#man has a face like he ate a lemon whole and his expression stuck

[okami-zero]

So after having finally seen one of the characters much written/talked about in a bunch of the fics that got me into playing FFXIV, I have come to the current conclusion regarding Emet-Selch/Solus:

Emet in fic: *scheming, slick, darkly mysterious mastermind, maybe not so bad?*

My current, based-on-cutscenes-so-far conclusion: *100% absolute chaotic evil shitgibbon with zero fucks to give and would probably kick puppies for funsies*

Now, that us my initial read on him and is in no way any sort of final call. I am just highly amused but the differences. Granted, he's only been like this around his grandson, maybe just for shock factor because he's trying to get a rise out of him (and he sort of did, Emperor shot him deqd from behind, not like it stuck LOL).

But yea, he currently seems more like Batman TAS Joker than anything else. But those fics also came in at a point farther along than I am in the game (I JUST finished Dohn Mheg last night), se we shall see how this chaotic evil gremlin of a man comports himself around the Warrior of Light/Darkness.

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter seven - Fluffed-up parrots and thieves of all skills

Sander’s sides fanfiction

Wordcount: 1825

Ship: prinxiety (actually getting somewhere finally, people :D)

TW: mentions of illness, panic attack, some light fun-making of stuck up royalty, the Devil being his ‘evil’ self and making death-jokes - if I missed any tell me please :3

A note for all: Hey, sooo.... This is basically a looong conversation, because I let myself go and enjoyed writing what I like - which is dialogue mostly, so... I hope you don’t mind too much.

Summary of the whole story:  They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter seven - Fluffed-up parrots and thieves of all skills

“Why did you come here?”

Yes, indeed a very good question. And Roman had no good enough answer to it. Well, not good enough for the Devil, he though. So instead of the truth, he opted for the easier way out. Flirting.

“I already told you, your royal hotness.” he smirked at the king. “To steal your heart.”

Virgil had a lot to do not to react the way he felt like reacting. While on the outside just a slight dust of pink coated his cheeks - easily hid by the lighting of the place - on the inside he was falling apart and erroring, trying his best to come up with an answer. He was the Devil for Hades’ sake! He wasn’t supposed to react this way to a few flirty words!

Even if the stranger had a nice face structure. And beautiful wondering green eyes. And looked better in Virgil’s clothes then Virgil did himself (this last one has been bothering him since he stepped into his chamber and found the Human sprawled out on his bed).

He wasn’t supposed to be squealing like little girl over this Human being. He was the Devil, the head of Hell. And he was supposed to act like it.

So, he cleared his throat. He was not going down that easily. He leaned towards the thief. “Well, if that’s true, how do you plan on doing that?”

“I-ah...um…” that was not blush on Roman’s cheeks thank you very much! He wasn’t at all fazed by this idiotic demon. And to prove it, Roman spat the first thing that popped up in his head. “With my irresistible charm and good looks, obviously.”

Virgil snorted a little, watching the dramatic hand gestures the being displayed. It kind of reminded him of Remington (witch was a cause of big concern at best), but on them he found it somewhat… endearing.

“For a simple Human being you are very confident.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” the thief grinned, already ready to preform the play of his life. “Just look at my gorgeous self! Who could resist this?”

“Exactly how many other fleshlings have you dated?”

“Um well… none - but that’s not what’s important! There was no one worthy enough of my awesomeness.”

The devil laughed again, flashing those sharp fangs at Roman,

“After all! I was the only one that managed to find the entrance to hell between all these fluffed-up parrots!”

“Fluffed-up parrots?”

“The princes!” the liveling explained. But when Virgil only razed an amused eyebrow questioning the thief’s judgement, Roman mouth almost fall open. With eyes wide and a big unbelieving grin, he started talking and gesturing animatedly again. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me I’m not right! Have you seen any of them? With all their powdered faces, walking like there’s hot wire up their asses.”

“Hot wire? If they’d be true, they wouldn’t be walking, believe me. There’s a room for that kind of torture.”

“But I’m serious!” the Human jumped up, prancing around, mimicking the princes. “And their lips are always pushed together as if they ate a whole lemon or something! And oh my god-“

“Oh Hades, don’t mention that prick.” Virgil grumbled, rolling his eyes, but Roman didn’t seem to care.

“- that complete sense of superiority! It’s so awful! “I am prince Frogface. Look at me, I am so strong and handsome! I’ll bring you the crown, oh dearest King! Just look at me as I go into the woods and then come back empty handed!”

“So that’s why you came…” the Devil said calmly, lost in his own thoughts.

Roman immediately shut up. Somewhere in the conversation he forgot he was actually a prisoner and the creature he was talking to was the actual real-life Devil. His captor. The one that could kill him with a snap of his finger. Probably even would, for all Roman knows. Shit… he really messed up, didn’t he? “Y-yeah… I-“

The king waved his hand to dismiss their words. “I’m guessing your king wanted the all-mighty crown and the power that comes with it yada-yada.” he said rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know the story. Everybody wants the crown”

Somehow this didn’t surprise him. But he couldn’t deny the little disappointment he felt at their words. Oh well… Guess no creature would be dumb enough to actually fall for the Devil.

“So, you were the only one who found the entrance?” he raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other to continue.

Roman was expecting everything - anger, shouting, even flames (who knew what this thing was capable off) - but the last thing he expected was for the demon to sit calmly.

“Why… aren’t you more outraged?” the nervous thief asked, watching Virgil cautiously. “You’re supposed to be the big bad Devil! The embodiment of all evil! The Merciless blood-spiller.”

Virgil snorted - he hasn’t heard that one yet before.

“I just expected something more… I don’t know… evil? To come out of you?" Roman rambled, because what else was he supposed to do?

Virgil blew air out of his nose - which could be classified as a sort of ‘you’re such an idiot’ laugh. “Relax. It’s not like I’m gonna bite of you head.” he rolled his eyes. And they twinkled with a wicked idea.  “Although… I could just-” he grinned, showing of his fangs - all thirty of them. Licked them just for the effect.

The thief shivered. He knew that momentary relief was just that - momentary.

Virgil leaned closer and closer, until Roman was completely flush against the supporting-beam’s stone. The Human closed his eyes, petrified.

And then he heard it. That complete and utter free laughter. He frowned looking back forward. And the Devil was literally laughing in his face. “Y-you humans are so naïve! I can’t- Why would you believe any of that?”

Roman and his offended noises didn’t much help the Devils laughing-cramp.  “Ah, huh… okay…okay.. I’m - I’m calm now… please… hah… continue on. You were the only one who found the entrance?”

Roman pierced his lips and glared at the demon in front of him.

“You are evil.”

“Oh sweetie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re in Hell. Everybody’s evil.” Virgil smirked. “But go on. I’m curious.”

The thief’s angry expression didn’t hold up much longer and he pick up where he left off. “Yes, I was the only one it seems. I don’t know how those morons missed the signs. I mean - they were right there. in front of their big, up-turned noses. Oh, and by the way - you guys are idiots!”

Virgil blinked in surprise “What?”

“I mean it! How dumb can one be to need directions to their home!”

“I mean those aren’t really for u-”

As much as Virgil found the rambling of his prisoner endearing, this was getting a little too much.

“Like, you’re supposed to be these big smart canning demons and you need signs to get home.”

“Those-“

“Like, humans really have to rethink ow we view your kind-“

“Hey, fleshling!” the Devils stern voice finally cut through Romans flood of words. “Don’t tempt it.” he gave them a look.

“Iiiii’m shutting up now.” the thief nodded, biting on his lips. I really need to learn when shut my mouth…

“Good.”

Silence fall upon the two and believe me, it wouldn’t do it justice simply calling it ‘awkward’. Roman looked everywhere but at the king. And Virgil sat, thinking about ways to break the silence.

And then something popped up in his head! “Why did you want that crown anyways?”

“Oh, that!” Roman grabbed onto the offered string as greedily as a thirsty man for water. He rubbed his neck somewhat ashamed. “It’s not me who wants it. Our King has decided he wants to rule all and promised a really nice reward for it. And I could really use that money…”  

Virgil tilted his head. He didn’t know the Human standards of living, but this being seemed a little too torn up to him from the beginning. His curiosity was spiked. “Why?”

“Well… My mother is really ill and- oh shit! How long have I been down here?!”

“Am… a-about a day in human time?” the complete and utter fear that for once weren’t cause by Virgil, took him by surprise.

“A day and a half?!” Roman jumped up again, looking around for the way back. “I-I have to get back. I have to go!”

The demon watched him. “I’m afraid I can’t let you…”

“No, you don’t understand! My mother is dying! If I don’t get back she’ll-“ Ro’s lips quivered. “And god knows King won’t give a shit about a poor old woman! I have to get back home!”

Their breathing was becoming shallow. Their movements frantic and rigid. They were shaking.

Virgil knew those signs all too well… He slowly stood up, keeping his eyes at the slowly panicking being. “Hey, come on look at me.”

Roman didn’t do that. Instead, his eyes finally found the entrance and his he was so ready to just bolt out of there, but Virgil reached him first, grabbing his wrist.

That didn’t doo much good, because the other froze up completely, breathing worsening. The Devil didn’t think this true… But he had to do something!

He turned them around and looked them directly in the eye talking calmly and clearly (of course, that wasn’t the case on the inside). “Look. I can’t let you out. But! I can send some healers to your house. There’s not a disease those demons aren’t capable of healing. I can promise you, she’ll be in good hands.”

Roman blinked at him. he tried to speak, but somehow words didn’t come.

“Now, though, I need you to breath. Okay?”

He tried, he really did, but he kept tearing up in the middle of a breath and failing at slowing them down.

That is, until the demon in front of him started counting. He found himself listening to those simple numbers repeating over and over again until somehow his breathing adjusted to it.

He didn’t even notice when he went down to the ground. Not even when he ended up holding both of those black-nail clad hands in a death grip. But the Devil didn’t seem fazed. He just kept on counting until Romans breathing finally evened out.

He was so tired. And still shaking. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep.

But his mother-

“Let’s go find the healers and tell them where to go.” Virgil gave a small smile and stood up, holding a hand out to the Human.

If this was a joke, it was the cruelest one of all. Being kind and helpful then pulling the rug from under his feet. That’d be cruel even for the Devil. Nobody deserves to be played like that.

Roman really hoped this wasn’t a cruel joke…

And he took that hand.  

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I’m not sure if this is what you were waiting for, but this is what I have to offer XD

I myself really enjoy when a story centers around the main characters and shows of the dynamic between them. Not much happened in this chapter, but they talked a bit and I got more comfortable with how I write them together and individually - you could say I got to know them more.

So... I hope you liked it :3

And as always, questions are really appreciated :)

-

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@vpow

@alice-only-me

[nightfallrevel]

Strawberry Flavored Cranberries

A/N: Inspired by a tweet I saw where someone asked what you would call a strawberry flavored cranberry. My response to them was “KiriBaku”. It’s KiriBaku.

Please enjoy this little fluff piece that I FINALLY managed to get transferred here properly~

Warnings: Bakugo curses a lot

KiriBaku

Words: 2,818

The self-proclaimed Bakusquad were enjoying their summer break at the beach just days before the start of their third year. Kirishima had somehow convinced Bakugo to tag along, but if anyone were to ask their other friends, they’d say that Bakugo simply couldn’t say no to Kirishima. Mina, Sero, and Kaminari all had their suspicions as to why, but Kirishima lived in the denial of his own feelings towards their explosive friend. There was just no way that Bakugo could ever like him back.

Whatever the reason, Bakuogo had come along and the five of them sat on the beach after a long day, enjoying some watermelon. They’d bought three, at Kirishima’s insistence, and were currently working through the second one. Kaminari had watched half in fascination and half in disgust as their redheaded friend devoured nearly an entire melon by himself. “Dude, are you even spitting out the seeds? You’re practically inhaling that watermelon. At least breathe between slices.”

Sero snickered as he commented, “He’s gonna be shitting seeds for a week.” Kirishima slushed, but didn’t get a chance to defend himself as Kaminari cut in, again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he just turned into a watermelon with how much he’s eating!” Mina and Sero cackled at the thought as Bakugo quietly called him an idiot.

Kirishima’s flush only darkened. “That’s not funny, man. I just really like watermelon, okay? It’s good for you.” Kaminari patted him on the shoulder with another chuckle.

“It’s cool, dude. I’m just pretty sure I’d puke if I ate as much as you do. We still have dinner to eat later, and I know you won’t be skipping it even after eating all this watermelon.” Kirishima grinned a bit sheepishly, knowing his friend was right about that. His stomach was a bottomless pit, and he always ate a ton. While he always loved to eat meat, he had a secret soft spot for sweets and he tried to eat the healthy ones when he could. Like watermelon.

Mina chewed thoughtfully on her current slice, carefully spitting out a few seeds into the sand. “I dunno, you guys. I’m pretty sure Kirishima is already like a watermelon.” She grinned as the guys stared at her with baffled expressions. “Think about it! Watermelon is red, sweet, and everyone loves it!” A laugh escaped her as Kirishima turned the color of his hair.

“Mina, not everyone loves me. Geez.” He shook his head. “That would be impossible.”

“Not true!” She pointed at him. “Name one person who doesn’t like you.”

Kirishima opened and closed his mouth as he thought hard about it. “Villains. That’s a whole lot of people.” He shoved more watermelon in his mouth, grinning in triumph. Mina rolled her eyes.

“Villains don’t count, Kiri. You’re a hero. Of course they don’t like you. They don’t like any hero.”

“Actually, back in first year, I heard about one of the guys he helped take down in the Hassaikai took a shining to him. Wouldn’t shut up about wanting to fight him again.” Sero interjected, picking up another slice for himself.

Mina gaped. “Are you serious? For crying out loud, Kiri. Even villains like you.”

Kirishima pouted as he looked away, feeling the heat in his face build. “That was just one.” He paused a moment as he thoughtfully took another bite of melon and swallowed it. “Monoma doesn’t like me,” he said quietly.

“Since when does Monoma not like you?” Kaminari asked incredulously. “Sure, the dude can be a real annoying asshole, but I’ve never heard him say a word about you that was negative.”

Kirishima pouted even more. “But he can’t stand our class. He always takes the opportunity to say so.”

“Yeah, but that’s as a whole. Like Kaminari said, he’s just an annoying asshole. I don’t think he has anything against you personally.” Sero pointed out as Mina nodded her agreement.

“You’re all a bunch of fucking idiots.” Bakugo, who had been quietly eating his watermelon, finally spoke up. The others gave him a confused look.

“Let me guess, you’re gonna sit there and tell us we’re wrong?” Kaminari jeered as he narrowed his gaze at their explosive friend.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “So what if I fucking am? If you’re wrong, I’m going to call it out.”

“All right, then, Mr. Smart Guy, what did we say that’s wrong?” Sero challenged. Kirishima watched Bakugo closely as a frown etched even deeper into his best friend’s mouth. Bakugo’s gaze dropped to the piece of watermelon in his hands, quiet as he seemed to contemplate something.

“Kirishima isn’t like watermelon, at all.” There was a surprised silence as they waited for him to keep going. “Not everyone likes watermelon. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re literally eating a slice of it right now.” Kaminari dead panned.

Bakugo growled at him. “That’s besides the fucking point!” His voice began to rise in volume. “It’s got all these stupid seeds you have to eat around, which is fucking annoying, and if you eat too close to the rind, the flavor turns bitter! That’s nothing like Kirishima in the slightest!”

It was quiet another moment as the rest of them processed what Bakugo had said. Kirishima felt the air rush from his lungs as he stared at him with wide eyes. Bakugo had all but complimented him, which was a rarity coming from him. Mina slowly smirked at Kaminari, who tried to hide his growing grin. Sero gaped, still stunned at how vehemently Bakugo denied that Kirishima and watermelon were alike.

Finally, Mina asked, a sly smile on her face, “Okay, if he’s not like watermelon, then what fruit is he like?” As they watched him, waiting for his answer, Kirishima could have sworn he saw the lightest dusting of pink color on his best friend’s features.

Without looking at any of them, Bakugo tossed away his half eaten slice and wiped his hands on his swim shorts. “A strawberry.” He’d said it quietly, but it was definitely loud enough for them to all hear.

Still, “What was that, Blasty? I’m not sure I quite heard you,” Kaminari said with a shit eating grin. Kirishima threw a near mortified glare at him, but Bakugo took the bait.

“I said, he’s like a fucking strawberry! They’re sweet and literally everyone likes them! Watermelon is so fucking tasteless. Plus, they’re not annoying to eat!” Bakugo’s face had turned a mottled red as his temper flared, though his friends suspected there was a secondary reason, as well.

Kirishima buried his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment. That had definitely been a compliment. A very high one, at that.

“I dunno, man.” Sero challenged thoughtfully. “They do have those leaves at the top you have to eat around.”

“Tch, so?” Bakugo glared at him. “Everyone has something annoying about them, but those leaves are easy to remove.” Kirishima’s thoughts were running wild with that remark. Just what was Bakugo getting at?!

Kirishima couldn’t lift his gaze, yet, the watermelon forgotten next to him. His heart raced in his chest as he forced himself not to look too deeply into Bakugo’s straight forward compliment. There was no way there was any kind of deeper meaning to it, no matter how much he wanted it to.

No one was saying anything, and the silence was starting to get to him. Finally, before he could go crazy, Mina let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. I’m convinced. Kirishima is a strawberry.” She smiled and gave a shrug as Kirishima’s head snapped up, shooting her a shocked glare. “Sorry, sweetie, but he’s got a point.”

Kirishima stuck out his lower lip. “Yeah, well, then you’re a pineapple.” Mina gave him a bewildered look.

“A pineapple? How am I a pineapple?”

Kirishima grinned, feeling his face slowly return to a normal temperature as his heart calmed with the distraction. “They’re super acidic, which matches your quirk, but they’re still really sweet and fun to eat.”

Mina laughed, “Hell yeah! I love it!”

Kaminari smirked as he puffed up his chest. “Well, I know that I’m a peach.” They all laughed, but Bakugo scoffed.

“You ain’t a damn peach, dunce face.”

Kaminari gaped at him with indignation, deflating a little. “Well, it’s not like you’re exactly a peach yourself, you damn lemon!” Sero and Mina went into hysterics as Bakugo growled in response.

“He’s definitely a lemon! Such a sour puss!” Sero cackled as he agreed with Kaminari. Kirishima didn’t laugh, though, as he finally looked over at Bakugo. His best friend glared at the others, but Kirishima quickly looked away when their eyes met for barely a moment.

Mina was the first to notice that Kirishima wasn’t joining in on their laughter. “What’s wrong, Kiri? You think he’s something else?”

Kirishima flushed, then nodded slightly. “Yeah. I don’t think he’s like a lemon.” He could feel Bakugo’s stare on the side of his head as though he might burn a hole through his skull. He said nothing else, though, the rate of his heart kicking back up as it pounded in his chest.

They were waiting for him to go on, but he seemed stuck. Would his answer give away how he felt about his best friend? He didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship over a silly crush that he couldn’t seem to get over no matter how hard he tried. Bakugo was always so good at reading him, surely he’d see through him right away.

“What’s he like, then, Kiri?” Damn. Mina asked, so now he had to answer. He brought his knees up to his chest, and put his head between them.

“C-cranberry.” He stuttered out, feeling his face flame, and he knew he had to match his hair. There was a moment of silence; the only sound was the crash of the nearby waves, and Kirishima was certain they could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage as it threatened to burst from his chest.

Finally, “Cranberry?! That’s not even a fruit! It’s a berry!” Kaminari exclaimed loudly.

Kirishima looked up with indignation, “Well, so is a strawberry! What does it matter?” He heard Bakugo snort and call them idiots, but he ignored it as Kaminari let out a huff.

“Whatever.” Kaminari leaned back on his arms in the sand and stretched out his legs, smiling smugly. “I decided. I don’t care what Bakugo says, I am a peach.” Sero immediately scoffed as Mina cackled, and the three of them immediately began to argue about what kind of fruit Kaminari really was. Kirishima would have joined in, but he could still feel Bakugo’s gaze on him and it made him uneasy. He couldn’t breathe. Bakugo was smart and very perceptive. What had he seen in Kirishima’s answer? 

Standing up, he muttered that he was going down to the water and walked away. Their friends continued to argue, barely acknowledging that he was getting up. Once Kirishima reached the water, he let the waves lap at his feet; the cool water felt nice after walking across the burning sand. As he stood there, he let the rushing sound of the water calm him.

He took in a deep breath before letting it all out, attempting to dispel his anxiety. The sun was nearing the horizon and would be setting soon. It had been a good day, all in all. He only hoped that he hadn’t ruined it by speaking carelessly.

“Hey.”

His heart kicked up nervously as Kirishima turned at the rough voice of his best friend behind him. He tried for a smile, but wasn’t sure how successful he was. “Hey.” Bakugo frowned, probably catching the uneasy waver to Kirishima’s voice.

Glancing behind him at their friends for a moment, Bakugo clapped his hand on Kirishima’s shoulder and gently pushed him down the beach. “Let’s walk for a bit. Those idiots won’t notice if we’re gone for a while.” Without resistance, not even the slightest hesitation, Kirishima easily followed Bakugo’s lead down the shore. They walked leisurely, both of them quiet for the moment.

“You okay?” The sudden question caught Kirishima off guard, but he grinned as he nudged Bakugo’s shoulder with his own.

“Wow, first a compliment, now concern? Careful, Bakugo, I might start to think you actually like me.” Kirishima laughed, though he felt a tightness in his chest.

“God, you’re fucking dense. Of course I like you, dumb ass.” Surprise cut off Kirishima’s laugh as he stared wide-eyed at Bakugo. There it was - the telltale signs of a blush coloring Bakugo’s features. Kirishima hadn’t imagined it before, then. Bakugo stopped walking and Kirishima faltered, nearly tripping a step ahead of him.

“I mean,” Kirishima started, “I knew you had to at least tolerate me because you let me say we’re friends, but… I didn’t expect you to actually say it.” Lifting a hand, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Bakugo’s jaw dropped with indignation, his temper flaring up. “Almost three years and you still think I just tolerate you?! Fucking hell, you really make me spell everything out for you.” Stepping forward, he grabbed Kirishima at the nape of his neck, and then their mouths were pressed together in a firm kiss.

Kirishima was too shocked to react, his body seizing up until Bakugo finally pulled away. Kirishima stared at his best friend, his mouth opening to speak, but no words came out. Bakugo couldn’t seem to meet his gaze as he continued to grasp Kirishima’s neck, fingers twining his hair, ungelled from swimming all day.

“Bakugo, I-”

“Shut up. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get you to notice how I feel?” Kirishima opened his mouth, but Bakugo cut him off, again. “Don’t answer that. Of course, you don’t. You’re so fucking dense.” Bakugo finally looked up at him with a wry smile. Kirishima flushed immediately, and his hands flew to cup both sides of Bakugo’s face.

“I like you, too, Bakugo!” Bakugo snorted, then laughed. Laughed. Kirishima was breathless at the sound, loving it even though it was at his expense.

“Yeah, I know. You aren’t very good at hiding how you feel. You’re always wearing your damn heart on your sleeve.” Bakugo grinned and Kirishima’s heart fluttered.

“That’s not fair, Bakugo. If you knew all this time, why didn’t you tell me?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “I just did, didn’t I? I wanted to give you a chance to figure it out on your own, but I underestimated just how oblivious you are.” He didn’t mean it in a malicious way, but Kirishima still pouted.

“Okay, that’s fair.” Kirishima blinked as he realized something. “Wait, then, all that stuff about me being like a strawberry? That was a real compliment?”

His best friend, maybe boyfriend, smirked as he raised a brow. “When do I ever say something I don’t mean?” All the time, is what Kirishima would have answered, but saying something like that about someone was definitely something Bakugo would never say lightly. Kirishima felt his eyes start to water, his chest swelling with love and affection for the blond. “Dude, are you gonna cry, right now? What the hell?”

Kirishima laughed and surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Bakugo’s torso. “I’m really happy! I’m… relieved. I’ve been holding back so long because I was afraid of ruining our friendship.” Kirishima sniffled lightly and he felt Bakugo’s hand cup the back of his head.

He heard Bakugo give a soft sigh. “You couldn’t do that. Not you.” There was an implication behind Bakugo’s phrasing, but Kirishima couldn’t quite grasp what it was, and he let it go. Pulling back from the hug, Kirishima shyly pulled his lower lip between his teeth and chewed it carefully.

“Uh, do you think we could… kiss, again? I wasn’t exactly prepared for the first one.” Bakugo blinked, then immediately grinned.

“Definitely.” Kirishima felt himself being pulled back in and their lips found each other a second time. It was much softer than the first, less exasperated, and lasted longer. All of their emotions combined in the gentle action, and Kirishima felt as though his world had finally shifted fully into place.

They finally broke apart when they heard their friends wolf whistling and cat-calling them from down the beach. Kirishima flushed as Bakugo turned to flip them off. Despite that, he was grinning when he turned back around. “Ignore those bastards.” Bakugo’s warm fingers gently brushed back some stray strands of Kirishima’s hair from his face, giving him a curious look. “Before we head back, I gotta know - What did you mean back there when you said that I was like a cranberry?”

The blush across Kirishima’s face deepened as he gave Bakugo the biggest sharp-toothed grin he’d had all afternoon. “That’s easy! You’re like a cranberry because you’re tart, but then sometimes so unexpectedly sweet!”

“...You idiot.”

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Shapeshifter/Werewolf AU

NOTE: So there is a ton of really good werewolf-Arthur stuff floating around and I love it. Here is one more. Also, I read this and got inspired. 

Summary: Werewolf-Arthur but Vivi and Lewis are shapeshifters. They all go out on the full moon Harry Potter style. Set pre-canon.

.

The sky is bright blue today. If the weather report is to be believed, it will remain clear for the next five nights. Perfect for camping. Everything is falling into place, and Arthur is feeling increasingly energised. There is an extra spring to his step uncommon for this time of the mouth. Even his Uncle Lance, who hovers, face creased into an almost permanent frown, can’t dampen his spirits.

Arthur shoves clothes into his bag, throwing a comment over his shoulder, “I’ll be fine. Mystery is supervising.”

“Mystery. Mystery ya friend’s dog. That Mystery?” His Uncle, leaning against the doorframe, scowls some more, sounding disgruntled. After so many years living with the man, Arthur knows that the irritation is just a poor disguise for worry. He pays it no mind, continuing to pack.  

“I think he is some form a Kitsune. You know, a Japanese fox spirit. He’s like Vivi, except, instead of pretending to be a human, he pretends to be a dog. Also, Mystery’s a few hundred years old, a whole lot more powerful, and he is super experienced when it comes to these things.”

“I don’t like it.”

Arthur sighs, lifting his stuffed duffle bag. His Uncle’s distrust of the Yukino family has been an ongoing source of tension this last week. Vivi’s dad had it out for him, some old prejudice about curses and bad luck, but Mystery has never seemed bothered by it.

“It’s either this or a night in the basement,” He reasons, twitching in discomfort at the thought of being stuck in the basement for another full moon. The idea is equally unattractive to his Uncle, who grimaces. Neither of them enjoys locking Arthur up for full moons. Especially now, when Arthur is older and more unpredictable, and there is a large iron cage involved. He hates that cage. Necessary for his Uncle’s safety, but unpleasant on all counts.

His Uncle relents, “I want ya to call every night when possible.”

Arthur hoists a tent up in his free hand with an ease born of supernatural strength. With the full moon tomorrow, the bleed between human and wolf is becoming increasingly pronounced, resulting in heightened senses and ability.

“If anything happens, even if it's bad, you come back, ya hear. I don’t give a shit about what ya do when you’re the wolf, you come back, and we’ll deal with it together like we always do.”

Arthur slips around his Uncle, heading for the front door and his waiting van. “Yes. I know. I will.”

“If I don’t hear from ya, I’m hiking out there to track ya down myself.”

The air is crisp — a beautiful day. Arthur strides out across the parking lot, relishing the feel of open space. The sprawling desert on either side of him beckons to him. ‘Run. Be free,’ his instincts tell him. The door to the front reception rattles in its frame, and his Uncle follows him outside.

“I’ll be fine. We’ve been planning this for ages. I’m even looking forward to it.” He turns, smiling despite ongoing misgivings. To look forward to a full moon is monumental. It is something entirely new for Arthur. Honesty, he’s still not sure how to deal with it and is almost waiting for it all to come crashing down around him. Surely, someone is about to jump out and inform him that this all a joke.

His Uncle hesitates on approach, torn for maybe a second before deflating. He steps up to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The action takes a bit of stretching, due to Lance’s shorter statue.  

“I’m just worried about ya.”

“I know. I swear I won’t take any chances. This is going to work. Trust me.” It had to work because, as amazing as his Uncle is, he is still just a human-A human with a werewolf nephew who put themselves in danger every month. Arthur’s biggest fear is waking up one of these mornings to discover his Uncle dead by his hand.  

Thankfully, his Uncle nods in acceptance, reaching forward and pulling him down for a ruff hug. Arthur breaths in, scenting the familiar oil and grease mixed with tobacco underling the salami sandwich Lance ate for lunch yesterday. It’s a comforting scent. They separate, and Arthur steps away, swinging himself into the van, throwing his belongings into the back.

Lance walks to stand near the window, folding his arms once again.

“Don’t forget. Call. Every night.”

“I will,” Arthur answers, wavering before flipping the ignition and accelerating out of the lot. Vivi, living smack in the centre of town, is a half-hour drive from Kingsman Mechanics.

When he pulls up, the whole Yukino family is out on their porch. Vivi is having some disagreement with her father, her mum looks to be playing mediator, and the Yukino elder is idly tracking his approach. They make eye contact. Arthur sinks low in his seat, so he is mostly hidden from view. Just perfect. He’d been hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself.

While he waits, he deliberately ignores how the wards around Vivi’s house make his skin itchy and hair stand on end. Wards designed to deter creatures like him. The few times he had been invited in -on the rare occasion Vivi’s family are away- had left him with ringing ears and a clogged nose. The layers of illusion, plastered over the house’s plain exterior, coupled with the wards, play havoc with his senses. A common reaction when supernatural creatures encounter ‘fox magic,’ Vivi had tried to reassure.

Ten more minutes of arguing and Vivi throws her hands up in frustration, grabbing her bag and stomping up the garden path, visibly irritated. Over her head, Arthur catches the eye of her father, who is glaring daggers at the van. His eyes narrow, flashing blue. Arthur doesn’t need heightened instincts to recognise a warning sign. Internally, he groans, sinking further, putting his head below the window, resigning himself to another ‘stay away from my daughter or else’ lecture. So far, the ‘or else’ was impending, but Arthur can’t help but worry every time he accidentally reminds the patriarch that he exists. It throws a damper on his anticipation like a bucket of ice.

The passenger door opens. Mystery leaps up into the van, giving him a perplexed lopsided expression. Vivi clambers in after him, throwing her bag over the seat divider in the same movement. A puzzled glance is given when she notices him almost on the floor.

“Your dad hates me.” He offers.

“Oh, ignore him. He’s got his head stuck back in feudal japan,” Vivi gripes, twisting to pull down her seatbelt, “Right Mystery?”

Mystery, who has seated himself between them, nods, projecting his voice, /Though concern for one’s progeny is natural, the fact that I am acting as your guardian makes his worry unfounded. /

“See. Mystery agrees with me.”

“Is that what that was…” Arthur mutters, starting the van up so he can drive away as quickly as possible. He can still feel piercing blue eyes ten minutes later when the Pepper’s diner, in all its bright pink glory, appears on the horizon. Anxiety and fear are quickly killing the rest of his excited anticipation.  Now, he is wondering whether Vivi’s dad has a point.

“He’s right you know,” Arthur blurts, unable to help it, “Your dad I mean. About me being dangerous. I don’t even remember most full moons. I’ve ripped up all the basement floorboards and destroyed whole walls before.” He had even hurt people, back when he and his Uncle had lived in the city, but he can’t bring himself to mention that failing. “The full moon is nothing like when we’ve all gone running together or shifted to mess around. What if I hurt you.”

“Arthur,” Vivi sighs, turning to stare at his profile, “We’ve talked about this. There is no way we are letting you spend any more full moons locked up in that thing you keep in the basement. Not when we have a better option. My dad can go suck on a lemon, because, curse or not, I’m doing this.”

“What if something goes wrong and you regret it...”

“The only thing I regret is that we didn’t know you were a bitten-wolf sooner.”

Arthur hyper focuses on turning off the motorway, face heating up. Honesty, Arthur hadn’t known there was a difference between him and Lewis’s wolf nature until an offhand comment about werewolves had Lewis commenting that the full moon gave him a crazy appetite. Vivi’s dad had been by to threaten him enough times that he had assumed Vivi knew he was a werewolf and not a regular shifter, but she had simply nodded along with Lewis, asking if Arthur had a similar quirk. Then Arthur had been too embarrassed to correct them. The full moon was such an unpleasant experience for him that he had avoided talking about it for years, making excuse after excuse.

/To go on a hunt with one’s pack is a common strategy when dealing with lunar-madness — one of the reasons you wolves tend to congregate in one location. / Mystery adds, voice calmer.

“Exactly. You’ll have Lewis. You get along great when you shift. Also, I wouldn’t be much of a fox if I couldn’t keep up with you two bumbling lumps.”

“Lewis is a regular wolf, and you’re just so tiny. I could easily hurt one of you,” He objects.  

/Fear not, Arthur. In the unlikely event that you do not recognise your companions as part of your pack, I will intervein and keep you and them safe for the night’s duration. / Arthur eyes Mystery and exhales to release tension. Mystery was so good at masking his presence that sometimes Arthur forgot he was a crazy strong spirit. According to Vivi, her family had once been his vassals, actual foxes, before marrying into human lines. It was where she got her shifting ability and instinct for magic. Arthur’s not sure how Mystery ended up disguised as a dog, playing family guardian to a bloodline who were once his servants, but he’s not about to question it. If the supernatural world was anything, it was convoluted.

“Arthur.”

“What.”

They’d pulled into one of the vacant spots outside the Pepper's diner. Arthur realises he’s been sitting, staring at his lap, in silence. Vivi’s leaning over, waving to catch his attention. She smells like paper, grass, flowers and that electric undertone he associates with magic.

“Don’t let my dad get you down. This’ll be fun. I know I’m looking forward to camping, and the full moon is only one night.”

“Right. Yeah.” His dour mood falls away. Vivi’s eyes are sparking blue, signalling her enthusiasm. “You’re right.”

A knock on the van’s glass window has both him and Vivi twisting in their seats. Lewis waves from the other side and Vivi quickly winds the window down so she can call a greeting.

“Don’t suppose I could trouble you for a lift,” Lewis jokes, holding his thumb like he’s attempting to hitchhike.

“I don’t know. Where are you heading, stranger,” Vivi returns, leaning out to grin. Arthur feels a smile return, and he clicks off the locks so Vivi overbalances when Lewis tries the handle. It is the breakfast rush, so none of the other Peppers have joined Lewis outside- too busy serving customers- but Lewis has a giant portable cooler at his feet, which is probably packed with their cooking.

“Hey, Arthur. How are you holding up?”  Lewis meets, attention moving off Vivi. His eyes flash gold, catching the light, and Arthur gets that additional rush of excitement reuniting with Lewis always inspires. Vivi called it a ‘pack response,’ but Arthur’s not so sure, seeing as he feels the same way when he sees her. Vivi's not a wolf after all.

“I’m fine,” This isn’t his first full moon, so the concern is a little unnecessary. He still finds himself pleased to receive it though.

“There’s space in the back for that. Hold on. I’ll get the back doors.”

“Thanks. I brought an extra tent as well,” Lewis continues, tracking him as he circles around the vehicle to open the back.

Vivi sticks her head over the seat divider to watch them, commenting, “Because two tents aren’t enough.”

“You can never be too prepared.”

“We have space. Why not?” Arthur reasons, reordering his and Vivi’s stuff to give Lewis room to load up his cooler box and mound of additional camping supplies. Of the three of them, Lewis has definitely packed the lions share.

Then Lewis hands them all sandwiches, correctly guessing that no one has eaten breakfast, and they hit the road. While he and Viv eat, Lewis drives humming along to the radio. Thoughts of Vivi’s dad fade into the background, Arthur simply enjoying being in the presence of both his friends. Even Mystery, who tended to be more reserved, is joining in their conversation, seemingly looking forward to spending time hiking about in nature.

[veronica-rich]

26. “I didn’t intend to kiss you.” Lister/Rimmer of course. :-D

(Written stream-of-consciousness with absolutely no logic and little editing ...)Lister kept his head down and read his textbook, concentrating too much on words to avoid having to make conversation should Rimmer try to institute it. He shoveled cereal into his mouth when the rotten prick strolled in and took a seat at the table ... but nothing was said. And the harder Lister avoided and read, the more he began connecting what he was reading and kept reading as he finished his breakfast and swigged some water, and when the chapter came to an end, he marked the page, closed the book, and got up as normal, pausing to give Rimmer’s cheek a kiss as he passed.The other man looked up, puzzled but maybe also - hopeful? “I didn’t intend to kiss you,” Lister snapped, scowling. “Habit. Bad habit.”“Well, don’t think I wanted it, you lazy git.”Lister barked out a “ha!” and added, “Jerk.”“Cheating gimboid,” Rimmer muttered loftily, eyes pointed down at his own reading material.“SHIP’S BASTARD,” Lister hissed, swiftly turning and exiting the bunkroom with his last word.*******When he relieved Rimmer that afternoon in the drive room, the changeover was done in silence, so quiet that crickets would have been afraid to cricket. He checked the logs, adjusted the controls as he liked them, and, when a cup of boiling hot tea was set into the console next to him, automatically said, “Thanks, babe.”Just as he frowned and did a double take, he heard, “I didn’t intend to bring you that tea. Both cups were there; long habit!”“Yeah, well - see it doesn’t happen again!” Lister countered, annoyed.“Oh, don’t you worry, curry-breath.”*******It went on. That night in the quarters, Lister stretched his arms and tried to bow his back to get rid of his recurring side twinge. Getting old sucked lemons. Before he could climb to the top bunk, Rimmer shrugged off his robe, hung it smartly on its hook, and mounted the ladder. “Hey!” Lister stopped him. “Where’re you going?”Rimmer paused halfway and started, “It’s hard for you to climb when your side’s doing that- Hold up.” He frowned and backed down the ladder. “It’s YOUR bunk, YOU sleep in it.”“Arsehole,” Lister muttered, shaking his head as he approached the ladder after giving Rimmer a wide berth to move away. “Try to act all fake solicitous to ME,” he muttered under his breath.“You know what’s NOT fake?” Rimmer stabbed a finger toward him. “Those pudgy gerbil cheeks.”Lister squinted his whole face from the top bunk, which he’d managed to get into with a minimum of wincing. “At least they’re real, unlike balled-up socks.”“Oh, ha ha HA,” Rimmer scoffed. Lister waited for something better, and actually felt bad for the hologram when he didn’t offer it, instead rolling into his bottom bunk.*******The next day was no better. The aftermath of the Mineopoly scandal haunted corridors and rooms, clashing unattractively with longstanding habits like holding doors open, passing food at the table, and ducking out of rooms politely to pick one’s nose.But at lunch, Lister caught himself rising to leave the table, instead planting his rear end firmly back in his seat and jamming his finger pointedly up his right nostril while staring at Rimmer. He pinched up his expression in disgust, so Lister rooted enthusiastically, even though there was nothing up there.They kept this up for many seconds until Lister made the mistake of looking to the side and seeing Cat glaring murderously at him, like he was a fat mouse stuck in a drainpipe. “Real nice at the table, bud,” he scolded. “Classy!” Even Kryten was giving him the stink-eye, and that’s when Lister knew he’d flown too close to the sun, considering how many lines of code the mech probably had to violate to regard him so unpleasantly.He wiggled his finger out and buried his hand into his napkin, wiping hard. “Sorry, fellas.”Rimmer was shaking his head, eyes pointed down as he ate, scoffing, “Unbelievable.”With the long-bred instincts of a hunter that also knows when to scram from danger, Cat announced, “Uh-oh!” and spun out of his chair. Kryten watched him dance toward the exit, then clambered out of his seat to follow. “Sir!” he called, lumbering quickly after. “I believe you forgot your 12:30 p.m. toe flossing!”“You got a thing to say?” Lister demanded.“First of all, it’s not ‘got.’ It’s have. It’s, ‘Do you have something to say?’“ Rimmer corrected.“Do you like your hologram teeth?”“And second, I’M the offended party here. I am the ONLY offended party.” Rimmer leaned back in his seat and tapped himself on the chest. “Me! I’m the one you cheated on with those stupid hidden cards.”“That’s because you take it so smegging seriously! You take all the games seriously,” Lister pointed out. “Remember Apples to Apples, when you insisted the card you threw in for Hollister was absolutely the thing he WOULD have said if he was alive here to play?”“Well, he WOULD have!”“Rimmer, one, he’s dead, so how do you know, and two, the card was an N.W.A. lyric that had as much to do with a middle-aged white captain as you do with rastabilly skank! I mean, sure, it was funny, but then you took being voted down so personally, instead of rolling with it.” Rimmer said nothing. “Look, man,” he tried again, less shouty and in an even voice. “I just wanted to take the piss out of you. We weren’t playing for control of Pluto. And it’s not like you NEVER win. I mean, let Kryten have a chance.”When Rimmer still said nothing, nostrils twitching, Lister slid out of his chair and approached, slowly. “I’m sorry I cheated. I forgot how much the rules matter to you, all right? I was just having some fun.” He turned his hands palms up and added, “Peace?”The hologram glared at him for a long moment, arms crossed, then said, “I can’t believe you said you didn’t mean to kiss me.”“I didn’t! Was just the truth.”“But why not?”“Really?”“You’re the one who said we’re not supposed to go to bed mad!”“So what were you doing the night before when you hid all my crisps packets?”“Whoops,” said Rimmer, before biting his lips inward, eyes wide at the admission he’d strenuously denied earlier. Lister rolled his eyes. “Let’s just call it even, eh?”It was quiet a moment. “I DID intend to bring you your tea, though,” Rimmer insisted.“Yeah, and don’t think I didn’t appreciate the little chocolate you melted into it when I was spending late last night in the loo, too.” He narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Sleep with one eye open, Rimsey.”“I usually do because I don’t have a gas mask, Listy,” he shot back, making a kissy-face. “Besides, it was just one Ex-Lax, you drama queen.” And like that, it was over.Until it was on again five days later after an especially rousing night of Clue.

[alphacrone]

MAGIC TOWN SAMWELL AU

Based loosely on this older post of mine.

When the charm shop went in next door, Jack was wary. But plenty of his tomes still had the residue of charms and spells lingering in the dust between their pages, seeped into their cracked spines, and Jack managed well enough. Still, an entire store devoted to mood charms and luck potions – the idea of it alone made his skin itch.

When a sign went up above the cheerful, red awning declaring the shop “Peachy Keen,” Jack was skeptical. The name indicated to Jack that it was probably some gimmicky chain store, pretending to be quaint and local while really forcing out actual local businesses. But the sign itself looked genuinely hand-painted – it was either a very clever marketing tactic, or Jack was wrong in his assumptions.

When the shop’s owner came by to introduce himself, wearing a pastel pink button-down shirt and smiling like he’d just won the lottery, Jack knew he was utterly, totally fucked.

Jack and Bittle – “Eric Bittle but my friends call me Bitty oh is that cookbook I love old cookbooks my moomaw has a dozen-” – didn’t speak much after that initial introduction. Their respective shops kept them busy, and Jack tended not to go out with the other shopkeepers from the square when they had their weekly pub crawls. Bittle, from what Jack could tell, was bubbly and outgoing and almost as talkative as Shitty.

Jack was...not.

It had been maybe two or three weeks since Peachy Keen opened its doors when Jack came to work only to find a pie sitting on his stoop. It smelled heavenly, of nutmeg and cloves, apple and lemon, and seemed to still be piping hot. There was no note, but Samwell was a safe and friendly hamlet; Jack assumed it was from one of the older ladies who ran the butcher’s shop, or maybe even Shitty, learning to bake while baked. Jack was a little wary to eat anything that had seen the inside of Shitty’s apartment, but it smelled so good he couldn’t resist.

That turned out to be a huge mistake.

Thanks to some very creative hand gestures and the suspiciously intelligent crow who roosted in Jack’s chimney, Jack managed to get his medication before the bright purple welts on his arms and face got too horrific. A trip to the nearest urgent care center later, and Jack was perched behind the counter at Shitty’s nursery, Weeds n’ Things, glaring daggers at his laughing friend.

“Someone tried to poison you with pie?” Shitty asked incredulously. “Really? That’s your theory?”

Jack shrugged, feeling a little defensive. His father was a famous Necromancer, and while he had many fans, Bad Bob also had many enemies. It had been one of the numerous things that had plagued Jack’s anxiety as a child, knowing that there were people who wanted his father dead.

“Jack,” Shitty said, face softening. “I’m pretty sure that pie’s from Bits.”

“Who?” Jack frowned.

“Bitty?” Shitty sighed. “Bittle- you know, cute as shit, owns Peachy Keen. His whole schtick is charms and spells that aren’t disgusting – infused in desserts, snacks, drinks. Pie is, like, his forte, man.”

“Oh,” Jack said, feeling a mixture of relief, embarrassment, and irritation. “It’s sort of rude to just give someone an infused pie without telling them what it is.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Shitty said, scratching at his jaw. “That doesn’t seem like Bits at all. Want me to talk to him about it?”

Jack thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want to make him feel bad for almost killing me.”

Shitty laughed again and slapped Jack on the back. “You’re not that allergic, dude. But I gotta ask – how was the pie? What flavor was it?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Jack said, “Aside from the hives all over my skin, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Shitty gave him a wide, knowing grin. “And apple. The pie was apple.”

“Hmm, good fortune,” Shitty said. “That’s usually what he puts in those.”

Jack snorted. “I guess from a certain perspective,” he said. “I was pretty damn fortunate.”

“That’s the spirit, brah,” Shitty said, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Now come help me water the herbs. Those babies have missed you.”

When Jack got home that evening, the chimney crow was waiting for him outside the shop. In its beak it held a small, torn note. Hesitantly, Jack reached out and took it. The crow gave him an appraising look and flew off, leaving Jack feeling very nervous as he unfolded the cheerful, yellow paper.

Everyone in the square’s tried a pie but you! Hope you like apple & fortune – it’s one of my best. See you around, neighbor :) - Bittle

Despite himself, Jack smiled. So Bittle had sent a note – and that damn chimney crow had nicked it. The grudge he’d been harboring towards the man lessened in intensity; the grudge he now bore for the crow doubled.

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t call an exterminator,” he called up at the roof where the crow’s nest hid. “I mean it.”

The crow did not respond, but Jack hadn’t really expected it to. He sighed and tucked the note into his pocket, ready to collapse face-first into his bed and sleep off the terrible day.

He wouldn’t remember how it happened in the morning, but the note was stuck to his refrigerator, right next to the ice maker. It stayed there for a long time.

It quickly became evident that, for the first time in his loud, obnoxious life, Shitty Knight had not intervened in Jack’s business.

Unfortunately, this meant another pie appeared on Jack’s stoop a week after his trip to the hospital.

The note taped to the tin was intact this time, written on light orange paper. Jack wondered idly how many colors of paper Bittle had in his shop, then realized he had never even seen the inside of Peachy Keen. The whole place could be covered in different shades of colored paper, and Jack wouldn’t have the faintest clue.

He was almost certain the air in that shop alone would be enough to break him out, which he definitely wanted to avoid in front of the cute baker.

Strawberries, cream, & focus, the note read. Mr. Crappy at the nursery buys a slice every time he needs to focus on paperwork. Of course, you don’t seem to need the help in that department! Hope you enjoy, and stop by soon! -ERB

Careful not to touch the crust, Jack picked up the pie and deposited it on the first flat surface in his store – the front counter. He didn’t want to just throw it out, but being near the thing, so chock full of pixie dust, was making Jack uneasy.

Though not all magic came from pixie dust, it was a large component in most Western spells, charms, and potions. It was potent, cheap to produce, and incredibly flexible in use.

And Jack Zimmermann was allergic to it.

Pixie dust allergies were not unheard of, but they were pretty rare. In his studies, Jack had found they occurred more frequently in East Asian and Southern African countries, where pixies were not native and their dust less commonly used. As a child he’d dreamt of running away to Antarctica, where it was too cold for pixies to survive, and he could live totally free from the fear of reaction with the penguins and the seals.

Jack sighed and glanced at the pie, tucking the note into his wallet so it wouldn’t get lost. He had a few minutes this morning before he needed to start his opening routine, so Jack grabbed the pie again and decided he'd take it over to Ransom and Holster, who ran the popular bar and grill, the Haus. They were also the leaders of Samwell’s very own werewolf pack, and therefore ate...a lot. As did their pack mates. The pie wouldn't last five minutes at their place.

Hesitation tugged at the back of Jack’s mind. It felt rude just getting rid of a pie specially made for Jack, but he certainly couldn't eat it. He needed to express gratitude somehow.

A small collection of antique cookbooks caught Jack’s eye. They weren't big sellers, not when Jack had colonial spellbooks and first edition grimoires on his shelves, but Bittle had noticed them right away that day he came in.

Shifting the pie to one hand, Jack grabbed one of the cookbooks with the other and slipped back out of the shop, not bothering to lock up behind him.

Ransom and Holster accepted the pie with as much gusto as Jack had expected.

(“Bro! How’d you get Bits to make you personal pie? That's dope!”

“I propose to him every other day or so, just so I can have that pie in my life forever. He thinks I'm kidding but I'm not.”)

Half of the pie was gone by the time he was back out of the door, and Jack breathed easier with its hauntingly delicious aroma far behind him. His anxiety spiked again as he remembered the book in his hand, and Jack scrambled to pull a piece of scrap paper – the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt – and scrawl out a quick note: Thanks for the pie. -JZ

Jack left the book and the note leaning up against the door of Peachy Keen and sped-walked away. He’d already diverted from his opening routine too much today; getting caught in conversation with Bittle was out of the question.

It wasn’t until he was back in his shop that Jack let himself breathe easy. He let out a deep sigh and began organizing the displays and cleaning up paperwork, readying himself for the day. Nursey, his assistant and one of the calmer members of Ransom and Holster’s pack, slipped behind the register with two minutes to spare, nose stuck in a well-worn book. Jack nodded at him in greeting, somehow still surprised when Nurse managed to nod back without taking his eyes off the page.

“I’ll take the register today,” Jack said as he flipped the sign in the window to say OPEN. “We got a restoration order in yesterday, seventeenth century French herbiary. Thought you’d like to take the reins on this one.”

Nursey looked up, surprised. “Really? By myself?”

Jack shrugged, shooing Nurse away from the register. “You’re one of the fastest learning conservators I’ve ever met. I have faith in you. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“Chill,” Nursey said, face still blank with confusion, but a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll, uh. I’ll be in the back.”

Jack grinned at Nursey’s retreating back, and steeled himself as the door opened. He wasn’t the best with customers – even Nurse, as laconic as he could be in conversation, had an ease and charm about him that enticed patrons of the shop – but Jack could answer questions and handle the register as well as any awkward teenager working their first job.

Around noon, just as Jack’s stomach began to rumble, he was pulled away from the counter by a customer who couldn’t reach the twentieth-century wizard’s almanacs. (Why anyone in Massachusetts needed a 1957 almanac for Prince Edward Island was a mystery to him, but, hey, it paid the bills.)

When Jack returned to the register, a pie was sitting on the counter, still steaming. There was a hot pink note attached to this one, but no sign of Bittle.

Found your gift this morning and HAD to put one of the recipes to use! Buttermilk pie with Comfort. Glad you liked the last one. <3 ERB

Jack sighed, heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. This feeling was like anxiety, gnawing at his diaphragm like acid, but something in it made his limbs and heart light. Bittle loved his gift. He loved it so much that he used it immediately...and had given Jack another pie he couldn’t possibly eat.

“Where’s Nurse?”

Jack looked up from the pie to see Dex and Chowder, Nursey’s friends and packmates. Dex was the Haus’ handyman and least flirty bartender; Chowder, however, had left his job at the butcher’s shop to apprentice at Peachy Keen. From what Jack had heard, Bittle adored Chowder. Something a little too close to jealousy stirred in Jack at that thought, so he tamped it down and gestured at the pie.

“He’s restoring. You two want pie?”

“Is that one of Bitty’s?” Dex asked, eyeing it carefully. Jack snatched the note away from the tin before either man could read it, stuffing it into the pages of his ledger.

“Yeah. He dropped it off while I was in the back,” Jack said. “You two want it?”

“Chyeah we want it,” Nursey said, coming up behind Jack. His reading glasses were dangerously low on his nose and his hair was tousled, but he seemed in high spirits. Jack assumed the restoration was going well. “Takin’ my lunch break, boss. Bitty Pie Lunch is the best lunch.”

Jack scowled. “Try to eat something with a bit more protein,” he said sternly. “You’ll crash by three if you just eat sugar.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Z,” Nurse said, waving him off. “Be back in thirty.”

“I can’t believe you call him Mr. Z,” Dex scolded as they walked away. “He’s a Zimmermann, don’t you think you should be a little politer?”

Chowder was clearly, willfully ignoring the fight that was about to erupt. “Guys, I can’t believe we get free Bitty Pie! I don’t even get that and I work for him!”

Jack knew his face was flushing horribly as the boys left the shop, but he schooled his features as he put up the BACK AT 1 sign in the window and grabbed his lunch – and another cookbook – and all but ran to Weeds n’ Things.

“Two pies in a day? Jacques,” Shitty said as they ate their lunches among the perennials. “Go into that shop and talk to that man. You know how many pies he’s made me? One. To introduce himself. And he made me share it with the Taddies.” Shitty jerked his head at the couple of kids he’d hired after Ollie and Wicks left the nursery to open their own store. “He clearly wants to get to know you, which is not easy seeing as you’ve decided to be the token hermit of Samwell.”

Jack ducked his head, concentrating on his sandwich. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to get to know Bittle, but he knew stepping foot in Peachy Keen was out of the question. “I hate Ransom and Holster’s pub crawl nights, though.”

Shitty patted him on the back. “I know, bud. But Bits is, like, the most outgoing person I know. You’ll be able to talk with him as long as you try to leave your cave every once and awhile.”

“If you say so,” Jack mumbled into his PB&J. “Is he always so cheerful? He seems really...chipper.”

“Chipper?” Shitty snorted. “We’re in America, speak American, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t understand you, your accent is so foreign to my sensitive, Canadian ears.”

Shitty snorted again and elbowed Jack in the ribs. “See? When you hide away from the world, I’m the only one who gets to see how funny you are. And, to answer your questions, yes, Bits is the chipper-est person I’ve ever met. He’s, like, the opposite of you,” he added with a teasing grin. “He’s great, really, I think you guys’d really get on.”

Jack nodded, getting lost in memories of Bittle smiling and waving at him across the square as they went about their days. He seemed so bright, so sunny, that Jack always wondered what kind of glamours he used, or if the way he shone was all in Jack’s imagination.

“I’m gonna ask Chowder to drop off this book for him, after lunch,” he said eventually, patting the cookbook by his lunch sack. Shitty beamed at him, (probably) unaware of the spinach stuck to his mustache.

“You beautiful fucker,” Shitty sound through a mouthful of salad. “Wooing Bitty Bits with books. You guys are gonna get married and have twelve thousand sparkly nerd babies. I love it.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered with no real heat. “He likes cookbooks.”

“So cute,” Shitty said, batting his eyelashes. “Mushy cute. I’m gonna ralph.”

“So Lardo’s been hanging around a lot,” Jack said casually, taking a bite of sandwich. “That’s interesting.”

“She needs herbs for the apothecary,” Shitty said, a little too defensively. “Apparently it’s salve season.”

Jack grinned. “Sure, Shits.”

“Oh, shut up, you big book wooer,” Shitty grumbled. Jack laughed so loud that the Taddies all jumped, and the one named Tango tripped over a flower pot.

Jack returned to his shop that afternoon in higher spirits and with one less cookbook in his inventory.

Jack and Bitty traded pies and books for almost a week without actually speaking in person. Jack could never manage to catch Bitty outside of Peachy Keen, and the chimney crow was always making a ruckus in the back whenever Bitty dropped by the bookshop. Nurse thought it was all too amusing, and had started calling the bird Johnson, just because “it suits him, man.”

“It’s because Johnson is a euphemism for dick,” Lardo said when Jack told her. “‘Cause that bird sounds like a fucking dick.”

“Okay,” had been Jack’s only response, because, really, what was he supposed to say to that?

It was Friday evening when Jack was just locking up the store that he finally got his chance to speak with Bittle. As he headed down the steps to the sidewalk, a bright, cheerful voice called his name. “Jack!” Bittle jogged down the sidewalk, waving with one hand, carrying a pie in the other. “So glad I caught you! I was gonna stop by earlier but we were packed all day, then this disoriented crow flew smack dab into the window of the shop and I had to rush the poor critter to the Falconer’s Lodge – I know he’s not a falcon but I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to heal a bird! So George – have you met Georgia Martin? She’s delightful! – George managed to patch the silly old thing up in no time, and then the thing just flew off! So I had to run back to the shop – poor Chowder had to close up himself, I felt so bad – and grab this pie to thank you for the last book you sent! I’ve really been so interested in incorporating more herbs in my baking, they have such wonderful properties that come out in cooking, but I’ve never had time to study them! Anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m just so glad I caught you – and in person this time! I hope you like key lime and cheer.”

Bittle all but shoved the pie into Jack’s hands, and he took it hesitantly, careful not to touch the crust, just in case. Brow furrowing, Bittle seemed to notice Jack’s caution.

“Do you not like key lime?” He asked, wringing his hands together. “Oh, goodness, you don’t, I should’ve gone with pecan, I just couldn’t decide-”

“Bittle,” Jack said softly, cutting him off. “I...I really appreciate all the pies, but. But, I can’t eat them.”

“Why?” Bittle asked, tilting his head. “Are you on some sort of diet? Are you gluten free?” He gasped. “I should've asked if you had celiac or were lactose intolerant or-”

“It’s the pixie dust,” Jack said, feeling his cheeks burn against his will. “I’m allergic.”

Bittle’s eyes widened. “You’re...allergic to pixie dust?”

“Yes.”

“But your dad is Bad Bob-”

“I’m aware.”

“Wow.” Bittle carefully took the pie out of Jack’s hands, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Gosh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you could eat these- oh! Please tell me they haven’t affected you!”

Jack knew his face was probably bright red, but he soldiered on. “I, uh. Did have to go to urgent care after the first one. It was delicious,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “But, uh…”

“Oh, my Lord!” Bitty shrieked, dropping the pie to cover his mouth. “Oh, Jack, oh, gosh- Let me pay your medical bills- I can help out at your shop, too, I’m real handy with cleaning without any pixie dust, I promise-”

“Bittle,” Jack interrupted, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. I have insurance, the urgent care bill isn’t going to force me into debt, I promise. It’s not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last.”

Jack was stunned to see tear – actual tears – in Bittle’s eyes. “Jack, I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s okay-” Bitte scoffed, wiping at his eyes. “No, seriously, I’m not deathly allergic, I promise. And do you know how hard it is to navigate life in America when you’re allergic to pixie dust? I had so many incidents growing up my mother seriously considered putting me in a bubble.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Bitty insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just wanted to talk to you so bad, but you seemed so cool and standoffish-”

Jack snorted, against his better judgement. “You are the only person who thinks I’m cool.”

“Please let me make it up to you,” Bitty pleaded. “I’ll clean your shop, wash your car, anything-”

“You wanna get dinner?” Jack asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I know a great, little Thai place. No pixie dust,” he joked, nudging Bitty’s arm with his elbow.

Bittle sniffed, but gave Jack a small smile. “Okay, but it’s my treat.”

“Sure, Bittle,” Jack said. “This time.”

Bittle pursed his lips but took Jack’s proffered arm, leaning in to Jack’s space to chat as they wandered down the street. Behind them, a suspiciously intelligent, happily meddlesome crow pecked at the remains of the pie that were splattered across the sidewalk.  

Monday morning, Jack arrived at his shop to find another pie sitting on the stoop. The note on top was robin’s egg blue and read: Sterilized my kitchen. Bought all new utensils. There is not a speck of pixie dust in this pie. I hope you enjoy blackberry, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack smiled to himself and picked up the pie, breathing in its scent.  Even without pixie dust, everything about it smelled magical.

Careful not to drop it, Jack unlocked the door with his free hand and shouldered his way into the store. He went straight back to his small, personal office and stowed the pie inside. This was one treat he would not be sharing.

[glass-ladybug]

all the exposition of the vamp au

Sophomore year /sucked/. Everyone was on Mae to 'make plans', 'grow up', and 'turn in her assignments on time'. Whatever. That was utter bullcrap. School didn't hold any interest for her anymore, and she couldn't really remember a time when it had. Well, first-grade was pretty nice. Macaroni art pictures and all that. Everyone being friends, and that one kid who ate a leaf and got sick. Ahh, yeah. Good memories. Mae pondered on the thought for a moment. Maybe school would be better with more friends? Well she had Lori M., ((is ., right?))of course. And Selmers! Always Selmers. But, Lori was eleven-turning twelve in February, as she liked to remind Mae- and all Mae did with Selmers was write awful ((CHANGE MAYBE?)) poems. Yeah, they hung out, but they weren't really... BFF's or anything. Who /cared/ if she put in effort, anyway? She didn't. Yeah, her mom and dad wanted her to go to college, but for what? What was the point? There wasn't anything she wanted to do. No job that called out to her, no big dream to live up to. Just Possum Springs. Mae shoved her beat up text books into her locker, leaving it open behind her as she walked away. Thinking was a chore. School was a chore. Anything other than eating and sleeping was a /chore/. She hefted her bag onto her hip, dragging her feet behind her. Science class was up next. Well, Mr. Chazokov had taken to calling her his 'best worst student', so, even though she hated the class, she had /that/ accomplishment to dwell on. Absently clutching her bag, Mae flung open the door to come face to face with a girl. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a rather frightening expression. Mae looked at her, tilting her head slightly as she studied the girl's face. What was her name? Bella? Brooke? Breanna? Something to that extent. The girl scowled at her impatiently, as if expecting something. Ah! Wait! /Bea/. The girl spoke through gritted teeth. "Are you gonna get out of the way or not?" "Huh? I-, wait, uh-" Mae's muddled brain foggily rose to attention as it attempted to comprehend the words, only dimly processing the situation. Bea pushed past her roughly, her shoulder jabbing Mae in the arm as she disappeared down the hallway at a brisk pace. Mae, still unable to focus on the world around her, took a hesitant step into the classroom, nearly sinking into her chair as she tossed her backpack to the floor. Mr. Chazokov ran a hand through his rapidly graying hair, before giving an audible sigh. He spoke calmly, but the underlying tension was obvious to everyone but Mae. "Beatrice has just received some.... unfortunate news. She likely has no ill will towards you, Miss Borowski, so I hope you do not hold a grudge." Mae nodded vaguely, indifferent to the world around her. Everything was gray. Gray, gray, gray, like the color of the sky on a rainy day, the flash of steel on a knife, and the bitter look in Beatrice's eyes. She didn't like the gray. Mr. Chazokov rattled on, using a marker to illustrate the topic, and point at the important parts. Mae found herself focusing on his lips as she tried to decipher the slew of words he was spewing. All the sound in the room faded to a dull pulse, beating loudly in her head. It pounded on, and Mae's eyes began to slip out of focus as all the objects around her took the form of shattered glass, fragments of what were once people, or chairs, or desks becoming itty bitty particles. Everything around her was inhuman, and terrifying. A heap of broken parts. Mae was alone. Alone with the shapes. The smashing in her head increased in volume, and it took all of her draining willpower to not scream. How did the masses of shapes not react? Why weren't they in pain like she was? Wait. A /new/ noise had joined in. Mae lifted her head from her hands slowly, her knuckles turning white from the stress, bursts of agonizing pain exploding in her head. The noise was gibberish, but felt oddly familiar. Every sound was muffled, as if she'd been shoved underwater and held down. Mae's body crumpled under the assault of noise and shapes. /Mae/. The sound whispered. /Mae./ She didn't respond. She didn't have the energy to. /Mae./ The voice increased in volume, and bits and pieces of the shapes flung together, almost forming a tangible object. "Mae!" The voice yelled, and Mae blinked widely to see the concerned face of.... Selmers? The racket had dulled to a faint pulsing, like that of a heartbeat. Selmers put a hand on Mae's shoulder, clearly uncomfortable. "Alright, uhh, shit. Do you know what happened?" Mae gave a blank stare in response. Selmers shifted slightly, her heavy lidded eyes filled with concern as she stared at her friend. Mae felt limp, and drained. "Okay, apparently not. Think you can stand?" Mae cocked her head to the right, fumbling to find the words that sat dully on her tongue. "You... You're not in this class?" At least Mae didn't think she was. She couldn't really remember right now. Selmers sighed, breathing though her nose. "No, sweetie, I'm not. C'mon, stand up." Her voice was strained, and overly patient. Mae wondered if she'd done something wrong. Selmers lifted her by the arm, holding the dazed girl to her side. Mr. Chazokov held up a hand. "Girls, wai-" Selmers quirked an eyebrow slightly. "She needs help. We'll be back. Or we might not be. I'll let you know." Obviously not wanting to fight out the situation with the bulky, stubborn girl, Mr. Chazokov relented, waving them out the door. "Get well soon?" A kid in the back feebly offered, his voice wavering with confusion. --------- "So." Selmers said, her legs kicked up on the plush chair Mae was lying in. "Did I scream?" Mae asked, scooting forward. "Yeah, a little bit. I only came in at the end, so I dunno." "Oh. Cool. Why were you in there?" "Turning stuff in." "Oh." Mae leaned back, sinking into the plump cushions. "How's your head?" "Eh. Could be worse." Mae glanced around the nurse's office, the vibrating in her head a constant force. The room smelled distinctly of disinfectant and lemon pledge, the lights far too bright against the chipped white walls. It consisted of a refrigerator with a few ice packs, the torn and frayed leather chair Mae was sitting in, and garish 'Get-Well-Soon' posters lining the walls. Budget-cuts. Possum Springs didn't have a whole lot of money, but hey, at least the football team had /brand-new uniforms/! Mae wanted to kick the ass of every council member. "Then again," Mae said, "it could definitely be better." "Would a poem help?" "I dunno, man. Sure." Selmers cleared her throat, and began to recite from her notebook. ((IDK throw a poem here when u think of one. sunrise vs sunset or smth)) "Niiiice." Stretching, Selmers lifted herself up. "You should go home." The buzzing noise decreased in volume, and Mae closed her eyes. "Yeah. Probably." Selmers wavered, walking out the door hesitantly. "I'll see you tomorrow." Mae shut her eyes a little more forcefully. "See ya, Selma." And with that, Mae was left alone in the decrepit, sorry excuse for a room. ---------- "Mom, really. I'm /fine/." Mae groaned, tossing her bag to the side. Mae's mother looked harrowed, pursing her lips. "Sweetie, I know high school is difficult to get used to-" Mae shot her an irritated glance. "I was just feeling sick. It's, like, a 24-hour bug or something. I'm all better now, see?" She stood up a little straighter, plastering on a false smile in order to placate her mother's fears. Being back home had lessened the potency of the noise- after a few hours, it was nearly unnoticeable, yet she was still a bit shaken. The attacks had occurred before, but this was the most severe of them all. Whoever had chosen to call them 'attacks' should be given a medal. That's exactly what they were: attacks. A war inside her head, where her both parts were violently beating each other. Some days it was hard to tell who was winning. That still didn't mean she wanted to be stuck inside, though. "I'm gonna go hang at the library. Get some stuff done." She wasn't. Mae had the full intention of sitting up on some poor sap's roof, and flinging stones at passing cars and bikes. Fighting a losing battle, Mrs. Borowski set a plate down at the table. "Alright, hon. I'll drop you off. It's too cold to walk." "Mom, you don't-" Mae's mother leveled a stare at her daughter, before grabbing her car keys off the table. Sighing audibly, Mae obliged to follow. She could just walk somewhere, anyways. ---- Possum Springs' weather was cool, and crisp. Late November was filled with crisp leaves, the prickling of cold wind, and the foreboding knowledge that there would soon be frost on the ground. The Historical Society building loomed over the boxy little houses of the town, built with crumbling brick and mortar, weathered with age. Its roof had become a nesting place for crows, and its three floors held shelves upon shelves of dusty books. Mae trudged up the stairs, grunting as she yanked open the bulky wooden doors that led into the library. The inside of the library felt as if it was under a spell. The entire room was swathed in a deep blue light, columns and walls painted with constellations and stars, giving the area an ethereal feeling, like a dream. A plump man sat at the counter, fiddling with a stack of library cards. "Anything I can help you with?" "Just looking." Mae's eyes drifted over the selections of books, wondering why she'd come in anyway. Suddenly, the heavy oaken doors flew open forcefully, and a gust of wind fluttered the papers on the secretary's desk. A tiny figure, scrawny and small burst through the entranceway. The man gave out a rather forceful glare. Lori M. gasped, shocked, and guiltily sprinted to Mae's side, making her footfalls as light as possible to avoid further attention. "Hi -huff**huff*-Mae!" She whispered, exuding excitement. The eleven year old's mousy brown hair bounced in a fluffy flurry around her, and she tucked the dull strands behind her ear. The kid was bundled up, wrapped in a downy maroon sweatshirt and scarf. "Hey. Outta class already?" Lori looked at Mae quizzically, tilting her head. "It's 4 pm, Mae." "Ah. Right. So, what are you here for?" "Need a book for school. Also, your mom said you were here!" She beamed widely. "Cool, cool. What are you gonna get?" Lori's eyes illuminated happily, and she latched on to Mae's arm. "You already know." Lori was right. Mae probably did know. The kid was an aspiring horror movie director, and could pull off an excellent blood-curdling shriek, as she had demonstrated many times before. Odds were she was picking out a book on fake blood, or something. Lori pulled the older girl down a series of twists and turns, maneuvering her way between shelves as she came to a stop in front of a dilapidated array of books, each worn and musty to a varying degree. Lori knelt down, patting the spot next to her on the carpet. "These are my favorites. The Witch Trials of Salem, the History of Horror, Dracula..." "Are these, like, the Harfest reject books?" "Oh, /ha-ha ./ They're classic literature!" "Whatever, kid." Lori affectionately traced a finger over one's cover, musing through her selection. "Why don't you get something?" "I'm not that big of a reader." Lori looked aghast. "But it's /horror/! How can you /not/ want to read books abut gore and dead people?" "...Good point." Mae sat down next to her friend, scanning the variety of aging books, most of them in poor condition. It didn't look they'd be cleaned or taken care of in several years. They must not have gotten checked out very often. Lori seemed happy with her selection, entitled: 'Frankenstein: Man, not Monster'. Mae ran her hands across the books, before, suddenly, her fingers met empty space. Where another book should've been, there was a thin, tight gap between the last book and the woodwork. "There's something.... missing." Lori frowned, not looking up from her book. "Well, it's a library. People are allowed to check things out." Mae nodded uncertainly, pushing her fingers gently into the dark space. "Yeah, I guess." In the tiny, cramped gap between the books and the wall, Mae's fingers brushed against something. Between the slats of wood, there was a hollow only slightly bigger than her hand, as if someone had just scooped out the wood, leaving an indent several inches deep. Shoving the books beside her against the opposite wall, she wedged her hand in further, searching for whatever it was the space held. Her fingertips met a flat surface, cracked, and papery. Mae groped around in an attempt to pull it out. It didn't budge. "Lori," She said tenatively, "help me get this out of here." Hesitantly, the girl pulled her eyes away from the printed pages. "Get what-" Mae grabbed a few books, tossing them to Lori. "Here." She continued to yank away stacks without care, and Lori nervously fought to organize them. "Uhhh, Mae, *huff**huff, can we really-" "Got it!" Mae murmured happily, dislodging the object from the books and wood, pulling it onto her lap. "It's a book..." Lori sighed wearily. "A /hidden/ book!" Mae protested. Inside, she felt a little disappointed. The stout, withered old book was unassuming, its cover bound in old, hardened leather, and any type that may have once embellished it had long worn away. She flipped it over. "There's no barcode. Do you think I can check it out?" Lori shifted from side to side. "Uhh. Maybe?" Mae had a feeling that whoever had stuffed the book back there probably didn't want it found, though why they hadn't hidden it better was beyond her. She figured that if taken to the front desk, she'd never see the it again. So she tucked the book under her jacket, nestling it against her side. "Sorry for ruining your shelf." "Oh. Uh. It's okay?" Lori said, tenderly sliding the books back into position. "See ya tomorrow." Mae said guiltily. "See ya!" Lori smiled. Mae stood up, making sure to clamp the little book to her side as she surreptitiously walked out of the building, and into the cold afternoon. --------------

[glass-ladybug]

vampire story or whatever

Freshman year /sucked/. Everyone was on Mae to 'make plans', 'grow up', and 'turn in her assignments on time'. Whatever. That was utter bullcrap. School didn't hold any interest for her anymore, and she couldn't really remember a time when it had. Well, first-grade was pretty nice. Macaroni art pictures and all that. Everyone being friends, and that one kid who ate a leaf and got sick. Ahh, yeah. Good memories. Mae pondered on the thought for a moment. Maybe school would be better with more friends? Well she had Lori M., ((is ., right?))of course. And Selmers! Always Selmers. But, Lori was twelve-turning thirteen in February, as she liked to remind Mae- and all Mae did with Selmers was write shitty poems. Yeah, they hung out, but they weren't really... BFF's or anything. Who /cared/ if she put in effort, anyway? She didn't. Yeah, her mom and dad wanted her to go to college, but for what? What was the point? There wasn't anything she wanted to do. No job that called out to her, no big dream to live up to. Just Possum Springs. Mae shoved her beat up text books into her locker, leaving it open behind her as she walked away. Thinking was a chore. School was a chore. Anything other than eating and sleeping was a /chore/. She hefted her bag onto her hip, dragging her feet behind her. Science class was up next. Well, Mr. Chazokov had taken to calling her his 'best worst student', so, even though she hated the class, she had /that/ accomplishment to dwell on. Absently clutching her bag, Mae flung open the door to come face to face with a girl. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a rather frightening expression. Mae looked at her, tilting her head slightly as she studied the girl's face. What was her name? Bella? Brooke? Breanna? Something to that extent. The girl scowled at her impatiently, as if expecting something. Ah! Wait! /Bea/. The girl spoke through gritted teeth. "Are you gonna get out of the /goddamn way/ or not?" "Huh? I-, wait, uh-" Mae's muddled brain foggily rose to attention as it attempted to comprehend the words, only dimly processing the situation. Bea pushed past her roughly, her shoulder jabbing Mae in the arm as she disappeared down the hallway at a brisk pace. Mae, still unable to focus on the world around her, took a hesitant step into the classroom, nearly sinking into her chair as she tossed her backpack to the floor. Mr. Chazokov ran a hand through his rapidly graying hair, before giving an audible sigh. He spoke calmly, but the underlying tension was obvious to everyone but Mae. "Beatrice has just received some.... unfortunate news. She likely has no ill will towards you, Miss Borowski, so I hope you do not hold a grudge." Mae nodded vaguely, indifferent to the world around her. Everything was gray. Gray, gray, gray, like the color of the sky on a rainy day, the flash of steel on a knife, and the bitter look in Beatrice's eyes. She didn't like the gray. Mr. Chazokov rattled on, using a marker to illustrate the topic, and point at the important parts. Mae found herself focusing on his lips as she tried to decipher the slew of words he was spewing. All the sound in the room faded to a dull pulse, beating loudly in her head. It pounded on, and Mae's eyes began to slip out of focus as all the objects around her took the form of shattered glass, fragments of what were once people, or chairs, or desks becoming itty bitty particles. Everything around her was inhuman, and terrifying. A mass of was alone. Alone with the shapes. The smashing in her head increased in volume, and it took all of her draining willpower to not scream. How did the masses of shapes not react? Why weren't they in pain like she was? Wait. A /new/ noise had joined the hellish symphony. Mae lifted her head from her hands slowly, her knuckles turning white from the stress, bursts of agonizing pain exploding in her head. The noise was gibberish, but felt oddly familiar. Every sound was muffled, as if she'd been shoved underwater and held down. Mae's body crumpled, as if she'd been rammed through a drier and spun around. /Mae/. The sound whispered. /Mae./ She didn't respond. She didn't have the energy to. /Mae./ The voice increased in volume, and bits and pieces of the shapes flung together, almost forming a tangible object. "Mae!" The voice yelled, and Mae blinked widely to see the concerned face of.... Selmers? The racket had dulled to a faint pulsing, like that of a heartbeat. Selmers put a hand on Mae's shoulder, clearly uncomfortable. "Alright, uhh, shit. Do you know what happened?" Mae gave a blank stare in response. Selmers shifted slightly, her heavy lidded eyes filled with concern as she stared at her friend. Mae felt limp, and drained. "Okay, apparently not. Think you can stand?" Mae cocked her head to the right, fumbling to find the words that sat dully on her tongue. "You... You're not in this class?" At least Mae didn't think she was. She couldn't really remember right now. Selmers sighed, breathing though her nose. "No, sweetie, I'm not. C'mon, stand up." Her voice was strained, and overly patient. Mae wondered if she'd done something wrong. Selmers lifted her by the arm, holding the dazed girl to her side. Mr. Chazokov held up a hand. "Girls, wai-" Selmers quirked an eyebrow slightly. "She needs help. We'll be back. Or we might not be. I'll let you know." Obviously not wanting to fight out the situation with the bulky, stubborn girl, Mr. Chazokov relented, waving them out the door. "Get well soon?" A kid in the back feebly offered, his voice wavering with confusion. --------- "So." Selmers said, her legs kicked up on the plush chair Mae was lying in. "Did I scream?" Mae asked, scooting forward. "Yeah, a little bit. I only came in at the end, so I dunno." "Oh. Cool. Why were you in there?" "Turning stuff in." "Oh." Mae leaned back, sinking into the plump cushions. "How's your head?" "Eh. Could be worse." Mae glanced around the nurse's office, the vibrating in her head a constant force. The room smelled distinctly of disinfectant and lemon pledge, the lights far too bright against the chipped white walls. It consisted of a refrigerator with a few ice packs, the torn and frayed leather chair Mae was sitting in, and garish 'Get-Well-Soon' posters lining the walls. Budget-cuts. Possum Springs didn't have a whole lot of money, but hey, at least the football team had /brand-new uniforms/! Mae wanted to kick the ass of every council member. "Then again," Mae said, "it could definitely be better." "Would a poem help?" "Shit, man. Sure." Selmers cleared her throat, and began to recite from her notebook. ((IDK throw a poem here when u think of one. sunrise vs sunset or smth)) "Niiiice." Stretching, Selmers lifted herself up. "You should go home." The buzzing noise decreased in volume, and Mae closed her eyes. "Yeah. Probably." Selmers wavered, walking out the door hesitantly. "I'll see you tomorrow." Mae shut her eyes a little more forcefully. "See ya, Selma." And with that, Mae was left alone in the decrepit, sorry excuse for a room. ---------- "Mom, really. I'm /fine/." Mae groaned, tossing her bag to the side. Mae's mother looked harrowed, pursing her lips. "Sweetie, I know high school is difficult to get used to-" Mae shot her a warning glance. "I was just feeling sick. It's, like, a 24-hour bug or something. I'm all better now, see?" She stood up a little straighter in order to placate her mother's fears. Being back home had lessened the potency of the noise- it was nearly unnoticeable now, yet she was still a bit shaken. The attacks had occurred before, but this was the most severe of them all. Whoever had chosen to call them 'attacks' should be given a medal. That's exactly what they were: attacks. A war inside her head, where both sides were violently beating each other. Some days it was hard to tell who was winning. That still didn't mean she wanted to be stuck inside, though. "I'm gonna go hang at the library. Get some stuff done." She wasn't. Mae had the full intention of sitting up on some poor sap's roof, and flinging stones at passing cars and bikes.