manners, proceeds to be too awkward to actually ask for it and so silently puts it back* I'm glad you're okay. Now do talk to us about your crushes Remus, gush!

"Oh please. Take as many cookies as you'd like. You best believe that if you don't leave here feeling full and satisfied it will feel like you've slapped me in my beautiful face with my beautifully manicured sword!" Rowan exclaimed while Remus nodded along.

"I'll shove the sword down your throat if you don't shove those cookies down" He half joked.

Rowan poked at his paper "Are you gonna talk about your crushes or are you just gonna draw them like a shy little loser"

"Don't touch my paper! I'll gnaw your toes off in your sleep!"

She continued poking the paper while smiling at him. He bit the air while making gnawing noises in return.

He looked down at the paper where he'd doodled some sideway looks of his crushes' heads. A small smile played on his lips as his cheeks went just a bit red.

"I just think it's nice how whenever I blurt out some over the top murder idea or anything like that Janus always adds onto an even more extra idea. And I know Remy dislikes horror movies and gore and animal biology, they've told me that a lot, but they're still willing to watch nature documentaries and old school horror films with me- as long as I pay for their starbucks heh"

"Ah yes. The good old extortion technique. Very familiar with that" Rowan nodded along.

"Yeah! But they! They just! I! Sometimes when it's just me and Remy I'll look over to them and catch them like glancing at me! And they just! Sometimes during those moments they just! They will smile or just look at me and- and I just know they only smile like that at very very few special people and it just makes me feel so!!! Like a bunch of maggots will burst out of my bones! The look in their eyes is just!!! It makes me wanna uhm ehm maybe uh throw a live heart at them or something! I can't explain it!"

"I get you dukey!! It's the special soft gay eyes!!"

"Exactly!!!"

"I swear a butch will give me a one of those looks and I am already ready to buy a cat with her!"

"But you're allergic to cats!"

"E X A C T L Y!"

Remus scribbled around with the pen, really just drawing random shapes to stim while continuing "And uh Janus he uh my intrusive thoughts still get really bad like all the time especially when I have panic attacks and stuff like that but he's always so calm and ready to help. Even before I told them I'm prone to freak out like some braindead goose! They don't even think my reasons for freaking out are stupid! Ever! He just- he's just ready to help me! Willingly!!! Like he cares about me or something!!! Like some dumb slut!!!"

"Aww. I think he seems like a nice slut"

The scribbling went over into him full on just stabbing the paper with the pencil, leaving sharp dots of black on the paper "And they're both so pretty!! I'm uh I'm afraid of cuddling with them but I- I do daydream about it. Sometimes it feels like my eyes will melt out of my skull when I look at Jannie. Because y'know. It's a joke about how they're hot okay. They're all soft and perfect to cuddle as well! And warm!!!"

Rowan nodded along even harder now "I getya! It's the same with me and tiddies! Nothing beats tiddy pillows! Except maybe thigh pillows depending on how cozy the bed is"

"Yeah!!! Tit pillow! Oh if only my brain wasn't made up of a bunch neurotic little rats constantly having a crisis, I could be having the best sleep ever. And uh Remy just looks so perfect all the time. Even when I've seen them all messy right after waking up they still look so gorgeous and glimmering and uh perfect. No matter what they're wearing. They're just- they're just like that???? I guess??? Maybe the sold their soul to the devil who knows"

"They definitely did. I can sense it"

He let out a long sigh "Would be nice if they didn't have a boyfriend. But oh well Virgil seems to be a good boyfriend so I can't take Remy from him"

"You can murder him" Rowan suggested immediately.

"I can't!!! He's a good one!!! though i have made up 13 murder plans for him so far. But I'm not going through with them!!! Because he's good!!!"

"WHat else are you supposed to do with a boyfriend if not kill them???? Or husbands for that matter???"

"Not all of us are lesbians RoRo!!"

"Not yet!"

She laughed at her own joke. Remus grimaced a bit. Not at the joke. He was just thinking.

Remus looked over to her. His voice went a bit quieter "Do...Do you think they find me pretty?" He had that look in his eyes so she knew exactly what he was Really talking about "They're both gay"

"Come on dukey. You know how many pre-e trans women I've found pretty. Jan and Remy are good eggs I'm sure they find you- well they probably think you're a bit of a gremlin- but a pretty one! We have the same face after all so they must think you're quite gorgeous"

"...I hope so.." He bonked his forehead against the table "It's just so frustrating. They're both so different from Os. Obviously since they're all different people and not like a hivemind. But I still expect them to act just like him! All the time! Whatever we're doing! Not- not that he was bad or whatever you think!!! Just that...Ugh you know!!! I just wish my brain would like calm the fuck down"

"Isn't that what the meds are there to do?" She asked with a half smile, just to annoy him.

"My brain is still a pack of nervous rats RoRo!! I just wanna not be nervous around my crushes. Or I mean be nervous in the normal gross lovey dovey way! Not the rat way!!!" He pouted "I wanna be with them even if I get anxious....Be with them....." His eyes went huge "RORO IT'S HALLOWEEN TODAY! IT'S THE FUCKING HALLOWEEN PARTY! HOLY SHIT WHAT'S THE TIME??? WE GOTTA GET READY!"

"We're going? I thought maybe you didn't wanna go right after having a psychotic episode. There's gonna be a lot of drunk and high people there y'know"

Remus had gotten up from his seat and was looking around the room like a stressed out chipmunk who had forgotten where it had put all of it's food.

"It's halloween!!!" He exclaimed "I'm not gonna let some brain rats ruin the bestest time of the year okay! I achieve my maximal amount of power on halloween!! I can do this! I can function! I will not die! And Jan and Remy will be there so I gotta be there too!"

Rowan clasped her hands together and stood up "Okay then. Lucky for the party goers since if I wasn't there the whole party would have been much more ugly. Literally" She poked his shoulder "Though you have to promise you will tell me if you start feeling panicky. Even just a little. I am not letting you have a panic attack at the gay bar you freaking onka stompa"

He sighed "I promise" He was vibrating from excitement "Now get the costumes!!"

"Only if you help me on with my corset!"

"Only if you help me on with my binder!!"

[bombshellbois]

Lessons in Babysitting

For @hoegrove and her amazing Double Trouble AU (if you haven’t seen it yet, please go pour over the entire thing because it’s hilarious)

Steve doesn’t know what he’s expecting when Billy’s Camaro pulls up outside the house that afternoon. He’s not expecting anything, really. Billy shows up all the time unannounced, and Steve has no problem with that. Billy does better at stuff where he doesn’t need permission because every form of authority offends him, including basic manners. Steve just pulls an extra Coke from the fridge and braces himself to deal with Billy pouting when he gets told there won’t be any sex or making out until the kids leave. In all fairness, he told him already that they would be over here this afternoon to play their nerd game while the Wheeler basement is drying out from a recent leak.

The lock pops and the door gets shoved open.

“Holy shit, we’re in key territory already??” Billy asks as he’s shoved inside. Steve thinks at first that he got a haircut. And a tan. And... younger? Steve is trying to piece together what he can pin that on (really good night’s sleep?) when another Billy lumbers in behind.... Billy. His Billy lumbers in. Long haired and a little weary, tan tamed by the Indiana seasons.

“Don’t touch my stuff,” Billy says, slapping Billy... not-Steve’s-Billy’s hand away when he reaches for the keys.

“You didn’t tell me we were at the key stage with our boyfriend, dude!”

“He’s my boyfriend.” Billy slams the door shut. “And quit calling me dude.”

“What... the hell is going on?” Steve asks faintly, approaching his boyfriend and the cheerful doppelgänger slowly.

“Hi!” Not-Steve’s-Billy says, taking Steve’s Coke and drinking from it. The open one.

“I put my mouth on that,” Steve protests belatedly while his brain is trying to come up with a way to process what he’s seeing. Chastising bad manners and poor health practices seems like... under-reacting.

“Yeah, but we’re dating, so it’s just indirect kissing.” Not-Steve’s-Billy waggles his eyebrows at Steve and it immediately makes Steve think of Dustin trying to act charming.

“...Yeah, don’t do that.”

“I’ve got a good idea where else you could put your mou—” Not-Steve’s-Billy gets cut off when Billy grabs the back of his jacket and hauls him out of the kitchen and to the basement door, shoving him inside. He slams the door shut and flips the lock. Mercifully, there are no sounds of a body falling down the stairs. Just rapid knocking from the other side.

“Hey! What’s your damage, dude??”

Billy ignores the yelling and comes back into the kitchen. He grabs Steve’s shoulders and pulls him close, knocking their foreheads together gently.

“Okay. So. We need to talk.”

“You think?” Steve says, raising his eyebrows. “What the hell, Billy?”

***

It takes 2 beers to get the full story out of Billy. Steve doesn’t necessarily like encouraging drinking at 3 in the afternoon, but his boyfriend just locked a younger version of himself in the basement. It seems like a definite moment to allow extremes.

Not that the full story is in any way clear. Something about sleep walking (which Billy should have told Steve about but didn’t, of course) and the Upside Down and another gate that probably almost definitely closed and isn’t a big deal. It’s a lot of really bad things to hear but in a really vague and unhelpful format. Nothing he could, for instance, take to Hopper as a thing to be investigated.

Steve kind of wants a beer himself.

“And so now he’s here. And he won’t get it through his thick skull that he doesn’t get to share all of my stuff. Including my boyfriend.” Billy tips back his head and takes a long drink of a third beer. Steve sets a hand on the bottle and makes him lower it back down when the air bubbles start glugging to the top with concerning speed.

“Should we... try to get him back to his mom or something?” he asks.

Billy slams the bottle down on the table. “Sure, Steve. Lemme just go see if there’s a fucking receipt stapled to the back of his shirt so I can return him. How hard can it be to get to another dimension? Oh wait, the only one we ever manage to get to is full of fucking nightmares.”

Steve leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin on the heel of his hand, waiting out the storm. Fine, it was a stupid question. The dramatics are a bit much, though. “Okay. Maybe we focus on something shorter term,” he says.

Billy scrubs a hand over his face, wiping away the withering glare and replacing it with something more tired. Something that looks like no sleep and too much beer too quickly too early in the day. “Christ. Sorry, I’m being a dick.”

“You are,” Steve agrees, standing and clearing the empty bottles. “But it sounds like it’s been a rough day.”

Billy catches Steve’s collar and pulls him closer, kissing his forehead. “Thanks, pretty boy. Look, just... give me a few babysitting tips and I’ll get out of your hair before your nerds get here. I dunno what the hell to actually do with him.”

Steve is about to tell Billy that he’s not leaving unless he’s letting his younger self drive (which- ha! Not even Steve gets to drive the Camaro. Or sit in the driver’s seat), but he pauses and frowns. “Before... they’re already here, Billy.”

Billy blinks and pulls his mouth off the lip of his bottle. The suction releases with a ‘pop.’ “What? Why’s it so quiet? Where the hell are they?”

“In... the basement?” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Where else would they play their game? It has to feel like a dungeon or something.” Dustin explained it once, using words like ‘atmosphere’ and ‘aesthetics’ and ‘acoustics.’ It all boils down, Steve thinks, to needing no windows so they can’t tell when they’ve been playing for four hours.

Billy looks at the clock. “How long has he been down there with them?”

“An hour, maybe? Did you seriously mean to lock that poor kid in the basement alone??”

“Oh don’t do that hands-on-the-hips thing at me, Harrington,” Billy huffs, scrambling to his feet and sprinting for the basement door. Steve follows after him, catching up just as Billy unlocks the door and hurries down the steps, grabbing the back of his collar to keep him from stumbling on the way down.

Not-Steve’s-Billy is sprawled nearly sideways on one folding chair, another pulled over for the express purpose of propping one leg on. Mike is standing across the rickety card table from him, where their map and shit are spread out, holding a book out with the pages facing Billy. He’s pointing at a drawing.

“Do you see the scaling? You don’t even come up to his knee!” Mike jabs a finger at the page. “You’re tiny!”

Not-Steve’s-Billy shrugs. “So?”

“So this thing can kill you by existing near you,” Lucas adds. “It’s pure evil.”

“Still wanna flirt with it.”

“You can’t flirt with a Nightwalker!” Mike insists. “It’s a giant, evil, undead demon!”

“Uh, I have...” Not-Steve’s-Billy picks up a piece of paper in front of him. “...charisma points that say I can. So lemme try and get into this thing’s pants.”

Mike blusters. “It doesn’t have pants!”

“I mean, technically it’s not against the rules,” Dustin admits, ever the diplomat. “Mr. Clarke always says you have to think outside the box if your problems don’t fit in the box.”

“The Nightwalker can’t speak,” Will protests. “It won’t understand you, and also Mike said it’s a guy!”

Not-Steve’s-Billy pats Will’s back. “Don’t you worry, kid. We’ve got body language and that’s all we need.” He holds his hand out. “Dice.”

“Don’t let him, Mike,” Lucas begs, sounding vaguely terrified. “What if he makes a good throw? I don’t wanna know what he does with the Nightwalker!”

“What the fuck?” Billy stalks over and grabs the die Dustin was handing over. “I leave you alone for an hour and you turn into a nerd?”

“Hey! My character has gotten laid twice already.” Not-Steve’s-Billy taps his paper. “He’s a...” He pauses and looks at Will. “Wiseman. What the hell am I again?”

Will sighs. “A bard. You wanted a guitar.”

Not-Steve’s-Billy bumps his shoulder to Will’s in thanks and smirks up at Billy. “My bard is getting every kind of action over here. This is so not a nerd game.”

“Shit.” Steve scrubs his hair back. “You guys already took sex ed, right?” Please let there be nothing Steve suddenly has to explain. He’s not ready for that. When he gets four slightly-numb nods in return, it feels like he can breathe again.

“You can’t just add sex and think it removes the nerd overtones.” Billy tosses the die aside. “Move your ass, we’re going.”

Lucas makes a shrill sound that Steve bets the other guys will mimic for Max for a long time. “A 20! He rolled a 20!” He clasps his hands over his ears. “Don’t tell me what a 20 means!”

“Wait, is that good?” Not-Steve’s-Billy looks around the table. “Do I get to fuck the Night-thing?”

“Okay, thanks for being so nice to Billy’s... friend, gotta go, you kids play nice,” Steve calls over his shoulder as he and Billy drag Not-Steve’s-Billy up the stairs and out of the basement.

“Wiseman!” Not-Steve’s-Billy calls back down the stairs. “Wiseman, save my stats for me!”

The basement door shuts. It’s quiet. Dustin dutifully reaches over and pushes the die, flipping the upturned number to a 3.

Mike sits down, still clutching his book. “Okay,” he says slowly. “The Nightwalker devoured his soul. And we never speak of him again.”

[random-mha-thoughts]

Skater Boy (Kirishima x Reader)

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: College!AU; You’re going to get pizza and you run into a group of skaters from your university

Word count: 2,640

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I was talking to my cousin one day and the thought just suddenly hit me, What if the Bakusquad were skateboarders?  And so this idea was born!  Not the best but I think it’s cute, and he deserves fluff after I just wrote angst for him.

"I think I might actually fail that class," I deflate, hunched over.  "I study until I'm blue in the face and I still do bad on the exams.  And he doesn't even curve the grades!"

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow at me.  "(Y/n), you have a B in that class, why are you so worried?"

"Because I want an A!" I burst out as we walk up the parking lot of the pizza shop.  "It's still only the middle of the semester, I need a good enough cushion just in case I slip up on the last few exams.  I can't get another C!"

My dark haired friend grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye.  "You're freaking out for nothing, just chill.  Do something fun for a change."

I sigh exasperatedly.  "I don't have time for fun.  I need enough time to study and do my homework, and I need time to procrastinate because of how stressed I am."  She doesn't understand since she's not a science major, she's a lucky Communications major.

She rolls her eyes.  "If you keep going like this, you'll start having premature grays hairs.  And you'll look older than you already do."

I shove her playfully.  "Are you saying I look older than my age?"

"Yup.  And it doesn't help that you have resting bitch face either."

I jump in front of her to jokingly insult her too.  "You're-"

"Incoming!"

Stepping backwards, the ground underneath my foot is slightly higher and shaky, making my leg jerk to the side instinctively and I land square on my ass, almost knocking into the shop's glass doors.  My head follows the sound of wheels rolling to see a skateboard gliding away from us.

"Hey, stupid."  A shadow casts over me and I meet the eyes of a pretty annoyed ash-blond boy, his hands in his forest green cargo pants pockets.  He looks down his nose at me with a grimace.  "That was my board you tripped on."

I blink, not knowing what he expects me to say.  "Um.  Sorry?"

Tzuyu helps me off the floor.  "Why would you let it roll away if you didn't want anyone touching it?"

He grabs it from the small distance it traveled, kicking the edge and gripping it by the metal between the wheels.  His board is almost all black with a giant white skull in the middle surrounded by orange and yellow flames.  "We warned you, not our fault you stepped on it like an amateur."

My gaze flicks briefly to the group of other people hanging around the side of the building before returning back to him.  "All you said was 'Incoming,' how were we supposed to know what to watch out for?"

The boy rolls his eyes and swaggers up to me.  Being almost an entire head taller, he slouches over me.  "You should've know to just freeze up," he growls.

The combination of his height towering over me and his murderous crimson eyes makes me gulp, but stand my ground.  I cross my arms over my chest.  "M-Maybe if you weren't so bad at skateboarding, you wouldn't have messed up for it to roll away from you."

The boy growls and bares his teeth at me.  "You wanna say that again?!"

"Okay, calm down, dude, it was just an accident."  A red-headed friend of the boy runs up and pushes him away when I flinch into Tzuyu's arms behind me.  "You don't have to pick a fight with everyone you meet, just chill."

The porcupine-haired boy grumbles under his breath and walks back to the rest of his group.

I turn to the saintly friend.  "Thank you-"

As soon as he turns around, the words get jumbled in my throat.  The front of his hair is so cutely tucked over his face under his black beanie.  His features give off a boyish charm with sharp features like his eyes and his jawline.  His beaming smile puts blindingly white sharp teeth on display as his eyes crinkle up.  "Sorry about him, he's a bit of a hothead."

"It's okay!" I say quickly, waving my hands in front of me and looking down.  My eyes meet with his board, the pattern a scarlet matching his hair color with black lettering outlining the initials RR.  "You have a pretty cool board.  Matches your hair."  It's a dumb compliment and I know it is, I'm just trying to make conversation.

He picks it up by the sides and admires it himself.  "You like it?  Painted it myself!  I bought the wheels, but I sprayed the trucks black because I thought it looked cooler."

"Seems like a personification of you."  You sound so lame and boring, why would you say that?

"It's new, I'm trying to get it scratched up and everything."  He holds it with one hand at his side and holds his hand out to me, flashing another brilliant smile.  "I'm Eijirou Kirishima by the way!"

Tzuyu and I introduce ourselves.  "Do you go to the university here?" my friend asks.

"Yeah, we all do," he motions to the rest of them.  "We just like to come out and chill every once in a while, usually we're at the park though."

I know which one he's talking about.  About a block away, opposite the direction of our university, is a skate park that I've seen whenever we pass by here to get food.

Tzuyu clears her throat and nudges me from behind and I shoot her a look to stop.

"Yo, Kiri!  We're goin' back to the park, you comin'?"  One of the boys with bright blond hair and a black hoodie calls out.

Kirishima's head flits back and forth between us and his friends.  "I'll meet up with you guys later!" he answers before turning his attention back to us.  "I can treat you guys to lunch since Bakugou was being an ass if you want?"

My eyes widen.  "You don't have-"

"Sure, why not?" Tzu talks over me and grabs my arm.  "Let's go grab a table!"

I will kill everything you love.

.

Tzuyu does most of the talking while I eat my pizza like a silent bunny.  We find out he's an Exercise Science major with an average GPA.  The most surprising thin is that his loudmouth friend who almost jumped us is a pretty bright student.

"You really can't tell, he's such a hothead," Tzu comments.

"Yeah, he's been trying to work on it," Kirishima laughs and rubs the back of his head.  "But he's a really smart guy, I usually ask him to explain stuff I don't understand."

I stare at the board he's laid down on the seat next to him.  We're spread out inside a semicircle booth near the window, so it's right next to me.  I stealthily reach out to spin one of the white and red wheels.  Some part of me feels like a child because I get easily amused by these things.

"You must really like my board."

My heart lurches when I realize I've been caught, my face turning red when I meet his beaming face.  "I'm sorry for touching it."  I scoot away from it a little bit.

"No need to apologize, I don't mind."  He pushes it towards me and leans his arms on the back of the cushioned seats.  "Do you skate?"

I fiddle with the wheels again.  "I have a board, actually, but I can't really skate."  It's at my house, under my bed where I can't see it.

"That's cool, do you have a picture?" his scarlet eyes light up in excitement."

"No, I don't."  I deleted it.  "I, uh, dated someone who bought it for me and was supposed to teach me how to skate."

"And you broke up?" Kirishima finishes, his expression neutralized to a blank slate.

Damnit, look what you did, you've made everyone uncomfortable now.  I take a last bite of my pizza, leaving the crust.  Usually Tzuyu eats it for me.

Kirishima eyes it and his face turns a bit red, darting away from me.  "Would it be weird to ask if I can eat your crust?"

I feel my own face get hot at his suggestion.  Tzuyu coughs to hide her giggle and nods slightly.  "Sure, go ahead," I manage to get out shakily.

He doesn't even hesitate to grab it once he has permission, happily chewing at it.  Tzuyu bites her lip to keep herself at my obviously red face.  Don't think about it, that's so childish, I chant to myself.

He licks his lips when he's finished.  "So, (Y/n), do you still wanna learn?"

My entire body erupts in a strange combination of warmth and cold.  I never really thought about skating after I broke up with the previous guy.  It's just been sitting under my bed because  I unconsciously can't bring myself to remind myself of anything about him.  It wouldn't be a bad idea, but I also don't really want to embarrass myself in front of another cute guy.

Noticing my hesitation, Kirishima offers a warm smile.  "You don't have to worry about falling in front of me!  I couldn't stay on the board at first either!"

I can't imagine it, but something about his affable, trusting demeanor draws me to him.  "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Awesome!"  His entire face lights up and his eyes crinkle up again.

"You guys can go ahead, I'm going back to the dorms to study," Tzuyu gets up to throw her plate away.  When Kirishima isn't looking, she wiggles her eyebrows and mouths, "Have fun."

"That's too bad.  It was nice meeting you!"

I shake my head quickly at her, but she just sticks her tongue out at me and leaves.

The redhead grabs his board and stands up.  "Shall we?"

Lord, I'm gonna die today.

.

Kirishima had already got me to feel out my balance standing on the grass and was now planing on moving me to the concrete.  Cue all my fears of falling off and busting my head open.

"Do you know which stance you're more comfortable standing with?" he asks, placing the board in front of me near a pole in the parking lot.

"I think so?"  I'm not familiar with it, but I can switch it up later.

"Alright, hold onto the pole and step up.  I'll stand in front of you just in case you fall forward, just be careful falling backwards."  He's been extra patient with me this whole time, it's endearing.

"Can you clone yourself so you can be in both places?" I ask feebly, clasping my hands in front of me, staring at the little board.

He chuckles, "I wish I could.  You'll do fine, I'll try to catch you either way."

I take a breath, holding onto the pole and placing my foot on the board.  I don't want to look like a coward in front of Kirishima, so I grasp the metal tightly and plant my other foot, wobbling a little in place and whining.

"You're doing good!  Are you cool so far?"  He moves to stand on the side where my body faces forward.

"I think so?"  My blood pumps with adrenaline and all I want to do is leap off and go back to the dorms.  Damnit Tzu, why did you leave me here?

"Okay, whenever you're ready, just push off and roll!"

My front fist clenches in front of me, every instinct telling me not to let go of the pole.  "You'll catch me, right?" I confirm, my legs shaking in anticipation.

"Yup!"  He holds his hands out, palms up and ready.  "Ready when you are!"

Don't be a coward, just do it.  I push off weakly and start rolling only slightly faster than a snail's pace before I shake and spasm, putting a hand on Kirishima's arm instinctively.  "Shit, sorry-" I take my hand off only to windmill my arms and lean backward.

He grabs both of my hands.  "Lean on me, it's okay."

His warm smile and gentle voice makes me feel stupid for being an imbalanced fool.  "I'm sorry, I'm such a klutz, I'm really bad at this," I burst out quickly.

"You're fine, take your time."  The warmth from his hands flusters me even more and I want to let go, but if I do I'll fall over.  "Do you want me to push you so you can try again?  Is it okay?"  I nod, my body still shaking.  I shift to balance with one of his hands as he frees the other.  "I'm gonna let go after I push you, plant yourself."

He pushes at the small of my back gingerly, sending me rolling a little faster than before.  Despite being wobbly, somehow I manage to keep my balance for a few more seconds, the board wavering back and forth under my feet.

"You've got it, good job!" Kirishima praises, keeping a brisk walking pace to keep up.

The board slows to a crawl and I waver, stopping when I grab his arm again and letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.  "That's not too bad I guess," I exhale.

He chuckles.  "Do you wanna try riding towards me alone this time?"

Please no.  "Okay," I squeak out.

Kirishima stands a good 10 meters away from me.  Starting from the pole, I push off towards him and balance myself across.  When I approach him, he raises his hands up for me to hold onto and walks backwards to match my speed.  "Just step off now."

As soon as I take my back foot off, the front tips forward into the ground.  The mini sensation of falling makes me yelp and lean into him reflexively.

A snicker leaves his lips.  "Not really a successful stop, but at least you did it."

I look up, about to say something snarky, but I realize how close we are to each other.  His eyes bore into mine, and I notice he has a small vertical scar on his right eye.  I'm about to reel back for staring before he grips my hands tighter and brings them down to get closer.  My heart thumps in my ears, body still shaking with adrenaline.

"You know, it won't take just a single day to skate well, you need to practice at it."  His eyes relax into a half-lidded state, one side of his lips lazily turned up slightly.

"Yeah..." I want to curse myself for such a dumb response.  The smell of his wooded cologne wafts from his hoodie.

He bites his lip and glances down at mine briefly and his voice drops an octave.  "Would you like it if we kept this up?  Maybe tomorrow?"

Without thinking, I nod slowly.

"Maybe we can grab something to eat together?" he tips his head, "Like a...date?"

My face flushes.  Oh, this is happening.  I nod again, not trusting my voice to do anything but scream.

A low chuckle resounds from him throat and he quickly brushes a finger to my cheek.  "You're cute.  I'm glad you wanna see me again too."

My chest throbs at the compliment, eyes dropping to the ground.

Another melodious laugh and he lets go of me, grabbing his board that rolled a few feet away.  "Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm."

I hang back, dazed after what just happened.  The adrenaline is slowly emptying out of my system and my heart is trying to normalize, but replaying how close we were a few moments ago kicks everything back into gear.

"You coming?" he calls from behind.  Seeing my disorientation, he smiles teasingly.  "Have you lost your balance to walk too?  Here," he clasps his free hand with mine gently, "I'll help you."

A new tremor of warmth flows through me.  Oh.

[33skeletons]

This is a list of all the people currently available

If this blog gains any real traction, I’ll add more... but until then, I don’t want to get too carried away until I’m 100% sure that the effort is worth it. I hope y’all understand

Name: Deydra Age: 18 Likes: ice cream, yaoi, drawing, roleplay dislikes: rude people, coffee, people putting words in her mouth, XP, Punk Bio: She’s in an open relationship with Scruff. she’s mute, but doesn’t know sign language, so she communicates via charades. She’s a low key perv, but tends to feign innocence.

Name: Friday Age: 22 Likes: flirting, coffee, making people flustered Dislikes: tea.... that stuff’s too mild, spicy food..... are you fucking insane!?! Bio: This tall drink of water is not for the feint of heart. He knows all the right buttons to push to reduce you to a blushing puddle. He has a goofy sense of humor and will often make a complete fool of himself just to make people at least crack an amused smile.

Name: Manga Age: 24 Likes: being pampered, the finer things in life Dislikes: getting dirty, being treated like a commoner Bio: This Miss Priss is a purebred with a pedigree. She believes herself to be an aristocrat and deems those of lower standard to be “plebian filth” and below her. Quick witted with a sharp tongue to boot, she’s not the nicest person to be around unless you can meet her high standards.... or give her a bottle of fancy ketchup. She has a weakness for tough guys that can match her mental capacity and hold intricate conversation with her.

Name: Punk Age: 32 Likes: What’s it to ya? Dislikes: Like you’d like ta know! Bio: he’s quite stand-off-ish and likes to keep people at arms length as much as he possibly can. He gets along with very few people and likes to shroud himself in mystery, the less you know, the better for him. He’s a wild card that enjoys throwing people for a loop at every turn.

Name: Scruff Age: 19 Likes: protecting Deydra, spicy food, tea, cuddles Dislikes: sushi, bone broth Bio: he and Deydra are in an open relationship. He cares more about Deydra than his own life. He’s a tad stand-off-ish towards anyone he doesn’t know. He tends to act as a translator for Deydra when someone doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. All the scars on his face and his gold fangs are all from fighting to keep Deydra out of harm’s way. Wherever Deydra goes, Scruff is never very far.

Name: XP Age:15 Likes: destruction, being an asshole, getting what he wants Dislikes: being told no, having to be nice, things he destroys being fixed Bio: This edgy teen just wants the world to burn. He strives to hurt people any way he can and often ends up getting beaten senseless by Scruff when he targets Deydra. Being an Error Nightmare, he can use both Error strings and Nightmare tentacles to bring about destruction and pain, though he normally keeps the tentacles hidden as not to instantly rouse suspicion from his targets seeing as most actively avoid Nightmares, but are okay with Errors, though he can’t hide the goop that covers his right eye, which gives away his other half if anyone’s attentive enough to put two and two together in time

Name: Hokori Age: 23 Likes: food, blood, peanuts Dislikes:..... meh Bio: With his hood up, he appears to be a Dust Sans, but with his hood down it reveals a large gash in his skull and allows him to pass as your average Horror Sans. He’s volatile and unpredictable, but the fastest way to this skeleton’s proverbial heart is lots of food. He’s a bottomless pit with an insatiable apatite. If he’s out on a killing spree and has decided to target you, your best bet at escaping is to toss a handful of some kind of small, easily scattered snack such as peanuts. He’ll stop and start picking up and eating whatever you threw like James Woods from Family Guy. He’s also a bit of a perv once he’s deemed you not worth the energy of killing.

Name: Calibri (left) Age: 21 Likes: shredding sick riffs on her guitar, rapping, beating the snot out of assholes that need a checkup with karma Dislikes: Assholes, people calling her fat... I’m a queen with more curves than you know how to handle!!! get it right, fuckers!!! Bio: This badass, bodacious babe is one of Gears’s twin daughters. She’s got a sailor’s mouth with an alcohol tolerance to match. She’s hot-headed, but also mediates when her sister Chiller is too angry to see straight and starts edging too close to the line when putting her foot down. Calibri is sexy and she knows it with a ride or die attitude. She don’t need no man to take care of her, no sir! She’s perfectly capable of paying her own tab and fighting off a group of thugs that don’t know how to take no for an answer! She, her sister, and her mom can play Through The Fire And Flames on their guitars. Name: Chiller (right) Age: 21 Likes: playing guitar with her sister Calibri and mother Gears, reading Dungeons and Dragons books Dislikes: movie adaptations of books, live action adaptations of animations, assholes, being angry Bio: Chiller’s a badass babe in her own right. She survived being hooked up to a car battery and has the scars to prove it. She’s a lesbian and proud, and prefers taking on the dominant role in a relationship. Her pain tolerance is incredibly high. She enjoys hip hop, interpretive and break dancing, and is one heck of an archer with nearly dead shot aim. She’s normally stoic and very blunt with her words, preferring to only speak when necessary. She’s a natural born pack alpha.

Name: Sparkle Age: 41 Likes: anything sweet, bright colors, J-pop, K-pop Dislikes: anything bitter, having to get violent, seeing others get hurt Bio: she may look all sunshine and rainbows, but she can punch like a freight train and sometimes forgets her own strength. She suffers from hypoglycemia and has to keep sweets and candy on her person if she leaves the house, though she will gladly share them if you ask. She enjoys baking, and can often times be found doing just that out of boredom, not that anyone has been complaining. She may appear frail, but she can tank hits like a champ so long as said hits don’t come from a sharp object or gunshot. Her twin sister is Shade. She has a problem with producing more magic than her body can handle, so her sister comes in handy for that issue.

Name: Shade Age: 41 Likes: star gazing, dark colors, bitter and robust flavors, Evanescence (she knows all of their songs by heart) Dislikes: sweets, bright light, satanists Bio: Miss Doom And Gloom here is a wiccan highly skilled in her practice. She has the ability to leech magic from other monsters because she has no magic of her own to use, so she uses the magic of others, though mostly the excess magic her sister overproduces. She doesn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty in a fight,.... good thing she wears gloves! She’s rather soft spoken, but make no mistake, she has an outside voice and will not hesitate to use it if someone’s getting on her nerves. She mostly uses defensive magic to protect others, though she knows attack spells purely for the defense of herself and others should it be absolutely necessary. She also knows basic healing magic, though she can only heal minor injuries.

Name: Aiden Age: 40 Likes: pain, meat, grunge and screamo Dislikes: pop music, allergy season, Bio: This sharp toothed masochist ADORES pain, both receiving and inflicting. She got so mad once, she ruined her voice, so now she sounds like she smokes a pack a day. She’s very fast, agile, and super flexible since she’s double jointed EVERYWHERE!!! She has three rows of those razor teeth and a tongue which is so long it can act as an extra limb, which she enjoys showing off to freak people out via picking up objects such as cups, keys, pencils, and even going so far as to balance on it. She has very bad allergies, so she smells by flicking her tongue out like a reptile. Her spit and other bodily fluids are highly acidic. She’s normally chill, but it’s still obvious she’s a bit unhinged.

Name: Gears Age: 40 Likes: hot sauce, children, playing his acoustic guitar, working on cars, blacksmithing, learning new things Dislikes: sitting still for too long, sweets, water, cold, rude people, being alone Bio: Gears is a country boy that enjoys staying in top physical shape and keeping his hands and mind busy at every chance he gets. He’s just as strong as Sparkle, but slower. He has fire magic that when not fighting to keep others safe, he uses to forge metal as a freelance blacksmith. He carries a ridiculously enormous wrench forged from the hardest metal known to man that he uses as a melee weapon. Fire doesn’t harm him, but water sure as heck does (but he can drink things like koolaid and soda and be perfectly fine... just no water on it’s own or saline solution)!!! He bleeds ferrofluid, which he can manipulate, harden, and liquify at will as a last resort in a fight or to keep his injuries from deterring him too badly. He’s a bit of a himbo, but not as dumb... he just has his moments where “me brain am no werk so gud” and it’s evident when he starts having Freudian Slips in whatever he’s trying to say or his response to a question is “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhm...... wait one...... run that by me again?”. Gears was around during the great human monster war, which in his AU the humans sealed them in the mountain, but chased them till they were backed against the barrier, but the monsters hit a massive stroke of good luck and managed to take back the underground with the help of Frisk. Being a war veteran that has seen things no one should ever have to, he suffers from PTSD. Gears has a soft spot for children, and will often babysit for others if they ask.

Name: Sketch Age: 40 Likes: drawing, painting, coloring, blood, sketching,..... what? Dislikes: ......... what were we talkin bout? Bio: Sketch is an unhinged scatterbrained clutz of an aspiring artist.... with a dark side. She’s a low-key sadist that’s developed a taste for blood. Once you piss her off, stopping her is like trying to stop the Doom Guy.... just... stay out of her warpath and pray to whoever you pray to that you’re not the one she’s storming towards. She’s a MASSIVE perv and will openly stare at whatever she sees that she likes a little too much, even known to get handsy when the person doesn’t take the hint. She often loses track of important things like her phone, keys, ect and loses her train of though every now and then or feigns it to skillfully dodge questions and conversations she’d rather not be having.

Name: Rave Age: 42 Likes: singing, dancing, fashion and most importantly BOOOOOOOYYYYYS~ Dislikes: ..... depends on the situation, really~ Bio: A flamboyantly gay vigilante is also a medic with powerful healing magic. Rave is fleet of foot and deathly quiet when sneaking up on someone and with enough stamina to outrun most of his targets. His weapon of choice is a glowstick staff. Wanna hear what he sounds like? Go to youtube and look up any nightcore male version of any Ke$ha song and that’s what he sounds like. Rave likes looking hot AF and can frequently be found rocking women’s punk, pop and grunge style clothing and looking damn good in it and some eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. He prides himself in keeping himself as healthy and fit as he possibly can at all times. He unironically likes pumpkin spice anything, peppermint bark lattes, and kale chips. 

Name: Dante Age: 42 Likes: children, Italian food, guns, cigars, wine, bourbon, being a wise guy mobster, Helping others.... so long as they help someone else in return that is.... sorta like.... paying for the person behind you in a drive thru where it starts a chain reaction of people paying for the next person’s meal..... little acts of kindness make the world go round, y’know.... and I’m a charitable man. Dislikes: rude people, having to go “Melancholy”, Bio: This Mafiatale Ganz (GZTale Sans) is the don of his own mafia that deal in guns, alcohol, and providing protection to those who come to him on the day of his sister's daughter's son's niece's nephew's grandmother's sister's wedding-..... pffffft hahaha!!! Just kidding! He has no blood relatives besides his brother Leon, but this group of people (everyone in the two pictures above this) are like.... illegitimate family.... adoptive you could say. Dante’s great with kids. He and Gears are the best at babysitting and often work together to help lost children find their families again when they’re out and about. Dante enjoys giving back to the community as much as he possibly can, even spending his free time doing volunteer work and donating funds to the city. When Dante gets a custom order on a gun, he has Gears forge it for him and focuses on the fine details, dip dying, engraving and making custom bullets to match.

Name: Anomaly Age: immortal, frozen at age 23 Likes: helping others, traveling to other AUs, fruity alcohol, karaoke, JAPANESE FOOD!!! Dislikes: spicy food, beer, celery, mushrooms, country music Bio: Anomaly has ben around for god knows how long. They are bigender. They have wings and horns (cause They’re a fallen angel) but prefers to hide them away. 40 years ago, they decided to create their own AU as a safe haven for anyone trying to escape danger, though danger seems to find their little safe haven more than they’d like to admit. It was around this time they discovered forgotten AUs and ones being destroyed or deleted and decided to try to rescue as many people from them as they could, bringing them back to populate their AU Crossroads, aptly named due to it being a meltingpot of the multiverse and still growing in size and population to this day. The 9 skeletons listed above were the first 9 they ever rescued and they became like their own kids. They’re a goofball, but make Them mad and you’ll feel their wrath! Skilled in a multitude of weapons and fighting styles, they’re a formidable force of nature. They can shift between male and female at will, though they prefer their female form due to them being able to fit in smaller spaces, being lighter weight, and being able to doe eye and bat their eyelashes out of most situations.... plus free drinks at the local bar on Thursdays.

Name: Eros Age: 19 Likes: long walks on the beach, cuddles, his family, oreos Dislikes: rainy days, confrontation (cause it makes people afraid of him) Bio: This 10ft tall, frightening behemoth is actually Aiden’s son! Out of all the second generation, he’s the youngest of the adults, but the most responsible of the four boys, often being the voice of reason amongst them, especially when it comes to the well being of children around his idiotic cousins Etch and Scribble and often being the one to get little ZJ to listen to what he’s told by telling him going to bed on time and eating vegetables will make him grow up big and strong like him. He’s actually a little on the shy side and very humble, only hamming things up around ZJ and other small children present. He suffers from early onset arthritis and has to take medication for it to keep his joints from locking up and grinding together, but he doesn’t let it hold him down. He and his uncle Gears work out together because it helps his aching bones and because Gears turns it into fun little challenges for him to keep him going with it instead of giving up.

Name: Etch Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: mEmEs!!!, weed, being annoying, prank wars Dislikes: being forgotten, being ignored, pain (has a very low pain tolerance) Bio: One of Sketch’s sons and Scribble’s twin brother. He’s just very lonely and wants people to pay attention to him to stave off being alone for as long as he can... whether said attention is positive or negative. When no one pays attention to him or there’s no one to keep his thoughts from wandering to dark places, he steals his brother’s weed stash and gets high... which his brother hates because Etch could easily go to a doctor and get his own prescribed to him, but Etch fears the doctor’s office more than death and adamantly refuses to go, even hiding or running away at the mere mention of it. Etch tried to get a tattoo once.... he went into it screaming like a badass Viking, but before they could even roll up his sleeve to start, he ran out blubbering like a baby. He’s the most irresponsible one in the entire family and is always the one to cause major problems because of a bad idea he thought was good at the time. He ends up in bad situations a lot and finds himself with the wrong crowd more often than not, but lucky for him he has a family full of badasses that come to bail him out of any situation before he ends up hurt too badly.

Name: Scribble Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: memes, weed, hanging around Etch, Eros and ZJ, cuddles Dislikes: when Etch steals his weed, when Etch gets into trouble, pain (another with very low pain tolerance, looky there! But he has literally no tolerance for pain.... he screamed when he got those piercings)  Bio: Scribble suffers from anxiety and clinical depression and was prescribed marijuana to treat it. He and his brother were home schooled after freshman year of high school due to Etch pissing off the entire football team and them all ambushing the brothers in the locker room after gym class and um... let’s just say Etch got over it and Scribble still fears .....backdoor intimacy after what the football team did to them. Scribble is unable to protect himself and is a firm believer in pacifism. In times of battle, Scribble acts as a messenger, able to write notes in magic ink that can only be seen by it’s intended recipients. He normally just rolls with whatever Etch is doing or does what he’s told to avoid a conflict.

Name: Spritle Age: 20 Likes: Cheesy romance, dark humor and morbid jokes, rainy days Dislikes: removing her death touch nullifying necklace, people sexualizing her right off the bat, people underestimating her because of her appearance Bio: This brightly colored reaper girl is one of Sparkle’s daughters. She prefers to blend into the background and not be the center of attention if she can help it. Yes, her freckles are rainbow colors. She’s more on the proper side like her aunt Shade and enjoys a relationship if it’s not centered around perversion. She’d rather spend the day cuddled up on the couch watching disney movies, eating pizza and sharing a drink with two straws. She really likes nostalgic and retro things like 50′s diners and drive in movies. If you’re with her and intend on asking her out, doing old school gestures like laying your jacket over a puddle so she won’t step in it is the quickest way to win her over.

Name: Pixie Age: 19 Likes: when any guy is interested in her, when soon to be reaped souls try to run from her sister (It gives her something to do), sushi Dislikes: When people think she’s a child because of her nearly flat chest and high pitches voice, How her big sister has a bigger bust than her (Sprilte: Hey, if I could switch with you, I would! These things hurt my back!) Bio: Sparkle’s youngest daughter. Her father was an ErrorFellSwap Papyrus. She works with her sister as a chaser. Her job is to chase after, disarm and detain souls that refuse to be reaped when their time comes via trying to fight death or outrun it and thus trying to fight/run away from Spritle. Pixie is the first ever chaser on record and was the one who proposed the idea to the reaper council to keep reapers from tearing their bodies up to do their job. Chasers can be identified by a little white cross on their clothing or accessories and are required to be fast runners and ferocious fighters. Pixie has the speed and ferocity of a FellSwap Papyrus and is able to use her error strings to easily take weapons from your hands and tie you up to await the cold bite of Spritle’s scythe or claw blades. Pixie enjoys puzzles, her favorite being rubix cubes.

Name: ZJ Age: 4 Likes: coloring, playing outside, hanging out with the older boys, spending time with uncle Gears and uncle Dante, when his momma reads to him, hide and seek, COOKIES, CAKE AND CANDY!!! Dislikes: When people are mean and hurt others, vegetables, bed time Bio: Shade’s adopted son. ZJ is shy, yet a hyperactive ball of energy that likes to hang around with Etch, Scribble, and Eros. He has wisdom beyond his years thanks to his mother reading college level literature as his bedtime stories, but he has trouble articulating his words from the first three years of his life being spent with everyone baby talking him. When he doesn’t know how to respond to something, he just reacts by screaming “I DUNNO WHAT’S GOIN ON!!!” the same happens when he gets overwhelmed, but it’s accompanied by him hiding behind the nearest trusted adult.

FEEL FREE TO START SENDING ASKS AND RP STARTERS!!!

[philocake]

Yep, you guessed it, more HTTYD Homecoming salt

I am feeling extra salty today after rewatching the thing and reading the comment sections of the clips shown on Youtube. Today, I’m going to complain about worldbuilding. And some other stuff, cause every second of this short is wrong.

Alright, let me remind myself how rushed this thing is before I get into tearing it apart. It’s not even funny. All the dialogue feels forced and out of character like half of the time, and the pacing is just really strange. Yes, yes, it’s a short, it has lower budget, blah, blah, blah... Not a valid excuse. One, they made the same mistake they made in HTTYD3: too much plot for too little screentime. Two, Gift of the Night Fury had several things to say and yet the pacing was not awkward at all. It really felt like part of the first movie instead of something with less budget thrown into it.

Gift of the Night Fury was nice and heartwarming, and every single character and all they said and did stayed true to the film’s canon. They actually show us how the characters have been doing and give us a little bit of development, and every funny and cute moment is perfectly balanced. Homecoming has none of that. It tries to be charming and its attempts come across as desperate and weird, and man, don’t get me started on how much they clung to comedy - yet again, same mistake with HTTYD3. The jokes and funny comments are just so out of character, so unnecessary, so sudden, so repetitive and so half-hearted that I can’t even force a smile and give the writers any pity for trying.

I’m sorry, but the “and then it hit me” joke was only funny the first time. When a 20 minute short starts milking jokes, you know they have no idea what they’re doing and just want to make you laugh so you can ignore their fatal flaws.

Anyway, let me talk about character development and worldbuilding, because man Homecoming completely smashed these two very important concepts that Gift of the Night Fury treated with impeccable respect.

The characters have been destroyed. The whole play thing was a mess and no one should’ve acted they way they did. Why is Hiccup okay with that disaster? He’s the chief, he should have a little more saying in what they do and don’t do. Yes, he’s Hiccup, he’s gonna be goofy and all... but being goofy does not equal to being a helpless idiot. Actually, HTTYD3 and Homecoming both seem to have deemed it a good idea to turn perfectly good, stable characters into idiots for the sake of comedy. Take Tuffnut, for example. Yes, we all know the twins. We all know how they are. We also know that Tuffnut is not that big of a moron. And omfg, don’t even get me started on Gobber. I’ve always liked his character, but in Homecoming... I don’t even have the words. He’s awful. He’s annoying. He’s stupid. He’s not Gobber. I didn’t think you could destroy a character this badly after HTTYD3, but here we are. I don’t even want to talk more about what he does in detail because it pisses me off so much. That person is just not Gobber. Nothing else to say.

Speaking of characters... Where the absolute hell is Valka. They destroyed her enough in HTTYD3 (physically, too) and now they just throw her out of the picture and offer no explanations? Not a single mention? The yak-nog got a cameo and she didn’t? Fantastic! I want to think she did the most sensible thing and ran off to live with the dragons, somehow. Would be better than the freakshow Berk is. I would do the same if I lived surrounded by 1-dimensional morons, Val.

More problems on Berk, let’s see... Why don’t the kids know about Stoick and are allowed to trash his statue without being called out? Shouldn’t he be talked about like he’s the stuff of legends (which he is) to every kid? Hiccup was told countless stories about him when he was little. Yes, he’s his son, but that shouldn’t give only him the privilege of listening to stories. And speaking of telling kids things, why have Hiccup and Astrid not told their kids about the dragons sooner? You’d think these two, of all people, would be so excited to educate their little ones about the marvels of those creatures. They look like they’re at least 6+ both, they should have already known about Berk’s history with dragons. But of course, Homecoming couldn’t afford that. Gotta have some sort of plot going on!

Now, to the Hidden World... I’ll be honest with you, I found that scene with Toothless drawing Hiccup to be absolutely depressing. Not because he’s longing his best friend (which he shouldn’t, because the damn director stated he forgot about him), but because he should feel miserable trapped in that place. He and his kids should feel miserable. For one, the Light Fury is literally a controlling ass. Did you see how offended she looked when Toothless dared to remember his past life with the human that changed his life? Oh, how dare he! His life must only be centered around her and her numb skull! After all, she’s this random dragon he fell in love with in 3 seconds! Gotta love how she acted all bitchy until he was forced to comfort her. My headcanon is that she’s literally controlling him with pheromones. The real Toothless is too smart to stay with such a plain, useless, unaccepting dragon for the rest of his life.

As for his kids, yes I did say they should be unhappy. The only thing they can do is wrestle each other and play with whatever those floating orb thingies are supposed to be. Wow, how fun... They’re little baby dragons, trying to enjoy their early years of life! In the outside world, they would have been able to see the sky, interact with the environment, discover all the animals that surround them, travel back and forth with their parents... but they’re stuck on that pretty cage, bored out of their lives. The Hidden World is literally captivity.

Look at it, this poor thing is so miserable... No wonder it was so desperate to look for adventures, so much that even a drawing of a creature it has never seen gave it the magical abilities to find New Berk.

Which brings me to another point, how did the Night Lights find New Berk? How did they know they were supposeed to find something outside the Hidden World only via a drawing? And how were they able to fly for so long? And how did Toothless and the Light Fury know exactly where to find them? Also, earlier on, why did the Light Fury even light up that glowing rock thingie when they were in the Hidden World? She’s that awful, controlling of a dragon that she can’t even let her kids sleep in peace. And she huffed out green fire? What is happening?

The plot of Homecoming is just forced, and it’s really stinkin’ obvious this thing was done for money and nothing more. You’ve got cute little Toothless babies (I find the Night Lights to be rather hideous, but that’s just me) and you’ve got cute little Hiccstrid kids. Obviously you want to make money off of that, because more than half the fandom won’t give a shit if they make sense or not.

These people just went right ahead and trashed the third movie’s canon to make this cashgrab. Let’s ignore the fact that the director explicitly stated that Toothless had forgotten about Hiccup for a second and focus on what happens on the short. Toothless immediately recognizes Hiccup while he’s in a suit just by his scent and voice, but in the third movie he just has to wait till the hand trick comes up to recgonize him. Toothless was also totally cool with people, and that smug look he gave his family after letting Gobber touch him just proves he was there to make them see how great humans are. And yet he acts like he will murder a few unarmed humans that came slightly close to his home, with no way in? Suuuure.

Actually, let me vent a little here about what I said earlier - HTTYD3 and Homecoming both just destroyed the hand touch thing and I will never forgive them for that. It was supposed to be a unique moment, a special and unforgettable action that started it all, but now they’ve gotta milk it for the feels. The reverse hand touch in HTTYD3 was so forced I actually sighed, and then they just kept forcing it throughout. Shame on y’all.

I could go on for days tearing this thing apart... but I don’t want to give this thing more of my time than it deserves.

[solangelover]

12 Days of Gifts: Day 1

A/N: I really hope I do all 12, otherwise I gotta change the title. For @solangeloweek‘s Advent Calendar Challenge! Don’t @ me on timeline and ToA; I’m too lazy for such things.

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

--- | Next

“Hey, Neeks!”

One sunny son of Apollo jogged up to Nico as he walked to breakfast, his breath puffing out into the winter air. The border kept out the extreme cold of New York winter weather, but it still got pretty chilly at Camp Half Blood. Most people didn’t mind; after all, it wasn’t winter without the cold. The Apollo kids were truly the only ones who seemed to be physically suffering every day. However, nothing seemed to dampen the bright blues of Will Solace. At least, not to Nico.

“Don’t call me that,” Nico said, by way of greeting.

“Aw, come on, you know you love it,” Will winked.

Nico rolled his eyes and continued walking with Will by his side. They both got their food and sat at the Apollo table. Nico had taken to doing that since the war ended. It was “mandated by his doctor” for a while, but at this point, Nico couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy sitting here more than his own table.

“Nico!” Austin shouted from a little down the table. “We’re throwing an ugly sweater party tonight. You should come!”

Nico looked at the son of Apollo, confused. “Why would you have a party for ugly sweaters? That doesn’t even make sense.”

Will laughed, light and airy. “Oh, Nico! I don’t think you know what he’s talking about. It’s a Christmas thing. You wear the ugliest Christmas sweater you have—you could even make one yourself!”

“But why are the sweaters ugly?” Nico was not sold on this idea.

Kayla piped up across from him. “I don’t know, it’s just the thing. Have you seen Christmas sweaters? Like, the kind with literal lights and fuzzy balls stuck to them. It’s just ridiculous and fun.”

“Still sounds weird. But I don’t have one of those anyway.” Nico glanced away from the smiling faces of his fellow campers. It was just another thing that Nico didn’t understand and couldn’t participate in.

“Well, Death Boy,” Will grinned as the son of Hades glanced at him, “I assumed you wouldn’t have one. It doesn’t exactly fit with your whole Batman wardrobe.” He giggled as he shielded himself from Nico’s punch. That skull ring was not kind. “So,” Will continued. “I got you a present!” At that, Will pulled out a neatly wrapped box from under the table.

Nico took the box uncertainly. “I thought presents were only on Christmas?”

“I mean, people can give presents whenever they want,” Will shrugged and smiled. “Go ahead and open it!”

With some hesitance, Nico carefully pulled of the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper, drawing out the process a lot longer than all the eagerly watching Apollo kids ever would have. He placed the wrapping on the side and lifted the lid off the box. Inside was the gaudiest thing Nico would ever own. The sweater was bright green with an ugly face on it. Nico was pretty sure it was called the “Grinch” because he had asked Will about it one day after someone called him that. Just because he was grumpy didn’t mean he hated Christmas, gods. The sleeves had tiny felt Christmas tree cut-outs hanging from them and colorful fuzzy balls stuck all over the sweater. It was a ghastly sight.

“Ta-da!” Will trilled. “Do you like it? I added the extra stuff myself.” He seemed so proud, Nico didn’t know what to say.

“Uh,” he started, “I mean, it’s pretty ugly.”

“Perfect, that’s the point!” The rest of the cabin made a few comments about it before going back to other conversations. Will turned to face Nico and placed the sweater on Nico’s chest, seeing how it looked. “It’ll fit perfectly. Now you have to come to the party.”

Nico tried to scowl; he really did. But the happiness on Will’s face was hard to resist. “That was your plan all along, huh.”

“Oh, Death Boy, you know me too well.” Will smiled his bright, sunny smile, the cloudy, dismal sky behind him making him seem like the only sun in the sky. Pretty close to the truth, if you asked Nico.

[joe-england]

Working on this last Zebra Girl book is hard.  It’s taken a lot of my focus, I haven’t had the motivation to simply make art for months.  It’s depressing, but my muse finally perked up when I got the strange urge to do like I never do and draw serious. I’m going to bare my soul here.  Okay?  I want to be honest.  That’s me up there.  Notice the baggy jeans, hanging from my belt because I lost weight years ago and I tend to wear old pants that are too big for me now.  I’m fairly slender at this point, but I’ve still got a slight spare tire I have yet to shed.  See?  Well, I may have taken liberties with the ears and such. More to the point, you may know that my brand is “Obsessive Thoughts”.  I chose that term as a label because it’s not just a name, it’s a lifestyle.  I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the tendency to… well, to compulsively obsess.  And not about important things, usually, but in response to a universe full of gremlins.  You feel like you have to do certain things, like it’s necessary to do them, like you’re holding the world together, and dropping the ball will have urgent existential consequences.  It’s a persistent source of stress. So I’m going to describe my perspective, and bear in mind that on a conscious level I’m well aware of the inherent nonsense.  But I want to get this out into the open.  This is what some part of my psyche tells me is happening, if not all the time, then for most of my waking hours: I move through the world surrounded by contaminants.  I must constantly be on guard against spiritual infection.  I dodge, react, and cleanse myself through tiny rituals performed hundreds of times a day.  Nearly every part of my body is involved in a clumsy dance.  Repetition of movements is cleansing.  I move haltingly as my extremities catch on contact points which demand my instinctive tactile attention.  My fingers mostly lead, forced to twitch and touch and straighten and flex, casting towards acceptable directions (I observe the spasms as I type this very sentence, words punctuated by stops and starts as a fingertip lightly taps an extra key, or jerks to the side, or briefly hovers in place, or just wriggles a bit towards empty space, all obeying some ritual I can no longer decipher).  Like guns, pointing them in the wrong direction at the wrong moment risks compromising myself since they relay the sickness.  They are primary soldiers but also prime targets, and they must hide themselves whenever deviant sights or sounds threaten my purity. Objectionable surfaces must also be avoided, such as pictures of people I don’t like.  I have to touch some things.  I have to avoid touching others.  My feet do their part too, tapping the front boards of stairs as I climb them one by one or intentionally bumping a crevice or some panel around my desk in order to banish the bad mojo running through my system.  I scuff the bottoms of my shoes as I walk to insure that the ends of my being make appropriate contact with separate boards of wood or concrete panels, whatever I happen to be walking on at the time. Meanwhile, up top, my head is kept on constant alert, my eyes a busy terminal of positive and negative input and output.  Abstract moving imagery tends to be a threat, for If a subversive pattern appears before me I must vibrate my sight by summoning pressure through my skull, defeating its hypnotic effect (and a diminutive voice in me frets even now that I am spilling my secrets to the tired old conspiracy running its tendrils through all electronic devices). Meals are more of the same.  If dirty energy ever infects my food with stray data (for instance, if an offending name is uttered while I’m looking at what I’m about to eat) then I must negate the pollution by holding the offending morsel up to my eye and matching its transparent double image against an acceptable surface to banish the corruption before I allow it in my mouth (a technique which also applies to my fingers, and which happens often when I watch the news during meal times, horrid politicians constantly threatening to invade my essence with their ugly souls).  Whenever a contaminant aura does slip inside of me then I must cough it lightly out, willing it from my guts and off the tip of my tongue.  Noises issued from my throat contribute to regular maintenance, further warding against evil spirits.  My nostrils serve a likewise function now and then. Similar duties are assigned to my knees, my toes, my elbows, or whatever piece of skin is ever exposed to undesirable elements and conscripted in my never-ending war with the invisible forces.  Beside my shuffling feet, my shadow must also avoid contact with any and all acknowledged threats, including my own dialogue.  Any word uttered risks assigning its deleterious quality to any part of me caught in my sight at the time of its mention (spoken or otherwise).  This includes the insides of my eyelids, which often disrupts my  efforts to sleep at night as I must force them open to expunge toxic  names that cross my mind. The campaign extends to inanimate objects, which constantly suffer the touch of my overworked fingers “wiping off” phantom sediment, or which serve as conduits for various energies, or as goal posts which must sometimes be met before an arbitrary time limit has expired (for example, a turning point in a song).  This was worse when I was a child, and had to race onto a carpet or couch whenever a toilet began to flush.  I thankfully managed to shed some of the more overt habits over time. But it should go without saying that the very inner monologue running through my brain must abide by its own arcane set of rules, because words and names cannot be used carelessly, even in my thoughts.  As for that, two particular words have special functions in my mental arsenal:  “Not” and “Narf.”  “Not” is a mantra, since it is a pure expression of expulsion, and I throw it constantly at negative influences, especially bad imagery or text that gets out of hand.  Conversely, “Narf”, a noise coined by a cartoon lab mouse named Pinky, is a safety mechanism, since it means nothing, thereby safely absorbing any malign concept and allowing me to make idle unspoken noise without risk.  Both words are subject to distortion as the situation requires, ghosting through the roof of my mouth in various ways, shapes, and forms, a single altered syllable sometimes called into play, expressed through the smallest push of saliva hitting my teeth.  “Nt, nt, nt.  Tt.  Unt.” I could go on. Looking at this stuff, it’s hard to believe that I’ve lived with it my entire life.  Typing it out really makes it sound crazy.  I don’t want to be insensitive to other people with issues like this, but it’s hard not to have that reaction when I put it into writing and recognize that this is what I’m actually doing all the time.  I always knew it was odd, but I always figured that I would grow out of it, and when I didn’t I just tried to mitigate it.  And I thought I was doing alright, because it used to seem worse!  I beat it back when I was younger, and my ego encouraged me to accept what was left as part of my genius, or something.  But looking at all this, I find myself wondering if I didn’t just make it more subtle through complexity.  Or maybe it’s only gotten worse with the stress of the past few years.  I don’t know. But I want people to know about this.  Now I’m not sure why I always tried to keep it to myself.  I feel like bringing it out into the open might help, might serve as a spark to finally burn away the web and let it all go.  There are definitely people out there who have it worse than I do.  Maybe you’re one of them!  We all have our crosses to bear.  And like I said, I’ve managed to cut some of it off.  But now I think it’s time I started fighting it again.  God only knows how much of my time I could get back if I wasn’t twiddling my fingers. Hey.  Thanks for listening.

-Joe

[devnny]

CHAPTER TWO.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

This is it fellas; the MEAT, the starting point that actually matters. It's all a damn mess hereafter. Devi, babey... forgive me, the Hell begins now! (And Johnny... please fucking behave yourself.) 

Dear Diary,

I’m back from vacation.

I have a date FUCK meeting with Devi. Yes, that Devi. Weird, no?

She grew a head-thing too, but she can control it, and she’s going to try and help me do that too… We’ll see how well that works out. She yells a lot… scary.

I haven’t totally given up on my emotional enema idea, though! Just gotta work on my temper. Why does everything have to be so aggravating?

--

3:00PM:

“I must be out of my fucking mind, Tenna.”

“I thought you just got over being out of your mind.” Tenna replied from the couch, squeaking Spooky as punctuation to her sentence.

“Don’t chastise me.” Devi moaned, loosely draped over her armchair. “Sickness has nothing on Nny.”

She dragged herself into an upright position to continue her complaints.

“AN ART LESSON FOR A MURDEROUS LUNATIC, yeah, innovative idea there, Devi!” She cried to the gods in vain. No gods could save her from the bed she’d made so neatly for herself.

“Maybe he won’t show up?” Tenna tilted her head further off of the couch in an attempt to make eye contact with her forlorn companion. Devi only melted further down her seat.

“That’s my only hope.” She sighed. “But knowing my luck, he’ll show up with a bouquet of severed hands for me. God it was so… weird talking to him again. Besides the topic being about personal insanity and death, it was sorta like old times.”

Tenna sat up to stare at her skeptically.

“Don’t tell me you missed him.”

“NO, no! Nothing as stupid as that.” Devi insisted. “Well, I mean, I did miss the Nny I thought I knew, but that’s kinda “sucks to suck”, seeing as that Nny wasn’t… really him.”

“And what if that was the real him? And you’re going to slowly scrape Mister Nice-guy out of his skull with your bare hands, like some kind of monkey artist-therapist combo?”

“I doubt that even more.”

Devi got up from her chair to scoop up the art tablet that was besmirched with Johnny’s drawing from off of the coffee table. The little stick figure he scribbled down had stayed there, mocking her, since his creator had left in the early morning hours. Johnny had only shared a couple of his “Happy Noodle Boy” comics with her long ago, likely because he was embarrassed about them. He had said he used to paint and sketch very detailed pieces, but as “something” – which she now knew was the “Doughboys” and wall-demon, and whatever else was involved with these brain parasites – overtook him, he lost all ability to create beyond these meager doodles. She couldn’t imagine a more horrid fate for a creative. For herself.

To some degree, she pitied him, but then she would remember he that tried to murder her and felt a lot less pity. Even if she understood now that he was hapless pawn, set forth to do obscene violence in the name of some otherworldly creature, all that said about him was that he was too weak-willed to stubbornly commit to his art the way she had – so could she even help someone like that?

It was irrelevant, she decided, since his new little “voice” wanted to involve her in his scheme to eat the last remaining bits of Johnny’s brain. If she didn’t try and aid him now, he would probably just manifest in a couple of months to try and either murder her or… worse.

She shook her head. Disgusting!

“I don’t have a choice with this Tenna.” Devi grumbled. “Or rather, I guess I do, and I’m choosing to deal with this now, instead of trusting Nny to have any mental wherewithal to fight this off and not turn into a puppet again.”

“That’s very brave of you, Devi. You’re an inspiration.” Tenna joked, wiping a fake tear away. Devi groaned.

“Thanks. Now get out of here, before the creature himself shows up.” She tossed the tablet back onto the table haphazardly. “I know how he acts around me, relatively anyway, but I don’t need extra company throwing him off-balance, and this ends up a double murder.”

“Okayyy, but if things get hairy, give me a code, like, three stomps on the floor, or eerie silence, or something, and I’ll call the cops!” She grinned from the doorway.

“WHAT GOOD WOULD IT DO!?” Devi steamed and slammed the door shut. She still had very bitter feelings about the city’s useless police force – demon intervention or not.

--

6:01PM:

Johnny sat with his knees up under his chin in the driver’s seat of his car. He pressed his shins against the steering wheel anxiously while he tried to think about what to do. He had gone home and bummed around – the house was still as he’d left it, only dustier, which was to be expected -- until the afternoon, after which he started panicking like the madman he was. What the hell was he supposed to do, actually show up to this thing against his wishes? An ‘art lesson’ with that intimidating woman that he didn’t particularly enjoy being around anymore, mostly because she berated him with scathing honesty now!? Ridiculous!

Yet he was here, parked behind a 24/7, less than a block from her apartments, at the time she requested he come. Curse her, and curse her rightness about all of this. He didn’t want to go.

Hesitantly he moved a hand over and grabbed a small bag of his own art supplies from home. Nothing fancy, but he preferred his own pens for inking comics, as he knew how they performed. Small increments of control was better than none, after all.

Johnny, bag clutched to his chest, exited his vehicle and kicked the door shut. As he walked from the alleyway to the sidewalk that lead to Devi’s building, he questioned all the uncertainties that he was headed directly towards.

The most basic of those worries was his timing for this meeting – arriving early was out of the question, but he had arrived almost exactly on time, which also seemed kind of pathetic. He hated getting caught up in these sort of social dilemmas – but since it involved another person, and one that he kinda-sorta respected in the highest regard, he wanted to make a good impression! What if she was irritated that he was even a minute late? Or what if that made him look totally creepy, and arriving loosely around 6:00PM was more of what she imagined? Stupid social cues!

Amongst his inner-monologuing, he failed to realize how close he was to Devi’s apartment until he was at the steps of the building. He cursed to himself, then treaded up into the lobby and checked the time on the digital wall clock that hung lopsided by the elevators. 6:14PM.

“Shit.” Johnny mumbled again. He didn’t want to hurry if this was supposed to be a casual timeframe, but he didn’t want to doddle either! He decided to take the stairs, but briskly.

--

FOUR FLOORS UP:

Devi had just started to think that the glimmer of a chance that Johnny wouldn’t show up was plausible, when the door knock came.

“Shit.” She griped from the kitchen. Her chest heaved out a sigh, and she aggressively set down her glass of water on the counter. This was going to be a long night, surely.

A few short strides to the door, and she opened it up to her expected guest. At least he didn’t have a bouquet of human limbs.

“Hi.” Johnny shot her a sideways smile. Devi did her best to hold in any unhappy noises, and tried to force what little optimism she had out from the very bottom of her soul.

“Hey, Nny.” She replied, only a little dryly. Johnny smiled wider at that.

“No bat tonight?” He pointed to her bare right hand. Devi looked down to it, then back at him.

“Don’t tempt me.” She stepped aside and let him in, hoping that the act wasn’t just as good as signing her death certificate. Johnny strolled in much too casually for her liking, but she ignored that, hoping to put off any bursts of maniacal rantings from him as long as she could.

Johnny looked around her apartment, like a normal house guest might, seeing as he was one this time. He inspected a few of her paintings with a thoughtful smile on his face and his hands crossed behind his back, still clutching his pencil bag. Devi’s eyebrow ticked in annoyance.

“I didn’t really get a good look at your apartment last night. It’s nice. Very you.” He hummed.

“Thanks.”

“These are your paintings aren’t they? I like them.”

“Thank you, Nny.” Devi rolled her eyes tiredly. “Can we focus here, a little bit?”

“I’m only trying to be polite! You were so kind to invite me back despite desperately wanting to smash my skull in yesterday.” He smiled at her again, almost arrogant, as though trapping her in small talk was a necessary evil, and if he had to suffer this social outing, so did she. Devi snorted.

“Your immense politeness is noted. Now let’s get on to what you’re here for.” She tilted her chin in his direction as she walked by, leading him further into the living room. She sat with a leg tented up on the floor, and Nny followed, sitting across from her with his feet together.

“I see you came prepared for this. That’s good.” She noted the little bag in his lap, choosing to assume it was art supplies and nothing sinister. Johnny grinned while Devi took up the same drawing pad from the night previous. He eagerly opened the pouch to spill out his pens and pencils onto the table. Devi held in any relief that she was right in her assumption.

“So. You just want me to draw?”

“Yeah.”

“And you really think that’s the key thing here?” Johnny questioned skeptically.

“Sickness always talked about how annoying my work ethic was for her. While she was trying to form, I guess, I was using too much of my brain for painting stuff, so she couldn’t grow right, or quickly, or whatever.”

“I see…” Johnny brought a knuckle up to his mouth. “So it’s not so much using your brain, but using it for creative endeavors? Writing, drawing, thinking?”

“Seems like it.” Devi leaned back on her palms. “And to a further extent, not giving in to the temptation of sitting around and doing nothing. There were times where all day I’d be thinking; “I need to work, I need to work”, but I just sat there on the couch thinking about it, never actually got up and did anything, which is what she wanted. For you, it was probably a little different, seeing as – as far as I know – the only supernatural thing that lived in the apartments besides Sickness was the psychic fat of a morbidly obese woman.”

“…What?”

“Nevermind.” Devi looked around before settling her eyes on the paper again. “Just draw, for like, an hour. I need to get some work done too, so I’ll just sketch concept crap while you do that.”

“What should I draw?” Johnny inquired while he jammed the eraser of his pencil up against his gumline.

“I can’t tell you that, that defeats the purpose.” She sighed. “Just, draw a comic, I don’t know. It doesn’t have to make any fucking sense, just something.”

“HAH!” Johnny laughed. “Well I have good news about my Happy Noodle Boy comics, then.”

He seemed a little more enthused at that and pulled the tablet in his direction, before hunching over the table and skritching away at the paper beneath him. Devi watched him curiously a moment before returning to her art room to retrieve her own sketchbook.

--

45 MINUTES IN:

Devi looked up from her perch on her armchair at her struggling ‘student’. She’d already watched him wad up and throw three separate sheets of paper around him, and he was looking more unhinged the less his drawings were coming out like he wanted. Johnny stared at his current page with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed tightly. As he lifted a hand up to the spiral of the tablet, Devi interrupted him.

“Ah.” She scolded. “Keep going.”

“But it’s STUPID. It makes no SENSE.” He argued at her from the floor.

“I told you that’s fine. Don’t get frustrated on the details, it’s fine if it looks like crap as long as you finish.”

“IT’S NOT!”

“Nny.” Devi’s eyelids lowered, indicating as ungently as possible that she wasn’t budging on the subject. Johnny responded with collapsing across the table dramatically.

“THIS IS TOO ANNOYING, I WON’T CONTINUE.” He seethed. “I’m going to the 24/7 and getting a Brain-Freezy!!”

“No, you are not. Finish your stupid comic, you only have like, ten minutes until ‘break time’ anyway.”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY!” He screamed back, raising up to glare at her with his hands flat on the table. “I’M TIRED of being controlled, this is idiotic!!”

Devi frowned and set her sketchbook aside.

“Don’t be such a baby!” She chided him. “Think of the goal you’re working towards, you moron! Complaining about not being free when working toward freedom? HELLO?”

Johnny kicked his legs out and let himself fall backwards onto the floor, glaring at the ceiling as though it had called him a slew of cusswords. After a few moments of heaving breaths, Devi watched his chest slow to childlike huffing.

“But… I HATE it, Devi. I HATE IT!” Johnny clenched his fists tightly. “I hardly even enjoy drawing these ASININE Noodle Boys anymore!! I want to draw the way I used to, and this just reminds me that I can’t!! Sometimes it’s still fun, but mostly it SUCKS! COMPLETELY SUCKS!”

“Jeezus… don’t look at it like that, Nny.” She sighed. Tenna joked about her being a therapist monkey, but that was barely an exaggeration if this was going to be how things went every encounter. “Look at your scribbles like the first step back to your previous talent, not a continuous path of stagnant shit you have to walk. I swear, Johnny, this is going to help.”

She hoped that she was swearing to something she could actually bolster, especially after Johnny rolled his head over to give her an immensely forlorn expression. After a moment he sighed and sat back up, lamely picking up his pencil to continue drawing. Devi watched him again, a pinch uncomfortable with the sudden seriousness of the mood, and tried to think of something funny to say.

“Well,” She picked up her work again. “I guess if all else fails, you can just die again.”

Anyone else might have thought the comment cruel, but Johnny burst into a fit of muffled hysterics. Devi smiled against herself, but did her best to hide it behind her sketchbook. Johnny’s giggling tapered off as he settled his hand back onto the page he was working on.

“You know,” He began as he started scribbling. “the funniest thing about the whole dying incident… the method was so stupid.”

“I told you about the RadioShack arm and all of that, but the way I rigged it, it shouldn’t have ever worked! It was hooked up to the phone, and would activate when I got a phone call, but wouldn’t actually go off until I picked up the receiver and said “hello” into it. As Psycho-Doughboy so kindly said, it was a load of shit! I never get calls, not even wrong numbers, and especially not at 2 o’clock in the fuck-all morning!”

Devi’s hand stopped moving mid-stroke, her eyes wide. Johnny didn’t notice, and continued speaking while he drew.

“But, out of all the shit luck I’ve had, the phone rings, right then, right when I was screaming with the Doughboys, saying I was calling the whole thing off! Now that I think about it… I don’t know why I didn’t just… not pick it up – BUT, thank fuck I did, right?”

Devi remained silent, her throat suddenly, and increasingly, dry. It couldn’t be, it just could not be. Her mind raced; maybe it was wrong, she was mistaken – but there was no way, it fit too well. All she heard was that fucking “hello”, then a bang – a gunshot. A thud. A scream. If Johnny was still talking now, she couldn’t hear him.

“It was me.” She said suddenly, bringing Johnny out of his thought.

“Huh?”

“…It… was me. It was me, I was the one that called you that night.” Devi’s widened eyes lifted to stare at him as she spoke. “Tenna said… I was just… checking if you still lived there.”

Her mumblings died off as her eyes wandered away from Johnny’s face to bore into the drywall across the room. Johnny blinked, barely processing what she was saying.

“What? You called me that night, Devi?” He wondered only briefly how she could know it was that exact night, but quickly rationalized that he hadn’t received any other phone calls besides that one, before or since. It was Devi. His eyes grew impossibly larger as the reality of it dawned on him.

He stood up, unable to keep still with the sudden surge of energy pulsing throughout his body.

“You, you – YOU called me Devi!” He paced as he handled the information. “You did – oh my God, I can’t believe I never thought of this before!”

Devi’s attention made it’s way back to her now manic guest, and she watched him uncomfortably from her seat. Johnny smiled uneasily, holding his head while he walked.

“The entire reaction, I gave the reaction the credit for removing those shitty horrors from me, but I never thought of the action! The call itself! It wasn’t just the GUNSHOT, it wasn’t just DYING, it was that phone call! MORE IMPORTANTLY, it was the one that placed that phone call!! My God, all this time I’ve been ambling around, a slave free from his shackles, thrust into a world unknown, when the KNOWING was right there!! It was so obvious!”

He stopped his frantic pacing to kneel into a lunge at the foot of Devi’s armchair, startling her further into the fabric of it’s back. Johnny grabbed the corners of her sketchbook, which she was using as a pathetic shield between her frazzled self and the man before her, and he smiled wide with excitement.

“Oh, Devi! Devi it was always YOU – who else would it be!? Who else COULD it be!” Johnny breathed through a laugh. “Devi, you KILLED ME.”

She could only stare at him in silent horror. It wasn’t like she meant to kill him! She did say that she wished he would die for making her like him so much and then letting her down so horrendously but – Christ, it wasn’t meant to be so literal! She didn’t want to be the cause of it! If he wanted to just go vaporize and leave her alone, that’s what she would have preferred back then. Johnny didn’t seem to realize her discomfort on the gruesome truth to his ‘demise’.

“You stripped me of those wretched little monsters – even the WALL-THING!” His smile didn’t waver. “I should have known; there was a reason you escaped! No, a reason I MET you!”

Devi wanted to interrupt before he convinced himself of some soulmates bullshit, but her throat felt clogged, and nothing would come out.

“And here you are, helping me again… Fuck’s sake, I’ve been so foolish! So BLIND!” Johnny’s fingers gripped onto her sketchbook harder, pulling it down so the top was under his chin as he leaned in further. “All this time, it was always you; you made me happy, you escaped, you released me of that Hell!! If fate’s a real thing, THIS is it! How else would I get aligned with the one person, after all of that previous shit, that has the mental fortitude to withstand an attack from those disgusting vermin!?”

“J… Johnny.” Devi managed finally, through her barely functioning jaw. The sound of her voice seemed to reel him in a ways, and he slid back to sit on his heel expectantly, but with a much less wild look in his eyes.

“Oh, I beg you, please don’t be nervous Devi! I don’t hold any resentment for your hand in my death, not at all!” He chuffed. “And I’m so sorry for… for yelling, and being an overall pain in your ass since visiting you. I swear, after this, that’s it! Whatever you say, goes.”

Devi blinked in surprise at that. Was he honestly pledging his loyalty out of sheer gratitude that she inadvertently kind-of murdered him? She could only stare at his eager eyes, unsure of whether to be horribly afraid of this new measure of weirdness in their relationship, or to feel safer in that she was his so-proclaimed Angel of Death.

“Um… uh…” She tried to think of something to say, but was still panicking internally. “Um, y-y’know what, Nny?”

She hated how his head perked up, like he was waiting on her word.

“A uh… a Brain-Freezy sounds good, actually. You wanna go grab us a couple while I… think about what kind of existential bullshit I’m experiencing right now?”

“YUM. Yes, okay! I will!” His smile pulled up on one side, letting his gums peak out, before he ran to the door. He halted abruptly and turned to her again. “Is Cherry Doom okay? That’s the flavor I get.”

“Yeah.” Devi didn’t even think about her answer, and watched him leave with an uncertain, disturbed look in her eyes. She melted unceremoniously against the chair, arms and legs splayed out, and continued to stare at nothing in particular. She didn’t want Johnny to like her so immensely -- she didn’t even want for him to like her much at all! The way this was going, she might be stuck with him as long as his gratitude lasts. How long could the frenzied gratefulness of a homicidal maniac last, exactly?

--

NEXT.

[uas-fics]

Title: The One That Almost Got Away, But Came Back

Summary:  While fleeing for his life after enraging his ex-friends, Tweek hides in a tree at the church graveyard. When the coast is clear, he tries to climb down, only to fall and hit his head against a headstone. When his vision clears, Tweek sees the transparent face of a kid he knew was dead.

Rating: T

Ships: Twenny

Other: Season Six is one of my favorite seasons, and while thinking about it, I wondered what would have happened if Tweek stayed with Stan and friends a little longer and how it would affect the following episodes. Obviously, the answer is a dumpster fire for Tweek.

~~~~~

Tweak bolted past the iron gate into the graveyard. There had to be a good place to hide from Cartman's wrath here.

He heard someone scream his name as he chose his destination: a large tree near a corner of the yard. Ducking down to crawl on his hands and knees, Tweek hurried behind the headstones.

He muttered apologies to the dead he crawled over. He just barely knew how to handle when the living picked on him. He had no idea how to pacify the dead!

Finally, Tweek came to the tree. He dared a glance over his shoulders.

Cartman stood on the sidewalk, but he hadn't spotted Tweek yet.

Pressing his back to the bark of the tree, he looked up. The branches were low enough he could easily climb up.

Stan and Kyle came shouting up to Cartman. They were mad at Tweek, too, but at least they didn't have an aluminum bat in their hands and murder in their eyes.

Cartman opened the graveyard gate, and Tweek was on his way up the branches.

The branches scraped his arms. On the fourth branch up, his shoe fell from his foot and landed in the snow below. He stifled a squeak of panic.

There was no going back for it now, so Tweek kept climbing.

If he got high enough, they couldn't see him amongst the evergreen needles, thanks to his dark green shirt.

Or that was what he hoped.

Tweek pressed himself against the trunk, taking shallow breaths through his nose.

Cartman walked right under his feet.

“Do you guys see him? Tweek! Tweek, come out!” He bellowed.

Not a chance, man! Tweek thought.

Kyle marched up, hands on his hips. “I told you he went to the right.” Kyle scowled at a nearby grave.

Stan followed Kyle. His hat balled up in his hands.

“Fuck this,” Stan snapped, “and fuck Tweek. All in favor we kick him out and find a better fourth friend?”

Stan raised his hand. Kyle and Cartman followed suit seconds later.

Throwing the bat over his shoulder, Cartman took a deep breath to shout, “Tweek, if you're here, know that you're a fucking bag of dicks and you were a terrible Kenny! You're kicked out! We hate you! Have fun sitting alone at lunch, you twitchy weirdo!

“Yeah!” Stan and Kyle chorused.

Tweak flinched. A lump formed in his throat.

His gut told him being friends with those three would be nothing but trouble, but Tweek had been so desperate for a permanent friend group, he ignored the feeling.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

If Tweek had a time machine, he’d go back before the friend tryouts and punch his past self in the face.

Sitting at any empty seat at lunch was so much better than all the bullshit he went through with those three! He should have left after everything that happened with Spielberg, but no, against his better judgment, he stuck around!

“Come on, you guys. I bet we can talk Cartman's mom into making us some cookies or something.” Stan waved his hand.

“Yeah, I guess.” Kyle's shoulders fell as he followed along.

Cartman screwed up his face into a determined expression. He looked up and down a row of graves then took a few steps towards the tree.

Tweak stiffened. If he looked behind the tree, Cartman would see his shoe and know he was here.

The setting sun glinted off the bat like an executioner's blade.

A step from the tree, Kyle called to Cartman to hurry up. Cartman heaved a sigh before turning around and walking towards his friends with the bat dragging behind him.

Tweak waited nearly twenty minutes before he found the courage to start down the tree.

When he put his weight on the final branch, it snapped out from under him. Thinking fast, he ducked and rolled onto the snow.

His skull struck against hard stone. The world doubled. His head spinning, he sat facing the tree with his hand against the tender lump forming on his head.

When he finally blinked the stars from his vision, he found himself face to face with a boy that Tweek knew was dead.

Kenny tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised.

“You were falling really well until you hit the ground,” He told him. “Seven out of ten.”

Tweak stared at him, frozen with eyes wide.

Then he screamed.

Tweek tried to scramble back, but he found a wide rectangle of stone stopping him.

His fingers brushed against the letters carved into the stone as he pressed against it: “Kenny McCormick."

“Oh my God. Oh my God...” Tweak gasped. “I'm dead. I sn-snapped my neck when I fell!”

Kenny laughed and shook his head. He floated over Tweek and twisted his body so he laid on his stomach.

“No, you're not dead. You're still in your body. Weird you can see me, though.” He tapped his chin. “Maybe because you smacked against my headstone?”

“You're dead,” Tweak whimpered. “You died in December.”

Kenny nodded. “I am. I did.” He rolled over to look up at the star-flecked sky. “It's not so bad, you know, being dead. Hurts a lot less than when I was alive and sick.”

Tweek’s heart skipped a beat.

That's right. Kenny died because he was sick. He didn't know what Kenny had. It seemed like no one ever talked about how he died, but he overheard Butters say Kenny looked bad in his last days.

“His face is all skinny and pale like a sheet of paper,” Butters had claimed with a frown. “I hope he gets better soon so we can play together again.”

Kenny didn't look skinny now, or no skinnier than he was before he got sick. If not for the ghostly transparency, he would have looked perfectly healthy.

Tweek swallowed hard, standing up and trying to carefully walk around the ghost. “Oh, that's, um, good. I'm glad you're not, urk, hurting anymore.”

Kenny spun back around. “Nope. Ghosts don't feel anything like that, actually. It's weird, but you get used to it.” Resting his cheeks on his knuckles, he asked, “What was with you and my friends, by the way? Cartman looked out for blood. Also, you should go get your shoe. It’s cold outside. Don't want to lose your toes to frostbite.”

Tweek winced, backpedaling a few steps towards the tree to retrieve his shoe. “I, um, I fucked up. They won the drawing at Lolly’s for the all you can grab raffle. I lost the ticket.”

Kenny furrowed his brows. “I think I had the ticket. I put it in my lockbox so it would be safe.”

“Y-yeah, i know. Your sister told me when we went to talk to your mom. She, ah, your mom I mean, showed us your urn and everything.” Tweek still didn't understand why they kept an urn around for Kenny. He clearly had a grave right here. Did his mom want to keep him around that much she pretend they put him in there?

Kenny frowned. “They cremated me?”

Tweek didn't know what that meant.

Kenny looked down at the headstone, confused, then made a sound of understanding. “Ah, ok, ok. I think I get it. Probably. Continue.”

Without asking for an explanation, Tweek went on, “So, we got the ticket, and those idiots handed it to me to hold! Me! I'm the worst person to hand important stuff too!” He threw his hands in the air at the memory.

“Did you rip it?” Kenny asked

“I tripped,” Tweek slumped down, “and dropped it in a puddle. Lolly wouldn't take it since the numbers were smudged, so Cartman started chasing me. He even stole a bat when I ran through the park.”

Kenny sat up with his legs crossed. “A reasonable reaction to me.”

Tweek glared. “It was not! It was an accident! I wanted the candy, too, man!”

Kenny half shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Why were you hanging out with them?”

“I’m you, or I was you. Your replacement.” Tweek twiddled his thumbs. Kenny didn’t look particularly offended, just disappointed.

“They replaced me? With you?” He asked incredulously.

Tweek nodded. “Um, yes. Well, first they tried with Butters, but it didn’t work out so they had auditions and everything. I don’t think I was a very good you, though.”

“Well of course not!” Kenny burst out. “I’m me! I’m the only me there is!” He sighed. “Those bastards...They couldn’t have waited...never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Kenny scowled at his headstone. “Still, they replaced me with Butters? He’d make a horrible me!”

“He did, that’s why they kicked him out for me. I think because he started wearing tinfoil and playing with this second grader.” Tweek pushed himself into a more comfortable sitting position as he put his shoe back on. He supposed he should be scared. After all, he was talking to a ghost, but after the first shock, Kenny wasn’t all that scary

“My death really shook him, didn’t it? Poor Butters.” Kenny mused.

“They all miss you. We all do.” Tweek offered as a condolence.

Kenny smiled at that. He looked up at the sky. Tweek followed his gaze. It would be night soon.

“You need to get home, don't you?” Kenny asked.

Tweek stood, dusting off his pants. “Yeah, I do.”

Kenny hummed, wagged his head side to side as he thought. After a moment he moved so he was standing as well, though he was floating off the ground, putting him a little taller than Tweek.

“Would you mind coming back here to talk to me sometime?” Kenny requested. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to in a long time. It's boring here.”

“Aren’t there other ghosts around?” Tweek looked around. “It’s a graveyard.”

“Well, there is one other ghost around, but she’s old and doesn’t respond when I call to her,” he shook his head, “and none of the people around my grave are ghosts and I can’t go very far. So, please? If you want, anyway.”

Tweek chewed his lip. With Stan, Kyle, and Cartman kicking him out, it’s not like he had any other friends to hang out with after school. The other boys only invited him when they needed an extra for a group game.

“I guess I can.” Tweek nodded.

Kenny beamed so brightly, Tweek almost forgot he was dead.

“Awesome! Thank you, dude!” Kenny exclaimed.

Like an infectious disease, Tweek found himself smiling right back at the ghost before he waved and headed towards home.

~~~~~

By some stroke of luck, Cartman’s rage had waned by school time. He still glared at Tweek and tried to trip him in the lunch line, but he didn’t threaten his life with a blunt instrument. Stan and Kyle, on the other hand, refused to look at him. Tweek preferred that.

After the final bell rang, Tweek waited at the crossroads. If he headed straight, he could cut through town and go to the shop, or he could head to the church and the graveyard.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Tweek ran over what happened the day before in his head. Did he actually see Kenny’s ghost there or did he dream it? There was still a tender knot on the back of his head from the fall, so that was real at least.

But if it was real, he did promise he would come back. Kenny would be disappointed if his first companion in months didn't show--or maybe he would be mad. Tweek knew enough to know mad ghosts were the worse. What if he cursed Tweek to a life of always finding a pointy rock in his left shoe? What if he entered Tweek’s dreams and wailed 'The Song That Never Ends'?

Tweek squeezed his eyes shut, tensed his body, then spun towards the church.

~~~~

Kenny sat on his headstone, knees to his chest, singing a song that Tweek didn’t know. It sounded classic and old, like the songs that floated down from mass during children's church.

He didn’t seem to notice Tweek as he walked up, so Tweek waited with fingers tapping against the straps of his backpack.

Kenny had a good voice. Tweek didn’t know that. It was oddly operatic and rich and resonated around the graves, giving life to the graveyard.

When he finished, Kenny looked up. He jumped.

“Tweek, you came back.” He dropped his legs so they draped over his headstone.

“I said I would,” Tweek stepped closer. “What was that song? It sounded pretty.”

“It’s Mozart!”

Tweek furrowed his brow. “So it’s...Polish?”

“German,” Kenny corrected, “The song is ‘Leck mich in Arse.’ Guess what the song is about.”

Tweek shouldered off his bag and sat beside the headstone. “No idea,” He replied, unzipping his bag, “What does it mean?”

A crooked grin spread across Kenny’s face, revealing the gap in his teeth where one was missing.

“‘Lick my ass.’” Kenny cackled.

Tweek snorted, nearly dropping his pencil. “No way! What does it mean, really?”

“It does mean lick my ass, but I was read that a better translation would be ‘kiss my ass,’” Kenny  kicked his legs.“It’s, like, a party song Mozart wrote. Isn’t it weird to think people in powdered wigs had fun?”

Tweek settled his math homework on his lap. “Where did you learn that song? I know some Mozart from my piano lessons, but I never learned that song.”

“A tape on music from the library. I didn’t know you played the piano.” Kenny leaned forward to look at Tweek’s homework. “Is piano hard? Do you like playing it?”

“It’s ok. I like doing things with my hands.” Tweek wrote out his first math problem in the space under the question.

‘If Johnny has two dozen apples, and he wants to share his apples with three friends, how many apples with everyone have? Please show your work.’

“I think most people like doing things with their hands. It’s easier than using your feet.” Kenny pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross but paused halfway to let one leg stay down.

Tweek shook his head. “No, I mean, I think bett—nevermind. It’s not that important.”

Tweek turned his attention back to his work.

Why was he so chatty? Maybe because Kenny wouldn’t be able to get other students to gang up on him? Was it because Kenny was safe to talk to? No, that wasn’t it. He just felt weirdly comfortable. Did all ghosts make people feel like this?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going try to explain all his weird quirks to Kenny, who probably didn’t care anyway.

“Two dozen = 12 + 12 = 24.” Tweek wrote.

As he drew out the division diagram, Kenny waved his hand in front of his face. He’d slipped off the headstone and sat against it with his head cocked to one side.

“Did you hear me? I asked what you meant.” Kenny dropped his hand to his lap.

Tweek spun his pencil nervously. “It’s nothing. You’ll laugh.”

Kenny puffed out his chest, then crossed his heart with his finger, holding up one hand. “I swear not to laugh. Boy scouts’ honor.”

Tweek put his pencil eraser in between his teeth and chewed on it. He bit off a sliver of rubber and swallowed it.

Hacking, Tweek fished out his thermos from his bag. He ran out of coffee around lunch time, so now it only had water with the faintest coffee taste. He chugged it.

“Hey now, don't die on me!” Kenny laughed at his own joke.

Tweek wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry, I, um, I think better when I have my hands doing something. I get full of e-energy when I, urk, just sit around, but at least I multitask well.”

Kenny pursed his lips. “So you can’t stay still at all? I noticed you fidget in class a lot.”

“I can, but, it’s hard sometimes.” He explained, working through the problem. “But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I get so into something, I don’t move for hours. I once made an entire city of Legos on a Saturday. I didn’t leave my room once to go to the bathroom or eat until Mom got me for dinner.”

“That sounds kind of weird,” Kenny stated, but not in a judgy way.

“I know,” Tweek replied, circling his answer. “I’m a freak. Everyone says so. A freak, a, argh, a spaz, a w-weirdo.” He sighed. His chest felt like someone dropped a thousand-pound anvil on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat then shoved his homework in his bag.

“I need to get home.”

“Wait, Tweek!” Kenny scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t mean—”

Tweek didn’t zip up his backpack before darting down the hill. If he lost something, he didn't care. From the grave, he heard Kenny shouting at him, but he didn’t turn around or wait to listen.

~~~~

Tweek stared up at his ceiling and all the glow in the dark stickers he placed above his bed. He felt terrible for running away. He knew Kenny wasn't being mean to him. It was true. Tweek wasn’t normal. He was a disorganized mess of a person who couldn’t sit still for more than three minutes or could only sit still for three hours. He twitched and made weird, little noises. He was a complete freak for all those reasons!

Among other things...

Tweek rolled to his side, pulling his blanket to his nose, to stare out his bedroom window.  The snow drifted softly down, illuminated from below by the street lamps. Were there lamps close Kenny’s grave? Could he see the snow too? He couldn’t feel it, of course. Maybe he was listening to it, to the soft sound of it gathering on the tree branches above him.

Tweek slipped out of bed and walked to the window. He placed a hand against the cold glass, leaving a handprint in the condensation. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek whispered. “I’ll come by tomorrow right after school and stay until it gets dark. I promise.”

~~~~

This time Tweek found Kenny curled into a ball on his side. His eyes had a faraway look to them and his mouth set in a pout.

Tweek cleared his throat a few times before Kenny stirred. He sat up.

“I’m sorry,” He said before Tweek could speak. His words sounded rehearsed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t think you’re a freak or weirdo. I really like your company and—”

“It’s ok.” Tweek cut him off. “I don’t usually tell people about my problems like that. I didn’t know how to react to your answer, I guess.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t have called you ‘weird,’” Kenny told him. “I don’t really think that’s weird. It’s cool you can get so super focused on projects.” He rubbed his chin. “Imagine if my friends and I were like that. Usually, we get distracted halfway through and have to have someone, remind us to get back to work.” Kenny set his fists on his hips. “Imagine if we could work that hard. The town would have been blown up four times less than it already has been.”

Tweek burst out laughing. “Don’t you mean four times more?”

Kenny relented with a shrug. “Speaking of my friends, how are they? How is everyone in the class? Did anything big happen while I've been gone?”

Tweek sat down. “You’re friends are fine. They took your death hard, from what I can tell. They played it very safe for the first month or two because they didn’t want to lose another friend.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that that lasted too long. Those fuckers almost got me killed, you know! I pointed a bazooka at Steven Spielberg! We nearly had our faces melted off! I became a god and genocide happened in my name!”

Kenny chuckled. “Well, that’s just a day in the life of me and my wacky friends!” Raising his eyebrows jokingly, he made a move as if to jab Tweek in the rips, but caught himself before his elbow touched Tweek’s side.

His smile faded after a moment. “Well, I guess that would just be my friends now...”

Tweek felt his heart twist in sympathy. Kenny’s friends might have been major assholes, but they were still his best friends. He needed to get Kenny’s mind off of them!

“Ah, oh, and, Bebe! Bebe started to get her, you know,” Tweek waved his hands over his chest, “boobs!”

This got Kenny's attention. He stared, wide-eyed, at Tweek with his mouth slightly agape.

“Boobs? Like on her chest? For real?” He jumped up. “Tell me about them! Were they huge? Did they jiggle when she walked? Have you touched them?”

Tweek blushed. “What? Urk! Touch! No! Hell no! They’re not huge. If she wears a thick sweater, you can't even tell she has them, but they...they do weird things to us, man.” A shudder ran down his spine. “All the boys started fighting each other over being her friend.”

“If I was still alive, I’d want to be her friend too...” Kenny smiled to himself.

Tweak shook his head. “No, dude, they really made all of us act nuts! We fought each other like animals.”

Tweek didn’t add in that he still didn’t really understand why all the other boys acted like it was such a big deal. Stan had tried to explain it, but he just didn’t get it, so he pretended that he did and his involvement in the fights hadn't been in self-defense. So she had some bumps on her chest. So did Tweek after he got some mosquito bites last summer. All the boys didn’t beat each other up over him.

“If Bebe let me be her boyfriend, I’d definitely kick every boy in our class’s ass,” Kenny proclaimed. “Next school picture, you have to bring me the class photo so I can see her.”

“I will, if I can,” Tweek promised.

“What else?” Kenny bounced. “What else?”

Tweek spent the next two hours recalling funny or interesting school happenings to Kenny. He got the ghost to double over, roaring in laughter, three different times. Kenny’s voice even caught in his throat when Tweek told Kenny about seeing his sister playing with some girls in her grade.

Kenny drummed on his knees. “Wow, damn, I’m missing out on all sorts of fun stuff at school. Never thought I’d say that.”

“Man, at least you aren’t having to do fractions.” Tweek shuddered.

“Would you mind if I helped you with your homework some time?” Kenny requested. “I might be a ghost, but I don’t want to be one of those uneducated ghosts.”

Tweek didn’t think it mattered if a ghost knew fractions and long division or the history of America or what the difference between a metaphor and a simile was, but maybe Kenny just wanted an excuse for Tweek to keep coming around. He didn’t think he minded that.

Without his stupid friends around overshadowing and talking over him, Kenny was a really nice and interesting person.

“Ok, I can do that.” Tweak stood, adjusting his backpack. “I'll come back in a few days, and we can work through my homework together.”

Kenny's face fell. “In a few days?”

“I have to help at the coffee shop at least three days a week to earn my allowance,” Tweek explained.

Kenny nodded glumly. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He shook himself before smiling at Tweek. “I'll see you then, alright? Bring me some really good gossip, ok?”

~~~

Tweek visited Kenny more often than not for the next few weeks. He brought what little wisps of gossip he heard passing by in the cafeteria and hallways, then Kenny would try to predict what he thought would come of the news.

“If Red is going to wear the same dress, then she and Annie will get into a fight over it, or at least talk behind each other's backs — which for girls, is the same thing as fist fighting. They’ll make up before look long through.” or “I know Cartman, dude. If he can show up Kyle as the golden child, he will.” or “Stan and Wendy broke up? I give it a week before their all over each other again.”

He was right every single time.

“That's amazing!” Tweak exclaimed. “You have a superpower, Kenny!”

Kenny scoffed. “I have a better superpower than understanding how my classmates think.”

Tweak took a bite of the snack cake he brought with him. “You do? What is it?” He asked around the heavy cake and creme filling.

Kenny looked down at his lap as he sat on his headstone.

“It's that....it’s...I can't...” Kenny shook his head. “I don't think it works anymore anyway.”

His voice held something Tweek from Kenny since meeting him as a ghost: fear.

Whatever this superpower was, it must have been a big loss for death to take it away.

Tweak wanted to pry, but Kenny jumped to his feet and clapped his hands.

“Tweek, I need a favor.”

Tweak swallowed his cake. “What?”

Kenny had asked for favors before. Little things like how a particular sports team was doing or news on a celebrity he either admired or despised.

“Can you check on my sister?” He requested. “Karen? You don't need to talk to her if you don't want to, but just get a good look at her. Make sure she's doing alright.”

Tweek shoved his wrapper into his pocket. “Um, I can try. Why? Are you worried about her?” His eyes wander to the half-eaten snack cake, then widened. “Do you think your sister is starving? That she's not getting enough food?”

Tweek took the wrapper back out to wrap up the snack cake. He felt guilty eating right now.

Kenny laughed. “Oh, no, I'm not worried about that. With me gone, she gets enough.”

Sorrow twisted Tweek's gut. Sometimes Kenny's dark humor over his death made him uncomfortable, but Tweek didn't think it was his place to tell the ghost to stop if it made him feel better.

As Tweek stored away his snack, Kenny explained, “I just want to make sure she’s happy. Kevin’s a good enough older brother. He can protect her when Mom and Dad argue, but he’s not so good at comforting.” He shrugged. “That fell on me, but since I’m not there...”

Tweek didn’t need him to finish to understand, so he agreed. Tweek didn’t have recess with Karen, but her class left the cafeteria at the same time as Tweek’s came in. Maybe he could look at her then.

Deciding to figure out a plan of action later, Tweek zipped up his backpack.

“Tweek,” Kenny beamed, “you’re the best, dude.”

Something about Kenny’s bright smile made Tweek’s heart stumble in its beat. His ears grew hot as he scrambled to his feet.

“I have to go.” Tweek pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be back on Saturday, though.”

“Aaaah, that’s a whole four days,” Kenny whined. “I thought you only had to work three days to get your allowance.”

“It's supposed to rain and sleet all day Friday,” Tweek told him. “The weather might not make you cold, but it does me.”

Kenny sighed. “Alright, alright. I understand. I’ll see you later then.” As Tweek walked away, trying to keep his pace even, Kenny called, “Remember, find out if Karen is happy, ok? Stay warm until I see you again!”

The moment Tweek left the gate, he ran, his heart pounding and stomach twisting.

~~~

Chapter 2

[vividlybnha]

Birthday Boy

@krbkweek2k19​  Day 7 (April 20) Bakugou’s Birthday/Free Prompt/ Third Day

i know im a whole day late so don’t reblog if you don’t want to

Warning: Fluff and Bakugou being bad at feelings.

Word Count: 2425

Author’s Note: You literally don’t understand how angry I am with myself for getting high and not doing this on Bakugou’s bday. Like it was 420 and i was really out here smoking and not writing for him. Anyway I hope this makes up for all that. Happy late birthday my sweet anger babey, love you <3. 

Bakugou tries his hardest not to be fond of his friends. He is supposed to be the punk angry boy from class 1-A. That is his reputation, that is who he is and he will uphold it. But it’s hard when his friends are complete dumbasses. How is he not supposed to laugh at their dumb conversations or when they end up dogpiled on Kaminari again. It’s not ‘cute’ or ‘funny’ and Bakugou has no idea why he always has to snap his head away from them to smile.

So maybe that’s why he holds an utter distaste for them when he opens his eyes to see a surprise birthday party. It’s that he didn’t have any clue that it was planned that got to him first. This entire week he was met with easy glances and kind smiles, as always. The same stupid jokes and yet here he is in utter surprise. He seems to hate them more every day.

Yet looking at the table centered in the middle of this garden he can’t help but feel fond of them.

The table is covered with dark colors and punk aspects. Things they’d know he’d like and yet it's almost cheesily so. The skull on the napkins looks so goth it seems like something that bird brain would have in his room (and it reminds him of a pirate flag). Not to mention the splash of orange and green, almost the exact same from his hero costume but the green is just slightly off to where it looks almost sickly. It’s by no means perfect but he can see how much work they put into it. The presents off to the side are so delicately wrapped, he knows that it was all Sero and his tape. There are hints of Mina and Kaminari’s terrible fashion taste with hints of leopard print and fur, but they made it work. And lastly the cake. It looks absolutely hideous. The only thing that stands out from the whole set up. It’s leaning and the wording is shakily written, the roses (he assumes) reminds him of a toddlers drawings. He would send it back to the kitchen if he saw it in any other circumstance. But here, in the middle of the garden with his friends bright, blinding smiles he can’t help but love it more than anything in the world.

Bakugou typically likes things with a hint of spice. To where he doesn’t have to make himself softer for the area and where it fits so perfectly with him. Angry and rough. The two things Bakugou is defined as so frequently is what he loves the most. But he admires the beauty here.

Despite it all, it (the black and terribleness of it all) looks so elegant against the backdrop of just woken roses. The colors clash so generously, they couldn’t have possibly done this by themselves. The gentle aura doesn’t fit their agenda, nor his. And yet he loves it.

His friends may not get the best test score or make the smartest jokes, hell Kaminari would probably laugh at a poop joke but they are hardworking, every day in class they put their all into training. They try so hard and it's not always for themselves, sometimes it's for a bet or a test grade or maybe because Bakugou threatened them but in the end, they still tried. And that’s what Bakugou loves the most about them.

The fresh buds from the flowers lean toward the light, swaying in the soft breeze. It couldn’t be more perfect.

“You guys are idiots.” His hand is immediately covering his happy grin, furrowing his eyebrow to try and cover his emotions.

They all take offense to his rude wording. Kaminari is the first to speak up, “Hey man we worked so hard on this! You don’t know how hard it was to get Mina to not say anything about this!” Mina cries out in protest.

“Yeah, we stayed up all night to put this together for you!” Kirishima drags him closer, arm on his shoulder.

“You could at least thank us!” Mina huffs putting two hands on her hips.

Bakugou throws a glare her way, “Look at that cake! It’s not even standing up straight!”

There is a slew of arguments and excuses until Kirishima is laughing loudly and suddenly.

“Wow Bakugou, you think your so smooth huh?” He says in between giggles.

Bakugou can feel the panic running through his body, hand still covering his mouth.

“Here you are smiling and yet you want to pretend you hate it?”

The rest of his friends are then quickly surrounding him pulling at his arms trying to see.

“No! I’m not sm- Let go of me! I’m not! There’s just something on my face!”

Kirishima pulled him into a tight hug, “You love it, huh? We had the help of the whole class!”

Bakugou blanks. The whole class helped? That would explain the elegance of it. But half the class is sure to hate him, so why did they help? He is rude to his own friends, never mind the whole class so why did anyone do this? He is quickly swimming in doubt.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do you mean?” Kaminari stupidly asks. Bakugou barely stops himself from hitting him for that one.

“That the whole class helped.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Because we are all classmates and they like being nice? I don’t know what you want me to say. That look on your face makes me feel like I’m saying something wrong.” Kaminari questions, putting his hands up for defense.

Bakugou doesn’t necessarily know how to feel about that. He has been rude and horrible to pretty much everyone from day one and yet he still gets a birthday party. He doesn’t deserve it at all. In the start of this year he wouldn’t have cared but now he can feel the anxiety and doubt pulse through him. This isn’t right.

Kirishima puts a soft hand on his wrist, pulling him close.

“Hey man, you okay?” His eyebrows are furrowed in a pout, searching his face for any signs. Bakugou nods and turns back to the others. He doesn’t miss how Kirishima doesn’t let go and he doesn’t make him.

“They didn’t want to disturb you because they know how you can be sometimes. They said they just wanted you to enjoy your time with your friends rather than a huge thing with people you don’t necessarily like.” Mina smiles at them. “I said you probably wouldn’t mind but they left their presents.”

Bakugou tries to ignore the feeling in his chest, buzzing in his heart.

“They all wish you a happy birthday, they mean it.” Sero gives him a soft smile.

Kirishima’s hand tightens on his wrist. Bakugou knows that he shouldn’t feel bad about this. He barely even likes those extras. But he can’t help but feel he pushed them all away.

Kirishima leans closely and whispers into his ear, “Your fine Bakugou. We are here because you are our friend but that doesn’t mean they hate you. They spent money on you and some of them wanted to be here but they wanted to respect you. No one hates you, okay?”

Bakugou doesn’t want to listen but he knows Kirishima is right. He is always right about these things. Mina pulls on his hand, “Hey let’s open some presents okay?” And Bakugou nods accepting the first gift. A small rectangular box. Sero raises a hand, “That’s mine!” Bakugou wastes no time tearing off the wrapping paper.

Sero’s present is two metal drumsticks. They feel cool and light in his hands, Bakugou doesn’t miss the chance to twirl them in his fingers. There is a small x and his name carved in small cursive letters on the side. It’s a good gift, he did end up breaking his old ones during the cultural festival (along with several others).

“They can withstand your explosions.”      

Bakugou raises his eyebrows in keen interest. Oh? He’s never had drumsticks like that.

“Try it.”

He grips the sticks tightly and lets a few soft explosions off. He opens his hand only to find remnants of smoke. Nothing.

“These are perfect.” He tries to sound angry when he says it, anything to make it sound not as nice but the same smile finds its way onto Sero’s face and he proudly watches as Kaminari hands him the next present.

Kaminari gets him coupons to his favorite restaurants around the city (the ones that serve the best spicy food) and a whole pack of extra spicy noodles that he has in the kitchen. It’s his favorite pack, the still brings tingles to his tongue when he eats it and still holds other flavors that don’t override the spiciness. Bakugou can’t help but love the present, everyone knows food is the way to someone’s heart. Which is a cheap trick on Kaminari’s part but he’ll allow it.

“These are good.”

“Aw give up the act! You love those! I don’t know what you see in them though. They are waaaaay too hot.”

“You’ve eaten them before?” Bakugou eyes him cautiously. Someone did take one, he never found out who though. Kaminari’s demeanor quickly changes and he is sweating and stumbling over his words.

“I mean, hasn’t everyone? At least once right?” Mina and Sero laugh quietly behind him.

“When I first brought them to the dorms you said you never tried them.” Bakugou sets the present down before letting the explosions come off his palms. He’s found the thief.

Kaminari starts to back up and Bakugou readies for a chase before Mina stuffs her present into his arms.

“Nope! Violence is reserved for after presents. You can beat him up then.”

“Mina! Traitor! You could have just said that he couldn’t hit me at all!”

Mina sneers at him, “You knew what would happen if you ate his food. You didn’t even finish it before you started crying.” Bakugou can’t help but laugh at that. He almost wishes he saw it.

Mina gets him the shittiest shirt he has ever seen and mascara. Bakugou takes them and tries his best to look disgruntled. The shirt just happens to be from one of his favorite metal bands, its design coats the front in intricate swirls and details. It’s the one he had been looking to buying it when he had the time but here it is. He sends a heartfelt glare and Mina and she smiles. The mascara is Flirty Minx, Extreme Volume. Bakugou blushes. He didn’t think anyone would notice he wore any but if it was going to be anybody it was going to be Mina who found out. That’s when he also realizes that he is running low.

Kirishima gets him a whole new pack of mountain climbing gear. The whole 9 yards. It’s all fitted nicely into the backpack: a new harness, boots, helmet, rope, everything. Bakugou can’t help but notice that none of the items are matching color wise, Bakugou laughs to himself. But closer to the bottom of the bag Bakugou finally sees them. A pair of orange and green crocs. It’s very distinctly modeled after his hero costume, with the two dots and the X over the tops. Although he loves his costume he absolutely hates these.

“You know I’m never going to wear these, right? They are hideous.”

Kirishima laughs, hand over his chest, “I told you one of these days I’d convert you. Besides, you’ll probably wear them once to be nice.”

Damn, he knows him too well. “No, I won’t.”

Kirishima only smiles back.

They spend the rest of that afternoon opening and talking about the presents. Bakugou can’t wait until it’s their birthdays just so he can show them up. He will be damned if they are better present givers than he is.

It is darker when they finally get to the lopsided cake. The afternoon becoming evening and tiredness starts to plague them all. Bakugou has to yell at them not to sing but they do it anyway. Bakugou has to hide his blush by hiding his face in his hands. God, he absolutely hates them. Mina cuts the cake (giving Bakugou a HUGE slice) and they all find spots to eat in the grass. Kirishima sits beside him once he’s got his slice, criss cross on the grass and chewing happily.

“Did you like today?” Kirishima is looking up at the vivid lights in the sky. The clashes of reds and pinks. It casts a perfect hue onto him. Bakugou can’t help but love the sight.

“This was dumb.” He tries to scowl but he really can’t. That’s when he realizing he is angry. There is no trace of anger anywhere in him. He feels calm and peaceful. Kirishima laughs, already knowing he doesn’t mean it.

For the first time that evening it’s quiet and soft.

Despite knowing he shouldn’t and everything in his body telling himself to stop he leans closer to Kirishima. From the corner of his eye, he can see him smile and blush but move closer anyway.

“This cake taste like shit.”

Kirishima chuckles, shoulders jerking slightly. “Yeah, we kept trying over and over last night. This was the best outcome of all the attempts so you’re lucky.”

The sun is pulling to a close in the sky, dripping just to the tops of the roses and resting there. He can feel his tiredness plaguing his eyes. There was so much running around and joking (and his early bedtime) he knows it's not long before he falls asleep.

“Thank you guys, really.” It’s just above a whisper and Kirishima doesn’t say anything. He almost thinks he didn’t hear him, which he is perfectly fine with him. The area gets darker and darker and Bakugou doesn’t know if it’s just him blinking longer and longer of the sun falling from the sky. Either way, he finds himself closing his eyes and keeping them there.

He barely feels it but he knows it happens. Kirishima moves his spiky hair back and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. It’s short and sweet. Bakugou almost wants to wake up so he can return the birthday gift but his limbs don’t move.

“Happy Birthday Bakugou.”

And out of all Bakugou’s birthdays, he has to admit. No matter how much he hates his dumb friends and this dumb party-

This was his favorite one of all.

[miafic]

i should have never opened the mrs. wood floodgates cause now i have a million questions. did he ever bring her his report cards? did she put them on the fridge with otto’s? i bet she did. when did she start to notice that things at awsten’s house were really bad? did she ever confront awsten’s mom? did otto ever get jealous when they were real little cause he didn’t understand why his mom paid so much attention to awsten? did awsten ever do anything for her for mother’s day? he is gonna now?

this is a mess and it’s so long and so CHEESY im sorry

~

he did well in history and science when he was younger. not english or math or spelling, but he liked history and science. on the day they brought report cards home, he’d tear off the bad parts and throw them away (i think about him tearing up school stuff a lot tbh). but he’d keep the good parts, so she could only see the parts that he wanted her to. 

when otto wasn’t there (in the bathroom, changing clothes, whatever), awsten would shyly bring the scraps to her, and she’d make a big deal about it, giving him a hug and a big kiss and telling him how proud of him she was and what a great job he’d done. he’d put the pieces back in his pocket because he knew otto always did better than he did, but sometimes he would do well on a test, and that would get put up on the fridge (cough, like in MIA, cough). 

~

she could tell right away, but she grew desensitized to it. i think we’d all be guilty of this to some degree - after several months, you get used to a kid wearing the same clothes two days in a row or never having shoes that fit right. and awsten wasn’t acting like anything was wrong because he was five years old and he’d never known anything different. 

she knew just from otto talking about awsten that he came from a house that was different than hers. but she was thinking maybe he was living with an underprivileged family. so when she was alone with awsten, she’d start slipping little questions in here and there to try to learn more, and his answers were weird. she figured out that he was alone most of the time, that he was always hungry and in trouble at school, and that he’d have a lot of headaches and a glaring lack of baths, clothes, and sleep. she discovered that this wasn’t neglect but full-on abuse when she coaxed him into a warm bath when he was in first grade and he had five finger-shaped bruises on each of his arms. 

~

she couldn’t ever find awsten’s mom to confront her. if she managed to get a hold of her on the phone, awsten’s mom would just swear at her and then hang up. and then things would be worse for awsten. so she stayed quiet but reported what she could to the police, but nothing was ever really done. 

~

well, she was pretty subtle. a little went a long way with awsten, so it didn’t seem like much to otto when mom would spend a few extra seconds buckling awsten into a car seat so she could touch his cheek and smile at him - because she did the same for otto. 

when otto got a little older (first grade), he thought it was weird because not only did other parents not do that, but mom didn’t do it for any of otto’s other friends. he asked about it one night after awsten went home, and she explained carefully to him that while awsten had people to take care of him, they didn’t always do a very good job. so she was trying to make sure he knew that he was cared about. 

otto takes after his mom in a lot of ways, but that big heart is the most obvious. he had always loved awsten a whole lot, but he was sure after that to make it a little more obvious. 

~

when the kids were required to make mother’s day cards at school, awsten would act out. he was so little that he didn’t know why he was mad, but he was still mad. he’d tear the pages up then, too, or draw things that would freak the teachers out, like skulls and fire and angry faces. he’d get sent to the counselor’s office, where he’d lie and say he didn’t know why he did it, and it was okay because he’d get a piece of candy on the way out. 

in third grade, though, he cooperated and just made a card so the teachers wouldn’t send him to the counselor again. people had started to ask more questions by then, and he’d figured out that it was better to lie and hide everything than it was to cause a scene and draw attention to himself. 

he decorated a plain white piece of paper with a drawing of a green and yellow horse. inside it just said a generic, “happy mother’s day. i love you. awsten” and he fully intended to stuff it inside his backpack and then crumple it up and throw it away on the walk home, because on the off chance that his mom was home, he’d never give it to her. she’d be mean about it, and then he’d be sad, so she’d get angry, and then he’d get hurt. he just wanted to get rid of it. it’d be better for everyone.

but then he saw mrs. wood picking up otto, and he thought maybe she’d like it. maybe she’d hug him and say something nice about his horse. after all, he’d spent a long time getting the zig-zags on it just right… 

so he went to the woods’ house after school and knocked on the door, and she answered and told him otto was working on homework. and he said something like, that’s okay. i just wanted to give you this. and he was so embarrassed that he couldn’t even look at her, but he held the card out, and she took it, and she read it and crouched down and she was willing herself so firmly not to cry and she thanked him profusely and told him how much she loved it and what a beautiful horse you drew for me, baby, thank you.

and he didn’t know why, but he just stood on the doorstep - head hung, shoulders drooping, big backpack still on his back - and started to cry. he didn’t get it, why he hated this damn holiday so much, but she did. she knew. and she cried too, just a little, and she reached her arms out for him, and he went into them, and she folded him up all safe and warm and, right there outside, she told him how much she loved him and that she knew things were hard at home but she would always, always be there for him if he needed anything. 

he asked her why she was crying, and she said because he was sad and that made her sad, too. and he asked why that made her sad. and she said because she loved him. and they were just on the front step, the two of them, hugging each other tightly. 

awsten felt like he was too old, like he shouldn’t be needing anyone, especially since his parents always made him do everything for himself. but it just felt so nice… so when she asked him to come inside and stay for dinner, he nodded instead of disappearing like he usually did. 

he sat at the counter and watched her while she moved around the kitchen making him a snack, humming along to her crackly little radio. and sitting there, safe, in the clean house with the nice family, he was so angry and so sad and so thankful and so confused and frustrated and happy and heartbroken that he started to cry a second time. and she went over to him and held him again, cheese and crackers forgotten several feet away. 

[classyklancey]

The Thing | High school AU |

Pairing: Keith x Lance Genre: Angst Warnings: Possession?, somewhat self-harm (it’s The Thing causing it), anxiety mention Summary: Keith has something inside of him that he can just barely control. Lance helps keep him level-headed A/N: I made this forever ago and it wasn’t intended to be Keith and Lance. It used to be a lot more angsty but since I changed it to Keith and Lance, my poor heart couldn’t handle it the original version. If you want the other version too let me know!! If you want the original version where it’s not Lance and Keith, also let me know lol. Enjoy!!

Hundreds of screaming voices pierce my ears. The noise is so loud that I can barely focus on my own thoughts, beating down on me from all directions. My nails dig into my knees through the fabric of my black jeans, so hard that they threaten to draw blood.

“It’s a pep rally, Keith,” Lance says from my right side, where he is jumping, screaming, and just generally making a fool of himself as usual. “You know, fun stuff.”

Lance laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder, my torso slouching from the sudden weight. Sometimes, I forget just how much bigger he was than me. Lance didn’t have an abundance of muscles or anything, but his shoulders were significantly broader than mine and he was at least three inches taller. 

“Get off,” I say gruffly, my face deadpan.

That earned a laugh from Lance. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably make a joke about my “dumb emo face” like usual, but the Headmaster’s booming voice interrupted him. He was announcing a school spirit contest, where the class that screamed the loudest won bragging rights. The freshman, my class, was first, and in typical freshman style, they gave a weak attempt with what sounded like only thirty students cheering and a few claps here and there.

“Better cover your ears, Keithy baby,” Lance said, before leaping to his feet again, clearing his throat in preparation. I go to respond when the Headmaster beats me to it. 

“Now, let me hear my sophomores!” The Headmaster bellowed over the microphone, making me flinch from the loud volume. ‘Why is he talking so loudly when his voice is already being amplified?’

“The seniors are going to win,” I say, but he can’t hear me over the sound of his own obnoxious screeching. His voice could be heard over every other sophomore in the gym. I might have been impressed if I wasn’t preoccupied with a splitting headache that was only intensified from the noise.

I had been having an okay day for the first time in quite a bit. I didn’t have to run to the bathroom and vomit when I woke up this morning, which is an improvement from the past few days. I took some medication for my migraine and it had actually gone down a bit. For a little while, I actually believed that I was going to make it through the day without anything going wrong. But, of course, every time I think the universe is on my side, something happens and ruins everything. This time, it just so happened to be a surprise pep rally celebrating some kind of important win. Maybe football…or was it basketball? It could have been a chess tournament victory for all I care. All that I know is that I’m sweating out every bit of moisture in my body, Lance’s racket is going to make me deaf, the fluorescent gym lights are blinding, and I think I’m going to throw up my lunch. Every little thing is like a weight pressing against my head. 

It’s all just another excuse for The Thing to show up.

I can’t remember a time when the Thing wasn’t with me. Ever since I was small, I was always plagued with migraines, but it wasn’t a stabbing pain like you get when you’re sick. It was a pressure, almost as if my skull was too full. Like there was something in there that wasn’t supposed to be.

The Thing rules my life. It keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning for hours. Even when I finally manage to fall asleep, it speaks to me in my nightmares. It digs around in my deepest insecurities and forces them into my head over and over again, so much that I dread going to bed at night. Whenever I wake up, there is always a fresh set of self-inflicted scratch marks on my abdomen and dried up tears in the corners of my eyes.

It doesn’t leave me alone during the day either, though. The migraines have become a constant at this point, along with a feeling of nausea, like The Thing is trying to escape from my body. It likes to play around with my personal anxieties, pointing out every little detail in the hopes that I will let my guard down enough for it to take control of my body.

The worst symptom of all happens whenever I get angry. The Thing thrives off of anger. Even the slightest hint of irritation is enough to feed its hunger for violence. The angrier I get, the more power I give it. It likes to whisper actions into my head and scream obscene words at my teachers and peers. Sometimes, if I’m angry enough, it can make things move without anyone touching them.

I’ve never been able to experience the things that most kids my age do. Up until this year, my first year of high school, I’ve never been able to keep a friend.

‘Except for you,’ I think to myself, glancing over to the boy next to me, a joyful grin plastered onto his face.

We met at the beginning of this school year, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by the way Lance acts around me. Out of all the people he could have latched onto, he chose me. A pale, shifty-eyed little freshman. I’m still not sure whether I should feel honored or extremely unlucky. Hanging around with me was probably a mistake on his part.

Lance is an idiot in the best of ways. He never noticed the way that my eyes would dilate so much that only a small sliver of gray-blue was left when I was struggling for control. He never took note of the self-inflicted scratches and picks that marked my arms and legs. After all of those times the two of us walked home from school in the afternoons together, he never realized that my shadow fell six shades darker than his own. All that mattered to him was that I was a fresh face and I could carry on a decent conversation, and he thought I was cute. I was thankful for the company, but sometimes I wondered whether extra stress was worth it.

The Headmaster is talking again. Though his voice is distorted by the aging sound system, I can still make out the words “relay” and “volunteers”.

At first, I pay no mind, but when Lance’s grin widens into something mischievous, my body tenses in a sudden sense of panic. Before I can stop him, he’s jumping up in the air and waving his arms to get the Headmaster’s attention.

“Lance, what are-”

“You can run fast, right?” he cuts me off. He already knew the answer to that. Before I can stop myself, I think back to one specific time when we were walking home.

“Keith! Start running! It’s about to start raining harder!” Lance shouts from far ahead of me, his long legs carrying him faster and farther away from me. 

I roll my eyes at Lance’s shouting, figuring he was just over exaggerating since barely any rain was falling from the sky. 

Suddenly, it started to pour, startling me. I gasp before quickly starting to run after Lance, almost instantly catching up to him. The Thing has given me strengths in certain aspects, such as running. 

“Woah! You caught up quick!” I don’t say anything as I pass him, running all the way to my house. After a couple of minutes, Lance catches up to me, coming up to my patio instead of continuing to his house. “Thanks for leaving me...” he says sarcastically, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

I give him an apologetic smile as I unlock my door. “At least I waited for you. Want to come inside?” 

Lance shakes his head as he points over his shoulder. “Nah, I shou- oh, you’re freezing.” My brows furrow at his words before I feel it, the shaking racking my body. It wasn’t because I was cold, but I couldn’t tell him that. Sometimes when I use my new strengths, it wakes up The Thing. I start to panic but try to keep it off of my face, praying he wouldn’t accept my offer to come inside. 

“I’m fine,” I reassure with a soothing smile, hoping it looked soothing to him since in reality, I was panicking. Lance shakes his head as he takes off his jacket, draping it over me. “Nope. You’re cold. It’s okay to admit it.” 

I roll my eyes and grumble to myself, feeling a blush take over my face as I look down at my wet shoes, momentarily forgetting about The Thing. My eyes widen as Lance’s lifts my face up to look at him, his bright eyes meeting my shocked ones. 

“Red is a pretty color on you,” he whispers, his eyes moving to my cheeks. My blush only grows worse at his compliment. ‘Is he...no. He wouldn’t flirt with me. He could never like a monster like me...’ 

At the last part of my thought, I frown as I pull away. “Thanks for walking me home. Here’s your jacket. Be safe,” I say as I toss him his jacket back. Before he could respond, I close the door in his face. His hurt expression was all I could think about for the rest of the day. “I did him a favor...” I mumble before I let out a hefty sigh. 

I quickly snap out of my thoughts when he grabs my hand. “I-I can’t!” I try to hide the desperation in my voice, but I can’t stop it from cracking. “I really don’t want-”

“Yes! Headmaster’s looking over here!” he cuts me off again, waving our clasped hands and his free hand into the air. 

A spark of foreign anger pangs in the back of my head, a sickeningly familiar emotion.

Of all the times for the Thing to wake up, it has to be right now. Right now, when my nerves have already been ground down to nothing and the wild Cuban next to me has finally caught the Headmaster’s attention. I want to simultaneously scream at the top of my lungs and burst into tears. I loathe this feeling of being helpless. Lance is suddenly dragging me towards one of my biggest fears, and The Thing is dragging me towards the other, and I have no control.

‘Get rid of him,’ It says, ‘I don’t want to go out there.’

“Shut up, just shut up for once,” I hiss under my breath. Pain blossoms in my torso like a punch to the gut.

The Headmaster waves us over with a smile, and I’m suddenly pulled onto my feet. I try to resist Lance’s pulling, but he is quite persistent in getting me onto the gymnasium floor. As a final desperate attempt, I plant my beaten, dirty sneakers into the ground as hard as I can. Lance looks back at me, a little confused.

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. “Please,” I beg, “Please don’t do this to me.” Lance flashes me that signature bright smile and begins dragging me by the wrist to the center of the gymnasium floor. “You need to do something fun!” 

It is far too late when I realize that the words never left my lips.

The hundreds of voices have turned into hundreds of eyes. I’m shrinking smaller and smaller, and everyone else towers over me menacingly. I look to Lance for support and comfort, anything to help ease this feeling of anxiousness. But he doesn’t even notice my gaze. He’s waving up at his other friends, completely enjoying the spotlight. At this point, The Thing is practically clawing at the inside of my skull, begging to be released.

I make the mistake of glancing down at my shadow on the polished floor. My eyes are frozen in horror on the dark silhouette of my left hand. I watch as the fingers clench and relax, clench and relax, clench and relax in a steady repetition. My actual hand is gripping onto the fabric of my hoodie and had been the entire time. The dread in my stomach drags every second into an hour as I realize what’s coming. Every instinct in my body is telling me to get out. I cannot break down here, not in front of these judgmental eyes, not in front of the only friend I’ve ever been able to keep.

“Don’t look so scared, bud.” Lance nudged my ribs gently with his elbow, “It’s just a little race.”

Time froze. I stared at him, my eyes blown wide and black from the dilation. “Don’t look so scared.” His voice was happy when he said it, completely carefree. Everything was just a game to him. He never took anything seriously, including me. Surely he could see the pain on my face. How could he not notice the way my body shuddered under this pressure. Maybe he just didn’t care enough to open his eyes.

I hate him.

The thought resonates in my mind, something I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t really true, well, for me at least. The Thing hated everyone and everything. 

I hate him.

The phrase repeats in my thoughts, over and over and over again. It bounces around my skull in an awful dissonance until I can barely make out any words, mingling with the cheering voices of the student body.

I hate him.

Lance thrusts an object into my suddenly freezing cold hands. It’s a relay baton. The noise in my head is so loud I can barely hear him tell me that I am supposed to run first. My spine is stiff and I can feel my body go completely still, red creeping into the edges of my vision.

He gives me a look, I couldn’t tell what kind of look it was though. Concern? Confusion? 

“You okay, Keith?”

I shake my head quickly, trying to control my breathing that was starting to become labored. Lance removes the baton from my hand with a nod of his head, dropping it to the floor.

“Okay, it’s alright. Let’s get you some air,” he says quietly to me, only loud enough for me to hear him over the roaring crowd. I nod my head as I let him lead me outside, leaning against him as we sit on the stairs that lead up to the gymnasium. 

“Sorry...” I mumble. I don’t know why I was apologizing to him. I tried to tell him, no, but his stubborn self didn’t want to listen to me. He hushes me as he runs a hand through my slightly damp hair, rubbing my back with the other. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t realize you’d react like that. You have bad anxiety or something?” I sigh with a nod of my head, leaning into him more. 

“Something like that...” 

[parf-fan]

Halloween 2018

I had hoped to have this finished and posted last week, but it took longer to write than I'd planned (and also I got sick, which slows everything down).  As it is, it only went through two-and-a-half drafts, so it is not the most well-written thing I've ever posted, for which I apologize.

This full-on essay is a critique of the 2018 Halloween scenario.  As such, it contains spoilers – major freaking spoilers – below the cut. I beg of you: if you've not yet attended the Halloween event, DO NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU HAVE.  Even if you can't go, but plan on watching videos of it, wait to read this until you've watched the videos.  Not simply because of spoilers, but also because I do not want my opinions to affect your initial viewing.  You have been warned, and I entreat you to heed it.

Any critique worth its salt begins with the strong points, of which there are many, and I should like to talk about them anyway.

Half the new plot is awesome.  Midsummer-Night's Dream is my shit, and I am beyond stoked about the inclusion of its characters.  Even on the second day, when I knew it was coming, I could not stop myself from physically bouncing up and down in my seat from excitement at the introduction of Titania and Oberon.

The manner in which the ridiculous weather we've had all season (plus rehearsal month) was worked into the plot – not merely lampshaded or joked about, but as an actual plot-point – may be the biggest stroke of genius I've experienced at the Faire to date.  It is clever as heck, and adds an extra level of immersion.

SIX MONARCHS!  Oh, poor poor Kensington.  He didn't even freak out, he skipped directly to dead-inside acceptance.

The moment at King's Court in which the faerie monarchs are magic-tugging the goblet – and by extension, Triboulet – back and forth stuck out at me because of the excellent physical acting of Joshua Kachnycz.  He left absolutely no doubt that he was truly being magically pulled.

Likewise, Joshua's quick-change into the guise of Puck seemed exemplary to me (at least when both fog machines were working).  True, he did not change his whole attire, but in proportion to the parts he did change or add – in the middle of the stage, too! - I think he did it quickly and well.

Triboulet being Robin Goodfellow is not only totally in keeping with his character, but also bears out something he told me in Gauntlet once, something I meant to make a post about but never got the chance while I was thinking about it.  I had asked whether he had any genuine loyalty to Spain, or whether he was merely in it for the pay.  He responded with something along the lines of “Who said anything about pay?”.  Upon asking him to elaborate, he indicated that he was never hired by Spain, but rather was bent on causing chaos for the sake of chaos, stirring up shit for the pure fun of it.  That was when I knew that he'd be revealed as a faerie trickster come Halloween, but I didn't suspect Puck specifically until about two minutes before the reveal.  tl;dr, Triboulet as Puck matches perfectly with how I've been interpreting him all season.

Furthermore, the fact that it's Puck causing the primary mischief enables me to utter such phrases as “everything's Pucked up”, “Puck this”, “you motherpucker”, and “Puck you”.  It is the stupidest play on words possible, and I love it, and will likely not stop using it until everyone in the shire hates me or the season ends, whichever happens first.

Everything involved in deciding the fate / punishment of Puck is just beautiful. From seeking asylum in England, to being reduced to prose (which, mood), to throwing himself on Titania's mercy after learning about Jane's past, just all of it.  Side-splitting, well done.

THE NEW WORDS TO THE ROGUES' TREATY-SIGNING SINGING!  Oh my gosh.  When I realized what was being sung, I laughed very loudly and fairly long, probably confusing a few patrons who didn't notice the difference, possibly irritating some, definitely killing the moment for a few.  I love it.  I love it immensely and will never be over it.  For any who didn't notice or couldn't make them out, the new words are “Nosferatu, some spooky dudes,” over and over.  It is comedy gold, for the scene is so solemn and gratifying, and the new words sung in total seriousness, and with no specific attention called to them.  Comedy freaking gold, I tell you.

The mid Parting-Glass speech.  Holy shit.  Just.  Fuck me up, I have Emotions.  A lot of emotions.  I already almost cry upon hearing it, I'm gonna fuckin' bawl my eyes out on the last day.  Fuck.

The entire plot with Titania and Oberon and the conflict over the seasons and said conflict spilling over to harm the humans is spectacular, and I love it.  But the other new plot?  Not so much at all.  Why? Distilling down every issue to its core, the thing in common with them all is this: it's just bad writing.

What the wine plot tells me is that the writers' first impulse upon being presented with multiple lead romantic relationships is to do some sort of love-triangle-square bullshit.  Yet love-triangles/squares are boring and overdone, and present no challenge in terms of devising conflict.  They are uncreative.  And basing full half your plot around them is simply poor storytelling.

Similarly, one of the things I most admired about the main season was the presence of conflict without a joust to the death.  Setting up the Joust and conflict  without the promise of fatality is more of a challenge, and therefore the successful result is more engaging.  I take no issue with the fact that the Ultimate Joust is generally to! the! death!, but greatly admired the achievement of pulling off the plot without it just this once.  So when the Halloween Joust was revealed to have returned to its deadly state, I was let down.  If nonlethal Ultimate Jousts were a more common thing, perhaps I'd not be so upset about this.  But I believe this is the first one I've seen, and we all know it'll be to! the! death! once more next season.  Which I will have no problem with.  But returning the promise of fatality this season is a step backwards in quality.

During main-season Joust, I frequently found myself just beaming at the field, happy to watch six knights, all honorable in-universe (or so it seemed) and out, doing what they loved without filtering their enthusiasm through masks of hate or greed.  It was so wholesome a thing to be able to Favor any knight in wholly good conscience both in-universe and out.  Sure, Henry and Francis were being prideful idiots, but not so seriously that it compromised their morality overmuch, and thus I gladly Favored them.  I would not expect this of Joust every year, but I loved that it was so this season.  I loved that pure moment of contentedly smiling over the field, filled with love for all those riding upon it.  And I hate that I've been robbed of that moment three weeks too early.

The pre-joust dialogue was not between Francis and Henry.  I mean obviously, it wouldn't be, since they were both enchanted.  But it didn't even sound like enchanted versions of them talking.  It was straight-up Don Alonso and Sir Robert.  Literally.  Every word they said was the exact same stuff we hear from the Bad Knights, complete with the promise of drinking wine from hollowed skulls.  Perhaps it was just because I was already in a disappointed state of mind, but it just didn't seem effective.

The point that may gall me the most as a storyteller: the solution to saving the day came out of fuck-all nowhere. It was not hinted at, foreshadowed, or set up in any way.  Because I'm extra salty, let's look at some recent previous plots for a moment.  In Halloween 2016, the thing mentioned several times throughout the day was that Excalibur could only be pulled from the stone by one worthy to rule England.  Catherine drawing it forth thus fulfills a narrative promise.  In Halloween 2017, the point stated several times throughout the day was that Rumple could not be harmed by mortal man.  Thus, when Catherine successfully breaks his power, we understand why she is able to.  Main season 2018, the recurring thing throughout the day was the back-and-forth between the jesters. Thus, we can track the point to which Jane arrives at in shooting Triboulet.

But Halloween 2018, what is the point mentioned repeatedly?  What do the antagonists / new characters emphasize?  That the mortals cannot throw off the magic of the wine before sunrise.  What, then, does that indicate?  What is the logical storytelling resolution of that? That a faerie will be the one to undo it, or at least enable the humans to.  That is the narrative promise.  The fact that the mortals are able to break it on their own doesn't make sense, and cannot in any way be predicted or deduced or traced through after the fact from anything elsewhere in the plot.  That's poor storytelling, mate.

The Halloween plot is meant to up the antie.  To take things to the next level.  To be grander, more sweeping, more epic.  That's a simple fact of its existance.  And this year, the writers' idea of grander and more epic was to go from friendship-love saving the day to romantic-love saving the day?  NO! FUCK YOU!  You know better, I know you do!  Romantic-love is not inherently stronger or more important or more valid or more valuable than friendship-love, and I've always treasured the Faire as one of the few settings in which I can count on that truth being understood.  This is a betrayal.

Besides, the power of true romantic-love saving the day is amatonormative and just so. fucking. overdone.

My next point involves a different point, one I'd been meaning to write about since week one but never had time to.  I had truly hoped that the Chessmatch would be between the queens.  That's one of the things that made 2017 work so well.  The king got to win his glory at Joust, and the queen got to win her glory at Chess.  It balanced them out, and ensured that one ruler did not appear more plot-important than the other.  And so it should have been this year.  When I saw that it was not so, I took some consolation in the knowledge that the queens would at least have their moment in saving the day in Halloween.  But they didn't.  I mean, Catherine was the first to throw off the effects of the wine, if you count that, but it's not really the same. The queens were both wholly robbed of any opportunity to display their prowess and win their own triumph, and I am very much not okay with that.

Which brings me to the subject of the queens.  It may be most effective for this next point to quote directly from my stream-of-consciousness bullet-point brainstorming of all the issues I found with this scenario.

YOU MADE THE QUEENS FIGHT i will never forgive yo[u]

WHY DID YOU MAKE THE QUEENS FIGHT

LIKE REALLY

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT THEY WERE ENCHANTED, I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT IN-UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW

HOW DARE YOU BREAK THAT BEAUTEOUS, WONDERFUL FRIENDSHIP AND SOLIDARITY WE’VE BEEN TREASURING ALL SEASON AND LONGING FOR FOR SO LONG

AN[D] OVER FUCKING ÉROS????? ARE YOU SHITTING ME

As the Halloween Chess initially unfolded before me, as the kings' tempers rose and they became more and more volatile toward one another, I was already thinking about the post I would write about the new scenario, and I noted that I would include something about how I was glad that at the least they didn't have the queens turn on one another.  I made specific plans to mention that as a silver lining, a partial saving grace.  And then they fell to the quarrel/fight scene between Hermia and Helena, and all I wanted to do was scream and throw things and, in hindsight, cry.

Let me take a moment to reiterate.  I fucking love Midsummer-Night's Dream.  It is my absolute favorite of Shakespeare's plays, it's the first play of any kind I ever saw, it was a facet of my childhood, and I was in two separate productions of it.  And in that play, the quarrel/fight between Hermia and Helena is one of my favorite scenes.  It's so much fun to perform, and gave rise to my tagline: though she be but little, she is fierce.  But that scene has no place here with these characters.

This then brings me to my next point.  In-universe, none of the fighting makes sense.  Since the looks matched up, everybody's wine!love was requited, and nobody felt a claim on someone another now wanted. I've watched Chess all four days, and the three most recent days, I've made active effort to track the development of the conflict, having not understood it before.  But I still cannot see what they are fighting about.  Yes, it was stated that the wine would fill the drinker with rage, but what we saw between the kings in the main season, that was rage.  This is rage combined with a massive fuckin dose of irrationality.  The reasoning gone through to arrive at both the brawl and the joust comes down to insane troll logic.  This is the second thing that bothers me the most as a storyteller.  If Oberon's line about the wine had simply included a mention of irrationality along with the rage, the whole conflict would seem a lot less bullshit.

And now, the third thing that bothers me the most as a storyteller: you guessed it, the cup.  Listen, Dumbshow-lampshading the utter lack of mention or explanation of the cup following King's Court does not make it good storytelling.  Last year's lampshade about the treaty worked because we'd already had a whole main season about that.  But the cup was just. abandoned, and not long after being introduced.  Of course I see the need for something to call the faeries to the shire, but you can't take the entire inciting macguffin of so primary a plot and so thoroughly ignore it for the rest of the story.

This is even less excusable when considered with the fact that there was ample opportunity to keep the chalice involved.  Simply have it present at Chess, mention in the preamble that the match is partially for possession of  the cup (albeit maybe temporarily), and add a line to Triboulet's toast-proposing, something about the toast also being in anticipation of the victor toasting his opponent's health from the goblet.  Once the wine takes effect and everything starts going to shit, the kings no longer care about the cup.  The cup should then also be present at Joust, since the faerie monarchs are wagering possession of it on said game.  It doesn't have to be made a fuss of, it just has to be there, and probably spared a few words in the part of the recap given by Titania and Oberon.  This would at least settle the plot point, if not resolving it, and actually turns it into something of a successful red herring.  At the start of the Chessmatch, the audience is expecting a continuation of the plot from King's Court, not a sudden love-square.  Reprising the chalice at the beginning of the match would bear that out, lulling the audience in to a false sense of plot-security, if that makes any sense.  The wine plot is then eased in rather than sudden; not because it begins any subtler, but because the fakeout plot lasts a little longer, and overlaps.

And a final, less significant note: the fae don't look like fae.  They pretty much look human.  Oberon looks his part a little better, 'cause he's got slightly odd eyes and an unusual crown, but that's it.  And Titania simply looks like a human in an orange dress and flower crown.  True, the style of her dress is not of the English Renaissance era, and that makes her stand out a bit, but it isn't disquieting.  At least the two previous years, the faeries have been visually off-putting, disturbing, unsettling, bordering on creepy. This post says it better than I can, so allow me to quote from it:

also i think that for me personally you are not doing midsummer night correctly AT ALL if you haven’t put a lot of work in on the part of the actors and costumers and makeup and other elements to make sure that the fairies are as unsettling and otherworldly and uh FAE as possible. the fairies aren’t supposed to be cute. titania should strike fear into the audiences’ hearts just by being onstage.

All in all, I have never been so disappointed in something from the Faire.  I am heartbroken, in a way.  This universe, the Megan-Zach universe, has been so very good from the start, and has just built exponentially the entire time.  There was the 2016 main season, and that was friggin' fantastic.  Then the 2016 Halloween plot, and that was even better.  Then there was 2017 main season, and that was better still.  The main season plot gave way to the 2017 Halloween plot, and bloody hell that was even better! Then there was the main season 2018, and holy fucking shit on a stick, that was freaking incredible!  And then there's the Halloween 2018 plot – which, nope.  They'd been building and building these three seasons and now, in this final moment, they partially blew it.  I've been informed that this is the last year of Megan and Zach as our monarchs, that this is it for this universe.  And this is not the note anybody – actor or patron – deserved to end on.

There are some silver linings though, and I should be remiss to not mention them. (Though most of them are not significant enough to be true silver linings, but rather what I refer to as pewter linings.)

First, I am pleased that they retained the bout of flyting.  As the day is no longer saved by Jane, the back-and-forth between the jesters is no longer necessary for the plot, and as such, neither is the flyting. It has been one of my favorite moments all season, and I am grateful that they left it there.  Particularly when considering that they had to remove the sample performance of an out-of-house performer in order to make time for the new segment.  I think that a good decision.

At the end of the chessmatch, Puck announces  the upcoming joust through an entertaining impression of Kensington.  Even if I weren't staying through the wine-affected monarchs' end-of-game bullshit in order to experience the faerie/weather plot, I'd stay just for that impression, because it's hilarious.

Getting to see Catherine wielding a sword at Joust almost makes up for a third of the wine plot.  Despite the awfulness of what enabled that moment, the moment itself is hecking fantastic.

After the faerie wine has been dispelled, Henry has a line saying that the enchantment could not have made him behave like that unless he already had the potential to do so.  This bears out an crucial point in the series of fic I'm (still) working on about the Bavarians.  I had already decided that faeries cannot manipulate anyone – physically, mentally, or emotionally – into doing something that the person in question did not already posses the capacity to do, and though it's not exactly a plot point, or even stated directly in the fic, it's very important to me, and is sure as heck gonna be mentioned in the author's notes.  So it was rather nice for that to be confirmed as canon.

At Finale, the human queens sometimes acknowledge that there was potential for them to have looked at each other after the wine. Moreover, they also acknowledge that that course of events would have been at least slightly less awful, and do not seem averse to the notion that this hypothetical version of events would've led them to become enamored of another woman.  This acknowledgment does not make up for too much, but it does help a little.

The real silver lining, though, the closest thing the wine plot has to a saving grace, is Sir Walter.  It wasn't just a matter of his reactions to everything being entertaining, as they always are, but genuinely interesting.  This line of plot takes his role as only sane man to the next level.  He went beyond “how can I salvage this festival day” to “how can I save these four people and both their realms from war and ruin”.  It was no longer a matter of stress for him, but of the wellbeing of two nations and all those therein.  This conflict threatens more people and more peace more than any conflict he's experienced here before (that we've seen), and that change altered his actions and reactions in a very tangible way.  It was quite enjoyable to see him go from just stressing over the day to stepping up and actively trying to change the course of events, even in conflict with the orders of his rulers.  He flat-out refused to announce the joust, for one.  And even during the final battle of Joust, he kept putting himself between the queens, knowing that it would result in his ass getting kicked.  If they're teamed up hurting him, they can't hurt each other.

There's also the extremely interesting fact that half the time the faeries did any sort of magic that physically manipulated the mortals (freezing everyone, making everyone fight each other in aid of the kings), it didn't seem to have any effect on Kensington.  Now, granted, I may just be looking at the wrong places at the wrong times on this one, but if absolutely nothing else, I know he is definitely unaffected by the everybody-fight-each-other enchantment.  This is both fascinating and really cool to me, and has the potential to open up some compelling character details.  I think I may sometime compile and run through a list of the different potential explanations I've thought of for this. (I'm sure it won't be too difficult to guess my favorite possibility even without seeing what all I've come up with, but it should still be a nifty post.)

Overall though, despite these pros that would've been impossible without the wine plot, the wine plot is, to my mind, terrible.  It is not badly executed, of course.  Far from it.  It is executed brilliantly and beautifully, and truly the actors and stagecrew and sound and effects teams have my admiration no end.   But being well-executed doesn't make the writing any better.  It is poorly-written, overdone, borderline cliché in places, and did not add to or enhance my experience.  I know the writers are capable of better, and cannot for the life of me determine why they settled for something so frustratingly mediocre.

How do I know it's bad writing and not just a plot I don't like?  Because when shit started going down, I became angry at the writers, not the characters.   That is the ultimate test of quality.  If something you don't like is happening in a story and you become angered at the people within the story, then what is happening makes sense, and does not jar you from the world of the story, although you disapprove.  If something you don't like is happening in a story and you become angered at the writer(s), then what is happening does not make sense, and you are jolted out of the world of the story, remembering it to be fiction.

I hate the wine plot, and what's more, I hate that I hate it.  I wanted to love the Halloween plot in its entirety, and hating so much of it just breaks my heart.  And in total honesty, I know that certain people were eager to see my reaction to the new plot, and I expect that they're at least somewhat crestfallen that I detest a good bit of it, and that knowledge just makes me even sadder about the whole thing, and I'm angry that it fell out this way, and I'm let down, and I'm disappointed in the writers, for – not to sound like a broken record – I know them to be capable of far better than this.