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marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years

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Subtitles: Episode 2, Don’t Touch That Dial

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Summary: A nondescript amount of time has passed since [Y/N] has met the Maximoff couple and the trio has since then gotten better settled in Westview, although none of them have yet to make the best impressions with their neighbors. [Y/N], Vision, and Wanda have found friends and confidants in each other when they haven’t much elsewhere but [Y/N]’s crush remains, begging the question, ‘Is there anything more to come?’ Meanwhile, the people of the cul-de-sac are planning a talent show and the atmosphere in Westview appears to be shifting. Follow along as the happy little world of Westview begins fraying at the seams while strange happenings occur and an unseen power desperately seeks to stitch it back together…

Word count: 13,766

Warnings: This one’s even longer. Fluff, sappy rom-com vibes, more possible second-hand embarrassment. It’s just as weird as the episode.

Tag List: @madamevirgo

~~~

“[Y/N], hon. I really think you should cool it on the coffee for the rest of the day.”

It’s possible that Agnes was right. The tiredness that was caused by a windy, sleepless night has recently been replaced by chaotic, synthetic energy that had your eyes wide and hands shaking slightly. You were on your fourth cup now, which you’d brought with you from the diner you and Agnes had had breakfast at. The two of you were going to pick up Wanda and go over to Dottie’s for actual breakfast—well, brunch—but you both had rocky relationships with the queen of the neighborhood and needed to mentally prepare. You had been up for a better part of the last night due to bushes and tree branches rattling against your windows, not to mention all your previous encounters with Dottie have been disastrous; you needed the caffeinated courage. Agnes just wanted to have something on her stomach beforehand so the alcohol hidden away in her handbag would sit better.

You hummed around your mouthful of coffee in response to Agnes’s mild worrying. You swallowed, then threw back the last of the no longer hot beverage and scurried over to a random trash can to toss the cup away. “There, see? All done. All nifty.” Just as an extra bit of proof, you gave her some jazz hands and shimmied as you walked back over to link your arm with hers.

Agnes tried to hold down a smirk but broke into a laugh when the shimmying started. “You look as jittery as a squirrel.”

“Not as fluffy as a bunny?” you asked with a wide-eyed pout, then reached over to poke a finger in the cage that your companion held; the rabbit inside, Agnes’s pet, immediately offered his head to be scratched. “Señor Scratchy, more like Mr. Cutie Patootie.”

“Fluffy too, of course,” Agnes offered, giving your curled updo a ruffle. “In a good mood too, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing. With Dottie around, we’ll need it.”

You almost cracked a grin but then thought about how you’d feel hearing someone say that about you and felt somewhat sad. Luckily, you found a quick reason to grin anyway as Wanda’s house came into view up ahead—

Only for the grin to turn into a look of confusion as a buzzing suddenly started in your ear.

You stopped cold, cocking your head as you strained to listen. The buzzing sounded almost like a lawnmower but coming from the sky—a helicopter, perhaps, but there was something off about it like it was happening inside your head—and the sound grew louder until it stopped with a sudden bang, making you jump.

“[Y/N]?” Agnes’s voice called. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

Drawn back to your surroundings, you felt a cold sweat on your back and noticed your hands had become clammy; the hair on your neck and arms stood straight up and your body felt suddenly achy, almost have you had come down with a cold out of the blue. You looked at Agnes with wide eyes and saw her staring at you, concerned with both arms gripping your sleeve.

It took you several moments to recover and when you did, you asked, “Did you hear that?”

Agnes looked at you incredulously, shaking her head just slightly. “Hear what?”

She hadn’t heard it? You felt like the strange sounds had happened right next to you.

The woman at your side continued, “I didn’t hear anything at all, except for Wanda coming outside. Then you just stopped walking and stood there, I couldn’t even budge you.”

Agnes nodded in the direction in Wanda’s direction and you looked that way. Wanda was indeed outside now, though she hadn’t seemed to notice you two coming up the sidewalk yet. Instead, she was looking down in the bushes near her fence, seemingly distressed. You followed her gaze and saw something glittering in the sunlight there.

“Well,” Agnes said loudly, officially snapping you out of your daze, “you seem fine now, at least. I told you all that caffeine was going to make you go looney!” She picked up the rabbit cage she apparently put down while you were… doing whatever it had been that you were doing, then kept walking as if nothing had happened.

You watched her for a moment before following. Then you noticed Wanda lean over and pick up whatever it was she was looking at but you couldn’t see what it was as Agnes obscured most of the view. You could, however, see Wanda’s distraught expression and it made you want to run and make sure she was okay; you noted that Agnes still had no reaction, though, and decided perhaps all that caffeine was the actual cause of all these weird feelings.

You felt the familiar pang of a headache as you and Agnes got closer.

“Look, it’s the star of the show!” Agnes chirped, leaning against the fence bordering the Maximoff lawn. You saw Wanda gasp and drop the thing back into the bushes but Agnes just grinned.

“Agnes!” Wanda replied in a way that seemed a little strained. She leaned over and covered the bush with an arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Then she noticed you, still a little ways behind Agnes, and the tension in her shoulders seemed to relax slightly. “And [Y/N]!”

You gave her a sheepish wave, still trying to recollect yourself. The faint headache was still there, getting a bit stronger whenever your eyes or thoughts drifted to the object Wanda was obviously trying to hide. At least you weren’t sweaty and clammy anymore, though. Not that that would matter. It’s not like you would be holding anybody’s hand on the way to Dottie’s.

You wouldn’t mind doing so if it happened to happen though.

Stop, you chided yourself, Bad. No holding hands with Wanda.

Unless you hold hands with both her and her husband, your brain decided to think on its own, which is totally cool too.

No, you chided your brain this time, no holding hands with married couples.

Fine, your brain conceded. Then after a moment, Just kiss them instead.

No!

Good god, that had been too much coffee.

You shook your head slightly and watched and Agnes handed Señor Scratchy over to Wanda who headed back to the house with him, though you hadn’t been paying attention to what they were saying prior.

“...he played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant!” Agnes was saying, to which Wanda looked over her shoulder and answered, “Ah!”

Then Agnes looked over her shoulder, and yours, and said, “Oh, morning, Dennis!”

You side-stepped to let the man pass and took the advantage to move to Agnes’s other side as she chatted the mailman up. You couldn’t help laughing a bit as she made finger guns at him and told him to stick ‘em up.

“Ho,” Dennis responded, putting his hands up momentarily and smiling, “Don’t shoot, I’m just the messenger.”

“Pew pew!” Agnes sounded, waggling her “guns” at him.

You offered your own, less theatrical greeting to Dennis as he walked by, then leaned over and bumped hips with Agnes when you caught her watching him walk away.

“Please tell me you’re not having an affair with the mailman,” you said.

Agnes choked, then threw back her head and did what you could only describe as a cackle. “What? Heavens no!”

“Good,” you replied, then slid a bit closer. Shimmying your shoulders at her, you teased, “Because I’m the only one you need.”

Agnes snorted and swatted you over the head but she was smiling. “You bird dog, get out of here. I’m married!”

“And I will duel your husband at dawn,” you cried, “I am the only one who gets to fight bar stools for the lady’s affections!”

The two of you chortled and separated as Wanda came walking out of the house and back towards you. She looked rather lovely in the pants and cardigan combo that she wore; you also quite liked the pattern of her shirt.

She looked between the two of you—you felt like her eyes settled on you for just a second longer but that was probably the caffeine too—and as she got closer said, “Shall we?”

“Oh, we shall,” Agnes replied, stepping back from leaning on the fence and offering Wanda her arm.

You saw Wanda glance back at the bushes and she linked her arm with Agnes’s and before you could think about your headache and stop yourself, you followed her gaze. You were now standing on the other side of the fence of the bushes that Wanda had tried to hide the object she’d found in and with a quick peer, you could make out a toy helicopter within the branches.

There was something very off about the helicopter, as there had been about the sound earlier. Looking at it was like the effects of one of your worse migraines but without the intense pain. Time appeared to slow way down and your head somehow felt like it was both floating and behind crushed at the same time. When you tried to look around it was like you were moving outside of your body, as if you had turned around to look at your own house across the street and yet hadn’t moved at all. Images of Wanda and Agnes’s faces, the Maximoff house and your own, faces and places that you didn’t quite recognize, the helicopter all floated through your line of vision, mushing together or overlaying on top of each other, and you couldn’t be sure whether you were actually looking around or if you had closed your eyes and this was all happening behind your eyelids.

After what seemed like a century but you were sure was only a very slow second, the helicopter came into focus again, and you felt like you were gasping or squinting or both, but without actually doing either. The toy had a very bizarre color scheme as if the colors didn’t exist in this realm of existence; you couldn’t quite place the names of them no matter how hard you tried. The helicopter’s bright colors—almost too bright to you; it felt like looking at the sun but you couldn’t look away—appeared to turn the entire world around you to shades of gray, including yourself. Yet again, you felt like you moved without actually doing so as you raised your hand, a shade of gray instead of your skin tone. Looking further, your entire outfit wasn’t the combination of your two favorite colors that you thought it was but a variety of grays, as well as the sidewalk you stood on and the fence and bushes you stood next to.

Your gaze settled on the toy helicopter again even though you were pretty sure you’d never actually looked away.

Blood? The helicopter was the color of blood and sand, with a touch of the color you suddenly hated with every fiber of your being, shimmery gray.

Then there was a sound like a thunderclap happening directly inside your head and everything was back to normal.

Wanda has just finished linking arms with Agnes and the girls were stepping to one side so you could join their line. Looking at Wanda’s smile directed at Agnes, and Agnes’s scheming look directed at you, the world didn’t seem so out of sorts anymore. You felt both very solid and like you needed to steady yourself but you didn’t have time for the latter and instead, you stepped forward, seeming much more confident than you felt, to link arms with Agnes.

Agnes, with her scheming look, clearly had other ideas. She suddenly stepped off the curb, jerking herself and Wanda to the side, not only blocking the way you were walking but pulling Wanda directly in front of you. Agnes herself settled easily but Wanda, who had no idea what just happened, stumbled and tripped; she tried to catch herself on Agnes’s arm she held, only to find it was no longer there and ended up falling backward.

Your arms shot out reflexively and caught her around the waist. Wanda, in response, reached behind her and braced herself by throwing one arm around your shoulders while the other caught one of your wrists and twisting in such a way that caused her to turn towards you and kick one leg up so she could steady herself on the other. The result was an almost picture-perfect dip, with you cradling Wanda’s upper body in your arms, her embracing you, and the two of you staring at each other in pure shock.

Then there was Agnes, standing next to the curb and brushing out a crease in her dress, looking oh so pleased with herself.

A deep blush bloomed across your face as you looked down at the woman—the very married and greatly loved by her husband woman—and your outsides and insides had the same idea of wanting to curl in on themselves and… either scream in joy or die, you couldn’t be sure. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of Wanda right away; along with the longing you often felt when seeing either her or her husband, though it was multiplied by infinity in the current moment, you felt a sudden fierce protectiveness over her come almost out of nowhere. You wanted Wanda Maximoff to be as happy and as safe as could be and it felt like if you let her go any moment before she was properly standing and solid on her feet that something very bad would happen like she would tip and fall and shatter into a million pieces.

Holding her was just very nice in general too.

You felt your fingers twitch at her waist and it drew you back out of your head. You noticed Wanda hadn’t yet pulled away either or moved in general, and you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust when you focused back on the face looking up at you.

Although she couldn’t possibly as red as you were, Wanda was flushed from her neck to the tips of her ears—she had the prettiest blushing face you’d ever seen, you were sure of it—and she was looking up at you from under her lashes, the expression on her face a mix of surprise and embarrassment and something softer than you couldn’t quite place. You felt her arm, warm and strong against the back of your shoulders, and her hands still tightly gripping your shoulder and wrist. For a moment, you felt the hand on your shoulder lightly knead the fabric of your jacket, as if testing something, before her entire grip on you loosened.

“Um,” she started, her voice sounding as dry as your throat felt, “thank you. For catching me.”

“Happy to help,” you croaked, then mentally kicked yourself and cleared your throat; the slight smile that appeared on Wanda’s lips wasn’t lost on you, though.

“Oh, lovebirds,” Agnes hollered over her shoulder as she walked ahead of you and Wanda, “the Queen of the Cul de Sac will order off with our heads if we don’t hurry!”

I had no idea that the devil wears plaid, you thought. Then you weren’t how long you and Wanda had been standing like that, or who had seen, and you were panicking.

You thought that maybe the two of you might scramble away from each other but it was quite the opposite. Wanda lowered the leg she still had raised and in one fluid motion, Wanda was back standing upright; in another, you twirled her around to your side and linked arms with her, and then the two of you were hustling after Agnes, who stopped and waited with her arm out so that you could link up with her too.

It was like something out of an old rom-com movie. Except it was a rom-com movie where the main character fancied both the love interest and her husband, something far too farfetched to end happily.

“Dottie can’t possibly be as bad as you say,” Wanda said. She looked from Agnes to you and you gave her a sympathetic look.

“Well, you’ll notice her roses bloom under penalty of death,” Agnes affirmed as the three of you made it to the outskirts of Queen Dottie’s castle and paused there. “If you don’t believe me, ask [Y/N].”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised.

You sighed. “The first day of meeting her I spilled wine on her dress and now I’m ninety percent sure that she thinks I want her dead. She also very much dislikes the idea of a lone stray cat living in her neighborhood.” You unlinked your arms with the ladies to gesture at yourself. “I was getting home late from work one night and she saw me, stepped outside to make sure I wasn’t going to dig through her trash bins.”

“Oh,” Wanda said with a grimace, “goodness.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, though,” you added quickly, “You’re lovely; I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

Agnes rolled her eyes while you blushed and scratched your neck. You could already see her gearing up for a pre-Dottie tutoring session.

And then she started with a look-over of Wanda’s outfit. “Wanda—”

“Hm?”

“—can I give you a bit of friendly advice?” Wanda must have caught the look too because she glanced over her outfit, the outfit you quite liked. Raising a hand to her chest, she asked, “Is it about the way I’m dressed?”

“Yes, but it’s too late for that.”

You scowled as worry bloomed on Wanda’s face. Unfortunately, you yourself had to learn how important dress was at these social events. You’d expected it to be just a gathering of friendly neighbors but it’s much more like a secret society and you had to look just right to fit it. Now you regretted not telling her sooner; you’d failed your first and only attempt at making a good impression so were content wearing whatever you wanted for the most part but Wanda definitely deserve the poor treatment she was going to get.

“Dottie is the key to everything in this town,” Agnes continued, unphased. “Country club memberships.”

Something you didn’t have.

“Parties.”

Something you didn’t go to.

“School admissions.”

Something you didn’t have to worry about any time soon but the way Agnes’s gaze drifted towards Wanda’s stomach made you wonder if the Maximoffs did. The thought made your stomach churn but you couldn’t figure out why.

“Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Wanda interjected with a smile and roll of her eyes. She happened to look your way and you thought the smile softened with her gaze just a tad.

You relaxed your shoulders.

Agnes trudged on. “You get in with Dottie and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Just mind your P’s and Q’s and you’re gonna do just fine.”

“Or maybe I could just be myself, more or less.”

“I quite like that idea,” you offered. A wide-eyed glance from Agnes went unnoticed as you were too focused on the smile Wanda definitely gave you that time.

“Oh, Wanda, [Y/N]” Agnes said with a laugh, “that’s good.”

Wanda’s excitement for the event today seemed to lessen and you, apparently still high off the moment you thought you two had, gave her arm a gentle squeeze and an encouraging look.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she gave you an appreciative glance and pat on the hand. Your and her hands lingered for perhaps a second or two too long before they dropped back to your sides.

And then the queen and her merry homemakers sauntered their way out the front door.

“Everybody, hurry up please!” Dottie sang over her shoulder as she quickly walked down the front steps, followed by a line of housewives carrying various covered dishes.

Agnes twisted to look her way and waved. “Hiya, Dottie, your roses are divine!”

Both you and Wanda offered a polite wave as Dottie thanked Agnes, although she didn’t stop to chat. Her eyes did do a scan of your trio, though, and you felt your ears burn when a distasteful look was sent your way.

Agnes gave you a sympathetic smile and Wanda a look that said “Good luck; you’ll need it!” before sliding her arms under one of each of Wanda’s and yours and tugging the two of you along.

Your eyes wandered as one of the wives, Bev, talked animatedly about the setup for the talent show happening this weekend. Bored and feeling out of place, you looked over the group of women sitting a circle underneath the canopy tent by Dottie’s pool, purposely excluding Dottie and the woman talking, then the man jumping into said pool, then the man cleaning said pool.

You shouldn’t be here. This gathering really was a secret society of women of the neighborhood—not only women but wives in particular—to discuss homely and neighborhood business matters; you weren’t a wife and after screwing up with Dottie, you certainly weren’t involved in any of the other important business, nor did you have any interesting household gossip since you lived alone. The main you were here was because while out of place, you got along more decently with the wives than the husbands and when you’d first moved to town, Agnes thought you would be entertaining company to keep. She’d immediately hung you out to dry by telling her fellow women about you calling out their husbands’ poor attempts at comedy, which amused some of them enough to welcome you; in fact, Dottie had been one of those people, impressed by your initiative if nothing else, until you ruined your chances by ruining her dress. At the current meeting, you’d been specifically invited only because you were taking part in the talent show performance, which had also happened because Agnes heard you singing while doing garden work one day and somewhat strong-armed you in.

Your bored eyes eventually settled on watching Wanda, who sat a couple of chairs away on the other side of your mutual companion, and you were no longer bored. While you watched Wanda, she was watching Dottie like a hawk, awkwardly but cutely trying to mimic everything the other woman was doing. She stopped when Dottie started speaking, gripping the cup she was holding a lifeline and you chuckled moments before catty laughter erupted around you. You hadn’t heard what caused it, so you decided to tune back in.

“The devil’s in the details, Bev,” Dottie criticized, masking disdain with the lightness of her voice.

You heard Agnes mutter to Wanda, “That’s not the only place he is.” You couldn’t help but snicker.

Dottie was standing now and continued on, “As you all know, the talent show is the sole fundraiser for Westview Elementary…”

Agnes passed a flask to Bev with a cheeky grin as she sat down next to you and after taking a sip, Bev offered it to you. You didn’t have to think twice before snagging a drink of your own and handing it back over to its home.

“I hear you’re singing,” Bev chirped quietly to you, “For the talent show? I bet you’re a lovely singer, can’t wait to hear it.”

You blushed slightly and thanked her but didn’t say much more to avoid Dottie’s wrath.

The wrath that Wanda and her current companion, a woman with dark skin who looked oddly familiar but whose name you couldn’t place, weren’t able to avoid themselves, apparently.

“We only have a few hours until showtime,” Dottie said, “so a little less cross-chatter and a little more focus.”

As Dottie prattled on, you observed the two women curiously.

“...is for the children,” Dottie finished.

“For the children,” the other women echoed.

“For the children,” Wanda added after everyone else had already spoken, earning several displeased looks.

You didn’t bother to say anything, opting to take Agnes’s flask and have another sip.

“So, I want you all to give yourselves a big hand—”

Wanda, looking petrified, stopped in the middle of taking a bite of a cookie and started clapping. You hid your laugh behind a hand; she still had an entire cookie hanging from her mouth.

“—at the appropriate time, of course,” Dottie chastised, then continued on yet again.

Oh, darling Wanda, you thought with a grin, you poor, sweet thing, you. You rested your chin in your hand and watched as she made herself proper until Bev nudged you to take your elbow off the table. You huffed slightly but did so anyway, then tried to catch Wanda’s eye for a moment of solidarity, only to see her talking to the dark-skinned woman again.

Your gaze shifted from Wanda to the other woman and your brows furrowed. You swore you knew her from somewhere though try as you might, you just couldn’t place that face, those eyes, that awkward but friendly smile. Perhaps another newcomer to the area that you’ve seen t on the streets or at a shop? You couldn’t imagine where she moved into, though, as you were sure the last two open houses had been the ones occupied by you and Wanda and Vision.

You felt a sharp pang in your temple and grunted softly. You weren’t about to have an episode here of all places, so you quickly looked away and put the thoughts aside.

Just as Wanda and the stranger shook hands over their table. Uh-oh.

“I’m Wanda.”

“I’m, uh, Geraldine!”

“And I’m irritated!”

After getting scolded by Dottie a second time, Wanda locked her jaw and resigned to sitting in her seat with her hands tucked in her lap. She finally looked over at you with helplessness in her eyes.

You responded with a mouthed “I told you so” and a wink, then silently told her that you’d talk to her after the meeting.

A comforting face seemed to be what she needed because she relaxed again, though not completely. She settled in for the rest of the meeting and, finishing off Agnes’s flask, so did you.

After the meeting was over, Dottie asked Wanda to sit back and help her clean up, which you knew meant Dottie doing nothing but being condescending while Wanda did all the work. While Agnes tried to get you to walk her home and then warned you against your plan, you were adamant about staying back and making sure Wanda got through the rest of her first Dottie encounter in one piece. At this point, you knew fitting in and having people’s positive opinions was important to Wanda; you oftentimes felt like that yourself. Unfortunately, Dottie wasn’t the type of person to give out positive opinions easily—you had to earn it, which was hard enough without accidentally interrupting the main meeting multiple times—and that protective feeling for Wanda that had come out of nowhere earlier today still hadn’t faded. You knew Wanda Maximoff of all people didn’t necessarily need you but you wanted to stick around, just in case she did.

Maybe you were hoping that she would.

That and you couldn’t help but take one last shot at getting on Dottie’s good side.

“...and that is why you never do a seating chart on an empty stomach,” Dottie was finishing from her perch on the edge of a pool chair.

Wanda walked over to where you stood organizing a cart of dirty dishes so they didn’t all come tumbling down when whichever pretty busboy that Dottie paid finally came to take it away. She was huffing, carrying over yet another pile of dirty plates on a large tray; you skirted around the dish cart and quickly came to her aid, taking as much as your hands could carry from off the top. She offered a grateful smile that you returned before you both unloaded onto the cart.

Who owned or even used this ungodly amount of dishes?

A person who paid various pretty people to just be around, you concluded a moment later.

As you continued to organize, Wanda turned back around to grab a pair of three-tiered dessert stands, both of which had a decent amount of desserts left on them. “Golly, you’re a wiz at all this committee stuff, Dottie. Thank you for choosing me to help you clean up today, I feel so lucky.”

“You are,” Dottie agreed.

Wanda turned back to you again and made a face, then stuck out her tongue. You choked down a laugh after catching Dottie’s steely gaze over Wanda’s shoulder, settling for a smile as you took the trays.

Dottie was just as displeased as you’d expected she’d be that you insisted to stay behind and help.

“I really should try to make amends before this is over, shouldn’t I?” Wanda muttered. She caught a few plates slipping from the top of a pile and rearranged them.

“If you manage to do so, you really would be a Westview miracle,” you replied, taking a cup Wanda managed to catch before it tipped off the cart. “But first, how about I make you look ten times better, hm?”

Wanda gave you a confused look but you just patted her hand before switching places with Wanda and going to grab another tray of dishes.

You put on your friendliest smile as you began stacking as many cups as you could balance in one arm. “Say, Dottie—”

“Be careful,” Dottie chimed back, “or at least let me get out of your way first. Wouldn’t want a repeat of our first meeting, hm?” She ended her sentence with a venom-laced laugh, then gave you a tight smile.

You were pretty sure your eye twitched but you carried on, chuckling with her, “No, I suppose not. I really do apologize about that but you really shouldn’t hold such grudges. Worrying so much causes early-set wrinkles, you know.”

Dottie’s smile tightened further. You heard Wanda gasp and choke from behind you.

“Anyway, though, I really would like to make it up to you some time. My boss’s wife gave me two tickets to a food tasting event in town next weekend. I thought it might be something nice to do, plus it might give you some ideas for catering during the next event—”

“My husband and I would love to go out next weekend, thank you so much. Feel free to drop the tickets in the mailbox the next time you come around.” Dottie paused, then added. “Mailbox, on the opposite side of the porch than the trash bins.”

Your eye definitely twitched, maybe even both of them. You feigned an appreciative look as you finished stacking your dishes, then scowled as soon as you turned around and walked back to Wanda.

“Now,” you grumbled, “I beg the sweet release of death to come in a more timely manner. Oh, and whatever you do can’t possibly be worse than me, although I’m sure that was the case either way.”

“You poor thing.” Was all Wanda could manage, giving your arm a squeeze. “Guess it’s my turn.”

“Good luck, darling,” you said, then almost immediately regretted it. You don’t know why you decided to fake a British accent, nor why you felt the need to call her darling, but you couldn’t take back either of them now.

Wanda blinked, then laughed— before it was cut off by Dottie telling you both to get back to work.

“It’s more dahrling, less dahling,” Wanda teased. “British people do still use R’s.”

“Fascinating.”

Wanda grinned, gave you a final pat on the arm, then turned around to take her shot with Dottie. “I can’t help but wonder if you and I haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie, and I would like to correct that if I can.”

A much better approach than you, you noted with an impressed nod. You walked a little ways off to grab another cart to even out the load of dishes; the current one seemed to sag under the weight.

“And how would you do that?” Dottie asked and you heard the rustle of fabrics rubbing together as she stood. “I’ve heard things about you. You and your husband.”

You stopped from your place behind the canopy’s pulled-back curtain. What on earth could she be talking about?

Wanda has the same thought. “Well, I don’t know what… you’ve been told… but I assure you, I don’t mean anyone… any harm.”

Your brows knitted together and you shuffled around the canopy’s aluminum frame to hear a little better. You couldn’t imagine Wanda hurting anybody, not on purpose anyway.

A pang in your temple. A surge of that fierce protectiveness.

You poked your head out just slightly from behind the canopy. All you could see was Wanda’s back and Dottie’s determined expression from beyond Wanda’s shoulder, and the fact that they were standing very close together.

“I don’t believe you,” Dottie stated simply.

As if on cue, the radio on the table started acting up, the music cutting to static combined with a jumble of noises. Like many things today, though, it sounded strange, as if it was coming from all around you, or directly from inside your skull. It stopped almost immediately as it started and music, regular-sounding music, returned. Normal, you thought, until you focused harder, and noticed a voice creeping from the background. It continued to creep closer, get louder like a person walking towards you would, until it was as loud as the static had been and the music was no longer audible. Your head throbbed as the voice sounded like it was coming out of your brain instead of into your ears but you couldn’t anything other than tighten your grip on the canopy.

The voice said, “Wanda. Wanda. Who’s doing this to you, Wanda? Wanda. Wanda. Wan—”

The radio shorted out, there was the sound of the glass Dottie was shattered, and there was another thunderclap in your head as the world around briefly flared into color. Color, not shades of gray, but then the gray was back as quickly as it had left. You didn’t know whether Dottie or the bizarre radio’s frequencies had crushed the glass or whether it had just been dropped, but you were walking over with a cloth in hand before you’d even gotten your senses back in order.

“Dottie,” Wanda gasped, her eyes flitting about.

Dottie caught a glimpse of the overly saturated blood spreading out from the gash in her palm—and seemed only mildly annoyed.

Wanda kept making sounds like she was trying to speak but didn’t quite know how to. She spun around to grab something to press to the wound and almost ran into you. She stared at you, cloth in hand, with wide eyes filled with equal amounts of fear and surprise, like your existence had been completely forgotten until that moment. Then Wanda grabbed the cloth, and your hand in the process; she gave you a silent thank you, your hand a squeeze so tight you felt her fingernails dig into the skin, then turned back to Dottie and pressed the cloth to her bloody palm.

Dottie grabbed her hand and said, somehow completely aware of the situation and also seeming totally spaced out, “Pop quiz, Wanda: How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself.”

Then she smiled and walked into her house.

You and Wanda stood in silence and it was then that you realized you felt the same way you figured Dottie did, similar to how you felt earlier today when you saw the toy helicopter in Wanda’s yard. You felt light and spacey and almost dizzy but without the world spinning, almost like you were a mind outside of your body, or a consciousness inside of a body that wasn’t yours. Time didn’t slow but rather sped up; you didn’t know when you’d started walking to Wanda’s aid and you didn’t remember the feeling of ever grabbing the cloth that you’d given her, and the whole event seemed to have fixed itself as soon as it started with the end result being your mind painfully aware of something being wrong but your body refusing to act like anything was.

All you’d really felt was your head throbbing, not with pain but with pressure, and the desperate urge to help Wanda. Then you did and everything was over.

Wanda.

You repeated her name in the form of a question; it felt different this time. She didn’t respond or really even move aside from reaching back towards you. You rushed over and grasped her arm and she let out a choked gasp.

“[Y/N].” She said it as if trying it out for the first time. It took her a bit longer to pry her eyes away from the spot where Dottie had been, then she held a hand to her mouth and looked at you. “What just happened?”

“I’m… I’m not sure myself.”

It took a bit longer again for her to speak, her eyes darting from you to the door Dottie had disappeared to and back. “Would you walk me home? Please?”

“Of course, Wanda.”

The walk home was quiet. The two of you had your arms linked as you did on the walk over but now Wanda gripped your arm with her other hand too. Like at Dottie’s pool, it was almost eerily silent except for your and Wanda’s footsteps. Tou could have chalked it up to being because everyone was already in town setting up for the talent show, something about it had you glancing around ever so often, as though you could catch someone peering at you through the bushes or through the crack of a partially opened manhole at any moment.

When you got to Wanda’s door, you had a quick chat about the talent show—as if none of the day’s earlier events had happened; she was very excited to hear you sing—and then she headed up the steps to her door. You gave her a wave and turned to walk home.

“[Y/N]?”

You stopped and turned back around, eyebrows raised slightly.

Wanda walked the three steps back down from her door and gave you a hug. “Thank you for being around today.”

“‘Scuse me, coming through!”

Of course, you’d be late. Of course, you’d get home, start practicing for your performance, pass out on your couch, and wake up five minutes before the show started with a suit and dress combo to still pull on and a few instruments to properly secure in their trunk.

You weaved your way between folks who were either going to the talent show or trying to ignore it and stumbled your way upstairs to the backstage.

Wanda was standing there in a magician’s assistant costume that almost had you on your knees and begging for mercy before you remembered you had a show to do that you were also very late for. She and the Black woman she’d been talking to at Dottie’s meeting—Geraldine, Wanda had informed you later—spun on you with an expectant gasp, only to slump in disappointment when they saw it was you.

“Golly, thanks for the warm welcome,” you muttered, setting your trunk down and popping it open. “Suppose I deserve it for missing most of the show, though.”

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N],” Wanda said as she paced over, “You look fab and I’m sure your performance will be a blast—”

“If I’m still performing?” you asked, directing the question at Geraldine with a hopeful smile.

“If you’re ready before the husband gets here, you can take their place,” Geraldine offered, “If not, you can finish the show off.”

Finishing the talent show, not nerve-wracking at all.

“Vision’s not here?” You gave Wanda a questioning look as you walked past her to look

at yourself in a full-body mirror on the other side of the stage to make sure your look was still in order. The top half of your outfit was a full, simple, black and white tuxedo with a matching black fedora that slightly offset on top of your hair; one of Dottie’s white roses, which you acquired after stuffing her and her husband’s food taster tickets in her mailbox on your way into town, poked out from the hat’s band. The bottom half was a simple skirt—actually, the skirt and undershirt of your outfit was a dress that your mother had pieced together and sent you for your “big night”—that was fashionable for the time but in a sleek shade of black that matched the rest of your tuxedo and with a white band around the hem, paired with a sheer stocking of a plaid pattern and low-heeled shoes that you would return to the shop tomorrow. Finally, for a little touch of color and a little for pop, a golden bejeweled broach was pinned to a crimson pocket square poked out of the chest pocket of your tuxedo jacket, golden geometric earrings hung from your lobes, and a couple of bejeweled bracelets and rings in the same colors adorned your hands. You wore bright, unglossed lipstick and nail polish to match, despite that not being in fashion. Luckily everything still seemed in order.

Wanda gave an exaggerated shrug as you walked back over to your instrument trunk. “Nowhere to be found, like he vanished!”

As if summoned, Vision came wobbling around the corner and up the steps. Well, he almost did; it took him two tries to get up the steps without falling back down.

“Oh, is that him?” Geraldine asked, her face twisting into a look of concern. “Looks like he’s gots a little hitch in his giddyup. Whoa!”

You twisted around, ukulele in hand to check if it was tuned, just as Vision was making it upstairs the second time. You smiled, quirking an eyebrow, only to stumble as the British man threw his arm around you to steady himself.

“Wanda, my little cabbage, you look smashing!” Vision exclaimed, his words slurring together just slightly. He began swaying and decided to lean almost his full weight on you; when you grunted and moved the instrument you were holding out of the danger zone of getting smacked is when Vision appeared to notice that he was balancing against a person instead of the railing by the stairs. He leaned his face closer and squinted at you—now that you weren’t concerned about going onstage immediately, it was significantly easier to get flustered by Vision and his, yes, absolutely smashing wife—then grinned and said, “Why it’s [Y/N] too, and looking equally as ravishing!”

You tried to keep yourself in check. “Heya cool head, not your wife. That being said, I’d say you look smashing yourself but you just seem positively smashed.”

“Oh, I know,” Vision replied, “I already told her that she looked nice. You heard me right, honey?” He went from so close to your face that his bangs were getting in your eye to only a hand gripping your shoulder as he flung his limbs wide, which was apparently a necessary move to look at his wife’s face.

You gave Wanda a look that was equal parts worried and amused. The look she returned was just worried.

Wanda walked over to you and helped maneuver you out of Vision’s grip so you could continue tuning your ukulele—actually, it was Vision’s that you were borrowing—then tugged her husband so you were at least a couple feet out of reach. “Vis, where have you been?”

“Oh, uh… me and the boys were playing a rather thrilling game of horses and shoes,” Vision responded, talking in a way that sounded like he was trying to talk under his breath while still speaking at full volume. “No, wait, that’s not it. Shoe horses! Oh, hrn… Ah! Horse’s shoes!” He put two thumbs up and smiled lopsidedly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Horseshoes,” you offered from your corner by the railing. You were done playing with the ukulele and checked to make sure your tambourine was safe and sound.

“Oh, yes!” Vision was his thumbs up towards you, both arms stretched out as far as they could reach. “Brilliant, you’re absolutely brilliant, [Y/N]! Aren’t they brilliant, Wanda, very brilliant and very nice-looking?”

“Well, uh, yes, I suppose,” Wanda agreed awkwardly, glancing over at you before pulling Vision back to face her; you swore you even saw her cheeks turn a shade darker. “Listen, something strange happened with Dottie.”

You were too busy biting back a smile to hear the rest of the conversation. You rearranged your hat and jacket back into place from Vision knocking them askew, then brushed any wrinkles out of your skirt. You glanced over at Geraldine, who was peeking through the curtains at the main part of the stage.

“I was just playing with his shoes!” Vision suddenly hollered, as the members of the previous act, including someone dressed in a horse costume, made their way around the stage.

“What is going on?” Wanda cried.

Geraldine responded in kind, “You are!”

You considered taking their places so Wanda had time to knock some sense into her husband but you knew if you went out now, you would sound like fingers on a chalkboard, and going out on stage at all was bad enough. Instead, you walked over and gave the couple an encouraging pat on the shoulder and a “Good luck!” before making your way down the steps and around to the viewing area to find a place to sit.

Dottie was onstage. Her hand seemed fine now. “I want to thank you all for coming out to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the crowd echoed, mostly deadpan.

“I have yet to see a child,” you stated at the same time, sitting back in an extra chair off to the side of the stage as to not annoy audience members with the vocal warmups you were about to start doing.

Dottie continued, “And for our final act—”

Geraldine scurried out from behind the curtains at muttered something in Dottie’s ear before rushing away again.

Dottie quickly picked you on the sidelines and gave a strained smile, although the daggers she was glaring made you sink down in your chair. “Sorry, everyone. For our next to final act, I give you Wanda and Vision.”

Wanda sauntered out from behind the curtains and down to the front of the stage, then planted herself slightly off to the side and threw one hand up as an entrance cue to Vision. At first, he didn’t appear and Wanda’s bravado faltered slightly as she looked out into the crowd.

You caught her eye and gave her an assuring nod.

Then Vision flying out of curtains and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hello Westview! Good afternoon!” Still introducing, he stumbled down to the main part of the stage, bumping into a railing at some point and apologizing to it. He sort of settled and continued, “I am Glamour and this is my delightful assistant Illusion.”

“I am Glamour,” Wanda chimed in, talking and moving with even more animation than she normally would, “and he’s Illusion.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Vision said simply, then rambled on, “Tonight, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe.” He ended this definitely off-script statement with a matter-of-fact shrug and nod.

You regretted not going on first.

“Flourish!” Vision suddenly hollered, waving his hands in such a way.

This was going to be chaos, you decided, and it was.

Wanda and Vision’s act was a mess but at least it was an entertaining one. While the act did go on, Vision spent most of his time prattling on and yelling “Flourish!” while Wanda tried to keep things in check. Some of the tricks were good and even impressive at times before the “inner workings of the universe” became clear moments later. Vision’s first trick was to float up into the air, only for a pulley system to be revealed as Wanda moved a sign offstage. For the second, he picked up a piano with one hand only for the jarringly realistic instrument only for Wanda to slip up while carrying the one-dimensional prop away and show its bare wooden back with a large handle to grasp.

At one point, though, Vision trotted offstage and tried to perform a card trick for a friend while Wanda was helpless to stop him, but the end result was him going through an entire deck of cards trying to find the correct one. Then he went to pull Señor Scratchy out of his hat, only to find his hat laying on stage and Agnes’s rabbit hopping across it until Wanda managed to catch him and take him backstage.

Regardless of which tricks hit and which went wonky, the crowd, you included, seemed to love the Maximoff duo and hung onto the entire act. There were gasps and awes and you were personally still dumbfounded by the one where Vision pulled a hat through his body; the backstage curtains happened to fall at the perfect time to reveal a multitude of mirrors, only one of which that you knew had been back there previously, but a dull throb in the back of your head warned you to just let the mystery slide. After all, it wasn’t as fun if you spent the entire show pondering.

For Vision and Wanda’s final trick, Wanda brought out a large box called the Cabinet of Mysteries. At first, Vision stated that he was going to make his wife disappear but then he started locking up the Cabinet without her inside.

You caught Wanda’s act begin to slip again as her smile faltered and she began scanning the crowd. No else did, though, because Agnes suddenly hollered an offer of audience participation in the form of her husband, which caused everyone including Vision to laugh.

Then Vision was back to his trick, slapping the Cabinet’s side with a plastic wand and yelling, “Abrakadabra!”

“Uh, sweetheart,” Wanda murmured without breaking her pose.

Vision responded loudly, “Yeah?”

“Hi.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward pause and you chewed your lip as you glanced around. People were waiting for the finale and Vision had just messed it up big time.

A chant of “What’s in the box?” started up.

Then you happened to look back to the stage just in time to make eye contact with Wanda as she looked around.

She grinned.

And then you were somewhere else, surrounded by darkness and wood panels.

You were only there for a moment but your eyes still needed a moment to adjust as Wanda and Vision open the Cabinet of Mysteries’ doors and you were greeted with a gasping and then applauding crowd. You blinked and, disoriented but not wanting to ruin Wanda and Vision’s successful grand finale, you put on your best smile and hopped out of the wooden box to strike a flourished pose.

“Ah-ha,” Vision voiced, seeming just as surprised as the crowd before grinning walking stepping up to your side.

Wanda stepped up to your other side and when you raised an eyebrow at her, she gave you a cheeky grin and mouthed, “Magic.” The wink she gave you afterward could have sent you to the moon but you still had your own performance to do. She made sure you were reminded of that by holding up a microphone.

Wanda and Vision each slipped an arm around your waist and you did the same to them despite their touch feeling very warm underneath the jacket of your uniform, and with one last “Flourish!” from Vision, the three of you bowed. The three of you bowed two more times before standing fully again. Wanda and Vision began to move away from you but you slid your arms to grab their own, keeping them there.

Wanda leaned in slightly, talking through her smile. “What are you doing?”

“Grab the tambourine in my trunk and go sit by Agnes. Ask her to inform you and wait for the cue.” When Wanda looked at you with a raised brow, you mimicked her cheeky grin and wink, mouthing, “Music.”

Vision leaned in now, although way too close. “What are we doing?”

“Tambourine, apparently,” Wanda responded, stepping away from you. You figured they were going to go and do as you asked but instead, Wanda continued, “Vis, take the cabinet and grab the tambourine; I have an introduction to do.”

Vision stood around for a moment before doing what Wanda told him to and Wanda slipped her arm around your waist once more and brought you a few steps farther to the front of the stage.

Now sitting at the edge of it was Vision’s ukulele and the mic stand, probably courtesy of Geraldine.

With you close at her side and you unsure where to put your hands, Wanda attached the microphone she held to the stand and turned it on. “As Dottie has said several times tonight, thank you once more for coming to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the audience echoed, still mostly deadpan.

“I still haven’t seen a single one,” you muttered. This earned you a pinch to the hip from the hand around your waist and you suddenly felt like your body was the same temperature as the surface of the sun.

“Now,” Wanda continued without missing a beat, “allow me to introduce helper of Illusion and Glamour’s grand finale and the final final act of tonight’s talent show, [Y/N]!”

The audience clapped and Wanda did with it as she detached from your side and slipped backstage after giving you an electric smile. Suddenly, you were much more aware of being on a stage in front of your entire town, save for the two people you actually wanted to see in it.

“Um, yes, hello,” you said into the mic, standing a little too close. You didn’t know it was possible to feel the amount of heat burning behind your cheeks and ears, and you wished to could shed your jacket but figured that would ruin the ensemble. You shook your head to clear it as you bent down to pick up your ukulele—

—and when you stood back up, you spotted Wanda and Vision—who seemed to have sobered up somehow—sitting at Agnes’s table with a tambourine on the table between them.

You bit back a smile as your gaze flitted between them; they each gave you a smile in turn before you continued, “Um, so, as you heard, I am the final act. My name is [Y/N] and I will be performing a song, “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli, acoustic on ukulele.”

You strummed the ukulele once, just to make sure it was still in tune, then you began to play. You leaned back from the mic to clear your throat and after a couple of bars, you came in:

“You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

You'd be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much

At long last, love has arrived

And I thank God I'm alive

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

Pardon the way that I stare

There's nothin' else to compare

The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it's real

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you”

You were a bit pitchy in the beginning but it didn’t take you too long to find where you needed to be, then it was smooth sailing from there; you even put a bit of a beat into it with a tap of your foot, which with a hard heel on a wooden floor in front of a silent crowd wasn’t too difficult to hear. At first, you kept your gaze pointed directly ahead and slightly above the crowd but as you began to relax and get into it, you couldn’t help but catch glances of a tapping foot here or a finger tapping on a glass cup there. Finally, your eyes drifted to where they wanted to be and you couldn’t look away from the pair seated next to Agnes even if you’d wanted to.

Vision was bopping along as he would when he was teaching you the chords and notes you were looking for, both feet and all ten fingers tapping, though his smile was particularly bright. Wanda was looking at you some type of sweet way, with that soft expression she’d had when you’d caught her in a dip earlier just today.

“I love you, baby

And if it's quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm the lonely night

I love you, baby

Trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby

Don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby

Now that I've found you, stay

And let me love you, baby

Let me love you”

You wanted the first part of the song to be softer but as you hit the second part of the chorus you smoothly added in a little action. You put a little flourish in your strumming—and almost missed a word because the idea of calling it a flourish made you almost laugh—added a little more power to your voice, and cued Agnes in, who began clapping along to the proper beat. It didn’t take too long for your audience, especially those who’d you caught tapping along earlier, to join in until the entire crowd was doing it, and happened you catch Vision’s eye while he clapping along a little more animated than everyone else. He grinned, a little bashful by the look of it.

Once she’d gotten everyone in, Agnes stopped clapping herself and instead pulled a tambourine of her own out of her handbag. You watched her nudge Wanda, who stopped her clapping and picked up the other tambourine, then followed Agnes’s lead until she got a hang of it. You’d think two tambourines would be a little hard to hear over a sea of clapping but it was Agnes and Wanda and as usual, they figured out a way.

You knew you’d chosen a popular song and you knew that some people would know it in full but despite Agnes trying to convince you that she’d have everyone joining in, you definitely didn’t expect the entire crowd to be able to stay in sync and follow the ebbs and flows of the entire song. It really was a bit of a magical moment and you found with that thought, you found your eyes settling on Wanda, who was jamming away on her tambourine and dancing in her seat, without missing a beat.

She must have noticed because she raised her head and looked back at you.

The song ended not long after and you couldn’t help clapping for the crowd as they did for you. You took your second set of bows on stage that day, hollered a “Thank you” to the crowd, and took off to the section of backstage that was still hidden by curtains with a wave as Dottie took your place to do the talent show’s conclusion. With layers of dark fabric now between you and the rest of the talent show, you could only hear muffled voices, which was perfectly fine with you as you were too busy tossing your tux jacket and hat aside and shaking out the tautness in your limbs caused by the nerves of performing on your own in front of a decently sized crowd. Although, technically, you and the crowd were performing by the end of it.

You tried to tune in to Dottie’s voice as you bounced over to look yourself over in one of the mirrors left over from Vision and Wanda’s performance. Your outfit was intact, albeit a little bit ruffled from the dancing around you just finished doing, with your hair looking a bit flat from being stuck under a hat. Your face was flushed with a warmth that you felt from your toes to your hairline but what little makeup you wore looked just as it did earlier minus your lipstick having faded somewhat. The best and worst part of your current state, you thought, came from that part; the smile you were wearing was radiant but it was lasting so long that your cheeks were starting to hurt, and even if you purposely tried to frown it away, it popped back up a few seconds later.

Especially when you thought about how much Wanda and Vision were enjoying themselves, because of you.

“Um, excuse me.”

Your gaze turned its attention to look at the reflection of Geraldine, who was standing behind you, in the mirror. “Oh, hey.”

She smiled, pleased that you didn’t seem disrupted. “Your singing was really twitchin’, you had the whole crowd into it!”

“I think that was more Agnes’s glaring than anything, but thanks.” You sent a less starstruck smile at her in the mirror, then picked up your hat to fan yourself as you turned around to face her.

“Agnes is way out herself,” Geraldine agreed, though you saw her smile falter and caught her fingers tapping nervously on the clipboard she held. “She could probably out-power Dottie if she really wanted to.”

“She doesn’t,” you affirmed, “she likes to use Dottie as a reason to sneak drinks into social gatherings too much.”

Geraldine smiled again but she wouldn’t fully look at you and when she did, her eyes looked like they were searching for something.

“You okay?” When Geraldine looked at you, surprised, you nodded to her hands that couldn’t seem to keep still. “Seem a little unglued and you keep looking at me funny.”

“Oh, uh, well,” Geraldine stammered a bit, then stopped. She took a deep breath, then tried again, “I know we saw each other at Dottie’s earlier and before you went onstage but… Do you know me?”

Your eyebrows rose high up on your forehead.

“It’s just,” she continued, sounding like she was forcing herself to talk slower, “you look familiar to me and I’m wondering if you think the same thing.”

“I… I suppose I did when I first saw you,” you said, setting your hat aside. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you couldn’t help glancing around; specifically, you looked towards the curtains separating you and Geraldine from the outside world and wished that wasn’t the case. “I figured we’d met in passing, tooling or something.”

When you looked back at Geraldine, it was as if your personalities had changed. You were the meek one, shifting around unsettled, while she stood watching you with a thoughtfulness that was far from the nervousness you saw in her earlier. “I don’t know where I’m from or why I’m here. Do you?”

You couldn’t be sure whether she was asking you about yourself or her but your head was suddenly too foggy to care. Foggy and throbbing with a pain that made darkness tinge the corners of your vision. You went to step to the side and steady yourself on a nearby chair but found yourself reeling backwards. You smashed into the mirror behind you, which smashed into the wall behind it and shattered; you managed to stumble away from it before you got too badly hurt but you still felt shocks of pain up your right arm and a particularly bad one in your hand as you caught glass.

Before you could run into something else or completely lose balance and fall to the ground, you slowly maneuvered to the floor and braced yourself on one knee and your unharmed hand and you were vaguely aware that Geraldine had disappeared. You squinted through blurriness at your other arm and watched as spots of blood bloomed across the white fabric of your sleeve, weeped from the gash across your palm.

No, wait.

Not only blood but color spread out your bleeding wounds. Flesh tone bled from your palm and color wetted the jewels on your bracelets and rings, color seeped from a tattered tear in your shirt and faded into the wooden floor in your line of vision, as if everything was on one piece of paper and watercolor paint was bleeding across the lines of a sketch.

“[Y/N?]” Vision’s voice called, “Are you back here?”

You tried to hide your hurt arm behind your back and jerked your head in the direction of voices getting closer. You immediately regretted the sudden movement and tried to blink away pain—

When you opened your eyes, you were standing, completely fine, in front of the mirror, completely unbroken, and fanning yourself with your hat with your other arm, completely unharmed, at your side. When your eyes flitted around, looking for Geraldine in the mirror’s reflection, she was nowhere backstage.

Instead, your eyes settled on Vision and Wanda walking through the curtains, smiling and animatedly chatting and holding a small trophy between them.

Once they were through the fabric they looked around, Vision’s bright eyes settling on you just a moment before Wanda’s did.

You could have melted. Whatever concern or worries you had just a moment earlier certainly did.

“[Y/N],” Wanda beamed, “look at what we won!” She pointed and Vision raised the trophy for you to properly see; you managed to read “Inaugural Comedy Performance of the Year” etched into its base before the pair walked over.

You turned to meet them, placing your hat back on your head and snagging your tuxedo jacket to slip back into. “A trophy, congrats!”

“We tried to get you to come up on stage with us,” Vision said, “but we couldn’t find you!”

He certainly seemed to have sobered up since you last stood face to face with him.

You apologized, “Sorry, I had to come backstage. I was overheated and far too overwhelmed by the crowd, I don’t think I could have it up there again either way!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Her expression shifted from proud to worried in a moment and she went to press a hand to your forehead before she seemed to decide against it. “Are you feeling any better?”

You felt the need to take a quick glance around backstage, though you couldn’t explain why. Then you nodded. “I am, much. Actually, since I wasn’t able to join you on stage and congratulate you there, how about we all get changed into clothes a little less eye-catching and we have dinner at my place, hm? I’ll cook and everything.”

“They can cook?” Vision teased to Wanda without lowering his voice at all.

“They can,” you responded, giving his side a quick jab, then smiled and slid around them. Stopping at the edge of the stage, you offered out your arms to them both. “At least a little bit. Shall we?”

Wanda faked a thinking pose and when Vision caught on he did the same.

“We-ell,” Wanda sang, tilting her head from side to side, “Oh, alright, we shall.” She walked over, tugging Vision along with her, and they each linked arms with you.

The three of you headed offstage.

“I disagree about changing, though,” Vision claimed suddenly; both you and Wanda gave him a look. “I think we all look—”

“Smashing?” offered Wanda.

“Ravishing?” you suggested.

“—absolutely neato,” Vision finished, nodding. “And I think we should show off to the town!”

You shook your head but you were smiling. “I already showed off to the town enough today.”

“And I’m still showing off too much,” Wanda agreed. She kicked one stocking-covered leg out for good measure.

“Oh, fine.” Vision scoffed.

He certainly did not admit defeat, though, and spent the rest of the walk home trying to convince the two of you.

Wanda and Vision, without his human disguise, danced into their home after a lovely dinner at [Y/N]’s—they could cook a bit!—and as they walked through the door, Wanda spun herself into Vision’s arm.

Vision slightly dipped her and said in a voice that was an octave or two lower, “You were tremendous Glamour.”

“As were you, Illusion,” Wanda responded with a pearly smile. She stood up straight and walked over to put their new trophy on the coffee table as Vision shut the front door. “Oh, I don’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t so hard to fit in after all!”

Wanda sat and got comfortable on the couch and Vision soon followed. “And all we had to do was be ourselves.”

“Well, with a few modifications,” Wanda said as she curled in closer under her husband’s arm.

“And it was all for the children,” Vision said. Halfway through the phrase, Wanda joined in, then they chuckled and gently bumped their foreheads together.

Then Wanda leaned back into the couch and Vision’s side, quiet. She glanced around the room, absentmindedly playing with Vision’s fingers.

“Wanda, darling, is something wrong?”

Vision’s voice brought her attention back to him. She smiled, leaned in, and gave him a peck on the lips, then looked at their joined hands. Her smile faltered; she felt like something was missing.

“[Y/N] made this funny point at the talent show, about the ‘for the children’ thing; ‘I haven’t seen one yet’ or something like it,” she said out of the blue. “They were an angel with me today.”

“Oh?” Vision responded softly. He seemed to cue into her befuddled emotions and leaned back, looking at her intently.

“At Dottie’s,” she clarified, then added, “They also walked me home because I was a little shaken up. Very sweet.”

“That’s right,” Vision said, “You said something strange happened at Dottie’s today?”

“More like a few weird things,” Wanda confirmed, then recounted the details. Most of them anyway; she kept out the part about the radio talking to her for the sake of her and Vision’s sanity. It sounded legitimately insane and was probably the result of her fear at the time making her imagine things.

Then again, Dottie had heard it as well… She couldn’t confirm that [Y/N] had.

“My, that is indeed bizarre,” Vision said. His hairless brow furrowed. “Is Dottie alright?”

“Well, she must be,” Wanda replied, “She was perfectly fine at the show today and didn’t say a word about it, so…”

Vision gave a thoughtful nod, then shrugged. “Must be.”

They both faded into cozy, albeit wondering, silence. Wanda began playing with Vision’s fingers again and she happened to look towards the front door.

“Hey Vis?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think [Y/N]’s attractive?”

Vision took in an unneeded breath so fast that he almost choked on his tongue. He spluttered, “Pardon?”

“You know,” Wanda continued, turning back in his direction but not looking at him, “A fox. A hunk. Ravishing.”

If Vision could blush he probably would have. He removed his arm from around Wanda’s shoulders and scratched the side of his face. “I was feeling weird when I said that. You know, the gum. I didn’t mean—well that’s not to say they’re not attractive either! Because they are. I mean, they look fine, I certainly wouldn’t say unattractive by any means, and I quite like their company. But love, I didn’t mean anything serious by it, I didn’t mean to offend—”

“I think they’re attractive,” Wanda stated simply, bringing Vision’s rambling to a quick halt. Her gaze drifted back towards the front door and she briefly used her magic to view the home across the street. Some of the lights were still on; she imagined their dinner companion was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes from their meal.

She wouldn’t mind cooking with [Y/N] or washing dishes with them after meals. Or having both Vision and them coming home in the evenings.

“Oh. Um, well… Oh?”

“Quite like their company too,” Wanda went on, agreeing with one of Vision’s earlier statements. Her eyes moved to the plant [Y/N] had brought them not long after they’d first moved in; the plant had outgrown its old pot at this point but had its original ribbon still intact on the current one. “And they’ve always got manners and compliments and they’re always getting so nervous that they're going to come off the wrong way.”

“Yes,” Vision said slowly, “They treat me the same way. Sometimes, if I’m not working, I’ll come to work the next day and have files on my desk with little notes clipped to them. And they’ll sometimes even bring me a snack or a water cup after coming back from their break or lunch, even though I’ve never even pretended to drink or eat in front of them.”

“Well, to be fair,” Wanda said, “regular humans do just randomly eat and drink things, and they do think you’re a regular human.”

“I often wish they didn’t, though,” Vision mumbled, rubbing his jaw, “because I’m not a big fan of lying to them and pretending as I do. I keep their snacks in my drawer until I’m heading home and then throw it out on the way because I don’t want them to see and feel bad.”

Wanda nodded, understanding. “I’m not exactly jazzed about lying to them either.”

They simultaneously sighed and slumped together.

What odd feelings, Wanda thought, for a married couple to have about their neighbor across the street.

“Wanda?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you feel the same way about them as you do me?”

Wanda tilted her head from side to side and tapped her chin as she thought. “Not how I feel about you now, no. But how I felt about when I first met you? Maybe. Or, at least, something like it.”

Vision hummed. “They feel a bit familiar, don’t they?”

“And we have such a good time together, the three of us,” Wanda added.

A small spell of silence again.

Then Wanda said, “I think we should ask them on a date.”

Vision almost choked on his tongue again. “You think we should— I mean— You and me? As you and me together or you and me separately?”

“Why not both?”

Wanda’s husband’s eyes bugged out of his head. If they weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation, she may have laughed.

“Can we… Can we even do that?” Vision asked.

“I mean, I don’t see why not,” Wanda answered, shrugging. “It’s not illegal to date another person. Just marry them, I think. Actually, I’m not even sure if it’s illegal to do that.”

“But isn’t that… An affair? Of sorts?” Vision squinted, quickly glancing between his wife and the window, whose curtains shielded his view from the person in question’s home. It almost felt disrespectful talking about [Y/N] without them present, which was odd in itself.

“No, not if we’re both dating the person in question, I don’t think,” Wanda said. Her brows knitted together a bit but then she perked up and placed her hands on Vision’s thigh. “I know when we can do it!”

“When?”

“We forgot to get your ukulele back,” She responded with a big smile. “We can go get it and ask them on a date.”

“What would we even do on a… three-way date?” Vision cringed at himself. He would never call them a three-way again.

“Picnic,” Wanda offered, then listed off, “Dinner out. A walk. Trip to a passion pit for a movie. Dancing but that would require one of us to know how to dance. Maybe [Y/N] knows how to dance!”

“I know how to dance,” Vision said with a scowl.

“No, hon, you don’t, but you’re wonderful all the same,” Wanda said and kissed him on the nose. “Besides, the three of us have almost been attached at the hip since we’ve gotten to know each other; it wouldn’t exactly be odd for us to go out and do things together. Hell, we did the talent show together today and it went very well!”

“The gum?”

“It went decently well!”

Wanda could see Vision warming up to the idea just as much as she was. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to come up with dates fit for three people.

After a moment, Vision gave her a solid nod. “Alright then! When we see them to get my ukulele, we’ll ask them on a date.”

“Yay!” Wanda clapped. “A date!” She hopped up from her seat and, drifting back to their previous conversation, she said, “Well, I think the children need some popcorn!” Vision said her name and she spun back to look at him. “Hm, what?”

Vision slowly stood and looked pointedly down at her stomach. She did too, then gasped and touched her ballooned out stomach. She looked as if she were a few months pregnant and after holding her stomach for a bit longer, she knew she was. Wanda looked up at her husband with a mixture of fear and wonder in her eyes; the look on his face mimicked her own.

“Vision,” she said softly, “is this really happening?”

Vision searched her face as he gently grasped her hands. His mouth quirked up just slightly as he answered, “Yes, my love, it’s really happening.”

They leaned for a kiss.

They were interrupted by a crash outside.

Both Wanda and Vision jumped as they looked towards the door. Then Vision scowled and released Wanda’s hands to walk over to the door.

“If it’s that damn tree again,” he loudly grumbled, “I am going to… rip it out by the roots!”

He walked outside and Wanda quickly followed.

You jumped back from your sink, almost dropping a dish in shock from the crash that had just come out front. You couple a couple breaths to calm yourself, then put your dish and drying rag down and headed to the living room.

“I swear,” you warned, loud enough so the trees outside could hear you, “I’ll come out there with a chainsaw! I don’t have one but I’ll find one and I’ll do it!”

You walked to the front door. You peeled back the curtain hanging from its window to see Wanda and Vision—who looked strange, though it was too dark outside to tell why—walking outside their own home and out to the sidewalk. You watched them, debating on whether to walk outside as well and help investigate or not.

“I don’t see anything!” you heard Wanda holler. Almost immediately, her and her husband’s gaze were drawn to a manhole cover in the middle of the street.

You followed their gaze and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as the three of you watched the manhole slowly move out of place. From the corner of your eye, you saw Vision closer to Wanda, and you wished you could too, but you were stuck watching as someone climbed out of the now gaping hole in the road.

A… beekeeper?

A beekeeper and swarm of bees climbed out of the manhole.

You felt that now-familiar feeling again, foggy-headed but not in pain and fiercely protective of, this time, both her and her husband and her children.

Children?

You scrambled to get your front door open as the strange beekeeper of the sewer turned to look at the Maximoffs. You looked down to mess with the doorknob—

When you looked up again, you were standing on the front porch of the Maximoff house.

How weird.

You spun and looked around wildly, your eyes settling on the manhole cover closed tightly shut it in the street for just a few seconds longer than the rest of the environment, but everything seemed in order. Slowly relaxing, you turned back to your task of returning Vision’s ukulele.

You raised your right hand to knock, then stopped.

Color began blooming across your arm, beginning from the same spots you vaguely remembered cutting yourself on a broken mirror recently. This time, though, there were no cuts or blood, just gray tones coming to life in bright, vivid color. Gray turned to the color of skin and the green of your blouse—you’d thought it’d been green before but now you could properly see it—and when you spun around to observe the rest of the neighborhood, it was suddenly in color too. When you slowly, awestruck, turned back to Wanda and Vision’s house, it was wonderfully colored too, as was the ukulele in your lovely, now-in-color hand.

You grinned and excitedly knocked on the door, only for it to be opened moments later by Vision, wearing a very nice yellow and blue sweater or a white-colored shirt.

“Oh, [Y/N]!” He said it in a way that was a little too loud and he nervously glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, who stood a few feet back in a beautiful outfit of bright red with her hands on her expecting stomach.

You really did like her shirt.

You just liked her.

You just liked her and her husband quite a lot.

“Sorry, bad time?” You held out Vision’s ukulele to him. “I finished cleaning up and was about to go to bed when I noticed this still sitting on my coffee table.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Vision chirped, still just a little too loud than necessary.

“Oh, goodness, Vis, come inside.” Wanda walked over and nudged Vision out of the way, then smiled at you and took the ukulele out of your hand.

“Remember when we first met and you said he wasn’t always like that?” you quipped with a crooked smile, which broke into a cheek-hurting grin when Wanda giggled in response.

“Suppose I hadn’t realized it yet,” Wanda teased back. She offered the ukulele to Vision, who was still standing nearby and who was now pouting, then she moved to do the side. “Would you like to come in for a drink? We were just talking about you.”

Now you were the awkward one. “Um, yeah, sure.” You stepped inside and, glancing again at Wanda’s belly, added, “I can’t believe I forgot a baby gift. Congratulations, if I haven’t said it already.”

Wanda blinked, then shut the door behind you. “Oh nonsense. There’s plenty of time left for that.”

“I feel like it came out of nowhere; they might be here sooner than you think!”

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louandhazaf · 4 years

Photo

Happy Birthday to me! This year I want to celebrate all the incredible authors who have gifted me fics through the years. Please go give these fics some love! #piscesseason

Mercedes Boy by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 5374 words There's a surprise waiting at home for Louis after he finishes his day on the tracks at the Mercedes AMG Driving Experience. This was the first fic every written for me and it will always have a special place in my heart. For those who don't know, I am obsessed with "AMG Louis" because it's at the cross of loves of automotive sports and dirtbag Louis. And Lauren took that and made a super hot, super tender fic about fucking in a car. I love everything about it.

Cigarette in my left hand, whole world in my right hand by wearetheluckyones Tomlinshaw, Explicit, 5833 words Harry's had some really bad ideas before, starting with the time he got pissed and jumped into the Thames stark naked, but this might take the fucking cake. Offering up Louis as a viable option for a model for Nick's last photography project is ludicrous at best and a disaster waiting to happen at worst. I wanted to read some photographer!Nick and model!Louis and then I also got uni!Tomlinshaw and a nature walk and talks about flowers and a BUNNY and basically this is also very hot and very tender and I was THRILLED to recieve it.

You're my fault, my weakness by wearetheluckyones Tomlinshaw, Explicit, 2197 words It’s been six months since Nick’s project, and Christmas and Louis’s birthday are coming up fast. Louis’s invited Nick to his family’s place for the holidays, and Nick can’t help but be nervous. THEN THIS AUTHOR WROTE MORE IN THIS VERSE???? Like, HELLO, I am in love with everything.

Mixtape by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, General, 927 words From Find You Home, this is Louis' POV when they first leave home to drive to his family's house for Christmas. When I read Find You Home I was utter obsessed with the idea of Louis making Harry a mixtape full of songs with hidden meaning, that expressed everything he couldn't say to Harry, how much time and effort he'd put into the thing, and then when he gives it to Harry, Harry literally tosses it aside. My heart! It aches! How carelessly cruel of Harry! I wanted all of the angst of Louis Going Through It and I basically forced Lauren to write this for me. She's the best.

Can We Talk for a Moment? by lululawrence Larry, Not Rated, 15737 words It was widely known that alphas were never as common as betas or omegas. It is believed the reasoning for that was safety for their packs. Each pack could only have one Alpha, and in order to keep order and make sure there was no mistaking who was in power, once the successor had been named, other alphas would be forced out of the pack. The populations grew, as was to be expected with time and all manner of developments, and while the packs got larger and joined together, the number of alphas never increased. Harry didn’t care for the reasons behind the phenomenon. In the end, it didn’t really matter. All he knew was he was the only alpha within about a thousand mile radius, and he was a complete and total disappointment. Or the one where Harry is a shy, nerdy alpha, Louis is a loud omega punk, and there's more to both of them than their reputations. PUNK!LOUIS PUNK!LOUIS PUNK!LOUIS. BUT ALSO!!! OMEGA PUNK LOUIS AND NERDY ALPHA HARRY. WHAT MORE COULD A PERSON ASK FOR???

Fall Like Rain by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, General, 2473 words This is Harry's POV from the first day that he and Louis are at the beach house. You've read Don't Want Shelter, right? If not, what are you doing? Go read it! And then read all of the amazing other bits Lauren has written in the universe. I will always always always have a special little nook in my heart for these men.

Glitter Bomb by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Teen, 7808 words After a spectacularly awful date, Harry decides a little petty revenge will make him feel better. Things don't work out quite the way he plans. What's better than sending a glitter bomb as a bit of revenge?? READING THIS FIC ABOUT THAT VERY CONCEPT. Of course, nothing goes as planned... and then it all works out in the end. Hilarious and Wonderful!!!

Be Mine, Little Valentine by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 7435 words Louis wants to find someone who'll love all of him. There's just one tiny complication. Uhhhhh, I love tiny penis fics. This one is incredible.

One Touch Is Never Enough by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 3853 words It’s been a rough year for Louis. First, he was turned into a werewolf, which hasn't been so bad, except that he didn't anticipate how it would affect his love life. Maybe it’d be easier to ignore if he wasn’t constantly bombarded by the sound of his two werewolf best friends getting it on in the next room. At least they were nice enough to give him a gift certificate for a massage. I still laugh out loud everytime I think of this fic. I mean, read that summary. OFC this fic is going to be so stellar.

Wine Not? by abrighteryellow, allwaswell16, catfishau (dinosaursmate), crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks), disgruntledkittenface, FallingLikeThis, jaerie, Justalittlelouislove, kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie), kiwikero, LadyLondonderry, Layne Faire (HisDarlin), lululawrence, momentofclarity, phdmama, QuickedWeen, Rearviewdreamer, red_special, SadaVeniren, someonethatsfunny, taggiecb Larry, Explicit, 20704 words Louis’ Wine Dive is a bar run by the people for the people. Wine Styles is a boutique tasting room that caters to a more highbrow clientele. When their worlds clash on a beautiful Charleston street, one of these owners may find that an ounce of pretension doesn’t stand a chance against a pound of perseverance. I am not great with emotions. Showing them or dealing with them. If I think too hard about this fic, I run the risk of tearing up. I don't know that I can every express how much it means to me that these amazing authors all came together to write me a fic. A really really wonderful fic. That is far more coheasive than it has any right to be. But my chest gets all funny and my eyes get all watery, so I'm just going to say that everyone should go read it. It means the world to me.

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Teen, 443 words Louis wants to catch the eye of his hot neighbor who's always looking at his phone. His grey sweatpants are his secret weapon. I wrote a little fic, and then Lauren was like I WANT TO WRITE THE ALTERNATE POV AND ALSO HERE ARE SOME GREY SWEATPANTS and whoooboooooy what a great combo that turned out to be!

All This Noise by musiclily88 Larry, Teen, 1733 words Here's how it begins DRUMMER!LOUIS DRUMMER!LOUIS DRUMMER!LOUIS WHY ARE THERE NOT MORE DRUMMER LOUIS FICS IN THIS FANDOM??? I posed that question and then this fic was written for me and my mind melted. I LOVE the concept of drummer Louis and this fic so totally delivers.

One Man's Ceiling Is Another Man's Floor by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Maggie Rogers/Niall, Explicit, 3713 words Niall and Maggie come up with a way to get revenge on her annoying neighbors. HEH. GO READ THIS HET FIC ABOUT MAGGIE PEGGING NIALL. LIKE. GO. This does not have enough hits!

Heels Over Head by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 3455 words Louis Tomlinson returns from tour to find that his new next door neighbor doesn't realize his backyard is not completely private. You know what else I love in addition to tiny penis fics?? Lauren's butthole series. This one CRACKS ME UP. I'm going to send her a million more butthole prompts and make her write them as well.

Make Your Body Move Like Mine by Jiksa Larry & Gryles, Explicit, 9400 words He looks beautiful, otherworldly, strobe lights catching in his curls like rays of sunshine. Louis can’t look away. Or, the first time they meet. Prequel to You're A Universe. I do not have enough words to possibly explain how much I love Jx's fic, You're A Universe. So when we were talking and she said she had a prequel I all but begged her to let me read it. Even if she never posted it. I needed it. And she was so so gracious enough to let me read it. And it fills the perfect little backstory spot about Harry and Nick and who Louis was when he met Harry for the first time and just... UGH. Everything about it is perfect in every way. It's possible I had a little meltdown when I saw it was gifted to me when it was posted.

sad sex is... no by disgruntledkittenface Gryles, Not Rated, 2430 words “Hey, are you…” As he hesitates, a line appearing between his furrowed eyebrows and a pout forming on his puffy pink lips, the words “don’t say it” run on a loop in Nick’s head, like a prayer. “... okay?” He said it. Fuck. A gryles AU based on Harry’s iconic quote from the Jools Holland interview. OH! Speaking of having meltdowns when seeing that ao3 email about a gift. I saw this, I saw the title, saw the author, and fully had to close my laptop and walk away because I knew it was going to be so overwhelmingly exactly what I wanted to read that I literally couldn't deal with it. (Um. Remember that not dealing well with emotions. This is an excellent example. I just... shut down when i saw it because I was so overwhelmed.) This literally hits every single one of my buttons and is just so so beautifully written and I'm so so very lucky to have friends like this.

#kingsofeverything #disgruntledkittenface #jiksax #musiclily #lululawrence #the whole freaking gc #i love you all #anyway hbd to me!

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mycatshuman · 4 years

Text

The Emo Who Stole Christmas

Chapter 4 : You're A Mean One Mr. Grinch or Virgil and Roman Are Done With the Who's and Decide to Get Back at Them.

Word Count: 3,477

Warnings: stealing of Christmas, may be some cursing, grown adult blaming a child for their problems, let me know if I missed any

Pairings: Pre-established Prinxiety and Logicality and Demus

Masterlist | Previous | Next | More Chapters

Again, a big thank you to @icequeenoriginal for being the co-creator. This was a mother-daughter effort and I love it.

❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄

Virgil stood staring down at the Whoville in the ice-cold snow.

Yes, the Grinch knew that tomorrow all the Whos would wake bright and early and rush for their toys.

"And then, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise, noise, noise!" Virgil exclaimed as he stomped around. "They'll bang on tong-tinglers. They'll blow their floo-flounders. They'll crash on Jang-jinglers and bounce on boing-bouncers!" He held his hands to his ears as if he could already hear the horrific noise.

Then Whos young and old would sit down to feast.

"And they'll ready and they'll feast. And they'll feast, feast, feast, feast!!" Virgil exclaimed as he stomped around. "They'll eat their Who pudding! And rare Who roast beast! And that's something I can not stand in the least." Virgil paused in his ranting. "Oh no!" He exclaimed horrified. "I'm speaking in rhyme!" He cried out. "Blast you Whos!" He exclaimed as he fell to his knees.

The more the Grinch thought of what Christmas would bring…the more the Grinch thought...

"I must stop this whole thing!" Virgil exclaimed as he stood up and paced. "For year after year, I've put up with it now! I must stop this Christmas from coming! But how?" Virgil blinked. "I mean, in what way?" He let out an annoyed growl and turned to walk inside. He opened the door and was hit with a blast of cheery Christmas music.

"Christmas is going to the dogs!" Virgil blinked as he watches Remy lazily bath himself to the music. Virgil opened his mouth only to close it again confused. He quickly jumped at the sound of his door opening and turned to find Roman dressed in sweats.

"Roman?" Virgil asked concerned. "How are you feeling?" Roman shuffled forward and fell forward into his lover's arms. Virgil's arms came up to wrap around the other and envelope him in a hug.

"Virgil…I want to live with you. I don't want to be down there anymore. Not with the way they keep treating me, like some ornament meant to be stared at or ignored! Please! I don't care if someone finds out, I can't live there anymore!”

Virgil blinked rapidly. "Love," he started. "Are you 100% sure about this?" Roman nodded. Virgil sighed and ran his hands through the other soft curls.

"Virgil?" Roman asked softly after a while.

"Hmm?"

"I want to make them pay. I want them to understand. I don't-I want them to-" Roman groaned and hurried his face in Virgil's chest, ironically too emotionally exhausted to deal with his emotions. Virgil frowned and snuggled the other closer trying to provide as much comfort as he could. Then, his mind began to whirl.

Then the Grinch got an idea. An awful idea. The Grinch got a wonderful awful idea.

Virgil pulled away from Roman and announced. ”I’m going to steal Christmas.” Roman blinked as Virgil smirked. "They want to hurt you so bad, they'll lose Christmas. And if they want a monster, then I'll show them a monster!"

Roman hopped up, finally finding some energy. "Yes! I'll go make the costume. You work on the sleigh!" He turned to Remy only to stop. "And you just keep bathing yourself." Roman ran off and began working while Virgil started on the monstrous sleigh.

”With this coat and this hat, he'll look just like Saint Nick!" Roman exclaimed. As they worked, Roman's voice sang a little song he had composed from all of the stupid rumors about the Grinch. "'You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch,'" Virgil chuckled as he heard the other sing. "'You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus, You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch! You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel!" Roman walked over to Virgil with the hat and place it on his head as he sang and place a quick kiss to his cheeks before going back to work on the jacket. "'Just face the music, you're a monster, Mr. Grinch, yes, you are. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders. You've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch. I wouldn't touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.'" Virgil snorted as Roman danced around with the jacket before sitting on a table out of his way so he could work on the pants. "You know, if you ask the Who's Who of Whoville, No one's denyin” Virgil spared a glance at Roman and smiled. Boy did he love him.

"'You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch." Roman picked up the song again. "'You have termites in your smile. You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch. Given the choice between you, I'd take the seasick crocodile!" Virgil giggled as Roman tossed the pants over to the same table. He closed the front door behind him after having moved the sleigh outside and walked over to Roman. He wrapped him in a hug and kissed his temple. Roman hummed happily. Virgil hated to have to wipe the smile from his face.

"Roman," Roman made a small noise of acknowledgment. "I'm going to need you to go home. Just for tonight."

Roman ripped himself away from Virgil. "What?! Why?!"

"I can't have you helping me-"

"No! You can't--no!"

"Roman, please-"

"No! No! No!"

"Roman, I can't have you getting in trouble. I want to make sure if you ever want to go back, you can! I can't bare to have you help and then regret it and then want to leave but you can't because you've been shunned. Please, Roman. This is all I ask. Just this one night. Please."

Roman stared at Virgil for a while before reluctantly nodding. "Okay," he whispered. He wasn't happy about it, but he knew it would make Virgil feel better about everything. "Okay, just-" Roman moved forward and placed a hand on Virgil's cheek. "Be careful, okay?" Virgil nodded. "Thank you." Roman pushed up on his tiptoes and gave the other a light kiss. "I'll see you later."

"See you later," Virgil promised

-----

Virgil sat with Remy watching Santa through a telescope. "He should be finishing up anytime now. Wanna talk about a recluse? He only comes out once a year but does he catch any hate for it? No! He probably lives up there just to avoid the taxes." Virgil ranted. He paused as he watched as Santa flew away in his sleigh. "Whoops. I forgot about the reindeer…"

Did that stop the old Grinch? No, the Grinch simply said:

"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead." Virgil turned around and faced Remy. "Remy!" Remy rolled his eyes and prepared himself to wear a headband with antlers. Virgil quickly found a reindeer headband and placed it on his cat's head before placing a red nose on his nose. "Okay, you're a reindeer and your motivation is that you're a deer with a red nose and nobody likes you. One day, you save Christmas-" Virgil paused. "Ignore that. We'll just improvise. You hate Christmas! You're gonna steal it! Saving Christmas was such a lousy ending. Okay and action!"

Remy glared at Virgil before knocking the red nose off. Virgil blinked and then he gasped. "Brilliant! You regret your own nose because it represents the glitter of commercialism! Why didn't I think of that?" Then Virgil walked off and climbed into the sleigh along with Remy.

Virgil flipped the switch and the sleigh came life, vibrating with power. "That feels good." Virgil turned to Remy "Here goes nothing," and he pressed the bottom to start actually start moving. The sleigh rose up in the air and Virgil grinned. "Wow! It actually works! Okay! Let's go! On, Crasher! On Thrasher! On, Vomit and Blitzkrieg!!!" Virgil screamed as the sleigh shot off and began spinning violently, turning over and over. "We're gonna die!" Virgil shrieked. "We're gonna die! I'm going to throw up! And then we're gonna die! Mommy, tell it to stop!!" He cried, eventually he was able to wrangle control of the sleigh and they flew smoothly through the sky. Virgil stayed frozen for a moment before allowing himself to slightly relax. He let out a sigh of relief. "Almost lost my cool there."

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care when he came to the first little house on the square…

Virgil slowly brought down the sleigh on top of the roof of an overly decorated house. He noticed a traffic light among the variety of lights. "Weird." He turned back to Remy. "This will be our first stop."

The old Grinchy Claus hissed. And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist. He'd slide down the chimney, a rather tight pinch, but if Santa could do it, so could the Grinch.

Virgil stood up and tied a rope around his waist. He stepped up onto the edge of the chimney and prepared to dive. "He's planning a double-twisted interrupted forward-flying 2-and-a-half with a combo tuck and like. A high degree of difficulty," Virgil muttered and jumped and dove headfirst down into the chimney.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two…

Virgil groaned quietly. "Stupid suit," muttered, referring to the furry suit of the Grinch. Something that helped him scare kids off and leave him alone now was slowing him down from his biggest scare of all. He huffed.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.

"A little more stealth, Thomas, please."

Thomas lowered his voice. Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.

"These stockings," he grinned. "Are the first things to go." The Grinch opened a jar and turned it upside down, shaking out moths. "Alright, fellas, chow time." The moths quickly gobbled up the stockings.

Then he slunk to the icebox.

"Slunk?"

He eyed the Whos' feast. He took the Who pudding. He took the roast beast.

"Hike!" Virgil called out as he launched the roast beast through his legs like a football player.

He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash. Why that Grinch, even took their last can of Who-hash. Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.

Virgil threw the bag up the chimney and spun around to face the tree. "And now," grinned the Grinch. "I'll stuff up the tree!" And the Grinch grabbed the tree and he started to shove, when he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

Virgil turned to find Emile and grimaced. He felt really bad about this….

"Excuse me" Emile called softly.

The Grinch had been caught by this tiny Who child, who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

"Mr. Santa, what are you doing with our tree?"

But you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick, he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick.

"Why my sweet little tot!" Virgil exclaimed grandly. "There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side. So, I'm taking it home to my workshop, sweet child. "I'll fix it up there, then I'll bring it back here."

Emile narrowed their eyes. "Santa, what's Christmas really about?"

"Vengeance!" Virgil exclaimed before remembering he was supposed to be pretending he was the perfect Who Santa. "I mean...presents, I suppose."

Emile frowned. "I was afraid of that."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted their head and got them a drink, and he sent them to bed.

Emile paused their journey up the stairs. "Santa?"

"What?" Virgil asked.

"Don't forget the Grinch-"

Virgil couldn't take it anymore and walk out from behind the tree. "I'm sorry."

Emile blinked and furrowed their brows. "Why?"

Virgil bit his lip. "To show you all what's more important ...and to get back at everyone for upsetting Roman."

Emile nodded. "Okay. Well...good luck, Virgil."

And when Emile Lou went up with their cup, the Grinch went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up. Virgil quickly shot the tree up the chimney and grabbed everything else before climbing back up the chimney. And the last thing he took was the log for their fire. On their walls, he left nothing but some hooks and some wire. And the one speck of food that he'd left in the house, was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse. Virgil reached down and picked the mouse up deciding to allow it to eat something so long as it wasn't in a Whos’ house. Then he slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant, around each Who home and he took every present.

Virgil took a saw and cut a circle above his head and the floor fell through along with the Christmas tree and its presents. He stepped up through the hole and smirked. "They're in sale. Everything must go." And he began to take it all.

------

Virgil froze as he stepped into the bedroom of a magazine picture-perfect house. Oh. This was Roman's house. He glanced around at the decorations and found himself smiling fondly. He should have known. Everything just screamed Roman from the abundance of reds, whites, and golds. He carefully walked over to the bedside table and noticed the ring box the mayor had given Roman. He nearly growled as he went to take it before noticing something else. It was his gift. The one he had made for Roman all those years ago. Virgil's eyes watered and he forced himself to blink the tears away. He shook his head and quickly snatched the ring box off of the table. He went to move only to be stopped by a tan hand yanking him down and lips crashing into his. Virgil blinked in surprise before happily giving into Roman and allowing the other to wrap his arms around his neck.

Roman pulled away after kissing Virgil senseless. "Virgil," he asked softly. "Please, let me help." Virgil bit his lip. "I suppose..." He started. "You can help...but...just promise that if we get caught, you say I forced you to do it, okay?"

Roman's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait! No! I can't-"

"Then I can't let you help."

Roman blinked. "I-okay," he sighed in defeat. "I'll tell them you forced me." Virgil let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

-----

Roman froze as he finally dragged the attention away from Virgil's hiding place. He hadn't realized the Whos would put out guards to guard the path leading to Mount Crumpit after everyone went to bed to protect from the Grinch. From Virgil. But Virgil ran out of fuel for his rocket sleigh and he had to drag it up the mountain himself. But they were losing moonlight, and the long way around wouldn't work. So Roman offered to try and distract them. But now, he was very nervous. The Who guards had rounded on him. Accusing him of being in league with the Grinch. Of course, he was, but Virgil had made him promise and he wasn't about to break his promise.

"You really think I'm in league with the Grinch?" Roman asked the guards.

They nodded. "Yeah, why else wouldn't you have immediately said yes to Mayor Anton's proposal?”

Roman grimaced. He really hated the mayor.

"If I really hated the Grinch, would I do this?" Then Roman started his song. "'You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel, You're as cuddly as a cactus, You're as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch. You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel. Just face the music, you're a monster, Mr. Grinch, yes, you are. Your heart's an empty hole, Your brain is full of spiders, You've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch. I wouldn't touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole. You know, if you ask the Who's Who of Whoville No one's denyin'. You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch. You have termites in your smile. You have all the tender sweetness Of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch. Given the choice between you, I'd take the seasick crocodile.'"

As Roman sang, he watched Virgil carefully carry the sleigh behind the two guards and try to rush up the path until he wouldn't be noticed.

"I suppose not," one of the guards said once Roman's song was done. Then they both turned back to face the mountain.

Roman blinked. Surely it can't be that easy! But it seemed it was. So he turned and quickly found the nearest garbage chute and took a ride to the top of Mount Crumpit. Prepared to meet his love at the top.

----

3,000 feet up, up the side of Mount Crumpit, he rode with his load to the tip top to dump it.

Virgil grunted as he set the sleigh down carefully in the snow and turned to face Roman who was standing before him. "We did it!" He exclaimed excitedly. Roman grinned, leaped into his arms and wrapped him in a tight hug. Virgil placed a kiss to Roman's lips before setting him back down on his own feet. Virgil turned to Remy. "That wasn't so bad, was it Remy?"

Remy rolled his eyes as he remembered at least 30 different breakdowns Virgil had had along the way.

Roman turned towards the horizon. "They'll be waking up now," he said. "I know just what they'll do. All of them down in Whoville will all cry!”

----

"What an embarrassment! I've been robbed!" The sheriff of Whoville exclaimed as she rushed out of her house to her car. She climbed in and turned the siren on blissfully unaware of the rope attached to her bumper. She quickly drove off.

Mayor Anton awoke with a start and suddenly, his bed crashed through the big window in his room with him in it. As Whos came out of their homes they watched as the mayor slid past on his bed. As the sheriff made a turn around the Christmas tree in the middle of town, the Mayor's bed slid around and came to an abrupt stop.

The sheriff stepped out of her car and stopped as she noticed the mayor. "Mayor May-Who?"

The mayor quickly jumped out of bed and pulled on his robe that was luckily still attached to the bed. He looked around noticing the damage. He frowned. "I wonder who could have done this," he said as he noticed Emile and their family come into view. "I'll tell you one thing: Invite the Grinch destroy Christmas." He raised his hands and beat on his bed. "Invite the Grinch destroy Christmas!!" He paused to take a breath and Emile frowned. "But did anyone, anyone listen to me?"

"I did!" The mayor's assistant piped in but the mayor ignored him.

"No. You choose to listen to a little not-to-be-taken-seriously child. And they haven't even grown into their nose yet." Anton shook his head. "Emile, I hope you're very proud of what you have done." With that, the mayor turned around.

Emile frowned and looked down as tears welled in their eyes.

"If they aren't, then I am!”

Mayor Anton turned around to see Patton, Emile's dad, and Logan, their father had stepped in front of them. "What?" He asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.

"I said, if they aren't, then I am. I'm glad he took our presents."

Who's around all gasped as the Mayor gawked at them. "You're glad? He's glad!" The mayor shouted to the crowd. "You're glad that everything is gone.? You're glad the Grinch virtually wrecked…? No, no. Not wrecked, pulverized Christmas. Is that really what I'm hearing?"

Patton sighed. "You can't hurt Christmas, Mr. Mayor. It's not about the gifts, or contests or the fancy lights." He turned and gestured to Emile who's face showed hopefulness.

"That's what Emile has been trying to tell everybody. "

The mayor blinked. "What is wrong with you!?! This is a child!"

Patton pulled Emile close against his side. "They're my child. They happen to by right by the way." Patton turned towards his family. "I don't need anything more for Christmas than what's right here, my family."

The Who's all erupted into cheers and began telling each other Merry Christmas. Emile smiled brightly. They finally understood. Logan grabbed a hold of Patton's robe. "Merry Christmas honey!" He yanked Patton into a kiss. Missy and Pranks covered their mouths like they were going to be sick as they moved away from their parents.

"Give me a break!" The mayor cried out as he turned away.

Meanwhile, Emile was looking up at Mount Crumpit before they moved to find a garbage chute. "No one should be alone on Christmas," they whispered as the hit the side and started their ride to the top of the mountain.

❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄🎅🎄❄

Everything Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws

The Emo Who Stole Christmas Taglist: @logical-princey @mostpeopleannoyne

May I suggest listening to this song as mom or you know @ icequeenoriginal showed it to me saying this is how extra Roman is singing the song and I quite agree.

youtube

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zenithlux · 4 years

Text

Cadence Update: CH 6

Catch up on the story here!

I don’t wanna look back and wonder If good enough could’ve been better Every day’s a day that’s borrowed So, why am I waiting for tomorrow

Waiting for Tomorrow - Mandisa

Omi Sushi was the type of restaurant that Vergil would never go to. Not because it wasn’t interesting, but because his rambunctious family would likely be kicked out before they had a chance to order.

It was a simple, but elegant place next to a mall that Nico announced as “heaven for all the rich folk”. Vergil, who had never been to a mall before, didn’t get what made it so special. He did, however, have a very small moment of panic when he realized just how many people were there. There were more cars in the restaurant's parking lot than people in the entirety of Haven. Then Nico had pointed to a massive building which she’d called “a parking garage”, and Vergil didn’t want to think about how many people were up there.

He had very briefly considered turning around, but Nico was gone before he got the chance, careening out of the parking lot with a loud cry of “Good luck, V-man!” which was followed by dozens of angry car horns and more than a few curse words.

His grip tightened on Yamato for a short moment, before he shook his head, let it fall against his hip, and went inside.

He stopped in the lobby, quietly impressed at how sophisticated the whole thing was. The building was longer than he expected, with booths along the walls and a long, black marbled bar down the center. The chef at the grill was cooking a massive mix of vegetables, noodles, and at least three different meats with a flare that Vergil would normally expect from his brother. Except this man was composed, and Dante most certainly would not be. The few at the bar stared in silent awe, and Vergil was relieved that Roxy was not among them. The windows were covered in elaborate blinds that depicted Japanese style artwork; a cherry blossom tree to the left, and a blue and red swirl of koi-fish to the right. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, providing a nice, white glow that would be just bright enough for humans, and contrasted well with the dark blue paint on the walls.

“Table for one, sir?” The hostess said as she reached for a menu.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Name?”

“Roxanna.”

The woman skimmed a list, before giving a curt nod and leading him to the back of the restaurant. It was quiet and mostly empty - not surprisingly given the time- and the few people he did pass by were more content with whispering to each other than any kind of loud conversation. Even his over-sensitive hearing could deal with that, and it only got quieter the further back they went. Eventually, all he heard was the gentle sounds of a fountain on the other side of the restaurant. He wondered if Roxy had chosen this spot on purpose, or if the hostess had gone out of her way to separate everyone as much as possible. Maybe that was just the way they did things. This place did seem rather expensive, which then posed the question of how much she was spending. What was the etiquette with something like this? Should he offer to pay even though she already did? Should he order light and...

His steps and thoughts froze when his eyes fell on her. She was sitting in a booth along the back wall, eyes locked on the book in her hands. It was a novel of some kind; a large hardback titled, “Warbreaker” with its sleeve-jacket sitting neatly on the side. She hadn’t gotten very far, but the sheer intensity of her gaze told him she was long lost in the story. That aside, she looked more comfortable today than he’s seen her before. No signs of obvious pain. Her posture was mostly flawless, though she could sit up a bit straighter. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail, and a bit longer than he remembered. And she looked comfortable; black leggings with shoes he’d heard Kyrie refer to as “flats” once or twice. A light blue shirt with sleeves that were rolled up to just under her elbows and a white and blue plaid scarf that hung like an oversized necklace. The word “normal” came to mind, especially compared to Vergil’s own not-at-all casual vest and full-length jacket combo he wore every day.

Again, he pondered the consequences of leaving before she saw him. She would certainly be disappointed, and likely wouldn’t have come here if he hadn’t agreed to it. But, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he would be walking away from a second and undoubtedly last chance. Dante had mentioned it. Nico had warned him about it. Deep down, Vergil knew they were both right.

You want to be a part of this world, right? Dante had said. Here’s your chance. A friend.

Vergil did not yet know what he was meant to do in this new world of his. He didn’t know how to fix the nonexistent relationship with his son, or how to find meaning in something he’d never truly been a part of. But he did know one thing: the answers to such questions would never fall right at his feet. Not unless he reached for the few that did.

“Sir?”

He nodded to the hostess as Roxy’s eyes shifted away from her book. “Thank you,” He said and slid into the bench across from her before he had another chance to second guess himself. “I hope I did not keep you waiting,” He said, relying on the remnants of confidence that he’d once exuded without hesitation. It was surprisingly easy, given the circumstances, though Vergil knew he was tugging on the pieces of V that were still hovering somewhere in the back of his mind.

Roxy’s eyes widened seconds before her smile. “Not at all,” She said as she gently replaced the book’s dust jacket before tucking it away in the bag by her side. “I had to argue with the new guy at the bookstore for a while, so I just got here myself.” She shook her head with a very brief scowl. “Long story, not really worth it.” Her smile returned as the waitress appeared with two cups of water and an extra menu. “All the books are making their way to the train station as we speak.”

“All the books?”

“Yep,” She said. “My tri-monthly book haul. I suppose this one was more of a bi-yearly trip, but that’s neither here nor there.” She sipped from her water with all the grace one might expect of a dignified woman of her age, but her gaze never wavered.

He’d be lying if he said her confidence wasn’t appealing.

“You have other plans then, I’m assuming?”

She nodded. “Gotta pick up some art supplies while I’m here. Starting to run out of all the important things.” Vergil heard a quiet, affirmative chirp from her bag.

“A hobby of yours?”

When the waitress came back, it was Roxy who waved her away with a gentle smile and a quiet ‘few more minutes please.’ The woman simply nodded and walked away. “A job, actually,” She said. “Though it started as a hobby way back when I was just big enough to hold a paintbrush.” Her eyes glittered, and Vergil found that his pulse had finally settled to a much quieter and expected pace. Of course, he hadn’t realized it was beating so quickly in the first place, but that wasn’t important. “I can’t leave the house as often as I want,” Roxy said as she tapped gently on the menu. “So I like to stay productive.” Her head tilted. “What about you?”

Vergil paused, contemplating. He should have foreseen this. Back and forth questions were normal. Expected. Human. But there was still a small part of him that hesitated. A piece that wasn’t sure how much information to share and what to keep to himself. But, after a quick reminder of his own conviction, he said, “I prefer to read when given the time. Though with all the jobs my brother asks me to work, I rarely get that luxury.” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter and was surprised when Roxy nodded.

“Now that, I understand,” She said. “I spend so much time on commissions nowadays that I can’t recall the last time I’ve painted something for myself.” She shrugged. “Can’t complain, though.”

“You could.”

She laughed. He’d heard it before, but this was the first time he’d realized that it was actually pleasing. A quiet, controlled laugh that didn’t grate at his ears like Nico or threaten to deafen him like Dante’s. Hers was acceptable. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again. “You’re not wrong,” She said. “But I try to stay as positive as life lets me.” Vergil hummed, but even he wasn’t certain if it was in agreement or simple acknowledgment. Roxy’s smile never faltered. “Are you hungry? Feel free to order whatever you’d like.”

“You still have to go to the art store, yes?”

She blinked. “Well, the train won’t be here for like six hours so… No rush.”

“You won’t need it,” He said as he glanced at the menu. “Unless that’s what you’d prefer.”

He could feel her staring at him, but he kept his eyes planted firmly on the words in front of him. Though he seemed to have forgotten how to read, for his eyes only saw strange squiggles while he waited for her response. And, after two quiet chirps that were akin to Nico’s encouragement, Roxy said, “I don’t have everything pre-ordered there, so it’ll take a little while to find it all if you’re up for that.” Vergil’s eyes flickered to hers, waiting as she stared out of the window in thought. “I can still cancel the ticket.” His heart skipped a beat when she looked back with an excited grin. “And I would love the company.”

Vergil nodded as the words on the menu finally made sense. “Eat first,” He said. “Wouldn’t want you falling unconscious. My international escort fee isn’t cheap.”

He swore Aki started laughing at that comment- or however one described an owl hooting an excessive amount of times- and Vergil could almost imagine Griffon snickering in approval. Roxy’s face flushed a bright shade of red as she failed to hide it behind another sip of water. “Not today,” She said. “Thank whomever for small favors, I suppose.”

Vergil smirked, but it was gone the moment the waitress returned. Humoring a single human was more than enough for one day.

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

The rest of their time at the restaurant was more relaxing and informative than Vergil expected. It was nice, he decided, to converse with someone that knew as little about him as he did them. The questions were superficial, but he didn’t mind, and she was quite eager to share her own responses. By the time their meal was over, he knew her favorite color (blue - good choice), how many people were in her family (only child, hadn’t seen her mother in a while), and her favorite food (fruit; bananas and watermelons preferred). She’d talked about her favorite books, many new titles he’d never heard of but was now interested in reading based on her enthusiasm alone. He talked about his favorite poetry and was glad that she didn’t judge his lack of present-day literature knowledge. He’d even gotten her to talk about music and was content to listen to the numerous different genres, artists, and the passion she had for each one of them.

Needless to say, when she asked if he was certain he wanted to accompany her, Vergil agreed. After a quiet moment of consideration, of course. And a quick glance at his phone to confirm that Nico hadn’t run anyone over. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking he was genuinely interested in the opportunity to spend more time with someone outside of his family.

What a foolish notion that would be.

Liviana’s was a hobby store that was close enough to the restaurant that they could enter from the outside of the mall rather than cutting through the crowd. Vergil wasn’t certain who was more relieved when Roxy told him that, as he didn’t miss the way she drifted away from crowds as they walked. Even inside the store, where there were dozens upon dozens of massive aisles on multiple floors. And as she guided them through the emptiest ones. It became very clear that she had been here many, many times before.

Vergil was content to walk behind her. Not because he was worried about anything, but more because it gave him a chance to observe. At first, he’d glanced around the store, checking for every door, every strange alcove in the ceiling, all the stairs; everything a casual devil hunter might need in a crisis.

But then his eyes had drifted back toward her. She walked with pride, exchanging hellos with whoever offered them, but not going out of the way to greet anyone herself. Her back was straight with no signs of spasms, but he’d catch her reaching for it from time to time, before quickly pulling her hand away. A reflexive movement, he assumed, but that was a given. She’d clearly dealt with it many times before, but he would never have guessed that if he hadn’t seen her injury for himself. And that alone brought up many questions that demanded answers, but he held them back, uncertain if that would dampen the relatively peaceful few hours they’d had so far.

“Vergil?”

He stopped short of crashing right into her, oblivious to the fact she had stopped at all. “Yes?”

“Is something on your mind?”

Had his thoughts truly been that obvious? He supposed he had been more relaxed around her than with others. Dante always admonished him for being “so cold all the time”. Vergil had even overheard Nero venting to Kyrie how frustrating it was that Vergil didn’t act like… anything (he still didn’t know what his son had meant by that). But even Vergil knew he was always tense around them. Too many things to hide. Too many things that could go wrong. Words that conveyed the wrong meaning. Reactions that could be taken the wrong way.

It was a mistake to let that part of him go, so he pulled it back together before he spoke again. “Nothing for you to worry about,” He said simply as his gaze rose to the wall behind her. “Canvases?”

“Yep,” She said, though her voice was quieter than before. Vergil felt a twinge of something at the sound but didn’t address it. “Some clients want hand-painted works, and those are always the more lucrative jobs.”

“Hand-painted?” Vergil echoed. “As opposed to?”

If she were anyone else, Vergil was certain he would have gotten a strange look. Something like Dante’s far too common “you really don’t know anything” stare before he’d sarcastically go through whatever it was Vergil had missed over the last two decades. But Roxy said nothing of the sort and moved on as if it was a completely normal question. “Digital artwork is way more popular,” she said. “Arguably easier for me too, but that depends on the request.” She pulled a small notepad from her bag, whispering a quiet, “go back to sleep, Aki, we’re almost done” as she did so.

“Which do you prefer?”

“Honestly?” She said as she stood up on her toes in an attempt to reach the largest canvas on top. Vergil reached over her head and plucked it down with ease. She laughed as she took it and started piling the smaller ones on top. “I like them both, but hand-painted ones are always more unique, and I have a lot more freedom to try new things.” After her seventh canvas, she tapped a button with her elbow. An employee practically materialized out of thin air, and they shared a quick conversation before the woman took the canvases and a page from Roxy’s notebook away. “She’ll take care of all the paints and more expensive things I need,” Roxy said. “But I don’t trust many people with my paintbrushes.”

Then, Vergil’s phone rang. For a long moment, he considered not answering it. But, knowing how few people actually had his number and cared to call, he thought better of it. “Yes?” He said looking away.

“V-man!”

He pulled the phone away slightly as Nico’s voice echoed far too loudly in his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got trouble!”

Vergil frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

“Lots of demons, and way too many portals for Nero to handle. Dante’s off dealing with what he can but…” She took a long and somewhat shaky breath. “I’m by the train station, if you can meet me here.”

“I’m on my way.” Vergil hung up without waiting for a response. “I apologize, but my help is needed.”

“Demons?” Roxy said.

“Yes.”

“Let me tag along.”

Vergil stared at her, but she didn’t flinch. Aki’s head popped out of the bag from the corner of Vergil’s eye, tilting to the side with a questioning chirp. “I can fight,” She said.

“Last time you hit three demons and passed out.”

“I went hunting yesterday,” She said. “So I’m good this time. Promise.”

“So you do absorb the demonic essence?”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. When they opened again, Vergil swore he saw a flash of light blue that faded the second she blinked. “Yes,” She said. “It heals my body, and strengthens the demons that rely on me.”

That caught his interest. “More than one?”

“Two,” She said. “Aki included.” She grinned mischievously. “If you want to see the other one, then you’ll have to take me with you.”

Vergil scowled, but he could feel his lips twitching in an approving smirk. “Fine,” He said. “But you’ll have to keep up, and don’t get in my way.”

“Easy,” She said. “Just be sure to duck once and a while or I won’t get to kill anything.”

#Cadence #DMC #fan fiction #vergil #dante #nico #vergilxoc #vergilxRoxy #next chapter is where things really get fun :D

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sapphicscholar · 6 years

Note

Can hou write something (even a few words) about Sanvers or Director Sanvers not wanting to be touched? Not in a sexual way, I'm talking about a hand on a knee or something like that. You can choose between Alex, Lucy or Maggie. It's just... I'm feeling this way right now. I flinch. I definitely hate this year's holidays.

Hey, of course! I’m sending the best thoughts your way!

I just posted it on AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/11602002/chapters/30095982

TW for moments of internalized homophobia

Chapter Text:

“I still can’t believe you never saw the original Jumanji,” Maggie gasped, looking over at Alex as though she had been the alien child who crash landed on earth all those years ago.

Alex looked to Lucy for support, but she just shrugged. “I’m just as shocked. My baby bi heart pined after a young Kristen Dunst in that flannel shirt/overall combo for a very long time.”

“Loser,” Maggie teased.

“Please, you had it just as bad.”

“Maybe.” Fixed with the weight of Alex and Lucy’s combined looks of disbeliefs, Maggie finally gave in. “Alright, alright, yes! But she wasn’t particularly high on my list of formative childhood crushes, so…”

“And who might have landed on that list?” Alex asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Well obviously there’s Miss Honey. Duh.” Lucy and Alex both nodded in agreement. “Um…oh! Harriet the spy.”

“That why you became a detective, Sawyer?”

“Hush. You two are the ones that demanded answers. Um…I had some confusing crushes on one or two of the Sandlot boys, though looking back on it…I had a wonderful partner while I was in the academy who looked and dressed an awful lot like Yeah-Yeah in their childhood pictures.”

“Oh yes!” Lucy squealed. “Some of those boys were adorable. I think all of my friends and I crushed on the older one…”

Eventually they lapsed into a contented silence, passing around the nearly empty bowl of popcorn until Maggie began the process of cleaning up the pile of blankets and pillows they’d accumulated while watching the movie.

The next day, they piled out of Maggie’s car at the National City mall, willing to brave the crowds to go see the new Jumanji film, though Maggie maintained it would “never be as good as the original.” As they traipsed through the parking lot, Alex shivered and grabbed for Lucy’s hands for warmth, only to find them rebuffed.

“Too cold out,” Lucy muttered, stuffing her hands in her pockets and ducking her head in the wind. She saw the hurt expression in Alex’s eyes, but tried her best to ignore it, unable to deal with whatever conversation it would lead to at the moment.

Once they made it into the mall, they were immediately besieged by crowds—families with crying children, teenagers out of school and hanging out with their friends, young couples still in the thrall of new love and oblivious to the world around them—and jostled closer together. Lucy nearly jumped a foot in the air when Maggie’s arm snaked around her waist, giving her what she supposed was likely meant to be a comforting squeeze. But immediately it felt suffocating, felt ticklish, felt itchy, like her body was rejecting the touch itself.

“Stop,” Lucy hissed, arching her back to get further away from Maggie’s arm, the loose hug feeling like a vice grip around her.

“Okay…” Maggie trailed off. “Sorry.” Shaking her head, she tangled her other hand with Alex’s, figuring it probably had to do with the crowds more than anything else. After all, there were plenty of days Lucy’s heart still raced when they were out and couldn’t see a clear path to an exit, when people brushed up against her with no warning or reason, and Maggie had come to expect it. She and Alex had learned to stand on either side of her when they were out, helping to form a kind of buffer when crowds were bad and her anxiety was acting up. They’d learned that sometimes it helped to walk closer to the perimeter of buildings, rather than cutting straight through the heart of it where the crowds were denser.

Lucy walked a few feet ahead of her girlfriends, taking a moment to breathe deeply, trying to slow her heart rate a little before going into the theater. She was grateful to see that the cinema was crowded, but in an orderly way, the families and couples culled into neat-ish lines and cordoned off with stanchions.

Eying the length of the lines, Maggie volunteered to go get their snacks, while Alex got in line for their tickets and Lucy ran to the bathroom to let cool water run over her wrists—an old trick she had learned for cooling herself down. She wasn’t sure that it actually did anything physically, but the important part was that she believed it worked, so it helped.

By the time she got out of the bathroom, Alex had their tickets, and Maggie was at the counter, picking out an assortment of treats to complement the drinks they’d already shoved into their bags, figuring they would save on half the expenses.

“Hey!” Alex waved, making sure Lucy saw her. “I’m so excited,” Alex gushed. “We haven’t all been together at the movies since our date back around Halloween.” But when her hand settled on Lucy’s hip, Lucy shoved it away.

“Seriously, knock it off,” Lucy snapped. “We’re in public.”

“And?”

“Just—there are kids around,” Lucy huffed.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fuck.” Alex crossed her arms across her chest.

“I just—just stop it, okay?” Lucy felt like the eyes of everyone in the theater were trained on them, could feel her skin still prickling uncomfortably from the heat of Alex’s touch, felt like she needed to wash and scratch at her skin until the feeling disappeared.

“How are my girls doing?” Maggie asked, popping in with a huge tub of popcorn in her arms and a wide grin on her face.

“Not now,” Alex mouthed, sensing that Maggie was in one of her giddy moods, which often led to excessive touching—something she normally enjoyed but knew wouldn’t be welcomed today, at least not by Lucy. She might not get what exactly was happening, but she knew better than to force Lucy into anything.

“Let’s just go see the movie, okay?”

Maggie watched the way Lucy seemed to fold in on herself, glancing between Maggie and Alex’s tangled fingers and the families—heterosexual families, Maggie corrected herself—that surrounded them. She thought back to how she had felt visiting one of her first girlfriends’ families in a conservative town in upstate New York, remembered the way they’d let everyone call them sisters, knowing it was the safer bet, remembered how they hadn’t corrected family members who knew and still introduced them as friends, assuming the introductions were keeping them safe. And she remembered still being struck with that same feeling years later even in liberal towns—places as generally open-minded as National City. And it didn’t matter that she was out and older and far removed from the homophobia of Blue Springs, that she went to Pride and nearly bathed in glitter and painted rainbows on her face, that she proudly asked women out on dates and held them and knew deep in her heart that their love was just as good as anyone else’s. None of it seemed to matter when her heart raced with remembered panic that was no less real for its being past. With a little nod at Alex, she dropped their hands, knowing that their relationship was still secure and sound, even if they weren’t public about it for an afternoon.

“So, Luce, Alex and I were thinking, maybe it’d be nice to do dinner at home today, instead of going out to eat.”

“Yeah, I’m a little tired,” Alex offered. “Plus, it’s so crowded, I don’t know if we’d be able to get a table.”

“Or we’d get stuck surrounded by crying kids,” Maggie added, wrinkling her nose, remembering the last time she’d ended up with a bawling toddler’s fistful of spaghetti on her leather jacket.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Alex and Maggie quickly agreed.

And even though they had offered perfectly legitimate reasons for their choice, Lucy suspected it had a lot more to do with her than they were letting on, and she was beyond grateful, even if she wished it wasn’t the case, wished she knew exactly why there were stretches of time when something as simple as a brush of a hand against her would send her reeling.

And in the dark of the theater, seated in the aisle seat with Alex to her left, Lucy dropped her hand to Alex’s, finding that she was okay when she controlled it, grateful when Alex dropped her hand back when Lucy froze as fingers tried to actively tangle back into her own. But she still smiled at Lucy just the same, still grinned when Lucy’s hand dropped back on top of hers, when Lucy’s fingers traced distracted patterns across her palm.

And on the way back through the mall, her girls flanked her, keeping the crowds at bay without once trying to force their way into her space, their animated chatting helping to keep away the conviction that she had messed up somehow, that she was pushing them back into the closet and keeping them from being happy. Because they were still smiling and laughing, still including her in their conversation and making plans for dinner that night and dates later that week. They were still hers, and they were still happy.

#ask me #geofender #director sanvers #fanfic #supergirl #lucy lane #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #alex x maggie x lucy #prompt fill #tw internalized homophobia #holidays can be rough #and that's okay #self-care is important #ao3feed

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gothify1 · 5 years

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As someone who shops a lot—perhaps, too much—okay, definitely too much —I consider it a small victory when I manage to keep my purchases within a reasonable budget, or at least in the same ballpark as I’d planned for. While it doesn’t happen all the time, I can at least say I have a handful of fiscally successful seasons under my belt, and I’m hoping that this summer can be another one . So what’s the game plan? Well, what I like to do is begin my seasonal shopping by looking for as many cool, affordable items as I can find first . That way, I can hit on as many trends and stock up on as many basics as possible at low prices, leaving less of a desire to splurge on investment pieces . On that note, today I’ve rounded up all the under-$100 items that are “pending” in my shopping cart right now—38 of them to be exact. From tops to skirts to swimwear, just keep scrolling to see and shop the ones that made the cut. It seems I'm not the only one who's into this dress right now. The reason I'm including the white version of this top is because I already bought the black. I love that you can also style this with jeans as a bodysuit. These will be the shoes you wear literally every day this summer. I love how good this tank looks with a bright-colored pant. These are definitely a thing, and Levi's has perfected them. Love options? This classic slip skirt comes in nine cool colors. Is it cheating if I already bought this? It's great for the gym but even better as a going-out top. Sorry, I'm a sucker for glitter. This feels like a basic, but will make any outfit so much cooler. Cue the "as if." I mean… I'm a sucker for scarf print Part I. I'm a sucker for scarf print Part II. That summer top you'll want to re-wear every day. I'm so into the idea of matching my beach cover-up to my bikini this summer, but this top will also look just as good with jeans. This color has really made its mark on the fashion world. Well, these are fun! A cool blazer that comes with its own outfit inspo. This will look so good with the H&M blazer above. Hello, summer weddings. The perfect shade. I must have a cargo pant moment this season. Pro tip: If you're on a budget, just buy a statement bikini top and style it with a bottom you already own. This would make for such a cool bathing suit cover-up. Read about how this is a small part of my larger spring aesthetic. Perfect for your on-trend beige outfits. Cool pants make an outfit. Color combo on point. We appreciate the affordable price point, Acne Studios! You can't beat Levi's affordable denim. This neckline is everything. Can you tell I'm really into long shorts right now? I needed you to see how good these look with a midi skirt. I just imagine this is so flattering on. This is the type of bag you want to take on vacation. I can't help it if I'm obsessed with basics. Sorry for all the pink today but, in case it's not your thing, this top also comes in classic white. Up next? Why my spring aesthetic is all about OOO style .

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arkus-rhapsode · 7 years

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How I Would’ve Done the Grand Magic Games Arc

Well people seemed to like my how I would end Fairy Tail so I guess I’ll give you another thing I would’ve loved making alterations to. That being the Grand Magic Games arc. (Be warned as this is an arc it is a little long)

First off we are cutting out the time travel. No Future Rogue, No Future Lucy, and no dragon’s from the past. Not every arc needs to have the world in danger to be compelling.

Makarov died on Tenrou. That way we have reason for Mavis to come in and act as the new mentor figure.

The Fairy Tail team is getting a goddamn training arc. Look the GMG was the longest arc (before Alvarez) and if we cut the future stuff we should have those extra chapters contribute to something better.

No second origin. Hacking yourself is not interesting.

The A team is aware of the B team. (It was a stupid reveal and if your all working towards the same goal then it makes no sense not to tell them.)

So in this training arc each character gets their own way of training.

Mavis tells Elfman of a forest that Gildarts went through that full of beasts and he could go there get new souls

This way we see Elfman hunt the beasts he’ll use in the tournament. Hunting and taking over weretiger and lizardman

Mavis says this is good training for Elfman as not only is he getting new souls but when in a wilderness setting like the forest the body to move around and uses a mix of muscles. This way not only can he get souls but also he’ll increase his base states as well.

Lucy still trains with Capricorn but make it longer. Capricorn is the wisest spirit, having him mentor Lucy on the secrets on celestial magic is a good idea

Erza actually recalls her fight with Azuma and how he was able to counter all her variety with only one form of magic.

Erza decides that maybe she might need new armor, after all it’s been 7 years advancements had to have been made. (Also this way we can see her buy the piercing armor and Nakagami armor)

Also she asks to spar Mira because Erza is now using more variety in her fights. (I’ve written before how the progression of Erza’s powers should’ve been: 1 armor–> Variety of Armor–> Mixing weapons from other armors with other armors. This seems it’s still variety stage of that progression)

Wendy’s training is with Laxus. (I mean all of FT’s DS all are pals except for Wendy and Laxus)

Wendy realizes she needs strength training and can’t just be support so Laxus tells her to punch a tree and see how hard she punches.

Naturally it doesn’t leave that much of of a dent and Laxus tells her that her first thing is to take her emotion and put it behind her punches.

Wendy keeps trying but it’s pretty much to no avail, she gets upset thinking about losing Mystogan and cait shelter but also she thinks about Brain, Faust, and Zancrow with how they hurt people close to her and she gets frustrated think if only she was stronger that she could stop them on her own.

She then punches and starts cracking apart the tree from the punches coming from her anger till Laxus catches her fist.

He tells her the point was to put her emotions behind the punch, not let them overwhelm her. He tells her that she must fight with her convictions but angry will only drive you in the wrong direction. Laxus himself getting flashbacks over his rage induced goals.

Wendy agrees to what he says and they begin to train (There I just did character growth and expanded the bonds of FT members)

Then we get Grays training. And he believes he needs to become faster molding magic. So he focus’s on increasing his already high speed.

Mavis comes across Gray after some of his training and he states he’s made no progress and Mavis tells him maybe instead of focusing on all his shapes being made faster he should choose one mold and increase it’s speed.

Gray decides he’ll increase the speed it takes for Ice-Make sword. This way when he shows off Ice make unlimited we see his speed really iss different and why.

Mavis offers Cana a way to permanently master Fairy Glitter.

Also notice Mavis is actually being smart and helpful. like an actual mother/strategist.

Natsu and Gajeels training is first they have their wrists bound and are then launches with Erza’s giant armor so far into the deep forest.

The two have to first get along with each other but they just end up letting their egos keep getting in the way.

The first challenge they face is giant waterfall

Natsu says he can get over it easy and use his flames to increase his jump and says when he’s at the top he’ll pull up Gajeel by their bindings.

This plan fails as Natsu can’t make enough jump to make it to the top. So Gajeel says he’ll handle it and uses his Iron to pier the rock and climb the the waterfall. This fails too, as the waters are too fast and force him down.

They keep trying their methods and get nowhere till Natsu asks Gajeel how far can he extend his Iron pillars and so using a combo of Gajeel’s iron club to push them up and Natsu’s fire to propel them up they are able to clear the water fall.

They decide to rest for the first night and in the morning they find a stream and see fish in it.

Gajeel has trouble catching them but Natsu doesn’t and while Gajeel is a little refusing to accept any of the food Natsu caught, Natsu tells them need to eat.

But the food attracts a Vulcan pack and while they beat them they find out there are more vulcans and they keep fighting and once they win they decide to move on and get out of they forest quickly.

They however are stopped by a sudden rain storm and flee to find shelter but those same vulcans followed they and attack again Natsu is having a difficult time in the rain but Gajeel is still able to push them all back and they find some shelter.

Gajeel sleeps but Natsu stands out in the rain trying to increase his fire but each time it’s doused.

Natsu then thinks he’s doing it the wrong way and instead of making the flame bigger, he focuses on just increasing the heat and slow the flame burn brights as the water evaporates,

They continue on but it’s then when they hear the sound of the same vulcan horde Gajeel says they’re going to fight again Natsu tells Gajeel to just run as they clear more ground and when they stop Gajeel questions what the hell is up with Natsu

Natsu says they couldn’t fight as they are hungry and sleep deprived.

Natsu remembers what Gildarts told him about overcoming weakness and the first step is to know your weakness.

Making it closer to the end of the forest they come across a huge monster that beats the 2 around Natsu keeps up most the fighting and finishes the beast off but collapses.

Gajeel see’s this and turns his arms to blades and starts scrapping them against each other to create sparks to feed Natsu.

They both stand up and make it to the end of the forest yelling that if this place couldn’t beat them down then either could any guild.

They return as we gets shots of other people finishing their training.

During all this there are scenes introducing characters like Lyon and Jura but also new ones. I think you can keep Sting and Rogue’s intro, use the Erza getting new armor to introduce Kagura like when she’s coming out of the blacksmith shop have her pass Erza, or have Bacchus drinking at the FT bar, or with Raven Tail show Ivan rallying his men for the GMG.)

The actual tournament begins with the sky labyrinth. Focus on it a little more as it is the prelim.

Also team B meets assembles and Gajeel questions that he, Juvia, Mira, and Laxus are there and Cana is the reserve so who’s the fifth man.

The fifth member is Bickslow, and let me explain I wouldn’t done Loke but it seems like cheating for a spirit that’s owned by another contestant and on another team to be a member. It wouldn’t be Levy as she is made out to still not be a stronger member and they already have a reserve. Out of the thunder god tribe Bickslow is the most untapped into, Freed’s the most tapped into (that’s not saying much) but also his dark ecriture and jutsu shiki seem as they’d take to long to make and would be a detriment, Evergreen I’ll be honest has really undefined magic so I see it hard to make it interesting.

Bickslow on the other hand has powers that can be used in a variety of purposes and as I said he’s the least tapped into.

Another change to teams: Sho and Wally are on mermaid heel and there’s no beth or arana. (OKay first off Hiro wanted to include them in the first place but felt like there were too many characters, so why not cut your loses as having more already established characters like sho and Wally so you have more time on new characters like Sabertooth, Kagura, Chelia etc. Also Mermaid Heel doesn’t have to be an all female guild.)

The first day can stay the same.

Lucy vs Flare keep it

Mirajane vs Jenny change it to an actual fight but have the reason Jenny lose is she’s a little vain with her take overs and Mira takes advantage of it. (There I made a way for there to be fanservice without any demeaning of the actual fight… yay)

Orga’s intro keep it

Bickslow vs Jura. Jura fights the same way and while Bickslow is aware he’ll lose he’s still fighting for Laxus. Take this time to dive into Build on why Bickslow follows Laxus.

When it looks like it’s over as Jura has Bickslow on the ground Bickslow stands up even though it seems impossible and the reason is Bickslow posessed his own soul.

Even though it’s damaged he can still move his body and at least go out with everthing. Plus it’s not impossible to believe he could possess his own soul as he can see them and we can all naturally look down at our bodies.

Spend more time on Raven tail and define that they just came to beat FT they don’t care to win.

Chariot: Change the FT teams with A to Elfman but B being Mira because then we can see satan soul’s feature of speed (Doesn’t have to fly and i’d assume the enhanced mode would increase speed)

Elfman vs Bacchus, don’t change it

Kagura vs Yukino, don’t change it

No Natsu v sabertooth and just introduce Jiemma as this dick and show off Minerva (Hell use it as good parallel to Ivan and how they are similar only Jiemma use strength as a reason why he’s an ass and Ivan just wants to hurt people out of vengence.)

Pandemonium, for the love of god don’t change it

MPF, keep it the same

Laxus vs Alexei needs more time and insead of Laxus clowing all of Raven Tail, just have it be Ivan and they lose by disqualify.

Wendy vs Chelia, don’t change it

Naval Battle, change the wings of love scene but Minerva can still win

The team merges but there is a penalty and they lose some of their points

Ichiya doesn’t beat Bacchus as it completely makes Elfman’s win seem weaker

Instead of Lyon and Yuka vs Millianna and Kagura, have it be Millianna and Sho because an issue with Kagura was too much overhype so this will space it out.

Natsu and Gajeel vs Sting and Rogue, I think you can keep most the back and forth the same but the ending with the uniso raid should be countered with a unison raid. (No minecart crap)

The Raid is Stronger as not only because of the shared conviction but also that whole training arc got Natsu and Gajeel closer and stronger

Sting can still blow a hole in Jiemma and Minerva can trick him with lector

Final day, It’s Erza, Laxus, Natsu, Gray and Gajeel. Mavis has her god damn mouth closed

Gray fights Rufus but Rufus gets caught up in using all these powers he’s memorized and Gray takes advantage using Ice make unlimited and beats him as Rufus let his arrogance and constant binding of moves makes him over look something basic like Gray taking a basic move and focusing only on that.

Erza fights Kagura and Erza uses more damn variety of armors against Kagura.

Minerva enters and yes no samurai pants still just Erza and her swapping out her armor and fighting her, like she should.

Orga faces Chelia and crushes her telling her about how God slayer are at the top of world and somebody like her is weak.

Chelia asks how can he tell what weakness and strength is and Orga says he killed the man who taught him god slaying because the student needed to prove he was stronger, and says Chelia doesn’t have that in her.

Laxus comes up and tells him he’s full of shit

Gajeel and Rogue fight with no shadow and just about Rogue’s fear of Gajeel and Gajeel pointing out that he’s not the same person back in phantom. Gajeel then shows that he’s glad there are other dragon slayers and eats the shadow.

Gets his dual mode and beats Rogue

Returning to Orga and Laxus’s fight they are throwing around lightning and destroying stuff and Orga tells Laxus he’s not reacting quick enough.

Orga isn’t thinking out his moves he’s letting his instinct fight but Laxus exploits this when Orga uses his black lightning canon and puts his all his magic behind it but when the attack is coming Laxus smirkks saying that instinct can always be trumped by expierence and Laxus eats the lightning

Laxus asked Natsu about god slayer magic and Natsu explained the trick he used on Zancrow.

Orga’s baffled by this but Laxus uses Roaring thunder on Orga

Orga tries to stand up but Jura knocks him out saying he would know when to quit

Cut to Gray who then takes Lyon with Gajeel’s help

CUt to the threesome and Kagura still loses to Minerva but now Erza says that she’ll handle this

Back to the fight with Jura and Laxus the fight is on a grand scale, lightning crashing down, Jura raising the ear and using every single rock to attack Laxus just blow for blow it’s a battle between titans

Jura says Laxus is running on low and Jura reveals a technique called “wrath born from earth” which is a giant rock assimilation that becomes massive hands and try to close together similar to a prayer and crush laxus

Laxus uses Lightning body to dodge the attack and propel towards Jura and uses the black lightning he ate and merge it with his dragon lightning and then try to crush Jura

Jura creates a massive rock wall to guard and sees that the dragon god lightning move didn’t pierce it

But Laxus reveals he used lightning body again and moved around the wall using this moment of Jura’s surprise Laxus uses Roar and not only fully hits Jura but also blasts Jura through his own Rock wall

Erza reveals Nakagami to Minerva and Nakagami doesn’t have the same power. It uses holy light as a weapon

Minerva laughs this off as her speed still can’t touch her thanks to territory but Erza reveals that not only does Nakagami produce holy light

It also manipulates light and Erza bends the setting sun’s rays and uses them like blades to attack Minerva and while Erza wins she passes out from exhaustion

The final fight with Sting, Gray tries to fight but Sting beats him, Gajeel tries and Sting beats him. Sting gloats saying lector has given him more strength that their bond makes him stronger

Natsu see’s Sting and challenges him

Natsu takes advantage of the first move and punches sting in the neck disorienting him as Natsu beats him around, but Sting regains his barrings and easily punches back Natsu

Sting wastes no time with fighting Natsu and is even in dragon force beating around Natsu.

Natsu feels each of Stings punches and they seem to have more weight behind them and Sting says it’s because of Lector each punch is stronger than the last time they fought

Natsu gets a few hits in but it’s one sided

Natsu thinks about the guild and how it was his home, how hard it was for his guild to be insulted everyday for 7 years, sad that Lucy’s in bed not fighting with them, and he then says everyone else finished their fights and he’ll finish his

Natsu goes for crimson lotus exploding flame blade and that pushes back Sting and Natsu charges forward coated in flames and tries to ounch Sting but Sting catches it similar to how Natsu caught his white drive punch

Natsu tries with his other fist but Sting catches it and says Natsu still won’t win getting up in his face as Sting is crushing Natsu’s fingers while they’re caught

Natsu then roars in front of Sting and charges at him while saying that bonds do make you stronger and each punch Sting threw was because he carried the conviction of his friend in them but Natsu says in fist he carries the conviction of every member of guild and their hopes.

He punches Sting into the ground and Sting is out

Sting gets lector back as the guild is titled the bestLector tells Sting it doesn’t matter he lost and that Sting looked cooler than he ever had beforeSting tops yukino as shes boarding a train to leave and on his hands and knees begs her to come back apologizing We cut to arcadios who’s walking to the king and tells him that the eclipse gate reacted slightly when the zodiac keys were in crocus. As it’s printed that FT is the strongest we finally see crime socirere and their new looks and Jellal says he’s proud of Erza and Ultear says the same of Gray. Then Meredy reminds them that only one head of balam is left and thats Tartaros (there I created intrigue for the next arcs and instead of the time lapse we just use the Eclipse gate to get to neo eclipse)

So that’s how I would’ve done GMG. Again I found this as a satisfying way to do it and hope you guys enjoy.

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callunavulgari · 7 years

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Year-In-Fic

Total fics written this year?

Another Love (The Flash; Barry/E2Wells, Barry/Thawne; 4,586 words) “I want you,” Barry confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created.

time in a bottle (The Flash; Eobarry; 2,961 words) “If I didn’t exist,” Thawne says, quietly, moving to slide his fingers up Barry’s jaw; they leave goosebumps in their wake. “Then neither would you. And if you didn’t exist… well. We won’t get into that mess. So the universe — the, hah, Speed Force — sent me here. A paradox, clinging to the cracks between time. Just… waiting.”

nothing's gonna harm you (not while i'm around) (SW; Gen, Reylo; 1,167 words) Ben and Rey Organa are born ten years and five hundred parsecs apart, but Ben can feel it in the Force the moment she comes into being. He can feel her every second of her way home, a bright star that outshines even the familiar intensity of his parents.

we dream in the dark (for the most part) (DA; Gen; 806 words) “Will it go away?” Bethany asks, her voice quiet as a whisper.

Ramble On (The Flash; Eobarry; 2,695 words) Thawne playfully hums a few bars of something vaguely familiar. Barry looks back at him, and when Thawne sees him looking, he smiles wider and gleefully stomps his way through a puddle. Sings, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do…”

D.C. al Coda (The Flash; Barrison; Harrison edges closer, until Barry is close enough to touch, and reaches out to take Barry’s jaw in hand. It’s tacky and cool against his palm, from sweat, tears, or both. He tilts Barry’s chin up in a testing sort of way, willing him to open his eyes. “Barry,” he says, gently. “Look at me.”)

it began with stones (DA; Fenhawke; Everyone knows that the blight started in Ferelden.)

darling, you gotta let me know (Stranger Things; Nancy/Steve/Jonathan; 6,120 words) Jonathan’s room is messy the same way that Steve’s is. There are dirty socks and shirts and underwear strewn across the floor. Cassette tapes litter the desk like miniature landmines. There’s a notebook open on his bed, a textbook and a pencil beside it. He must have been studying when Steve knocked.

Binary Sunset (SW; Reylo; 1,747 words) Center stage, Rey holds herself as still as a statue. Spine straight, toes pointed, already in first position. They’ve done something to her eyelashes, softened all her hard edges, from the jut of her jaw to the point of her nose. She glitters, from her feathered bodice to her flowing skirts, a bright glint of white in the dark.He doesn’t think that anyone else has noticed that she’s trembling.

Nine fics. I don’t even want to know how many words.

Best story I wrote this year: darling, you gotta let me know. It was the first fic that I was proud of from the get go this year.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. Ramble On. It had all of the weird dreaminess of Time In a Bottle without the Inception feel. I ended up rereading it on the plane back to Ohio and liked it so much more than I did when I was writing it.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. darling, you gotta let me know, hands down. It’s the first fic to get over a 1000 kudos since I stopped writing Teen Wolf. I mean, of the nine fics that I wrote this year pretty much every one of them is from a smaller fandom. I think the only reason this one got as popular as it did was because I published it right after Stranger Things got big and I was one of the three people who had written for the pairing. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: it began with stones, probably? I usually have a definite answer for this question, but this one was strange as it is. Dragon Age/In the Flesh fusion with Hawke as a zombie? Kinda weird. I don’t mind that it got a small reception, but it fits the most.

Most fun story to write: Another Love. I had a ton of fun playing with that whole concept. Barry going back in time to when Eobard was playing at being Wells was a fucking gift.

Story that could have been better? All of them? Technically? I’m still not entirely pleased with how time in a bottle turned out, but I ramped that one up in my head for so long that I’ll probably never be satisfied with it.

Story I wrote to fix things: Pretty much all of my Flash fics were written to make something better. Ramble On and time in a bottle were both written to satisfy my need for there to be a current-timeline paradox Thawne still out there, tucked away in the speedforce, just biding his time. Hell, all of the God Complex series were written because I wanted to rewrite or add bits to an episode to suit my shipper heart.

Oddest story: it began with stones. In the Flesh. Dragon Age. Kind of weird. But my brain went, what would Jen like for her birthday? Okay, she likes Dragon Age. And she likes zombies. How can I write zombies in a way that I haven’t written them yet? Oh, I know! Hardest story to do: Okay, so it isn’t on here, but the Sabriel AU is what I’ve really been suffering through. I hit a point and wasn’t able to overcome it, which is why it still isn’t done. I’m hoping to read Goldenhand and the rest of the Like Young Gods series sometime this month and we’ll see if it inspires anything. Easiest story to write? I struggled with pretty much everything I wrote this year except for Another Love. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it just so happens to be the only fic I wrote before I gave up smoking.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Pretty much none of them. D.C. al Coda has a lot of my experiences with grief, but that’s about it.

Themes, or absence thereof: Pretty much ‘heroes and villains make out’. Or in the case of Hawke and Fenris... rivalmancy. Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: I have nixed pretty much all of my Teen Wolf projects. I would like to say that at some point I’ll finish the Bioshock Infinite AU and the Carmilla one, just because I have so much written of it already, but I don’t know. I do know that I want to finish the Sabriel AU and I currently have a weirdly one-sided Julian/Barry fic, a Prompto/Noctis pining fic, and several Stargate Atlantis fics that I want to finish. Oh, and maybe the Yuri on Ice soulmate AU if I can make the idea hang around long enough to get to.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): He slides the palms of his hands up her sides, ghosting them up and over her ribs, framing them, feeling where the softness of skin and muscle gives way to hard bone where her rib cage starts, how each breath she takes pushes her body more firmly into his hands. She makes a noise when he reaches her breasts, shuddering when he cups them, even through the fabric.

“Please,” she breathes, and Jonathan hesitates, unsure of what she wants.

“Here,” Steve murmurs, taking hold of Jonathan’s hands once more. He guides them to the buttons of Nancy’s blouse and pauses, waiting, as Jonathan undoes them himself, his touch sliding down Jonathan’s forearms then back up again.

Jonathan pushes the blouse from Nancy’s shoulders, watching the blush that blooms under his eyes, going from her throat clear to her navel. Her cheeks are flushed too, her eyes black and wanting.

Steve lets go of him, maybe realizing that Jonathan won’t be of much help at this moment, and his hands vanish around Nancy’s sides, quick and darting. It isn’t until he’s helping her pull her bra loose that Jonathan even realizes what he’s done.

Steve’s hands go back to his, guiding them to Nancy’s breasts. The skin is firm and supple, and so very warm. Her nipples pull tight when his hand brushes them. Steve leans close to Jonathan’s ear, and whispers, “Touch her.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt): Outside, it’s raining. The air is heavy with humidity, heat pressing down on his back like something alive. Barry walks down the street, feet bare against the wet asphalt. Thunder rumbles threateningly in the distance. A bird sings, and a street over, another joins it. Everything is green and damp. It smells real. Would a dream smell real?

Halfway down the street, a second pair of feet join his. The person they belong to is silent, doggedly following him down the road. Barry doesn’t have to turn to know who his newest phantom is.

“Are you going to sing at me too?”

“Do you want me to sing to you?” Thawne asks.

Barry glances at him, frowning unhappily. He’s wearing Wells’ face again, a familiar little half-smile playing around his lips. His suit is wet. It isn’t the suit — not the yellow one — just a regular one. Plain. Black. The fabric clings to his shoulders and his hair is dripping in his eyes. His feet are bare too, and somehow it feels wrong to see them, the fine slender bones gleaming wetly. Too intimate.

Barry swallows and looks away, but even when he concentrates, it refuses to change. Figures, that even in a dream Thawne would cause him grief. When Barry doesn’t reply, Thawne playfully hums a few bars of something vaguely familiar.

Barry looks back at him, and when Thawne sees him looking, he smiles wider and gleefully stomps his way through a puddle. Sings, “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do…”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt): “At least,” Eobard interrupts, thoughtfully tapping his finger against his lips. Slowly, he starts to grin. “Not everything. So, Mr. Allen, I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

The answer is written all over Barry’s face. There’s a story there, behind the pain, the grief, the hopeless lust, and it’s one that Eobard knows he’ll get to live out himself over the course of the next year. He wonders just how many times he fucked this boy before the truth came out. The boy — his Barry — already loves him. Not like this, of course, not yet, but a hero worshiping kind that he’s had since day one.

“Well?” He coaxes, eyes widening. “I’m waiting.”

Barry wets his lips convulsively and swallows, his adam’s apple working. He tugs on the cuff, halfheartedly, mouth turned downwards. He didn’t expect this. Maybe he’d expected closure. Or maybe he’d convinced himself that all he really needed was the formula. But he wants this. And Eobard’s going to make him say it.

“I want you,” he confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created.

“Just you,” he adds, just as quiet and unhappy, but with a dawning comprehension. “Eobard Thawne.”

A shiver crawls down his spine, dick twitching in his pants. God, it’s good to hear that name again. “Oh, Mr. Allen,” he breathes. “Say it again, won’t you?”

Favorite lines (excerpt):

Jonathan had known that they’d done this before. After all, he was sort of a witness to it. But up close it’s something else, it’s poetry in motion, the way that Nancy’s head tips back, the bead of sweat that slides down the tip of Steve’s nose, how her legs wrap around his waist, her small feet locking at the dip of Steve’s spine.

It’s beautiful, and his fingers itch for his camera, so he fumbles around beside him, stretching his arm out to his desk until he catches the strap and can tug it into his hands. He watches them through the lens of his camera for a moment before he gets up the courage to touch, tapping Steve with his foot and then gesturing with the camera, head cocked.

Can I?

Steve’s entire face transforms when he laughs, going bright with emotion. He nudges Nancy until she glances over and then she’s laughing too, and they’re both nodding.

He catches them both mid laugh, naked limbs flung around each other. And then he catches the moment that the laughter turns to something else, mouths half-parted in breathless pleasure. He catches the curve of Nancy’s breast and the freckle behind Steve’s ear, and then he waits, breathless, for the right moment.

He waits and waits, and the moment that they both go still, bodies shaking with pleasure, mouth caught on soundless moans-

Click.

He swallows, lowering the camera as it spits the picture out with a hiss, and holds it in his hand, watching them. Their eyes are closed, breathless little smiles across their faces, sweat on their brows. Steve hasn’t even pulled out of her.

Click.

Fic goals: Finish Sabriel AU. That’s it. My only other writing-related goal is to get out of this funk, write something big (which will hopefully be the Sabriel AU) and something original. Fingers crossed.

#heather writes #new year's memes #heather says what

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outsidespaceblog · 7 years

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Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion

By Antonio Perez

I’ve stood at the entrance to a Vietnamese kitchen and been told that Vietnamese kitchens are cleaned but once a year. With a laugh I was then beckoned inside. I have, in my notebook, the name for a Vietnamese herbal medicine that will, and I’m quoting an authority here, “Line your gut so the bad bacteria doesn’t get absorbed but everything else flows out.” In other words, I’ve had to imagine the chemical workings of an anal luge while eating crispy, fried pork bits served at room temperature. I’ve consumed so much pureed fruit with condensed milk that I’ve needed to skip dinner, but then had dinner anyways. I’ve sipped ultra-sweet nước mía from plastic cups that crumple when touched, and I’ve done this while watching chickens with slit throats dance until death on a sidewalk. I’ve eaten banh mi from vendors on bicycles, street corners, trains, and boats. I’ve tasted pork pate so fatly decadent that it induced sleep.

I now know that Vietnam is a country where no street food is consumed without worry, no fart is without risk, and where you become grateful for the ubiquity of the spray hose bidet and the perpetual humidity that softens toilet paper into a quilt.

I’ve eaten seafood grilled in an alley, sipped broth made from clam juice, lemongrass, and water and declared it the finest thing I’ve ever tasted. I’ve argued, many times, about why dragon fruit is a waste of stomach space. I’ve grown corpulent eating soup, and become laxative from excess passion fruit juice. I’ve tickled live cuttle fish until they glitter then eaten them thirty minutes later. Underripe fruit, I’ve learned, can be used as a vegetable, and vegetables can be turned into dessert. A sweet smoothie that people like, apparently, is a mix of flavorless gelatin molded to resemble seaweed, overcooked legumes, and slightly sweet coconut milk. I’ve eaten more banana cultivars than I’ve ever eaten, and during this time learned how to peel a rambutan so the fruit stays propped in its hairy shell like a soft boiled egg in a cup.

I’ve worried constantly about the location and/or existence of refrigeration, and I’ve tried, many times, to catch flies that are the size of jumbo jelly beans. I’ve argued with toothless ladies about how many donuts I actually want (their tendency is to quadruple your original order and then charge triple), and have been in awe of frail looking women who heft magnum fruit loads on the fulcrum of their shoulders like nimble Olympians. I have wondered how it’s possible to end up with soup after ordering by pointing to a picture of a grilled pork dish.

I’ve learned that a meal in Vietnam displays the country’s poetry, poverty, and richness. It’s a country that has utilized seemingly all of its acreage to feed itself: it’s carved up its hills, flooded its flat plains, laid netting into its rivers and seas. I’ve seen the night sea’s horizon lined with boats alight with green, almost neon, to lure the squids and fish that will be the next day’s market offerings. I’ve walked under trees that are bountiful with the green, pearl rounds of coconuts and the jagged, tumorous shapes of durian and jack fruits. I’ve shared roads with roosters and chickens that strut, even in dense, urban places, picking at the refuse that’s everywhere. I’ve decided that nowhere is every aspect of a food’s production and consumption more on display: from its growth to its transportation, bartering and sale, preparation and ingestion, all are in front of you, block after block.

Before Vietnam, I met Leonie. She’s no gourmand and is content with simple dishes. Nutella on toast is her favorite breakfast food. That or muesli. Or pancakes. She has a mild obsession with Cadbury’s “Crunchie” chocolate, which is unique to Australia and New Zealand as far as I know. It’s milk chocolate mixed with solid lumps of cavity-creating honeycomb toffee. Kiwis call it “Hokey Pokey.” That I wanted my focus in Vietnam to be almost entirely food related might have come as a shock to her considering how we met.

Photo by Hiep Nguyen on Unsplash

Flashback to Raglan, New Zealand.

I sat at a communal dining table. Sitting across from me was a young looking blonde girl. Applying the vaguest of recollections here, she ate a meat and potato dish. My dinner consisted of two smashed avocados with salt. I know because she later admitted judging me for it. She’d arrived in Raglan, alone, earlier that day. She was the older sister to a rather tall specimen of a German girl who I’d seen lurking in the hostel library for a few days. This younger sister didn’t say much of anything to anyone, just looked like a bit of an overgrown elementary school drop out, equally shy in conversation, who haunted dark rooms. Leonie, personality wise at least, was the opposite. Physically she was splendidly blonde, daringly pretty, a more realistic St. Paulie’s girl with a perpetually youthful face. She was uncomplaining and possessed a cheerfulness evident when she was being pulverized by waves while surfing or while performing gymnastics with a German boy on the hostel lawn.

Our bonding took place over the next few days. I learned she and her sister owned a car they planned to drive north to Auckland on the same date I needed to get there. I guaranteed myself a seat through a mix of politicking the sister and bribing both of them with Cadbury. (I’ve written before about how friendships are made or broken over reliable transportation.) When Leonie dropped me off in Auckland, I said good bye and figured that was that. Two days later though, I was with the sisters again to explore the city, feeling a bit like a geriatric creeper since I was the eldest by seven years. The next day Leonie provided the necessary female opinion for some wardrobe additions, and when she dropped me off at Auckland’s international airport, I said good bye and figured that was that.

Of course, we ended up staying in touch.

It’s worth inserting an interlude to explain one unusual characteristic of the backpacking lifestyle. The one I’m referring to is the ease with which travelers end up pairing with other travelers, even ones they’ve just met. Backpacking condenses time. What would be months or years of courtship or bonding in the non-backpacking world compacts to hours or days. Part of this owes to the loneliness of solo travel. No matter how much a solo backpacker relishes the solitary road, for every affirming moment alone there is one when they wish they could turn to see someone sharing it with them. Many once in a lifetime experiences are shouldered by one’s lonesome, so there’s comfort knowing another person holds part of the experience as well. The remaining part owes to a backpacker’s transience. Beholden to no one, committed to nothing, backpackers can commit to any plan with ease. And, what’s more, backpackers commit. I’m thinking back to New York City, where people date or befriend by gerrymandering: hell no is the uptown boy that requires a three subway transfer to get to; fuck no is the DUMBO girl while you live Upper West; the girl in Hoboken doesn’t even warrant consideration. A plausible backpacker conversation is: “Hey, where are you? I’m going to Thailand next month, want to join?” “Cool! Doing Great Ocean Road atm, make it three weeks?” “Done. See you in Bangkok.” This is how backpackers find themselves in situations that an outsider would consider foolish, if not crazy. This is how I ended up traveling with a French girl who spoke no English, or wound up canoeing down a river with an eighteen year old Dutch guy.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is Leonie wanted one last trip before attending medical school, and I needed to leave Australia in order to apply for a visa. That’s how we ended up greeting each other with a hug outside Tan Son Nhat International Airport’s terminal. Mid-hug, the first thing I said was, “Did you leave your bag unattended?”

Photo by Jack Young on Unsplash

Most restaurants had closed by the time we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (calling it Saigon from here on out, since it’s shorter and that’s what it’s residents call it.) We wandered until we found an open place with patrons. The restaurant we settled on, like most, was both inside and outside. Vietnam businesses don’t necessarily have demarcations: the city—its citizenry, its traffic—simply spills into them, laces through their patios, stuffs their interiors. Two groups sat drinking the warm suds of near empty beer glasses, the plates of picked fish and chicken carcasses were nearby in stacks. We were the only foreigners and had a seat outside on petite chairs that were more like square step stools. We delighted in making the Dong to Euro/USD conversion to determine we’d spent 80 cents a piece for our Tiger beers. The pail of ice that our waitress brought went untouched; we stuck to sanitary considerations like this for about twelve more hours. Soon, no stall served food or ice questionable enough for us to refuse it.

Ordering failed. Our waitress was all giggles trying to communicate with us before calling someone whose English wasn’t much better to assist her. She delighted so much in our differentness that anything we said put her into stitches. This wound up happening a bit throughout the trip, but this particular waitress had such a giggling fit that she teetered from our table and stood at spying distance, laughing whenever we made eye contact with her.

We spent the next three days sightseeing. Saigon isn’t keen on air conditioning, so we kept cool ducking into one of the city’s innumerable cafes, plopping under a fan, and drinking dirt cheap fruit juice. The summer temperature and humidity combo is north of 90 F with humidity between 90-100%. Yet the city acts as an ice plunge in the way it arrests your consciousness and shocks your senses: all during a moment you smell kerosene, exhaust, cigarettes, butchered offal, anise, ginger, broth. The smells don’t amalgamate, they inherit their own locus, yet to experience them is to sense them simultaneously. Buildings are inward pushing propositions, hundreds of bundled telephone wires cut up the sky, scooters and cars utilize sidewalks as if they’re passing lanes. The city is a 3D animatronic, and at the end of each day you feel as if your still being alive is a providential gift. Yet the vibrancy is capable of stopping with a snap. When rain comes in—which it does daily and heavy—movement abates. Sidewalk walkers crouch under awnings and motorbike riders pull over and wait out the squall or else cover themselves with ponchos. The city isn’t quieted though, it’s overlaid with wet static. And food—cooking and eating—is everywhere.

It seemed to me that most storefronts, every corner, and every other sidewalk panel was dedicated to the preparation, sale, or consumption of food. There was no limit to what an enterprising Vietnamese cook could do with the limited space they had. A man with nothing save for a gas burner, stock pot, knife, and wood chopping block, prepared on his sidewalk corner a stew of intestines that he ladled into plastic to-go bags. A woman on a bicycle laden with jars filled with opaque liquids, jellies, and tapioca pearls picked from each to concoct a beverage for whatever patron had hailed her. Money in hand, she’d pedal off.

By day three I’d convinced Leonie to hire a food tour guide with me. She’s not a particularly picky eater, seafood is about the only thing she won’t touch, but she’ll grant an exception if there’s enough butter. She agreed, and this is how we came to meet Vu.

Vu is an economist turned professional Saigon foodie. After a job loss he bent a life long obsession with Vietnamese street food into a tour company that caters to tourists. If you’re reading this for travel advice, which I don’t know why you would, because this is mostly an echo chamber for myself, the company’s name is Saigon Street Eats.

Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

We spent the night on motorbike exploring labyrinthian complexes of back streets and alleys and sampling copious amounts of food: conch grilled then served in a downy butter sauce, scallops still on their scorching shells sprinkled with roasted peanuts and cooled with a splash of chili vinegar, pressed-to-order sugar cane juice with kumquat, bone-in poached chicken with rice noodles and slivered banana blossoms all tossed with a briny vinegar. The highlight was an alley seafood restaurant. Banquet seating extended into the street from separate rooms, each packed to the gills with drunk and chummy youths. Cooking was done in the street: an engineered cooking platform had on it six, round canisters stuffed with charcoal that seared the bits of cockle and crab laid on the grill tops above. By evening end I begged off Vu’s suggestion that we get banh mi to go.

I asked Vu whether I was crazy: whether most of Saigon’s stores and sidewalks were, in fact, utilized for food production. He chuckled. The food industry, he explained, is a rudimentary safety net. Since poverty is chronic, and Vietnam’s social security and welfare systems are too paltry to alleviate it, a person out of work generally has no other means of earning. The surest path towards meagre income is to buy a burner, portable gas canister, and some pots and dishes and start making meals. The success of these sort of endeavors has been dependent on two disparate realities: the first is the demographic and living changes that makes cooking for one’s self much rarer. Decades ago every age group and income level cooked. A woman’s worth, to some extent, depended on her cooking skills, and she couldn’t put a husband on lock without being able to prepare a fine meal for the suitor and his family. Then, with Vietnam’s mild economic growth, mainly in Saigon, came increases in real estate prices with small, barely tag-along wage hikes. Infrastructure and housing units lagged in keeping up with the city’s 2-5% a year population growth. People, especially younger people, were forced into cramped living situations, often sharing a bedroom with four or more people. Longer work hours and commute times became the norm. The result—less time cooking, more eating out. The second reality is Vietnam’s relationship with the ingredients that make the food. Freshness is paramount. The cornucopia of herbs and chilis put along side the most basic of pho dishes has never been inside a refrigerator. Even meat never drops in temperature after slaughter: at morning markets butchers hack into whole hog carcasses, the carved loins are left out on cutting boards or hung on iron hooks, and, when bought, tossed into plastic bags where they stay until cooked. The refrigerator itself is like a person non grata. Shopping then, by necessity, is a daily chore that people can’t meet.

“So you need to be careful when choosing a place to eat,” Vu explained. He stationed us in front of an older man seated at the helm of three iron woks. “You look at the work station to determine if it is clean, and you see how the man works to see whether he cooks his food fresh. That is why you see so much cooking out in the street, because Vietnamese people will not eat at a place where they do not think the food is being made fresh for them.” The man dipped the edge of his stir fry spoon into a container with oil and splashed a bit into each hot wok. He added batter, and as its edges crisped he whirled into its center a filling of mince and shrimps and mushrooms. When he folded each crepe looking thing into a half moon, he filled the newly half-vacant space with shrimps, onions, and mince that I realized would be the filling for the next set so he’d waste no time.

Sitting, Vu broke off a piece of the entree—in Vietnamese called banh xeo—and rolled it up in a leaf of lettuce after stuffing it with chilis and Thai basil. He dipped it in a rosy vinegar. “In my village we had food scarcity because of the Communist regime’s allotment practices, so we grew up on chili that was too hot because it warded off people who’d come to steal it from us. So I say my mother made us cry through her food because she put in so much chili. But that chili is the emotion of cooking. Vietnamese food must always have balance. There is bitterness, there is sourness, there is the pain from heat, but there is also sweet. This is the goal of Vietnamese food: to have all the emotions of life in one bite.”

Photo by Hiep Nguyen on Unsplash

Follow Antonio’s travels and writing on his website.

The post Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion appeared first on roam.

Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion published first on http://ift.tt/2uo7aCb

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comfsy · 7 years

Text

Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion

By Antonio Perez

Photo by Hiep Nguyen on Unsplash

Flashback to Raglan, New Zealand.

Of course, we ended up staying in touch.

Photo by Jack Young on Unsplash

Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

Photo by Hiep Nguyen on Unsplash

Follow Antonio’s travels and writing on his website.

The post Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion appeared first on roam.

Eating in Vietnam | A Travel Companion published first on http://ift.tt/2vmoAQU

0 notes