#something about Daphne is so wrong I want to put her in a jar and study her <3

[emsartwork]

ALL OF DAPHNE'S TRANSFORMATIONS. INCLUDING UPDATED NYMPHIX.

Previously Fairy of the Dragon Flame now Fairy of Embers. She doesn't have any transformations others than these because she was fast tracked into the nymphix path, and unlike the winx the majority of fairies don't pursue additional transformations past enchantix. (i think Daphne would be interested in Dreamix tho, so maybe I'll draw that eventually.

Her major color shifted after dying and being revived, which is shown in her winx and enchantix.

other lore and design notes below!

I changed her major color from orange/yellow to more of a teal/green because. she just doesn't look good in yellow I'm sorry I really tried but it wasn't working. Also little updates to her hair color, nothing huge tho. Daphne's primary motifs are a branching "Y" shape and a double oval/tear drop. She's a pants when possible girlie and a one set winger(yes her nymphix looks like it have multiple wings but they all merge into one stem on each side) . Her scars from her Sirenix being ripped out of her caused her winx/enchantix to change a little to cover them(mostly seen in the arms) due to insecurity. Her Dryadix/nymphix flower is a daffodil! because pun Daph-Daff, and Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (also creativity, energy, resilience, forgiveness and vitality). Her Harpix wings aren't super specificly patterned, but she has darting wings common in small song and seed birds (robins, finches, brown birds etc.) the coloring is referential of a Shrike (also called a Butcher Bird), because Daphne was. incredibly dangerous and if she had sided with the ancestral probably would have been given a moniker similar to Butcher of Domino or Daphne the Slaughterer. (some people do call her these but its mostly among people who dislike Domino/The Royal Family.)

Lore! Daphne doesn't have a great sense of self, she was planned as a necessary successor to Marion/the dragon flame in a period as the ancestral witches were escalating their attacks and search for the dragon flame. Bloom was a back up baby in case both Daphne and Marion got dead and basically worked as intended haha. Daphne was also much more publicly involved in the kingdom than many of the other royals in winx (Stella, Aisha, Krystal and even Galatea to an extent all had rather sheltered upbringings) in a way Daphne is much more like Sky and Thoren in the since that none of them really had the space to develop their own personality outside of their familial duty.

Daphne's 1st winx and enchantixes are as direct a copy of her mom's Enchantix as you can get with transformations, right down to the more greenish tint of her major color. Growing up Marion used her fairy form liberally, so that, combined with being the next Dragon Flame holder left a deep impact on Daphne's subconscious. Daphne was also heavily influenced by Faragonda during her Alfea and Nymphix Quest years, but since she was older this isn't as deep an influence. After being revived, Daphne's years of defining herself as her connection to Bloom causes her major color to shift more blue in response to her trauma. Daphne is slowly starting to develop a sense of self outside of her titles/connections but it's unlikely her major color will shift again unless she has another major trauma.

(for the record the Winx do have trauma over the timeline I have laid out that would potentially cause their major colors to shift but I didn't do that for a couple reasons 1, their colors are iconic and make them easily recognizable as characters; 2, I'm a tired bitch. )

[henqtic]

Hi, I love your writing so much! :) Could I request a dracoxreader where the reader is having a really bad day and he ends up comforting & cuddling her until she stops crying and eventually falls asleep in his arms. He just admires her while she's sleeping and is really sweet to her when she wakes up

𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

word count: 1.0k (1064)

authors note: thank you so much,, I’m glad you like my writing !! also sorry for this thing so long, i actually started it around when you sent it but then my brain just shut down and i couldn’t really figure out how exactly i wanted to write everything but here it is— with the end sort of changed up :)

masterlist. // taglist form. // request works. // picture creds.

—————————

you were having a horrible day and there was no other way to describe it. really, you searched, high and low for a way to see it in a brighter light but you just couldn’t. from start to middle and to now, what you would call the end, there was no positive connotation for how you felt.

first, you’d woken up late from none of your dorm mates taking the time to get you up. they left some note on the dresser saying that they tried but every time you’d raise your head, you’d just bury yourself amongst the blankets again. and that shouldn’t have been a big deal nor should it have made a huge dent in your day, but once you checked the clock which the paper was stuck to, you cringed at the fact that you had missed the entirety of breakfast.

so then you were late to transfigurations for the fourth time that week, earning a very passive aggressive lecture from professor mcgonagall on why it was imperative to be on time and not to be off ‘dilly dallying’ when you were supposed to be learning.

and that would've also been okay because you completely understood where her frustration was coming from, even though the idea of why you’d been late in the first place was totally off and completely wrong—

you were just a heavy sleeper who needed to set more alarms that would wake you up rather than everyone else except you.

but no, it wasn’t that simple, she had to do it in front of the whole class, one filled with some of the most obnoxious gryffindors who you’d ever met. some threw disgusted looks while others went as far as whistling and howling because malfoy’s girlfriend showed up looking like she’d just rolled out of his bed.

—

everything had gone well— until your third lesson when you accidentally knocked over a jar of a very hard to obtain ingredient on your way out to lunch. and snape was quick to blame it on you, not the fact that if it was so hard to harvest, maybe the best place to store it wasn’t in glass on the edge of a table.

nevertheless, he made you stay back to clean the mess by hand when the same job with magic with less time wasted— by the time you did get there, nearly all of the good foods were gone and so was your boyfriend who you were ready to vent to about the whole thing.

“he had to go to the library to tutor that first year, he made me save you this piece of cake though,” daphne explained, handing you a piece of lemon cake wrapped up in a brown napkin, your favorite.

“thanks daph,” you smiled, feeling that your day was improving and that you could save your little rant for the end of the day.

“no problem.”

—

but it didn’t. no, your day didn’t improve in the slightest. because now your stomach was tightening, glancing down at the big red T staining the charms exam that you'd spent a bunch of time studying for.

it was staring right back at you, like a taunt that all of your hard work had gone to waste, and professor flitwick's look of disappointment didn’t help at all.

so you knew by the time you’d got out of the illuminated room and to the gloomy dungeons you were crying, taking advantage of the dark lighting as your shoes pattered against the stone floor.

and once you made it to the entrance of the slytherin common room, muttering the three syllable password that draco had given you earlier that week and walking up the long staircase, you made sure you looked presentable. not a tear in sight like you’d had the best day in the world. but still, for safe measure, your eyes were wiped once more before knocking on the door.

“come in!” you heard a comforting voice call out from the other side of the wooden door.

you slowly turned the knob and walked in, putting your bag down and untying the fabric around your neck without making a single piece of eye contact with him in hope that he wouldn’t notice your current state.

“oh love it’s just you, you know you don’t have to knock,” he said before not fully relaxing into the bed, concerned at how long it was taking you to undo a tie.

“are you alright?”

“course i am,” you lied, turning around and mustering up the best smile you could still causing him to look at you skeptically.

“that’s good, how was your day then?” he asked, trying to go at the situation in the best way, not expecting your face to fall at the question.

he was being genuine and it was something you should've expected since he asked it every time you’d go through this routine but no, no, no, he should've asked something different because it’s just what pushed you over the edge. 

your lip quivered as that gut wrenching feeling that you hadn't felt in a long time came, a pit forming in your stomach until it traveled up to your throat and there was no way to swallow it back down. your eyes started to water as you shook your head, trying to tell him no without talking because you knew if you did, it wouldn't end up well for you. and he already knew that because immediately after he saw the signs, he enveloped you in his arms.

you weren’t a person who cried often, not even that time you fell off your quidditch broom, you refused to do it because it ‘hadn't hurt that bad’ and it would seriously concern him sometimes, on why you were so intent on not doing it. but he hadn’t asked any questions knowing how you’d like to be treated in these times, you didn't want to be bombarded with solutions or asks or told that you would get and feel better, but just to be held until it passed.

so that’s what he did, let you cry it out until his shirt was wet with salty tears, knowing that when you did wake up, he'd figure out the mess on his own and make you feel better over whatever happened throughout the oh so terrible day.

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[kuroosweakness]

more single dad!kuroo | sumi and her stuffed animals + special bath + talks about her lost tooth + school troubles + dinner 

“what’s tim doing here?” 

the green sea turtle plush lays on his back, having stared at the ceiling for the past hour. 5-year-old sumi comes running through her dad’s room’s door with her hair flopping against her back with every step. 

“tim’s gonna stay with you today,” she informs kuroo and makes grabby hands at the turtle. naturally, kuroo plucks the plush off the mattress and places him in her hands. 

“oh? why with me?” an amused smile creeps onto his face. it’s always her and her stuffed animals. but oh, he can’t deny he doesn’t hearing all of the drama between her stuffed animals. apparently, the imagination of a 5-year-old is endless. 

sumi takes a good long look at tim and his green flippers. she scrunched up her face and makes a pouty face. “tim’s tired of the other mean animals and wants to gonna stay with you today,” she tells him, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “you’re not gonna be mean to him?” 

“course not,” kuroo huffs. he sits down on the carpet floor and sumi follows. “tim and i are great friends, right tim?” 

not to his surprise, tim doesn’t reply. sumi nods and places the turtle on her dad’s lap. “okay. tim’s staying with you today.” 

“mmm...” kuroo arches an eyebrow at her as she suddenly pulls out her dolphin plushie ...from under the bed? “daphne’s gonna stay with me too? wow, am i popular,” he teases. 

daphne, the blue dolphin, joins tim on kuroo’s lap. “she’s gonna stay with you too because the other animals are being mean.” 

“i see,” kuroo slowly nods and rests his chin on the palm of his hand. “who’s being mean to them? and why?” 

“the dinos! because they’re-” she points at the plushie on her dad’s lap. “-ocean animals so the others don’t like them.” 

“c’mere,” kuroo waves at her to come closer and she does. she plops herself right on her dad’s lap. her mischievous smile proves that she’s aware of squishing tim and daphne. “we’re gonna haveta wash your hair today,” he tells her while combing her hair with his fingers. 

“ooh, special bubbles?” 

he laughs. “no, not with special bubbles. gotta save water, baby....for sea turtles and dolphins like tim and daphne.” 

after bunching her hair into a small ponytail, kuroo sits back and lets her do a 360. “all done~” 

before she bounces out of his room, he calls out, “sumi, wait-” 

sumi turns around and looks at her dad questioningly. 

“you can’t-” kuroo gets up and brushes his pants, picking up tim and daphne from the floor right after. “-just let the dinos be mean to tim and daphne.” 

“i’m not,” she says. “i’m gonna teach them a good lesson right now.” 

before kuroo can say something, her eyes darken like the way they always do when she’s about to tell her dad something interesting. 

“do you know what they said to daphne once?” 

kuroo places the plushies on his bed and walks over to her. “what did they say?” 

sumi looks down at the floor and follows her dad out the door and to the kitchen. “they made fun of her because her smile” 

kuroo nods along, opens the top fridge door, and bends down to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “what happened afterwards?” 

sumi’s shoulders slump and her chest grows heavy. “she cried and they laughed. it-” she picks at her lips. “ because she lost her tooth and now her smile look funny” 

a small thud distracts her from her train of thought. kuroo says a small “oops” and picks up the jar lid that fell on the floor. he places the lid back on the counter and croutches down at sumi’s eye level. 

his eyebrows draw together; his eyes scans over her face for any signs he may recognize. “now, now” he rubs his palms against her shoulders soothingly. “they have no business making fun of daphne for something as natural as losing a tooth.” 

he knows his words aren’t much help, but he truly doesn’t know what else can make her feel better. kuroo’s glad she can’t tell how much her crying hurts him too. 

“besides, her smile does not look funny. i think she looks beautiful, and my opinion matters, doesn’t it? since has daddy been wrong?” he gives her a small smile in hopes that it’s a contagious one. 

she stifles a laugh and roughly wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “you got milk chocolate and dark chocolate mixed up!” 

he smiles and rolls his eyes. “well excuse me. they look like the same-” 

“nuh uh!...” she giggles. “at least you didn’t get white chocolate mixed up!” 

“it’ll be troubling if i did,” he laughs. his face softens at her. after a few more shoulders rubs, he asks, “is daphne feeling better about her smile now...?” 

she sniffles, inhales, and breaks into a sob. kuroo’s eyes widen as she presses her head against his chest. and suddenly, his grey shirt is her next tissue. 

“but no one else lost tooth” she chokes. it doesn’t take long for her teary eyes to release teardrop after teardrop. she hates this, hates being weak, hates how she looks with big, red, and puffy eyes. but at least she’s crying in front of her dad and not those boys at school...daddy wouldn’t laugh at her, ever. “it’s only me with big hole in smile” 

she pulls back and shows him the gap between her front tooth as if her dad doesn’t already know. “sumi-” 

“it looks dumb.” she frowns and tightens her hug around kuroo’s neck. “so so so dumb” 

kuroo continues rubbing and patting her back like the way he used to when she was younger, and couldn’t sleep at set times. “you know,” kuroo gently begins. “those mean people will lose their teeth later and they’ll have gaps in between their teeth too. plus, the tooth fairy wouldn’t give them money because she never awards mean people.” 

sumi sniffles and presses her eyes against her dad’s shirt to soak up leftover tears. 

“so not only did they lose a tooth, but they also don’t get money and have no right to be making fun of you.” kuroo slowly pulls back and examines his daughter’s tear-stained, red, scrunched up face. “after a quick face wash, you’ll be as good as new” 

sumi doesn’t reply and climbs on her dad’s back for a piggy back ride to the bathroom. 

he lifts her up and tightens his hold on her small thighs. as he starts walking, he sees her feet dangling by his side and wonders, where did her other sock go? he sighs and shakes his head with a tired smile, not another missing sock...

“sumi, i’m sure i’ve already told you this, but another tooth will grow back. an even stronger, better tooth!” 

the bathroom lights flick open and kuroo steps onto the tiled floors, setting his daughter on the counter and holding onto her thighs to prevent her falling off. 

he catches his reflection in the mirror and stifles a laugh. the neck area of his shirt is soaked with tears and snot. 

“daddy?” 

he looks up at her and her bunched up fists. “hm?” 

“can i take a special bubbles bath?” she points at the bathtub and puts on her best set of puppy eyes. naturally, kuroo’s weak heart makes him nod ‘yes’ before he can process what she asked. 

“really? yay~” she inches closer to the edge of the counter and- 

“woah woah woah,” he sets her down and lets her climb into the tub. sumi sets her clothes aside and sits patiently in the tub, waiting for her dad to turn the water on. 

“the water’s cold at first, remember?” he teasingly pinches her cheek, thankful that she mind is no longer on her fallen tooth. maybe he should have a talk with her kindergarten teacher-

“dad?” 

he looks up and wonders where the -dy went. 

“the water’s warm enough now!” she gives the water a few kicks and cups and handful before throwing it up and laughing. sumi treads across the water and grabs the colorful bath bomb she picked out at the store a while ago. 

kuroo turns the water off and she eagerly throws the bath bomb in. “...why’s it not melting? :((” 

with a quick look at the floating ball, kuroo chuckles and picks it right out the water. “there’s plastic wrapping around it, baby.” 

sumi’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ and watches her dad peal the wrapping away. “throw it in!” she tells him. 

he does just as she says and the two watches small bubbles form around the blue-turning water. 

“it’s blue...it’s red...it’s purple!” she cheers and throws her arms above her head. kuroo smiles in acknowledgment at the fact that she knows her colors well. 

~~~

“daddy?” 

there goes the -dy. thank goodness it’s back. “yes, baby?” 

she pokes at his arm that’s drying her off with a towel. “can i get more plushie?” 

“no more dinos though...” 

“course not! i want-” she taps her lips in thought and squeals when her dad’s cold hands comes in contact with her warm skin. “-i want more sea plushie” 

“how about a shark? sharks constantly lose and grow more teeth” 

“but sharks are mean” 

kuroo slips her shirt over her head. “not all of them,” he says. “a lot of sharks can be nice and we could name him or her-”

“what about ‘smark’?” sumi suggests. 

kuroo snorts. “’smark’? not sure if that’s a name or even a word, sumi...but if you’d like, then sure.” 

“daddy?” 

“yes?” he gives her hair some final ruffles and grabs a nearby comb. 

“you used to call me punkin” 

“...mm, and what about it, punkin?” 

“the kids look at me funny and laughed when you called me punkin” 

“did they?” kuroo sighs. “god, why are the kids in your kindergarten class so mean” 

“i don’t know,” she quietly replies. “they’re just like the dinos!” 

he frowns. “screw the dinos” 

sumi holds her belly as she laughs. “screw the mean boys and girls too” 

after a few final hair brushes, kuroo pats her head and grins. “my beautiful girl~” 

“pumpkin,” she corrects him.  

kuroo pulls back in surprise and slowly sets her back on the floor. “’my beautiful pumpkin’ sounds like i’m talking to the orange vegetable,” he chuckles. “i thought you didn’t like it when i-” 

“i do like it. and pumpkins.” she bounces out of the bathroom and jumps onto couch, like the way she always does after baths. “daddy would you be sad if tim and daphne not sleep with you today?” 

“i would be more than heartbroken,” kuroo jokes from the bathroom. he flicks the light switch off and pads over to the couch she’s sitting on. her mischievous smile grows with every step closer. 

“then i guess you have to be heartbrochon” 

kuroo dramatically gasps as he sits down next to her. “and you’re completely fine with me being heartbroken? just when i thought you loved me-” 

“i do! but i love tim and daphne more so they need to sleep with me today.” 

kuroo tries to hide his face of betrayal at the fact that he’s not first place in her heart, not second, but third–after two stuffed animals. 

“so....” she crawls closer to him to display her irresistible puppy eyes again. “can i have a shark plushie?” 

“just so your shark plushie can take my place in your heart?” kuroo teases and leans forward to grab the tv remote. “i’d be fourth place-” 

“no you won’t! my list goes-” she looks deep in thought as she counts her fingers. “teddy, daphne, buddy, tim, fried rice, you”

kuroo’s mouth gapes open as he slumps against the couch. “i come after fried rice?” he laughs. “even though i’m the one who makes it for you?”

she laughs with him. her laugh matches his well–both loud, genuine, and more like a cackle. “fine, you come before fried rice.” 

but not before your four other stuffed animals? he shakes his head in amusement. “i guess you’ll have to go to teddy, buddy, tim, and daphne to cook you dinner and tuck you in bed today~” 

he shrugs his shoulders in defeat and walks over to the kitchen. “it’s all too bad that i’ll have to enjoy my grilled mackerel all alone~” 

“daddy! you know how much buddy likes fish!” she grabs her polar bear off of the couch and marches after her dad. 

“he has great taste,” kuroo replies back. sumi glares at her dad and clings onto his leg as he washes the rice. 

“i’ll put you in first place if you buy me ‘smark’“ she playfully says. 

“ah...bribing won’t work on me, baby”

sumi huffs, releases her hold, clasps his sweatpants instead. “but you already number one on my list” 

“mm,” he hums back, unconvinced. conversations like these and teasing her are his favorite. he finds great joy in getting her riled up in little topics that might not matter to others, but means the world to him. 

“uh huh! you are!” she follows him to the fridge and widens her eyes at the sight of a popsicle. “can i have that?” 

“save it for dessert,” he replies back. 

“mm” she groans and walks over to pick up her polar bear that she accidentally dropped on the carpet. clink and clanks of pots and pans ring through the air as kuroo searches for the right pan.

“daddy? can i bring smark to school?”

“as long as if you don’t lose him,” he replies.

sumi’s face stretches into a wide grin. “does that mean you’ll get him for me? :)” 

kuroo lets out a long sigh. “yea, i probably will”

sumi bounces over to her dad again and beams. “you’re the best”

“yeah yeah” he laughs. “i was in like sixth place a few minutes ago”

“you always at number one,” she tells him as she goes on her tip toes to try to place her polar bear on the kitchen counter. she fails and buddy falls on her head.

“have i?”

sumi picks buddy up again and runs to her room. kuroo turns around at the lack of her voice and she suddenly runs back with her dinos.

“trash!”

kuroo’s eyes widen. “oh no no no, don’t throw your toys away”

“but they’re bad toys :(“

kuroo thinks about this for a second. “you gotta teach them to not be mean, give them a second chance, maybe they’ll become nice dinos”

sizzling sounds come from the pan and sumi smiles at the smell of fish. but quickly frowns again at her dinos.

“i guess,” she mumbles and runs back to her room. it doesn’t take long for her to run back out with teddy and buddy in her arms, her teddy bear and loose bear.

“i said you always been number one,” she tells her dad while scratching the side of her hair. “ask why”

“so you put me after fried rice to make fun of me?” kuroo teases.

“no? that was my list of ‘stuff i love’ not ‘people i love’ “

kuroo ponders this for a moment and reaches up for the little bottles of spice.

“so i’m on your ‘stuff i love’ and ‘people i love’ list? i’m a stuff and a person?” he chuckles.

“you’re number one on my ‘people i love’ list,” she says. sumi crinkles her nose at the smell of string spices. “and the only one”

“... i’m the only one? what about your friends? teacher? tim? buddy?”

“buddy’s a bear!” she exclaims like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “not person. and teddy’s my best friend, but he’s a bear too”

“mm... so no human friends?”

“nope, maybe you”

“maybe?” he laughs. “are we not friends?”

“you’re daddy! not friend”

“i can be friend and daddy at the same time!”

“but you can’t be daddy and fried rice at the same time”

kuroo stifles a laugh at her unexpected response. “that’s correct. do you ... does no one ....��� kuroo bites his lip. how should he approach this topic?

“who do you sit next to during school?”

“amara and thomas” 

her response is quick, so she must know them well, right? sumi picks at the fluff of her polar bear and goes to sit on the carpet right outside the kitchen tiles.

“do they not talk to you?”

“sometimes,” she replies. she’s much more interested in why she suddenly sees a blue mark on her polar bear then the discussion with her dad right now. “buddy’s turning blue :(“

“...?”

“look!”

but kuroo doesn’t have the time to look away from the pan so he nods. “mm, we’ll give him a wash”

“okay”

“who else do you talk to during school?”

“mrs. chen” she frowns at the blue spot on her polar bear and checks to see if teddy has one too.

“anyone else?”

whew, teddy doesn’t have one. “sometimes amara”

with a click, kuroo turns the stove off and slides the mackerel on a white dish. “anyone else...?”

“no”

“ah... do you wish you have more people to talk to?”

“no, i talk to you all the time!”

“right, you tell me everything,” he beams. he brings a spoon to his mouth to taste the sauce.

“daddy why can’t guys make babies”

kuroo’s eyes widen as he splutters out the sauce. “...well, it’s just the way mother nature works”

“so you didn’t make me?”

kuroo avoids eye contact and rubs his neck sheepishly. “well..... it’s complicated and not something you should worry about”

“mrs. chen said i look like you, and she called me pretty. does that make you pretty?”

“...” conversations with a five year old can be quite amusing ... “it’s up to you,” he laughs. “do you think i’m pretty?” 

“i guess”

he laughs even harder at her dry response and quickly turns the conversation topic back around. “is school fun for you?”

“i guess”

“...” ah, there goes the painful short responses. “what do you guys do everyday-“

“daddy why do guys have to stand up when they use the bathroom-“

“remember buddy’s blue spot?” kuroo quickly butts in.

sumi’s eyes diverts back to her polar bear. “:(( buddy’s turning colors!”

kuroo lets out a long, heavy, and tired sigh. it’s been a long day for him as a parent and now he learns that his daughter doesn’t have any friends her age?

“buddy will be fine,” he reassures her and carries white dishes to the small dining table. sumi places a long kiss on buddy’s nose.

“daddy if you weren’t so tall i’d kiss you on the nose too”

before kuroo can say something, sumi changes the topic once again. “smark will be friends with tim and daphne.”

“mm”

“mrs. chen said that you’re really tall”

“...”

“she told ms. loren that you’re the most handsome dad”

“......”

“ms. loren whispered something about being my future mommy and it was really weird”

kuroo chokes on his spit and walks back into the kitchen quietly. “i-“

“i don’t want ms. loren to be my mommy” 

“oh you won’t have to worry about that,” he nervously chuckles. his daughter sure has a lot to say...he makes a mental note to avoid eye contact with ms. loren the next time he drops her off. 

“daddy do you like tim and daphne or do you pretend to?”

kuroo frowns as he cuts up some cucumbers. “why wouldn’t i like them? i like the way they make you happy”

“i think amara only pretend to like me” 

kuroo makes another mental note to consider transferring her to a new school. after a final slice, he puts the diced up cucumbers onto a small plate and grabs nearby spices. 

“maybe amara isn’t meant to be friends with you. sometimes, peoples’ personalities just don’t match up.” 

sumi sighs and slumps her shoulders. “i wish you can go to school with me instead of work” 

“i wish i can too” he laughs. “punkin, dinner’s ready. wash up” 

“ooh” sumi quickly sits up and dashes over to the kitchen sink step stool. “but you said you wouldn’t cook for me...?” 

“i can’t leave ya hungry,” he tells her. “besides, i’m your friend” 

“and my daddy,” she quips back. she turns on the sink and scrubs her hands with soap. “but not fried rice.” 

“mm, i’m not fried rice,” kuroo restates with a smile. “...do you like going to school?” 

“it’s fun sometimes, so. i guess.” sumi steps off of her step stool and happily bounces over to the dinner table. 

~~~

the night concludes with them eating dinner, kuroo asking more questions about school and buddy’s blue spot, sumi happily eating popsicle for dessert

[deanpinterester]

Thoughts on The Young Elites trilogy now that I finished my reread!

Good stuff first:

> Even if I don’t love a Marie Lu book, I’ll at least still like the concept of it, and the concept of TYE is undeniably amazing. I keep looking for protagonists to “turn to the dark side”, so to speak. I remember watching Star Wars and desperately wishing Rey actually did at least dabble in the dark side. So it’s pretty great to have a book series where the main character has the reasons to turn evil and DOES turn evil (although “evil“ is honestly subjective because the Daggers really aren’t that much better people lol).

> Lucent? Maeve??? I’ll take more. In fact, I WISH there were more. But unfortunately they aren’t the main characters, so their relationship doesn’t have too much time to flourish.

> These books are generally fun reads! I’d give it 3/5. I think the Legend Trilogy is still my favourite Lu books, and I’d give that 4/5.

> I want to see this series developed as a TV show so, soooo badly. Bonus if it’s animated because I think the aesthetics of the story really lend themselves to an illustrated medium rather than live action. Cmonnnnn let’s make this happen.

Now for the stuff I’m not so hot about, which I’m putting under the cut so y’all don’t have to see negativity unless you choose to.

(TLDR; the execution is what knocks it down a point for me. The trilogy had a lot of potential that I don’t think was entirely tapped.)

1. This is a problem I have with all of Lu’s books: there’s a lot of telling instead of showing. Biggest examples are whenever Adelina says something along the lines of “I feel the darkness stir in me” like okay....can you describe that darkness and what exactly it’s doing to you please. And also when characters narrate “I think of the time when xxx happened” and what about it? Why are you thinking about it? What impact and emotion is it bringing to you? What exactly about that memory is drawing you do it? Elaborate thanks.

2. The characters generally feel flat, mostly for the above reason. Enzo in particular, who Adelina is supposed to be infatuated with: she describes him as having “boyish mischief”, but this is something we barely saw. The only vibe I get from the man is brooding. She spends a lot of time thinking about wanting to see him, but we could have used more narration of WHY she wants to see him. We know it’s because he rescued her--the writing could have put more emphasis on that. Show us Adelina imagining Enzo rescuing her over and over again. Show us how she feels that he’s the first person to save her, the one thing she’s wanted for a long time. And for this reason I’m not so into their insta-love, and I almost would have preferred if Enzo did admit that he only loved Adelina because she reminded him of Daphne rather than actually being in love with her. Because I see why Adelina would fall head over heels in love with Enzo, but not why Enzo would fall for Adelina in that short amount of time.

3. I’m kinda :///// whenever Magiano is described as looking savage or as having animalistic behaviours, since he is the only black main character in the series and is the only character described as such (You could debate whether Enzo is black or not, but Lu has confirmed he is Italian only). I don’t know if Lu is already aware of this because it seems like those descriptions calmed down a whole lot in the third book.

4. The premise of the third book has always been iffy to me, especially since it didn’t feel like the deities / godly realms ACTUALLY existed in the first two books. It all just felt like lore. And to suddenly say “actually yes the gods are real, and we can go to the Underworld, and we can give back our powers” feels very jarring. It’s the same issue I had with King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo, where up until the second half of that book, it’s established the saints were likely just extremely powerful grisha instead of gods, but then it turned out that not only were they actual gods, but they’re also existing in.....an alternate pocket dimension? Because apparently that’s possible now? And I don’t even know how this could be remedied! I don’t know how Lu could have shown the deities were real in the first two books! So this is just pure frustration for me.

5. ADELINA’S DEATH. Adelina’s death. Oh my god. She went through all that just to die. It’s so hard to find redemption arcs in media that don’t just involve the character dying in the end to “atone” for their sins. I think I would’ve preferred if Adelina had to actually face the consequences of her actions and actively try to fix it after realizing she was wrong. Her sister died because of her, and she has to live with it. If anything I find that more tragic.

6. Adelina has a lot of villain shorthands and I’m not sure they’re all...handled properly. I’ll make a full post about this later.

7. The markings disappearing at the end. I’m not sure how to feel about this one. On one hand it could be a good insight into how even without obvious markings, the unmarked will still remember who was marked and still be prejudiced against them, because prejudice isn’t based on logic. But on the other hand, it just feels like...a cop out? Adelina spent this whole trilogy trying to undo the prejudice against malfettos. Her solution to introduce more prejudice was clearly presented as wrong, and by the end of the story, the “correct” way the problem can be solved is if...everyone just didn’t have markings anymore? Huh.

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

The special fic I wrote for Cain and Daphne's anniversary! The first scene is how Cain proposed, and the second is an anniversary they had during their wandering years.

I had four other scenes I was going to write, but I figured, well, I don't want to actually write this much, and nobody wants to read that much, so I scrapped the idea. The unfinished scenes may appear separately at later dates, though.

So without further ado, Cain and Daphne's anniversary fic!

The glittering crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale sheen over Daphne's scales. Her melodious voice permeated the night that blanketed the glowing city below her. Unbeknownst to the siren, a man was standing just behind her; hidden from view and listening to her song.

It was a sea shanty, one she had heard the sailor sing many times before when they lived their days on the waves. It had quickly become very special to the two, as it told of a pirate who fell in love with a mermaid. Rather fitting for the pair. When the song was done, Cain revealed himself by his applause.

Daphne turned around and smiled upon recognizing him. She quickly traded her tail for legs and got up from the poolside where she had been sitting. She went to him and started to greet him, but he held up a hand to stop her.

Instead, he handed her a jar with a single coin in it. Daphne took the jar and examined it. The coin was not worth much, perhaps only enough to pay for the jar it sat in.

"Doll, I have no need for your petty change when I live under your roof. Why give me this?"

"You sang our song. I thought it appropriate that my musician be paid," he said, giving her a joking smile.

"Your musician? How dare you?" However, Daphne's tone matched Cain's smile. With this they laughed, took one another's hands, and went to bed.

The next night, Daphne sang in the pool again. It was a quiet spot, high above the rest of the city. Cain had built it special for her, as a way to make her more comfortable in her new home (that, admittedly, was not so new anymore).

This time, however, Cain sat by the pool with her. Eyes closed, he listened to her every note. By the end, he had put the jar down by the pool and was thumbing the coin in his pocket.

"This again, darling? I'm not a petty street performer," Daphne teased him and reached a scaly hand up out of the water to pinch his cheek.

"I simply want to reward your hard work, my dear," Cain calmly stated, as he winked at her.

"Barely what I'd call 'hard,' but very well... and why always the possessive? My dear?" She'd said it as a joke, but there was a hint of true intent behind her eyes.

"Are you not my partner, my best friend, my lover? And am I not all these things to you?" He said it in a tone that could've held any level of seriousness, yet his sincerity was undeniable.

"Well, I suppose you are. And you are mine in as much as I am yours, I trust?" She had pulled herself out of the water to hold him as she spoke. The need in their words and in their touches was becoming more apparent by the moment.

Cain leaned into her as he cradled her face and kissed her lips. When he pulled away again, he breathed in her ear, "I will always be yours."

Daphne gazed at him lovingly for a moment, a look which he returned. However, her eyes took on a mischievous gleam once more, and she made another move. "Why don't you prove it, then?" And before Cain could protest, Daphne pushed him into the pool.

Cain came up spluttering, stuttering, and in Daphne's opinion, looking rather handsome. While indeed being soaked through and through, of course. "Daphne, what on earth? I thought we were having a moment!"

"Oh, we are," Daphne had slid back into the pool and gracefully swum over to the steps leading into it. "I know you heard me just now. Get over here and prove how much you love me, why don't you?" The look in her eyes was unmistakable.

Thankfully, Cain took the hint. A melody of giggling, swearing, and other such sounds could be heard from the roof that night. And by morning, two coins could be seen in the bottom of the jar.

The next night and the night after that, Cain and Daphne continually found themselves on the roof, and each time a coin fell to the bottom of the jar. This pattern continued on for a number of weeks. Daphne would sing her seafarer's sea shanties and love poems by pool waves and starlight. In return, Cain would give her a coin as he called her his own in some ambrosial way.

It was on her way back to the moonlit pool one night that she heard whispers. Maids sighing about a shimmering ring, a student of Cain's murmuring about some epistle of romance that his teacher refused to present. And when she got to the pool itself, there was Cain.

It was just him and the now full moon, holding something behind his back. Daphne quietly strained to see it, but Cain saw through her antics and beckoned her to him.

"Oh, Pet, you should have heard the things they were saying downstairs. All this talk of rings and speeches and- hey, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes of course. Daphne..." Oh, boy. Real names always meant something big. She was almost nervous.

Cain took a deep breath and Daphne wondered if she should say something. However, his face cleared as he began to speak. "Daphne, my lover, my best friend, my partner in all things. I have known you for many years, years that feel both lengthy and rather brief." Daphne was watching Cain closely, mystified as to where this could be going. "I knew you first as an enemy of my family, and yet you saved me, there in that cave."

Daphne interjected. "Honestly, I just thought you were nice to look at. I had no idea who you were. And what's with the speech? Did we do something wrong? You haven't been anathematized, have-"

"Ah, shush, I'm trying to remember everything I wrote down."

Lightbulb moment. "So you did write a speech! Are we in trouble?"

"Well, yes! Er, no. Just, be quiet!"

"That's not an answer!"

"Oh, and now it's gone. Thanks a lot!"

"Yes, thanks for not answering any of my very simple questions!"

"Sweetheart, just-" Cain huffed and Daphne quieted down. She stepped towards him and ran her hands across his face and through his hair. He leaned into her wintry touch and rested his hands on her hips.

"Flower, you know you can tell me anything. But if this is something you can't-"

"No, dear, that isn't it," He took a deep breath and from behind his back, pulled the jar of coins. It was fully filled by now.

"I knew I needed something to motivate me, so I told myself 'when the last coin falls, I must say...' what I'm about to say. Otherwise it never would've happened, I would've just kept thinking about it forever." They both giggled.

"I won't waste your time with sweet nothings and grandeur promises that I could never hope to keep. I did have a speech- which you must've heard about from one of my learners. But it is meticulous and dull where words of the soul are what I really ought to be saying. So..."

Cain sighed and brought a hand to Daphne's cheek. He kissed her softly then drew in a calming breath to continue.

"Daphne, the beautiful love of my life. I wish tonight for the moon to kiss the sun once more so that our love may be written in the cosmos- for all to see- once more."

Images of painted eclipses played across Daphne's mind as her eyes began to well up. She whispered his name, if only to hear the sweet way it sounded.

"I knew you as an enemy, and yet I now find myself hopelessly in love with you. I have confidence you feel the same for me." Daphne nodded, a lovestruck smile decorating her face. "I have spent my days with you- and many of my nights, too- and I realize now that I don't want that to stop. I might not ever want it to stop. In fact..."

Cain unscrewed the lid of the jar, revealing a hand-crafted silver ring, with a turquoise gemstone in the middle.

By now, Daphne knew what was happening, so she finished his thought. "I want to love you forever."

Cain's smile was both joyful and relieved. "Exactly." They held one another's eyes for a moment.

Daphne was the first to speak this time. "I love it when you call me yours. And I want this- I want to be yours forever. I want to follow everywhere you go, see all that you see and hear all that you hear. I want to be your lover, your dearest, your..."

And, just a word, barely a breath, "Wife."

Neither was sure who said it, but its impact was clear.

"And I want nothing more than to be your husband, if you'll have me," Cain's voice was soft and timid.

"No, not nothing more. I want everything with you. Make me yours forever, marry me, so that I'll never have to leave you."

Cain sighed, and Daphne saw a tear streak down his cheek. She realized there were some on hers, too.

"If this is... truly what you want? You know-"

"I know who you are, Cain. I know all that comes with being you, and being with you. I know your past, who you've become, and all you want to do. And I love you. I love you more than all the mountains, seas, sun, moon, and stars."

"And I love you. More than I thought it possible to love anyone. And I'll be yours well beyond the end of time, come what may."

And with that, Daphne could hold back no longer, and she threw her arms around Cain. He held her close, as close as he could, it seemed. She kissed him over and over again, as he did in return. They both giggled and smiled.

"Wait, are we really doing this?" Cain yelped.

"Yes! I get to marry you! You get to marry me, oh my-"

Cain picked her up and spun her around, and kissed her with passion.

"Oh, Daphne, I love you. I love you so much!"

"And I love you, Cain. More than anything, I love you!"

"And because of that-" Cain swept Daphne up into his arms and took her to the stairs leading back into the house. She wiggled and yipped at him the whole way, as he carried her past crowds and servants and into the grand hall.

He set her down and kissed her one last time. He clapped his hands to get the people's attention. "Everyone! I have an announcement..."

~*~

Cain walked through the cave entrance, soaked in the downpouring rain, and set down a bundle of drenched firewood. "It's no good. I can't find anything even nearly dry enough to burn," he said, sitting down beside his shivering wife and wrapping his arms around her.

Daphne sneezed and gave Cain a weary smirk. "Why don't you just light the sparks yourself?"

Cain tensed. "Mouse, you know we can't do that, what if someone sees, and realizes who we are?"

Daphne sniffled a bit before responding. Her sickness persisted as long as the rain stayed, which set Cain worrying. She however, always quelled his concerns with her assurances of her speedy recovery once the rain inevitably stopped.

"Kitten, who would be out here in this storm? It'd only be a small fire, just enough to warm us."

Cain sighed and moved a hand from Daphne to stroke his beard thoughtfully. After a moment of consideration, however, he leaned forward, adjusted the empty firepit, and snapped his bronze fingers. From the snap came flames, that sustained themselves on nothing but magic, while still providing heat and light to the couple.

Cain leaned back, smiled mildly at Daphne, and snuggled her close. She leaned into him, snuck a handkerchief from his pocket, and sneezed again. While she was cleaning herself up, Cain looked to their bedroll and caught a glimpse of his calendar. He studied the circled date for a moment, and, upon realizing that date was the current day's date, suddenly pulled Daphne close to kiss her.

She reached her hands up to hold his cheeks with them, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Daphne turned her head to draw in a breath and spoke. "Oh, Cain, what's gotten into you?" It was a chastise, yes, but she said it while giggling, as Cain did in response.

"Did I tell you what day it is?" Cain was the only one who kept track of the date, but then, he had always been the more scholarly of the two. Daphne kissed him again and shook her head.

He leaned close to her ear as he spoke. "It's our anniversary, sweetheart," he smiled his usual shy smile at her.

Daphne eyed him with suspicion and after a moment of hesitation, spoke with a note of befuddlement. "And even if it were-"

"Which it is."

"Why here? Or do you not realize, honey; we're in a damp, cold cave," she sprightfully snipped at him.

"It's not so cold now that we have the fire," He quipped back.

Cain looked at her as though he were trying to make a point. Daphne tch'ed and turned away from him teasingly. He held her chin with a finger and gently turned her face towards his.

The mood in the cave shifted, from a more playful one to something more tender, more romantic. Flames flickered gracefully in Cain's eyes, just as they had since Daphne had met him. He looked into hers, and saw great ocean waves, waves that moved him ever closer to her. He, accepting the push, leaned in once more to kiss her.

They stayed like this for a time, caught in their own world, floating through time. After a moment, he pulled away, drew in a breath, and spoke. "I trust you know what I was going to say?"

"Enlighten me," Daphne sleepily murmured against his neck as she nestled into his shirt collar and closed her eyes. No doubt the illness was continuing to make her weak.

"You're- oh. Dear, you're not falling sleep, are you?"

Daphne simply turned so that her back was pressed comfortably against his chest and hummed. "I'm still sick, you know. Hand me that hankie?"

Cain gave her the handkerchief, which she had previously, and rather unceremoniously, dropped on the ground. She quickly took it and sneezed once more, and then tossed it in the fire.

Cain looked at her with puzzlement. "What on earth did you do that for?"

"What? It was all snotty and dirty, you didn't expect me to keep it, did you?"

Cain scoffed with lighthearted incredulity. "Princesses. You can be a real diva sometimes, you know that?"

But Daphne was already dozing, cuddling close to her husband and softly singing in her sleep. Cain looked at her with such fondness, and quietly whispered in her ear.

"I was simply going to say that despite everything, you're all I'll ever truly need. Goodnight, my starlight."

[carry-on-snowbazzing]

My 5 best of 2020 (in 2021 😂)

1. A summer day ☀

"Well, Baz! Do you want to move?" Penelope yelled, already in the car (a certain MG dated 1967).

Simon studied his own reflection in the rearview mirror, running a hand through his bronze curly tuft and resulting in even more messiness.

"A minute!" was the answer from a few floors above the apartment.

Penelope rolled her eyes and picked up her Iphone.

Shortly after, hurried footsteps were heard coming down the stairs and Baz, after closing the door, got into the car.

Simon leaned out of the back seat and kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled and, starting the engine, exclaimed:

"Destination: fun!"

  Later there were four of them getting out of the car: Baz with a beach umbrella over his shoulder, Simon struggling with a giant inflatable pink flamingo, Penelope with a cooler bag, and Agatha with another bag, containing beach towels and sunscreen.

"The weather forecasts were right; today’s a perfect day for the sea," Penelope commented as she slipped off her flip-flops and dropped her bag into the sand.

"Edward shines like a fairy!" Simon yelled, putting on a pair of sunglasses and pointing to Baz.

"Stop it, Snow," he laughed, "and give me my glasses back; all this sunshine stuns me."

Trying to ignore them, Agatha took off her cover-up and began to rub off the protection angrily.

"Whoever dives himself last is a pixie!" Simon yelled, throwing his t-shirt and starting to run towards the sea with Penelope at his heels.

Several splashes and laughter later, the two returned wet, smiling and hungry.

Meanwhile, Baz and Agatha had dedicated themselves to crossword puzzles and to the horoscope.

"Agatha, there must be some butter and turkey sandwiches in the cooler," Penelope said as she wrapped herself in her towel.

"I couldn't find anything better for you than beef carpaccio," she said to Baz.

He smiled making 'OK' with both thumbs.

"And for me?" Agatha asked, offended that her friend hadn't thought of her too.

"Fruit salad" she replied. "I know you're on a vegetarian diet."

Agatha blushed feeling a little guilty and muttered something like "Oh, thank you".

Everyone literally devoured their lunch, because, as Simon ruled on his fifth butter sandwich, "The sea makes you hungry."

They gossiped a bit about their old classmates, wondering if Gareth still had his belt buckle as a wand and if Trixie had a fight with his girlfriend.

  They lost track of time after falling asleep in the early afternoon sun.

It was the sound of a notification that woke Agatha, who, after seeing her mother's message ('Where are you? Coven party tonight!'), made a shrill sound that woke the others too.

"Damn, I'm in mega-delay!" she complained, sitting up and hastily gathering his things.

Seeing her so agitated, no one dared contradict her and they hurried too.

Before leaving for the return, all already in the car, Simon took out a Polaroid from the trunk (not an easy feat, given the bulky mass of the flamingo) and urged them:

"Wait! Say 'cheese'!"

Everyone posed, waiting for the flash.

Once the picture was taken, Simon reached for the film that had just come out of the instant camera, but found himself clutching a slice of Emmental in his fingers.

Baz couldn't help himself and laughed uncontrollably.

"Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch!" Simon bursted, but he couldn't bear a grudge and joined in the general laughter.

___________________________________________________

2. Shopping (Big & Little) 🥄

"They'll be emptying the mall, those two" Agatha commented, looking at the clock on the kitchen wall and adding another egg to the bowl.

"Probably" replied Penelope, who was handling the curry risotto.

"They've been away for three hours!" Agatha insisted, "and with two credit cards!".

Penelope gave her a look like 'what can we do?' and again consulted the handwritten note attached to the refrigerator with a magnet (shaped like a scone).

"Oh, I forgot the onion!" she moaned after a quick glance, "my mother would kill me if she knew!".

She went back to the stove and for a few minutes they remained silent, one intent on vigorously banging the whips, the other busy slicing the bulb.

Once Agatha had baked the chocolate cake (wiping a non-existent sweat with her glove) and Penelope had remedied her mistake, the girls dropped onto the sofa.

They were just debating which movie to watch that night when they heard the key turn in the lock and Simon exclaim from the entrance:

"We’re at home!"

The two joined them in the living room and Baz asked:

"Curry and chocolate?"

Penelope nodded.

"Sometimes I wish I was a vampire; just smell a dish to understand if the doses are right or wrong," she sighed.

"Shopping?" Agatha asked, looking at the numerous envelopes they both had in their hands and casting a reproachful look at Simon.

"There were the sales" he tried to justify himself, shrugging his shoulders.

"Hurry up; you’ll show us your spoils of war after dinner" Penelope ordered.

  "What do you think?" Simon began, smugly showing a set of jeans for Baz and a giant jar of sour cherries scones.

Penelope seemed to try not to roll her eyes.

"I stayed on the intellectual side" Baz said, pulling a stack of books and a pack of pastel highlighters out of a bag.

"I need them for the college" he explained to Agatha, who was trying to get hold of the markers.

"And you haven't seen the piece of resistence!" Simon shrieked, grabbing a smiling Baz by the wrist and dragging him into the nearest room.

They came out moments later walking backwards (in what was supposed to be an imitation of Michael Jackson's moonwalk), so they could only see their backs.

"3, 2, 1 ..." Baz counted.

"Ta daaaan!" Simon exclaimed as they turned at the same time.

They wore matching gray sweatshirts; both had a black molded spoon.

'Big' was written on Baz's, while Simon's 'Little'.

"Awww" the girls screamed in unison, in the grip of a fangirl attack (which managed to make Agatha look adoring too).

"We have a pair for you too" Baz said, handing Penelope a black t-shirt with 'Brownie' on it, while Simon gave Agatha a white one with 'Blondie' on it.

"Thanks, guys" Penelope murmured moved and Agatha initiated a group hug.

photos references

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3. Anniversary 💞

here

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4. Ops! 🧴

 Simon knocked for the tenth time on the bathroom door:

"Occupied!" Baz yelled for the tenth time.

"And sorry, but I can't hold it anymore anymore ..."

Simon abruptly released the handle, abandoning his irritated tone.

He let out a cry, muffled by the hands that he immediately brought to his mouth.

Baz was shirtless in front of the mirror, glaring at his own reflection.

Everything was perfectly normal, except for his hair: it had turned from raven to red.

Fawn red.

"If you tell anyone about this, Snow, I will end you" he growled menacingly.

Simon stood there, speechless. When he had regained the use of his mouth, he barely stifled a laugh and intoned:

“Weasley is our king

he always lets the Quaffle in ... "

From Baz's look, he knew it would be wiser to stop, so he did it.

He approached cautiously and asked gently:

"What happened to you?".

"I wish I knew; I was taking a normal shampoo shower" sighed Baz.

Meanwhile Simon had reached the sink and was looking closely at the bottle of the citron and bergamot scented blend.

"It doesn't seem to have anything strange" he then ruled, placing it back on the shelf.

"Indeed; I went to get it from my home in Hampshire; Daphne can only find it in our town's herbalist's shop," Baz replied sadly.

"I really can't explain it" he went on, unable to get over it.

"My sister gave it to me ..." he stopped suddenly.

He clapped her forehead and turned on the lock screen of his smartphone.

"Today is April 1st," he murmured.

He took the vial in one hand and, with the ivory wand in the other, exclaimed:

"Show me your secrets!".

The writing on the label changed from 'Shampoo with citrus notes' to 'Permanent color intense red'.

"MORDELIAAAAA!" he screamed as Simon rolled with laughter.

"April Fool!" he managed to exclaim between a laugh and another.

That’s totally inspired by a fanart of @vkelleyart​ 💖 :  that 

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5. Trick or treat? 👻

 "Well, Baz! If you don't move, we'll only have the sub-brand candy left!" Simon railed.

With all the peace of mind he could, Baz went down the stairs and joined his screaming boyfriend, who was immediately silent at his sight.

"Morgana, Basilton; you really mean it" Penelope commented, watching him as she lit another candle to put in the Jack o 'lanterns carved by Simon and Baz (which occupied all the flat surfaces of the apartment).

"I've been doing some accurate researches over the last week" he began, making a theatrical gesture in his vampire cloak.

"You even have the same jacket as Gary Oldman" she observed excitedly.

He, in response, gave her a perfidious look, baring his fangs.

Simon was still in his silence and couldn't take his eyes off him.

"What's up Snow, the cat got your tongue?" Baz asked, amused.

He answered with a tongue sticking out and approached him with a raised eyebrow (in perfect Baz style).

"Wow" he commented after kissing him on the cheek.

"Enjoy yourselves!" Penelope exclaimed as they came out hand in hand.

  "Where do we go now?" Baz asked.

Simon moved with great ease between one bell and another, meticulously illustrating the specialties offered by each house.

His phrases were: "Here you can always find top quality stuff", or "No, better to avoid an indigestion".

After scouring all the houses on the first five blocks, Simon had an epiphany.

"For a thousand snakes! Baz, we absolutely have to go to the 'Spooky night' party!" he screamed, making him jump.

"Crowley, Snow! Calm down!" he retorted irritably, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

"You don't understand," Simon insisted.

"Our loot is loser when compared to everything you can find there; Strawberry Blood Drip, Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin PIE, Butterbeer and, hold on ... Oreo with Orange Cream!"

Baz, seeing him so excited ('like a child', he thought), couldn’t say no to him (although he wanted to go home more than anything else; his feet protested against Count Dracula's boots).

"And where would it be?" he asked, trying not to smile.

"A couple of blocks from here; hurry up!" Simon urged him, taking him by the hand and starting to run.

  "A delusion!" Simon snapped, leaving the bag full of sweets on the doormat.

"What happened?" Penelope asked Baz, who had just closed the door behind him and limped desperately as he headed for the sofa.

"In short at that damn party they had finished everything and told us our costumes sucked" he explained.

Simon was with his arms folded, all sulking, sitting in the armchair.

"Look at their costumes! And let me have something to eat, rather!" he barked.

Penelope approached him and, looking at him tenderly, reassured him:

"We always have our repertoire of horror films."

Simon shrugged, hitting the nearby lamp.

"And I was prepared for any eventuality," she went on, snapping her fingers and popping up a pack of Oreos with orange cream.

Simon's face cleared, illuminated by a huge grin.

__________________________________________________

Ty @letraspal​ for tagging me 💕

That’s all; hope u like it!  💜

Happy new Year! ✨

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Writer’s Month Prompts Day 12

Day 12: Eight

Another prompt picked out by me! Hope you guys enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eight Times Heather Came Through For the Gang, and One Time They Came Through For Her

#1:

“I need to ask you something,”

Wariness traveled through Heather at Judy’s statement. “What?”

“Well, you know today’s Halloween,”

“Yeah…” How could Heather not know today was Halloween? She could never forget.

“Both Brad and I can’t take Fred trick or treating this year… Do you think you could take him?”

Heather paused, and her hand tightened slightly around the phone. On the one hand, she knew how much Fred loved Halloween. On the other hand… she never went out of her house on Halloween night if she could help it. She just couldn’t face the night unless she was in her home, surrounded by her flowers and assured by her wind chimes and the cross made of rowan she kept on her door. She couldn’t risk it.

Judy seemed to sense her reluctance, because she quickly said, “I know you don’t like going out on Halloween night, so if you don’t want to do it I can call Uncle Bobby—”

“Your Uncle Bobby?” Heather’s nose wrinkled. Judy’s Uncle Bobby taking Fred? The one who called her a Satan worshipper and went into passionate rants about how the Democratic Party would ruin this nation and would definitely make sure Fred didn’t get the chance to enjoy his trick or treating experience? Absolutely not. “No, I’ll do it.”

“You will? But I thought—”

“I know. But your Uncle Bobby taking Fred instead of me is the worse alternative. I’ll do it.”

Judy laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Heather.”

Heather smiled a bit. “Sure, Judy.”

#2:

Heather led Daphne into the bathroom, Velma at their heels, and sat her down. “It’s okay, Daphne,” she reassured the distraught girl. “We can clean it up. It’s okay.”

“I just don’t know what happened!” Daphne said, trying to hold back tears so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup. “I shouldn’t have been holding that glass while I was walking.”

“The glass isn’t the problem, Daphne,” Velma said to her matter-of-factly. “The problem is someone tripped you.”

“I saw that too,” Heather agreed. “Velma, can you get me some towels so we can clean this up?”

She was helping to dab at the stain on the front of Daphne’s dress when the door opened and the sound of clacking heels filled the bathroom. “Daphne, oh my gosh.” They looked up to see her cousin Daisy holding napkins. “Are you okay? I got you towels. It’s horrible how someone tripped you like that.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at the girl. “How did you know someone tripped her? We barely saw anything.”

Daisy blinked, staring at her. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“You don’t have to know.” Heather stood up. “How would you know someone tripped Daphne…” she turned to Daphne questioningly for the name.

“Daisy,”

“Daisy.” She turned back to her and crossed her arms. “Unless you were the one that did it?”

Daisy looked for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. “I…” She gave a scoff of a laugh. “Listen, lady, you’re crazy. Everyone knows I would never do that.”

“You wouldn’t…” Daphne stood up. “Unless you knew you wouldn’t get caught. You’ve been out to get me for years, Daisy, don’t even lie.”

Heather laughed. “Oh, isn’t this funny,” she turned back to Daisy, smirking. “The spiteful cousin that appears to be a perfect angel to hide how rotten she is. How predictable. I knew there was something wrong with you.”

Daisy stared at her for a moment, then an arrogant look appeared on her face. “Oh yeah? Well you think they’re going to believe you? An old lady, my ditzy cousin, and her friend? I don’t think so. Now get out of my way, old woman. I need to touch up my makeup.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Heather’s smile turned deadly. “You aren’t as smart as you think you are.” Her hand shot out to grab Daisy’s wrist and pulled her closer. “You underestimate what I can do. If you ever try to humiliate Daphne again, you better pray to your God I don’t hear about it. Because I can and I will permanently scar that pretty face.” She smiled. “Okay?” She let go of Daisy’s wrist. “Now get out of our way, little girl.”

Daisy looked like she wanted to be defiant, but then stepped to the side so Daphne, Heather, and Velma could walk out of the bathroom. Daphne grabbed her arm. “Thanks, Heather. No one’s ever stood up to Daisy for me like that before.”

Heather smiled at her. “Anytime, Daphne.”

#3:

Velma came running towards her as she came walking down the hallway towards the group of kids. “Heather, thank goodness. We only have an hour left before we need to show off our project.”

“Okay, just show me the way so we can figure this out,” Heather left Velma spin around and run back to the Science Olympiad group.

“Guys, this is Heather, the woman I told you would help us.”

One of them, who looked like a stereotypical nerd found in a teen high school movie, eyed Heather skeptically. “She doesn’t look scientifically inclined,” he stated, looking at her leather jacket, jeans, and Motley Crue t-shirt.

Heather shrugged, smiling. “Sorry I don’t look the part. But I’m the best you’ve got, so lead the way to the broken project.”

As the group walked down the hallway to their designated classroom, Velma tugged on her sleeve. “Thank you for doing this. No one else could make it.”

“You’re welcome, Velma. I’ll help the best I can.”

#4:

Heather raised an eyebrow and looked down at the list in her hand. “I think we’ve got everything… except the marshmallow fluff,”

“Like, that shouldn’t be too hard to find!” Shaggy said cheerfully. “I know where it is, too.”

“Lead the way, my man,” Heather laughed.

The trio, consisting of Heather, Shaggy, and Scooby, headed out of the grocery store aisle and went down to the right one to get the marshmallow fluff. Why Shaggy and Scooby needed marshmallow fluff, Heather had no idea. Then again, she was usually lost when they were saying what they put in their crazy sandwiches.

Shaggy checked the shelf. “Aw, man!” he groaned. “Like, there’s no marshmallow fluff!”

Scooby’s head dropped. “Raw…”

“They have strawberry fluff,” Heather pointed to the jars on the shelf. “Why don’t we get that?”

Shaggy and Scooby looked at her with utterly appalled looks. “Like we can’t use the strawberry fluff!”

“Reah!” Scooby agreed. “Re need marshmallow ruff!”

“Excuse me,” They all turned around at the voice, and saw a grocery store employee standing behind them, looking stern. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to bring your dog outside. There are no pets allowed in the store.”

“Rog?” Scooby looked around. “Rhere?”

“But like, Scooby’s a trained dog!” Shaggy protested.

Before the employee could say anything, Heather jumped in, flashing him a smile. “He’s very well trained. And he’s a service dog.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, and took out a service dog identification card to show him.

The employee looked at the card, then sighed. “Well, we do allow service pets… Sorry about that. Carry on.”

Once he was out of earshot, Shaggy and Scooby turned to her in confusion. “But like, Scooby’s not a service dog.”

“True,” Heather said as she put the card back in her wallet, smiling. “But he doesn’t know that.” She winked at them. “C’mon, let’s go pay. I think I have some marshmallow fluff at my house.”

Shaggy and Scooby looked at each other, grinned, then followed her. “Dude,” Shaggy said to Scooby, “Heather’s like, totally awesome.”

“Reah, rawesome,”

#5:

Heather was watering her plants when a sudden rapid banging on the door made her jump. She exhaled heavily, setting down her watering can. “What the hell…?”

When she opened the door, immediately crashing through to land in a heap on her floor was… four teenagers and a Great Dane? She frowned in confusion, then raised an eyebrow when she saw a familiar blonde head in the pile. “Fred?”

Fred raised his head and smiled. “Hey, Aunt Heather! Sorry to barge in like this.”

A redhead teen girl raised her head and looked around. “Jeepers! It’s like Flower Central in here!”

“Thank you,” Heather said as they all worked to untangle themselves. “I try.” She crossed her arms. “So, care to explain why four kids and a dog just crashed into my foyer?”

“Oh, right,” Fred got up and dusted himself off. “Gang, this is my aunt, Heather McMann. Aunt Heather, this is Daphne,” the redhead, “Velma,” a brunette in an orange turtleneck, “Shaggy,” a lanky boy in a green shirt, “and Scooby Doo,” the Great Dane. “They’re my friends.”

“Sorry to barge in on you,” Velma said politely, “but Fred said you were close by and could help us hide.”

Heather raised her eyebrow. “Hide from what?”

“Like, hide from the monster!” Shaggy quivered.

“Reah! Ronster!”

Heather blinked. Did… Did Scooby Doo just talk? What? “Monster?”

“We’ll explain in a second. But we need a favor,” Fred said to her. “Can we hide out here for the night? Just for the night, I swear. The Mystery Machine’s in your driveway.”

Heather had many questions. But then again, it seemed to be urgent. So she shrugged. “Sure. You’ll have to camp out in my living room. There’s extra blankets in the closet upstairs.”

Fred smiled in relief. “Thanks, Aunt Heather.”

“No problem. Get the blankets, and I’ll go make tea.”

As she was headed down the hallway to the kitchen, she heard Fred say gleefully, “See, guys? Told you we could count on Aunt Heather.”

#6:

“… And the coconuts will launch from this catapult, setting off the hooks for the carpet, which will fall right on the freaky conquistador and capture him!”

“Great plan, Freddy,” Daphne said.

“All we need now is…”

Shaggy suddenly tapped Velma on the shoulder resignedly, stopping her from continuing. “Live bait,” he finished, sighing. “Like we’ll save you the trouble. C’mon, Scoob.”

“Good luck, guys,” Heather called as they left the room.

“Okay, everybody hide,” Fred instructed.

All too soon, the four heard screaming from the hallway, and Shaggy and Scooby came barreling through the entrance. “Like he’s coming this way!” Shaggy shouted out, before he and Scooby crashed into a wall after skidding to a stop too late.

“And 3… 2… 1!” Fred pulled on the rope to spring the trap. But nothing happened. He pulled again. “What the heck? My trap’s not working!”

Heather looked around, and spotted the knight’s armor standing on the rack in the corner. An idea popped into her head and she went to pull off one of the arms. Then she ran to the doorway and stood to the side. When the conquistador ghost came running through, snarling, she swung the arm and hit him right in the stomach, sending him to the floor groaning in pain.

She placed her boot on his back and grinned at the gang. “I got him!”

Everyone came out of their hiding places. “Good thinking, Heather,” Velma congratulated. “Now, let’s see who this conquistador ghost really is.”

#7:

“So let me get this straight, you’ve been waiting for an hour?” Heather questioned over her phone as she went to grab her purse. “Why didn’t Fred come pick you up?”

“We told him to!” Daphne insisted. “We made sure he knew to come pick us up at four!”

“I bet he forgot,” Heather heard Velma say over the phone.

Heather sighed. “Okay, I’ve got my purse and I’m heading out the door right now.”

“Thanks, Heather. You’re a lifesaver.”

When Heather pulled her car up to the mall, she sent a text to Daphne to say she was there. When they walked out of the entrance, she honked her horn and stuck her hand out the window to wave it. They ran over and pulled open the doors to get inside.

“Thanks for coming, Heather,” Velma said gratefully.

“No problem. You girls okay?”

“We’re fine,” Daphne nodded. “I texted Freddy and said you were picking us up.”

“Good decision. Call him right now so I can lecture him about remembering things.”

Laughing, Daphne pulled out her phone. “Okay,”

#8:

“What are you kids doing here?”

The gang froze at the stern voice, and turned around to see a security officer behind them with his arms crossed. “This area is for authorized personnel only!”

“But we’re here to solve the mystery,” Fred tried to explain, hoping Heather would meet up with them again soon. She seemed to have a way with authority figures. “You can ask Mr.—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. There is no mystery to be found here, Scarf Boy.”

“It’s an ascot—”

“I don’t care!” the officer pointed to the door down the hallway. “Get your butts out of here!”

“There you are!”

The gang sighed in relief and turned to find Heather making her way towards them. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Come on, we have places to be.” She got in front of her gang and flashed a smile at the security officer. “I’m sorry I left my nephew and his friends unsupervised. But I’m sure they told you they’re allowed back here. They’re trying to solve this mystery. And you are…?”

“… Just a security officer, ma’am. You’re sure they’re allowed back here?”

“Oh yes. The head of security said so, you can ask him.”

“Well, I will. Don’t let them out of your sight.”

“You got it,”

As soon as the security officer was out of earshot, Heather’s smile disappeared and she sighed. “You know, I should just start coming along with you kids for all of your mysteries. You get into more places when I’m here somehow.”

“You’re pretty charismatic,” Velma offered. “Maybe that’s why adults listen to you.”

“Or like, maybe because she’s also like, an adult,” Shaggy guessed.

“Either way, thanks for stepping in,” Fred thanked her. “He was about to throw us out.”

Heather smiled. “Well, we can’t have that. Not when there’s a mystery to be solved. Have you found any clues?”

And with that, the mystery continued, with Heather in tow the rest of the way.

+1:

“Like, comin’ through!”

Starchild stepped to the side and raised an eyebrow as Shaggy and Scooby strode past. Shaggy had a tray of food in his hands, while Scooby was balancing one on his head. “What are you two doing?” he asked.

“Like we made some snacks for Heather while she rests,” Shaggy displayed the food tray to him. “Fred, Daphne and Velma are doing stuff for her too.”

Starchild smiled in amusement. Heather had gone with them back to Earth for an emergency situation, and had gotten banged up pretty hard in the ensuing fight. The gang had insisted on coming back to KISSteria with them to make sure she got enough rest. “That’s nice of you. I was on my way to check on her myself, mind if I join?”

“No problemo!” Scooby said cheerfully.

The three of them set off through the Temple to Heather’s bedroom. “What exactly did you make her?” Starchild asked.

“Well we knew she doesn’t like our triple decker Scooby Snack with ice cream and chocolate sauce sandwich,” Shaggy said, and Starchild didn’t even want to think about how unhealthy that probably was, “so like we made her Super Shaggy Sandwiches with less layers instead.”

“Rand riss ralls!” Scooby showed his tray to Starchild, that was laden with small oat and date balls with coconut.

“Right, Scoob, and bliss balls! Like she loves those.”

“That’s really nice of you, guys,” Starchild said, smiling.

Shaggy shrugged. “Well, like, she’d do the same for us,”

“Reah,”

When they arrived at Heather’s room, they stopped upon seeing the rope, wires, and other trap materials on the floor. Fred was standing in front of the pile, mumbling to himself. “The Van Buren Paradigm would work… but what if the person’s not an intruder and just wants to check on her…”

“Like Fred, what are you doing?” Shaggy asked.

“Oh, I’m just building a trap for Aunt Heather’s room,” Fred replied casually.

Shaggy and Scooby nodded, this clearly being a common thing to hear. But Starchild did not consider that a common thing to hear. “You’re booby-trapping her room?” he asked. “Why?”

“You know, so she stays safe while she rests,” Fred replied matter of factly. “Duh,”

“But what if someone just wants to check on her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out right now,”

“Like, can we still get inside?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Fred stepped aside to let them pass. “I’m just trying to look out for my aunt, that’s it.”

“No, I get that.” Starchild grinned at him. “That’s pretty nice of you, Frank.”

“It’s Fred!”

Starchild ignored him and followed Shaggy and Scooby through the door. When they entered, they found Velma sitting with Heather on her bed while Daphne was taking plants out of a cardboard box. “Like, we’re back!” Shaggy sang, setting his tray down on the table and grabbing hold of Scooby’s.

“Hey, boys,” Heather greeted. She smiled at Starchild. “Hi, Starchild. As you can see, my room’s been taken over.”

“I can see that,” Starchild laughed. “What’s going on?”

“I’m decorating this room,” Daphne informed him. “It’s too drab in here!”

“It’s simple!” Heather argued.

“It’s drab!”

Heather sighed heavily. “Fine, I don’t care,”

Starchild looked down at all the books stacked on the floor next to Heather’s bed. “Did you get those from the library?”

“Yep,” Velma nodded. “I figured I would get some reading material so she wouldn’t be bored.”  

“With this many books, I’m not going to be bored,” Heather smiled at her.

“I’m also going to brush out and braid your hair,” Daphne said over her shoulder as she hung up paper lanterns with lotus flowers painted on them. “You never do anything with it.”

“If you insist,” Heather said, sighing and shaking her head. But there was a fond smile on her face.

“Like, we made snacks!” Shaggy said proudly, displaying the two trays. “We made sandwiches and bliss balls!”

Heather perked up. “Bliss balls?”

“Ruh huh!” Scooby nodded his head. “Riss ralls!” He licked his lips.

Velma stood up. “I’ll get you a plate. You stay here.”

“I can get it myself, Velma—”

“No. I’ll get it.”

Heather sighed and sat back on her bed as Velma went to get a plate for her. But an affectionate smile soon drifted onto her face. Smiling, Starchild went over to stand next to her. “Did you know Fred’s setting up a trap outside your room?”

“Yeah, he told me before he went outside. He insisted, said he just wanted to make sure nothing happened to me.”

“They’re all looking out for you,” he remarked. “They’re good kids.”

“Yeah,” Heather smiled at the gang. “They are.”

[alindakb]

Letters to my Parents - Friday 19 May 1995 - by Alinda

Friday 19 May 1995

Dear mom and dad,

A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. I don’t know where to begin so I’ll just start at the beginning. I’ve found out what the third and final task for the TriWizard tournament is going to be. I had to go down to the Quidditch field one evening together with the other champions. I met up with Cedric at the Entrance Hall and we walked to the field together. We don’t hang out that much, but we’ve become friends over the last couple of months. He’s the only other student who knows what it feels like to be a champion. And he was a bit taken aback when he heard how hard the second tasks was for me. And a little jealous of the fact that I’ve found the one I would love till the end of my days already. He’s been dating Cho Chang. He says he likes her, but that it would be nice to know if it was going to last.

We were both shocked when we reached the Quidditch pitch. The pitch was no longer smooth and flat but filled with hedges. At that moment still small and easy to step over, but in a month time they will be about twenty feet high, turning into a maze we’ll have to navigate for the third tasks. When I told Draco about the hedges on the Quidditch field he was just as upset as me. I assured him that Mr Bagman assured us that the field will be back to normal after the tasks and that we would be able to play Quidditch on it again. Not that Draco believes this. Adrian and Miles told him it would all be fine, but Draco just keeps shaking his head and complaining about how unbelievable it is that the pitch has been destroyed. Adrian joked that Draco is turning into a real captain, stepping into Marcus footsteps.

But back to the maze. The TriWizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze and whoever gets there first will receive full marks. And of course, the maze will be filled with obstacles, like creatures and spells. Cedric is allowed to go in first, together with me, as we have the most points at this moment. Viktor will follow ten minutes later and finally, Fleur will be allowed to enter. I’ve told Hermione and Draco about the tasks and they’ve made this impressive list of jinxes, curses, spells and charms I should learn to get through the maze. I don’t think I can learn them all in time, but Draco is positive and keeps telling me that he’ll help me and will reward me for every spell I master. And I can say, I love the rewards he gives me late at night when our roommates are asleep.

When we were dismissed, Viktor asked to talk to me and we headed out towards the forest. Viktor didn’t want to be overheard he said and I was fine with that. I wanted to talk to me as I was Hermione’s best friend and he wanted to know what was going on between her and Ron. He said that she talks about him just as much as she talks about me and Draco. I told him that they are dating and was surprised to see that Viktor didn’t like this news. He asked me if I thought he might have a chance with her, that she might leave this redheaded boy for him. I didn’t like to crush Viktor’s hopes, he’s a nice guy, but after all the pining towards each other I’m glad Ron and Hermione are back together and I don’t think Viktor will be able to come between them.

Viktor nodded his head and then changed the subject. He told me that I was a really good flier, that he watched me during the first tasks, and that he would love to fly against me one day. I told him I saw him at the Quidditch World Cup and that I wasn’t near as good as him. He disagreed and we made a deal that after the last tasks we would find time to set up a little Quidditch match with some of his friends and my Quidditch playing friends. Miles and Adrian are all up for it and already started to think who they should put on the team. I think they even approached Fred and George to asks if they would be the beaters.

I thought this was a nice way to end the evening, but all went a bit crazy. Viktor and I heard someone in the forest and when we looked around it turned out that Mr Crouch was staggering through the forest. He looked awful. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face was scratched, and he was unshaven and grey with exhaustion. He was muttering and gesticulating. It looked like he was talking to someone that only he could see. And then he fell to his knees, grabbed my robes and gasped the headmaster's name. He said he needed to see headmaster Dumbledore, that he’d done something stupid. And then he let go of me and started talking to the tree again.

Viktor promised to look after him while I got the headmaster. I ran back to the castle and up the stairs towards the headmaster's office. And just when I reached the stone gargoyle it opened and professor Snape stepped out. He wanted to know what I was doing there and I told him all about how Viktor and I found Mr Crouch in the forest and that he looked mad and wanted to talk to the headmaster. Professor Snape told me to calm down and explain myself clearly. So I took a deep breath and told Snape all about Mr Crouch. And just when Professor Snape said we should get headmaster Dumbledore the gargoyle moved again. The headmaster stepped out and as soon as Professor Snape told him I found Mr Crouch we all set off towards the forest.

When we reached the forest it was all quiet. Professor Snape and headmaster Dumbledore lit up their wands and searched the ground. It didn’t take us long to find Viktor laying on the forest floor. He was knocked out, but the headmaster woke him up with a simple spell. Then he used another spell to call for Hagrid and Snape went to fetch Karkaroff. Karkaroff was angry, he called it treachery and went on and on at Dumbledore about who unfair the tournament was with Hogwarts having two champions and ministry workers attacking the competition. And then spitting at the headmaster’s feet. This pissed of Hagrid, who lifted Karkaroff off the floor and slammed him against a tree. Dumbledore told him to let Karkaroff go and escort me back to the castle, to the dungeons. And lucky for Karkaroff Hagrid listened to the headmaster and let go of him.

Back in the common room, I spend half the night speculating with Draco, Blaise, Greg, Daphne and Millicent about what happened to Mr Crouch and what was wrong with him. Draco said it looked like he was under the imperious curse and was fighting it to warn us about Voldemort. All I know is that we hardly had any sleep that night and that I fell asleep on Draco’s shoulder during History of Magic the next day.

I’d also written a letter to Sirius about it all. He wasn’t very impressed with me, taking off with Viktor in the middle of the night. I had to return him a promise that I won’t go wandering around at night and that I make sure I keep myself safe. He told me again that my name didn’t get into the Goblet of Fire by accident and that the person responsible is on their last chance of attacking me. He told me to go and practice stunning and disarming spells. And maybe some hexes. His message was clear, focus on the third task and forget all the crazy business with Mr Crouch. He told me again to trust Dumbledore and Professor Moody, and asked me please to not break any more school rules and to keep myself safe.

From that moment on Draco, Hermione, Ron and I have been looking up hexes in the library or practising the Stunning Spell. Draco says he doesn’t mind, but I don’t like stunning him all the time. He always falls in the wrong direction and misses the cushions. Ron suggested to kidnap Mrs Norris and stun her. Hermione and Draco both agreed that was just a stupid idea, that we don’t need Filch to come after us for hurting his cat and that Ron could be my test subject for some time. He didn’t last long, complaining his back was killing him from falling onto it.

I felt like things were going back to normal. Well at least as normal as life can be with being a champion in the TriWizard tournament. But of course, I was wrong. It all started in divination. Professor Trelawney had her perfumed fire burning, even though it was a hot day. I cracked a window open to get some fresh air and set down next to Draco. Professor Trelawney dimmed the lights to show us her impressive solar system in a jar and explain something about the position of Mars. I didn’t catch much of it, as the heat and the nice breeze from the window made me doze off. Before I knew it I was flying on an eagle owl, soaring through the clear blue sky towards an old house set high on a hillside.

Inside the house, I ended up in a room with boarded-up windows. There was a chair, a giant snake and that traitor Wormtail. A cold, high-pitched voice spoke to him. Told him he was lucky, that his blunder hadn’t ruined everything. He still got tortured, but I didn’t felt sorry for him. I hate that man. He’s worse than the Dark Lord for betraying the both of you. But I did feel his pain as my scar burned on my forehead. I screamed until I heard Draco’s voice, screaming my voice, telling me to wake up.

The whole class was looking at me and I was glad that Draco pulled me to my feet and dragged me out of the room. He told Ron to go tell Hermione after class that we’re going to see Professor Snape, knowing she would worry if we wouldn’t show up for dinner.

During our walk down to the dungeons, Draco made me repeat my dream. He asked questions about every little detail. Like what kind of owl, how did the house look like, could you identify where it was, did you see the Dark Lord, etcetera. I know Draco worries, and answered all his questions, but all I really wanted to do was forget about the awful dream. It felt like the dream I had during summer and I don’t like that. It was like I was there in the room with Voldemort.

Professor Snape dragged us to the headmaster’s office when Draco told him that I had a dream again that hurt my scar. (it was funny to hear that the password for the headmaster’s office is Cockroach Cluster). When we reached the big oak door we could hear voices on the other side. The headmaster was having a conversation with the minister of Magic and Professor Moody. Snape shook his head and motioned to us to be quiet. It was a bit strange, listening in on a conversation because Professor Snape wanted to eavesdrop.

It turns out that Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that the disappearance of Bertha Jenkins and Mr Crouch are connected. Only the minister doesn’t see it that way. He thinks that Mr Crouch has finally cracked and lost his mind.

We didn’t hear much more, because it turns out that Professor Moody’s magical eye can see through doors, and he warned the room that Professor Snape, Draco and I were standing at the door because we wanted to talk to the headmaster. We entered but were told to wait until they had investigated the grounds. Professor Snape joined them, asking the minister all kinds of questions when they departed. I think he doesn’t trust Professor Moody and is still afraid the man will say terrible things about him.

Draco and I first took some time to talk to Fawkes, the headmaster's phoenix. He is a beautiful creature and we both enjoyed watching him. Draco wished he could have his own phoenix one day. And then all we could do was wait. But our attention was captured by silver light coming from a cabinet that wasn’t closed properly. We opened the cabinet and found a shallow stone basin. Draco told me it was a Pensieve, a device that can hold memories. His father also has one in his office at their home.

The silver light and strange liquid or gas (I’m still not sure what it was, it looked like light made liquid and like wind made solid at the same time) was fascinating. I couldn’t keep my eyes from it, and neither could Draco. We bent over the basin and looked into the liquid. I expected to see the bottom of the basin, but instead, we saw a room. And then my nose toughed the liquid and I was pulled into the room. Draco followed me and we both ended up on a bench next to headmaster Dumbledore. I tried to talk to him, but Draco told me he couldn’t hear me, that we were pulled into a memory and could only observe.

So observe we did. The memory was in a room filled with witches and wizards. In the middle was a chair with chains and everyone was looking at the door in the corner. After some time a man was brought in through the door, accompanied by two Dementors. I shivered and Draco took my hand. He whispered in my ear that they weren’t real, only a part of the memory.

The man we saw was Karkaroff and he was brought in for questioning from Azkaban. Mr Crouch was there and asked him for the names of Death Eaters. Karkaroff mentioned multiple names, but most were already captured or dead. Until he mentioned a wizard working for the Department of Mysteries. But he was still sent back to Azkaban, even after he mentioned professor Snape’s name. But it was agreed that Snape had turned sides in the war and was no longer a Death Eater.

Then we were moved to a differed memory. This one was the trial of Ludo Bagman. He was found guilty for passing information to Lord Voldemort’s supporters. Mr Crouch wanted to send him to Azkaban, but the crowd protested and they brought it to a vote. Nobody voted for imprisonment, they even complimented him on his win with Quidditch. Draco muttered that it was a disgrace, that Mr Bagman got away with his crimes just because he was a famous Quidditch player. I told Draco he could do the same once he became the star player for the English team. But Draco answered that he would never help the Dark Lord and therefore would never need to be acquitted.

The last trial we saw was for four people. When they were brought in Draco told me the woman was his aunt, his mother’s sister. And that one of the men was her husband. They were sentenced for torturing Frank Longbottom and his wife. Draco and I looked at each other and mentioned Neville at the same time. He was raised by his grandmother because of what Draco’s aunt did to his parents. Draco feels bad about this, I know. He says it’s fine, but he started to be kinder to Neville ever since we saw the memory of his aunt’s trail.

There was a boy that was sentenced for the same crime. He begged Mr Crouch to believe he didn’t do it. He called Mr Crouch his father. But this didn’t stop Mr Crouch to sentence him to Azkaban for the rest of his life.

When the boy was being dragged out of the room, Headmaster Dumbledore showed up next to us and told us it was time to return to his office. He pulled us out and we both started to apologise straight away. But the Headmaster only smiled and told us it was fine, that he shouldn’t have left the cabinet open, knowing full well how tempting the light is.

Headmaster Dumbledore told us a bit about the Pensive, but it wasn’t any new information that Draco hadn’t told me already. And then he asked me why Professor Snape had brought us to his office. I told him about the dream, with Wormtail and Voldemort. And that it hurt my scar when Voldemort tortured Wormtail.

Draco asked him if he knew why my scar hurts and he wasn’t happy with the answer. Dumbledore said he had a theory and no more than that. He thinks it’s because of the failed Killing Curse from when I was a baby. Because of my scar, I feel pain when Voldemort is near and when he feels a strong surge of hatred. Draco hates this, he doesn’t want me to be connected to the Dark Lord in any way. He says that one soul biding connection is enough for a person. I told him it’s not the same as our connection. I don’t feel Voldemort all the time, as I feel Draco. This calmed Draco down a little, but he is still upset about it all.

After that, we asked him if he thought that Voldemort was getting stronger. He said he thinks so, as there are more and more strange disappearing, just like the first time he rose to power.

I also asked him why he was so sure back then that Professor Snape had switched sides, but he didn’t want to answer that. He said it was between him and Professor Snape.

That was the end of our conversation and Draco and I left to go get dinner at the great hall. Everyone wanted to know if I was fine, as they all had heard I had fallen down screaming during Divination. I told them all that I was fine and we agreed to meet up later at a private spot to discuss what had happened.

That is about all that has happened. I now need to go and prepare for the third task and try to survive it. If I don’t, Draco has promised to kill me personally. I told him I would already be dead if I don’t survive, but this made no difference to him. He just said he would raise me from the dead with dark magic, just so he could kill me again. I know he doesn’t mean that, that he’s just worried, but I’m glad we can joke about it from time to time.

Love you both,

Harry James Potter

[plush-anon]

scooby doo guess who? not much really review

currently taking advantage of boomerang’s scoobiversary freebies to watch scooby doo guess who

my impression so far? the animation is weeeeeeeiiiiird. some scenes i would swear to gods on being straight up traced from older hanna barbera scooby shows, like a la 70s era - some scooby shots have that same perspective, angle, etc that you only saw used in the HB Scoobies, which is just strange to see in a modern production - even the WNSD? crew never had scooby faces this close to past animations

shots of the gang also experience this. A lot of the distance shots of them could honestly be taken from the 70s, given the lack of details in their faces, the strange framing proportions - only with cleaner line work and brighter colors (which oddly enough make it look WORSE)

also some of the facial animations in the close-ups just look... off. like the words don’t quite fit their face? In fact, a lot of the character design feels really, REALLY off, and I have no idea how to articulate it.

actually wait, I think I have it - it’s the linework. Some of the lines are really clearly defined in thick black while the rest is either the same color/sliver off-color as the main drawing or really thin - and it keeps changing from shot to shot. It’s literally like someone keeps tracing different old shots of the gang and the pen used changes with each new picture. on the one hand, it makes it look a LOT more like a cleaned-up Hanna Barbera cartoon. but on the other hand? yikes. At least Be Cool SD had their own designs and were consistent. this is just... awkward to watch, imo.

even the backgrounds feel like they’re trying to recapture the HB designs - the ones which were kinda painted looking in some shots, a little rough? but with the colors (both background and animated pieces) and linework being as vivid and clear as they are in some scenes, the clash is really apparent when the characters are on screen (also the characters are doing the HB thing where they will just... randomly teleport from one action to a different one and different positions).

combined with reused sound effects from the old shows (the Sherlock Holmes one reused the laughing sound effects from the green phantoms) was Warner Bros literally trying to re-make the Hanna Barbera stuff - down to almost traced-looking art and animation? it doesn’t work as well tho, bc the animation is pretty smooth - again, oddly a point against it, bc of how much it clashes. 

the Hanna Barbera stuff worked bc everything kinda fit each other - the character animation, the backgrounds, the color pallettes, everything felt like it was part of the same design. here, it feels like a trace and repaint that is jarringly different, as we see on display in the show’s opening. they capture the design elements, ramp up the neon and very bright vivid colors, and clean up the linework to something that mimics HB Scooby, but feels off because of the cleaned up quality.

As far as the humor? It’s honestly very hit and miss. Some stuff lands, some stuff feels like I’ve seen it in other things (monster designs from other shows, primarily WNSD? so far; running gags that were lifted straight from 70s era episodes and not in an homage kinda way, but ‘literally exact same gag but with different monster’, like the Wanda Sykes ep using the werewolf barber gag) - it’s very, VERY mishmash, and I can’t tell if they wanted to straight up remake the New Scooby Doo Movies (they did the guest stars) but with prettier colors and better animation, or if they were just THAT lazy in making this (which is also a possibility - they’re working on the new SCOOB movie, but still want Scooby in the public eye, so producing a quick show like this would not be too far off for WB, if they wanna bring back older ideas of Scooby)

It’s actually pretty jarring at times to see the gang pull out modern tech (ESPECIALLY in the Funky Phantom ep) - bc they rely so much on the HB style and formula for this particular show, it’s exceedingly out of place to see smart phones and tablets. WNSD, SDMI, BCSD, and even PNSD evade this by having their own unique animation style, way of approaching humor, etc, so they can update and still feel relatively smooth about it. this tho? since they do pull so heavily on HB for style and animation and setting, modern stuff really is strange to pull up. 

honestly, this all reminds me of that one Bat-Mite driven episode of Batman: Brave & the Bold crossing over with Scooby Doo. That one had more updated animation and smoother backgrounds, but still looked near identical to the original NSDM show, and matched it for tone. Kinda wondering what the game here was, but eh, who knows. 

(although I am VERY PEEVED at Daphne’s design - everyone else seems okay proportions-wise, but she sometimes has a waist the samE SIZE AS FRED’S WRIST, and hips twice the size of her head. I just... what even, WB). 

Credit where credit is due tho, the gang at least feels like a group of friends, and work well together as expected with the older shows. They also show that they care about each other, and do go to help each other if a plan goes wrong with Shag & Scoob in bait mode, or if someone gets knocked over/hurt. they don’t interact much on a personal level outside of mysteries, but they have the same dynamic from the 70s, so that’s good (again in the Wanda Sykes episode, Scooby affirms how much he loves Shaggy as his human, the gang worry about each other getting hurt or leap after to help each other out - it’s sweet)

The guest stars have also been kinda hit or miss - personal faves so far are Sherlock Holmes and Wanda Sykes. The funky Phantom ep was kind of obnoxious, and the others have been pretty forgettable so far, with the Ricky Gervais one being just... awkward. So very, very... VERY awkward. 

Minor fun fact: Shaggy confirmed to have read Sherlock Holmes mysteries enough to know which piece of dialogue Sherlock quotes is from which story. it’s great :D

that episode also remains the best bc it contains the line ‘YES, remember: Sherlock Holmes posted your bail!’ which he actually did. the gang gets arrested, and Sherlock Holmes bails them out. 

overall, it’s not a terrible showing for Scooby Doo - in fact some of the classic gags play out pretty well (the running back and forth gag, disguise tricks, etc). it’s just kind of meh bc of how oddly put together it is. 

I’m working on watching more before the freebie time limit expires, so I’ll post a little bit more when I do.  

[lightsandlostbells]

Skam France season 3, episode 6 reaction

I have a Jerome theory and I’m sticking to it

Episode 6

Clip 1 - Lucas gets his turn in the hoodie of despair

Lucas is at school Monday. We get a shot of his bandaged hand that’s a parallel to the trailer for the season, where we also start with a shot of Eliott’s hand. In both situations, Lucas/Eliott is about to walk into the school in a tense, uncertain situation, Eliott facing a new school and new people after his episode at his old one, Lucas facing his old school and old friends after alienating or angering the people he cares about.

Also, the bandaged hand is representative of his emotional ~wounds but that’s ... really obvious, I feel silly saying it.

The angsty piano music, a hallmark of this season, plays as Lucas crosses the yard. The boy squad laughs at him, and if that wasn’t obviously fake, then Raptor Alex miming a blowjob at him while standing with Eliott should be a dead giveaway, because like hell Eliott would tolerate homophobic bullying of Lucas, no matter their relationship status. (Though it’s kinda amusing to think about this scene as an Alex/Eliott AU where Alex is bragging about his BJ game and Eliott is smirking like “damn right.”)

Daphne comes up and kisses him on the cheeks. She’s so effusive and affectionate that at first I thought she already knew Lucas was gay and was trying to jump to the front of the queue to make him her gay BFF. It’s not that, though. She touches his arm and is like HOW BUFF which is hilarious because Lucas is, how do you say, wispy. No offense at all, but I would never be like yeah, that guy looks like he works out. Lucas doesn’t seem to buy it either. Of course Daphne wants him to help move a couch, lmao. Protect the five vulnerable girls going to pick up the secondhand sofa from a potentially shady dealer? I guess Daphne got over her fear that Lucas would be taking over as head of the common room once she realized he was another pair of arms to carry that couch.

Of course when Lucas looks over, it’s not the boy squad, but some random dudes. Not Alex and Eliott but some random dudes. Not Maria and Chloe, but some random girls. All of them seemingly minding their own business and not caring about Lucas one way or another. This puts a different focus on the scene than with Isak, because with Isak he actually was walking into the lion’s den. He saw Emma and Even in the courtyard and psyched himself up to walk between them with his Nas song playing in his ears to psych himself up. Isak was miserable, but in a way it felt like an act of courage; he saw his worst fears on both sides of him, literally, and pushed himself forward. With Lucas, I’m not saying he isn’t brave, but with all those people turning out to not really be there and not really laughing and talking about him, the emphasis is more on his paranoia and fear. It’s a much drearier take on a scene that was already depressing (and I feel like the lighting/coloring reinforces that, too, but err, that’s Skam France’s usual aesthetic so I’m not sure how intentional that was.)

Clip 2 - Yann the voice of reason

Gym class, not for Lucas, but for Chloe. After class ends, Lucas comes into the gym and wants to talk to her. Chloe is not having it. Lucas tries to say she said on Friday is nonsense. He’s not a (homophobic slur) and he asks her not to spread it around. Ohhh boy, this is. Uncomfortable. Completely understandable that he doesn’t want the rumors to get out, and I get why he’d say he wasn’t really gay in order to protect himself, but him using a slur? That’s really sad. That makes this not just a strategic move or an attempt to handle the situation before it gets worse, but something self-hating. There was no reason for him to use homophobic language except to distance himself from being gay, like in episode 3, the advice he took to keep people from guessing. 

She’s pissed that he didn’t even come to apologize or talk, just to ask her not to spread it around, so you know she’s not really listening and making this about her own feelings. And look, we can say over and over again that Chloe has a right to be mad, and of course she does. But she also just doesn’t get the seriousness of outing someone. Lucas is begging her not to spread the rumor, very upset, but Chloe says he can’t tell her what to do. Man, so they made Chloe even worse than Emma, despite having Lucas treat Chloe worse than Isak did with Emma. Isak didn’t plead with Emma to not out him while Emma was like, “Whatevs, I do what I want.”

Lucas is clearly unraveling. He bursts out of the gym and runs into Yann. Lucas tries to use his family as an excuse again and Yann cuts him off, saying not to play him. He knows whatever’s happening with Lucas is more than just his parents. Yann is a lot more blunt about it than Jonas; Jonas knew that Isak was bluffing but let it slide without calling him on it. He’s also more blunt about Lucas refusing to talk about his problems. The guys all just want Lucas to get better, and are here to talk to him, but if he doesn’t want to do that, then he needs to fix his problems and come back when he’s better. Completely fair, tbh. I can see how the more straightforward approach works with Lucas; Isak felt more defeated at this stage, like he barely had energy to get through the day let alone put up his usual act, so chill Jonas could get through to him, whereas Lucas is like brimming with anger and fear and seems more defensive, so he needed Yann to just cut through his bullshit directly.

Clip 3 - Pasta is Deep

I feel like a recurring issue with Skam France is that it skips establishing the mood of a clip, often just jumping into whatever needs to happen without a lot of grace, which probably has a lot to do with their time limitations (although this episode is several minutes shorter than average so...) This scene isn’t one that I expected them to recreate so closely, with Isak just ordering a sandwich for like a minute and a half, but it did remind me of how that completely mundane action was so much more than the damn cheese sandwich, because it was about putting us directly into Isak’s headspace and letting us feel how blank and distracted he was, and then what a jolt it was when Even appeared - exactly what Isak must have felt. I think Skam France could benefit from being more careful with staging moments like that, more showing, less telling. Like there’s nothing wrong with the start of this clip but it skips establishing Lucas’ mood entirely, and Eliott comes around the corner so we the audience see him before Lucas does, so there isn’t as much of a reaction.

Anyway, the important observation: Eliott cut that girl in line, what a dick.

There are two plates of pasta on the counter before them, and Eliott says if he were Lucas he’d take both of them. Lucas says sometimes you have to choose. I get that this is ~symbolic and it’s about Eliott trying to have it both ways and Lucas not having that but it’s one of those moments that takes me out because ... why would Eliott say Lucas should take both huge-ass plates of pasta ... except so Lucas can be metaphorical in response ... is that normal? It feels like a very writerly setup to be Deep so the dialogue can have a double meaning, except it doesn’t actually make sense on the first/surface meaning, if you get what I mean. Or else Eliott thinks Lucas is capable of eating two plates of pasta. 

Eliott tries to make conversation but Lucas just grabs a plate and storms off. That was some good timing with the angry plate grab. Eliott looks sad and the angsty piano music starts again.

Lucas walks into the cafeteria and sees the table with the boy squad and the table with Chloe and Maria, while Eliott is walking behind him. This time Chloe is looking at him for real. Lucas just leaves his tray without eating and walks off as Eliott notices. 

It was kind of odd that they needed both moments of Eliott reacting to Lucas’ distress, like ... we got it the first time when they were in line, we didn’t really need the second time to tell us the same thing we just saw thirty seconds ago. Was that supposed to be Eliott noticing Lucas didn’t want to sit with his friends so it wasn’t just him causing Lucas stress? IDK. Even if that were the case, it felt redundant. (Sometimes with this show I want to be like “have confidence that the audience will understand!”)

Clip 4 - Someone’s gonna catch a disease or a demon from that sofa

The girls and Lucas walk to a secondhand store. The store is like where they keep the props for The Conjuring movies. For some reason this thrift shop has multiple dolls that are missing body parts just hanging out, which is objectively the creepiest thing you could encounter. There are also jars of yellow ... something. I’m not gonna say it’s definitely pee, but it could be pee.

Daphne is once again the MVP of the show for how she screams and runs away when she gets freaked out. She’s so entertaining. 

A dude shows up and the scene dramatically cuts to black with the sound of a sharp blade, as if in a slasher movie, but of course then we cut to this guy pouring tea for everyone. Total tangent but you know, a horror series could be pretty fun if it followed the real-time format of Skam. They played with the concept in the cabin episode, as a parody of course, but I would love to see more genre series in this mode of story-telling. A really well-written suspense or horror story could be so effective in real time!

Also, the guy looks like the school psychologist from Skam Italia. And the gym teacher from Skam Italia. Or maybe I just think all older men with beards look alike.

It was the guy’s brother’s shop. He was a compulsive hoarder, which is not a surprise in the slightest. The brother died recently. “Of what?” “I don’t know, I haven’t found him yet.” Lmao, this is a funny scene. They guy is joking and says his brother had cancer, but let’s be real, that’s also a lie. The guy was obviously murdered by those dolls.

The gang gets some additional goodies from their visit. So Lucas has to carry the couch back with Manon and Daphne, Imane and Alex carry the football table, and Emma trails behind with her lava lamp. LMAO. It’s a great image. (I have no idea if Daphne was actually carrying the couch at all, or if she was just supervising. I think Lucas and Manon were doing the heavy lifting, literally.)

They take a break and Lucas rubs his injured hand. Lucas, get help for that! Go to the doctor! I’m sure she has some eccentric yet helpful life advice in addition to her medical expertise.

Daphne comes up to him and asks whether he’s heard from Basile since Friday. NO GOD WHY.

Lucas smiles and says a bit, why? Daphne is like… just for news. The girls tease her by saying she’s actually into him, Daphne says no, he’s so annoying. WHY GOD. WHY MUST WE GO HERE. It’s so aggravating that the best character on this show is going to be paired off with the worst character on the show (and one of the worst characters in the entire Skam universe). 

The girls talk about how much their men suck. Daphne says guys are worst than girls. LESBIAN. DAPHNE. PLEASE. I’m begging you. 

Daphne says no offense to Lucas, and Imane says he’s not a real guy. Whoa! Hold on a moment there. Lucas’ expression is all WTF, Imane tells him to take a joke. This is one of those casual comments that can cut deep; Imane doesn’t know Lucas is gay at this point, so it’s not quite her assuming that gay guys are honorary girls or something like that. But one of Lucas’ fears is how being gay will separate him from his male friends, and at this very moment he is separated from them. So this is not a reassuring thing to hear. Calling someone a “real guy” can sting for someone who’s struggling to find out just where they fit in with the guys, and now hears that they don’t really belong there. Interesting that they made Imane throw out this comment since it’s more careless than we often hear from her. Not that she’s perfect or anything, just that we more often hear remarks like this from someone like Daphne. But it goes to show that everyone’s capable of these microaggressions.

Daphne says Lucas is so lucky, girls are so much simpler (I guess she means with dating). Irony! Lucas does not say L M A O in response. How lucky can he be when a raccoon man broke his heart? Manon says that’s inaccurate and not true. Daphne thinks it’s easy for Manon to say that when she’s dating the perfect guy. Irony! Manon hops off that couch and says it’s time to go again. I wonder how long they’re going to string along the hints that all is not well with Marles. Noora came back and immediately told everyone that she and William had relationship issues, but Manon is hiding the truth. 

I thought this clip was a lot of fun but it’s one that doesn’t really fit with the mood or atmosphere that Lucas is going through right now. I saw people defending it as like a break from the misery and tension, and I couldn’t help but be like ... no! That’s not a good thing! I get that Lucas doesn’t need the same emotional journey as Isak, but speaking as someone who watched Skam S3, episode 6 in real time, the constant pain was a good thing. Sure, it was draining. Sure, it was stressful. But it got you into Isak’s head. It made you feel what he was suffering. It captured his isolation and loneliness. It made the final clip of the week with Jonas such a huge relief (and to be fair, they sure took a different tone with Yann...) Narratively, it was expertly crafted and paced. With scenes like this, it does chip away at some of the tension. I wouldn’t say it’s pointless (and again, on its own there were a lot of funny moments) but again I wish Skam France was better at establishing and holding a mood. Because there are ways they could have shot this scene with similar content, but with more of a consistent emphasis on Lucas’ POV, filtering through his lens. Focus on his detachment, have something in the shop remind him of Eliott, etc. The dead guy’s brother talks about how isolated and lonely the brother was and how he didn’t open up to anyone. Something like that. Except for a few brief moments like the shot of his hand or the response to Imane’s comment, the scene doesn’t have much to do with him, really, and this is a very crucial time in the story to be making us feel what Lucas feels.

There’s also that I feel like a girl squad scene is like a requirement of each episode, and listen, I enjoy them as much as anyone, but I also think that these scenes can feel like they don’t fit with the narrative as a whole. Both the cake clip and now this clip had little to do with Lucas’ POV (compared to something like the Kinsey Scale discussion which was relevant to him). There are some bits contributing to other subplots, like a hint at the end about Manon and Charles, which is probably meant to lead into the next clip where Manon cries, but tbh they’ve dropped quite a few hints about her not being OK by now so IDK this particular one was necessary? And to be fair, other seasons of Skam spread their focus beyond the POV character. But part of why Isak’s season is so good, IMO, is that every single clip contributes to the main story. It’s very tightly written. I guess I can’t help but wish that every clip had a clear tie to Lucas’ character arc even if there are other subplots happening, and not just that other storylines are taking place and Lucas happened to be there. 

Clip 5 - Not talking is good

Lucas is up at almost 2:00 watching TV. A late night clip, wow! Glad to see one of these. It’s something that does establish mood and get us into Lucas’ mindset. Timing is one of the most useful tools the Skam format has, compared to traditional TV series.

Manon comes in and he asks if he woke her. She sits next to him and climbs under the blanket. Manon is clearly distressed. Lucas notices she has tears in her eyes. She seems on the brink of saying something, but he suggests they don’t talk about it. He puts an arm around her and she leans into him as the piano music starts again. We’re getting a hell of a lot of that this episode. She cries, he starts to get teary as well.

Lucas and Manon have the most familial relationship in the flat. In Skam it was Isak and Eskild, here it’s definitely Lucas and Manon. They feel like each other’s family. I do really like this scene for showing their bond and demonstrating that they’re both going through something they can’t talk about, it’s really lovely. Neither of them can say what’s troubling out loud. Manon has been needling Lucas to talk to her about his problems, but Lucas doesn’t pressure Manon to talk about what’s making her cry. There’s probably a balance they need to achieve to get to the emotionally healthiest place.

One effect of moments like this is that the Lucas/Manon relationship feels so much more developed than some of Lucas’ other relationships, like they can cry with each other and show emotional vulnerability with each other in a way that Lucas can’t with other people. Like I was rooting for Lucas and Yann’s friendship, and there is a ton to be said about Lucas being accepted by his best friend and what that means in terms of depicting supportive male friendships, but I also completely get why people thought he should come out to Manon instead, because story-wise, this relationship feels different from others. Lucas does feel comfortable with her, even if they’re not talking about their problems, and making the progression to voicing their problems to each other seems like a logical progression. 

Clip 6 - Find your Jerome

Lucas has gone to the school doctor from the first season, who tries to guess his name. The final one she guesses is Isak, lmao. Awww. I’m going to be a total sap and say that my heart got all mushy and emotional hearing that name. I miss my boy! I need Julie Andem to deliver that reunion special ASAP. But I do like Skam France’s nods to the original show, they’re not that subtle but they’re sweet gestures.

Lucas says he has trouble sleeping. To their credit, they did show him and Manon up late at night this week, so it doesn’t come totally out of nowhere. I do think perhaps they missed a chance for him to go to the doctor because of his hand. And maybe lie to her about how it happened, but she kinda guesses he punched something and gives him a little speech about not bottling up emotions and taking out his anger by punching stuff? IDK. I think that would’ve fit Lucas’ characterization and his particular struggles, but this is fine.

I love how satisfied the doctor seems when she tells him to avoid blue light. Nailed it!

I feel like this scene could’ve been built up a a bit clearer, because Lucas is all, “IDK why I can’t sleep” and that seems a little ridiculous, like obviously he knows why he can’t sleep all of a sudden. If he didn’t, he’d be like, “Oh, blue light is the problem? That settles that.” He’s got big personal problems. It’s just that he’s not going to tell this doctor what they are. With Isak, he had a clear motive for going to the doctor - there was a text where Linn mentioned her sleeping pills and Isak came in asking for some of those, except the doc gave him some advice to talk to people instead. Like I’m not sure what Lucas wanted from going in here? Because he knows he’s thinking too much at night, but he doesn’t want to tell the doctor the specifics. So I’m not sure what he was hoping for by going here since I’m sure he wasn’t planning on using this appointment as a therapy session. I guess he could’ve been intending to ask for some sleeping pills or something else to help him sleep, but never got around to it because the doctor started to talk about her lover and thoughts of murder. Just a small observation. 

The nurse starts telling him about how she also has problems talking about herself due to shyness or modesty (lol, this doctor being shy or modest). But she can talk to Jerome, the man she’s apparently cheating on her spouse with? Or engaging in some mutually agreed polyamorous arrangement, looking at it in a more positive light. (Or Jerome is a mannequin. Somehow that seems like the most plausible option.)

She mentions that her days are filled with teenagers who think they’re pregnant, nice nod to S1, and tells Lucas she can confide in Jerome about her murderous fantasies when her brother wants her to visit. LMAO. Well it’s nice that she can talk to someone about that? Tell me that this tidbit isn’t made dramatically more interesting if Jerome is indeed a mannequin, though. Anyway, she encourages Lucas to find his Jerome, someone he can trust.

Outside, Lucas is sitting and thinking and brooding. He reaches his hand into his pocket and finds a note from Eliott. The tinkly piano music starts again, damn, they’re going for a record in this episode. I think it’s the same tune as when Lucas first saw Eliott. The note is a very cute cartoon of his raccoon fursona, “Eliott 25473” looking at a hedgehog and not approaching him, but “Eliott 34512″ runs towards his fate and talks to the hedgehog. Hedgehog looks super happy to see this raccoon. The animal cartoons continue to be one of my favorite parts of this season.

Lucas sees Eliott walking across the courtyard. That seems to make up his mind, so he puts the drawing in his pocket and gets up. He walks up to someone and asks if they can talk later. The view of the person is obscured just to give you a misdirect that Lucas is talking to Eliott, but of course it’s actually Yann. Yay, Yann! And we’re all so excited for this beloved scene to happen next!

Clip 7 - Coming out to Yann

Ahahahaha.

After school, Lucas and Yann are sitting on a bench in the schoolyard, and Lucas is saying how he has been acting weird lately. There’s the complicated situation with his parents, there’s school, there’s the rent he can’t pay … and he thinks he fell in love. Not with Chloe. It’s not a girl. Yann seems a little surprised, which Lucas observes, but mostly Yann just seems to be listening. Yann is like, but it’s not me? Lucas says no, but there was a time last year … he trails off as Yann seems to be thinking wait, what? So Lucas just holds off elaborating on that confession and tells Yann about Eliott. Yann seems to understand, he’s just nodding and listening, asking a few questions. All is well.

Lucas says he wanted to tell Yann the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He went to see the nurse because he hasn’t been sleeping. She told him to talk to someone he trusts. Lucas talked to Mika and it bit him in the ass. Chloe got mad. Yann asks if anyone else knows. Lucas thinks Manon, Emma, and Alex are suspicious and have guessed, and when he talks to Imane about it, they fight. Lucas asks Yann what he thinks. Yann is turning over something in his head. Lucas wants to know what Yann is thinking.

And Yann says, he can’t do this right now. He needs time. And he gets up and walks off. Lucas sits there in shock and misery after Yann leaves as dramatic music plays. 

I feel like I need a drink before discussing this scene.

I do not think this was the right narrative choice, for multiple reasons. The clip has already been debated and discoursed, so I might not be saying anything new, but let’s unpack it from several angles. I will say upfront that after this scene, even before we got confirmation, I thought it was most likely Yann was upset about not being trusted, or other people finding out before he did, than because he was a big homophobe. But I still don’t think this makes the scene much better or justifiable.

From a basic writing standpoint: I think this was sloppy. I don’t think it was meant for anything other than throwing more shit at Lucas and some quick shock value. They wanted to surprise the viewers of the original show or throw in a plot twist. But none of this fits Yann’s character. The guy has been encouraging Lucas to confide in him during the season, so for this to happen when Lucas does finally confide? Feels wrong. Keep in mind that Lucas is not just confessing about being gay/falling in love with a guy: he mentions his family situation, his rent, school. Yann may not realize that Lucas was outed, but Lucas does mention the stress he’s felt from other people finding out about him and Eliott. So Yann hears all of this and decides to walk away, because of his own wounded feelings. Yann, after being supportive of Lucas and his family situation for ages. Okay. I get that characters aren’t perfect. But this doesn’t even feel like a choice Yann would make. Earlier in the episode he was like “either talk to us or sort your shit out”? He makes it clear that they’re not going to wait around for him if Lucas doesn’t want to talk, it’s caring but very no-nonsense, which is part of why it feels like his reaction doesn’t fit - he takes it personally that Lucas didn’t come to him. It just seems at odds, and I get that people don’t necessarily react consistently, but in a scripted TV show I do expect characters to react in a way that feels organic to their prior behavior.

Without a doubt it would have been worse to make Yann walk away because he’s genuinely homophobic, but in a way it feels even more contrived that he did so for other reasons? I’m trying to word this properly, but while making Yann homophobic would have been a horrible choice and I’m glad they didn’t go that far, the fact that he’s not makes this scene feel extremely petty in the overall narrative. Like when Yann explains himself in the next episode, it becomes abundantly clear that this was a fake-out, this was meant to throw the viewers off for a few days. It was just cheap. It doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of the narrative.

There’s the racial aspect. You cannot ignore that in this scene. We have two non-black Jonases in OG Jonas and Giovanni reacting amazingly to this confession, and the Skam France writers chose to make their black Jonas react poorly. I doubt their thought process was “he’s black so he’s gonna be more homophobic.” But I do think they should’ve thought the implications through. Because as much as people wanted to say race didn’t matter in this scene - it did. People already had an irrational dislike of Yann for doing the same things that Jonas and Giovanni did, and this clip just confirmed their worst biases. We had people hating the black character because of this change. People being like “I told you Yann was the worst and that he wouldn’t support Lucas!!!” when there wasn’t any reason to think Yann wouldn’t support Lucas prior to this scene. It was uncomfortable to watch this play out in parts of the fandom. And you had one of the character’s best, most shining moments taken away from him. Sure, the scene with Yann in the next episode is great. But the coming out scene is beloved and iconic, it made Skam fans love Jonas when many people had still been on the fence about him due to S1, and it could have been an equally powerful moment for Yann, a character who is already marginalized and dismissed by parts of fandom for being black. He didn’t get that. 

Also, when Basile and Arthur ended up being OTT LGBT allies to the point of comedy, and Yann is the one with a bad reaction ... not great that the white guys were overly awesome and the black character is the one who ditched his friend. I’m not saying Yann has to be perfect and that’s the only way he can be great representation. But they had a precedent of this character reacting well and they actively changed that to be worse, and they changed these other two characters to be even more enthusiastic about their friend being gay. Then we also have two other white characters, Manon and Mika, supporting and comforting Lucas when he’s breaking down, in part because Yann rejected him. It’s a pile of unfortunate implications.

Then we have prioritizing the straight character’s feelings. Yann’s reasons for walking away were about Yann, not Lucas. Yann being upset that Lucas didn’t trust him. Yann being upset he wasn’t the first one to know. It’s self-centered. And we’re supposed to assign narrative weight to how a straight character feels about a gay character coming out. This is one of the biggest moments of Lucas’ life, for any gay person’s life. It should not be about the straight character’s feelings. That was something that was so important about the original scene. Jonas showed empathy and understanding that this was Isak’s moment, not Jonas’. Jonas listened. He let Isak talk at his own pace. He asked about Isak, he asked about Even, he didn’t make it about how he, Jonas, should’ve noticed a long time ago or how he felt about it. By making Yann walk away, the scene doesn’t become about the relief Lucas feels, it doesn’t become his affirming moment. In fact, it doesn’t even feel totally like his miserable, shitty moment? Because now everyone is thinking why the fuck Yann did that, what’s wrong with Yann, is Yann going to come back and apologize, etc. The ~mystery takes the emphasis away from Lucas. 

In conjunction with the doctor scene… the actual fuck were they thinking? The advice given to Lucas was “find someone who you can trust” with the message that it’s such a relief to open up to someone. And this lesson as it actually plays out? Leads to rejection. Showing that if you talk to people, it won’t be any better, it might actually be worse because then your friend will leave you. What a great message. It’s not like talking to people and not bottling up your feelings is one of the most important lessons of the show. For a show that is aimed at helping teenagers through stress and shame, teaching them valuable lessons to deal with their problems, it’s thoughtless bordering on irresponsible to juxtapose these clips.

And that leads into my final point, which is not just about this scene, but about how criticism can be received in this fandom. We gotta talk about “realism” and its use as a defense in the Skam remakes.

Some people might ask, well, why does there need to be a great message in Skam? Why do there need to be life lessons in these clips? Can’t it just be an entertaining show? Or, the other popular argument: It’s realistic, therefore it’s beyond critique. (Usually not worded like that, but that’s the sum of the argument.)

Yes, Skam is a show built on realism. It is a show that captures teenage acne and awkward pauses and the mundane experience of lying on your bed texting someone, trying to think of the right things to say, in a way that is often glossed over by other TV series. But Skam is not just a realistic show. Skam is an idealistic show and it always has been. The show has always been about trying to give teenagers hope, to present positive models of behavior, to show the best of what we could be.

Here are some things that could be considered “realistic” in S3:

Isak rejecting Even due to his mental illness

Isak getting bullied and beaten up after being outed

Isak’s religious mom telling him he’s going to hell for being gay

Isak shoving himself back in the closet and continuing to date girls

Even killing himself due to depression

These are all extreme examples, for sure. But they’re things that have happened in real life. They’re stories that have been told in media before. Why didn’t Skam go there? Why did S3 end with Isak and Even in a happy, loving relationship, and not both of them dead from reenacting Romeo + Juliet, or Isak crying over Even’s grave, or Isak forever alone and miserable and suffering for being gay? Because that’s not the point of the fucking show. 

Skam is not perfect. The characters are not perfect. But you have to ignore a core value of the series if you want to claim that Skam is about realism but not idealism. There is a reason so many characters resolve their problems by talking about their feelings. There is a reason we get so many quotes about how we should have empathy for others. Are there many true villains in this series? The only one who feels completely irredeemable is William’s brother, the sexual predator, and even he got a moment of sympathy when Mari acknowledged how messed up his childhood was. Everyone else, even the ones who act as antagonists, eventually gets some kind of compassion and forgiveness. Isak ends S3 on good terms with basically everyone: his friends, his parents, his roommates, Even, even people like Sonja and Emma. Because the show wants to give you some goddamn hope. Skam wants to demonstrate how good we can be to each other when we try.

I watched this episode of Skam in real time. I was going through Isak’s misery day after day. I was there when the original clip of Isak and Jonas dropped. When Isak came to Jonas and Jonas reacted so wonderfully, it was a tremendous relief for both Isak and the audience. I remember when the regular hearts on the Skam website (the like button) turned into rainbow hearts - it was for that clip, and it was such a meaningful moment. Isak was out, the hearts had changed, Isak had changed, there was no going back, but it was a triumphant change. And it wasn’t Disneyland. The clip was healing. It inspired other fans to come out to their friends and loved ones.  

Circling back to Yann’s reaction here: I certainly get why it would resonate with viewers who’ve had similar experiences coming out to people and don’t want to invalidate their responses. It’s not that I think it’s completely out of line with Skam’s idealism for him to walk away. That he comes back in a few days and apologizes is a positive moment with good messages. It’s more that this moment was changed to be worse - I can’t help but feel it betrays that sense of optimism and hope that was built into Isak’s story. Because the fact that they went for the more dramatic shock value moment, rather than the healing moment, feels deeply cynical about what they want for the viewers. As I said above, the change didn’t feel well thought-out, it felt cheap. It’s pretty meaningless in the whole narrative, it’s just a quick gut punch to make you (and Lucas) feel bad. There are other bad things that happen to Lucas that matter in the overall story, because they influence his character or push the plot forward. This felt like angst for the sake of angst. "Realism” should not be a shield for every writing choice on the show, or else we can let all sorts of shitty tropes (and just plain lazy writing) happen in the name of realism. 

Also, can we get rid of the idea that Norway is some homophobia-free paradise and Jonas’ reaction makes sense only in an LGBT wonderland? Homophobia is everywhere. Some places more than others, for sure, but nowhere is perfect. Isak’s story was full of homophobia even if he wasn’t getting gay bashed. How do you think he developed internalized homophobia in the first place? If Isak’s culture is devoid of homophobia, then why is he so nervous about coming out to people at all? 

And I gotta say, after events in episode 7, it is totally ridiculous to defend this scene as realism and “not Disneyland” when Basile and Arthur are basically wearing Mickey Mouse ears when they learn Lucas is gay. Not that I think it’s wrong for them to be supportive, just that their scene is clearly grounded in idealism.

The original clip with Jonas reacting well to Isak coming out? Was based on a true story. It’s just as realistic as Yann walking away.

Social Media/General Comments

Lmao, Daphne’s inspiration deco for the common room. Dream big, girl. I like Alex’s response of pretty pink and elegant toilet paper decorations. Emma suggests a big box of condoms, which is the most practical suggestion.

Eliott posted a picture of his raccoon fursona throwing out many notes, so probably him struggling to come up with the right thing to say/draw to Lucas.

Daphne and Lucas have a friendly conversation. She really wanted him to go lift that couch.

Eliott posts another picture with a Virginia Woolf quote, saying “In case you ever foolishly forget, I am never not thinking of you.” Should be obvious that he’s thinking about Lucas. Virginia Woolf is a good choice for Eliott to quote since she was supposed to be bipolar, as well as bisexual (not pansexual, as Eliott may identify like Even did, but still relatable as they’re both into more than one gender). 

Here’s a post about the Pygmalion reference with the picture Eliott posted. I feel like there’s something to be said about Polaris, too, and Lucas embodying one of the characters in Eliott’s movie, so that it feels like Lucas is lifted right out of Eliott’s art.

Eliott deleted the cartoons of him and Lucille cat after the cafeteria conversation with Lucas about having to choose. He CHOSE.

There’s a very sweet text from Manon and Lucas where she thanks him for last night, it was nice to not talk with him. Awww. They do have a nice relationship.

Emma seems done with Raptor Alex judging by her post “when he’s a fuckboy but he’s cute as hell” which goes along with the conversation when they’re moving the couch. Do we think Emma and Yann will end up getting back together, next season perhaps? Will she and Alex continue to be FWB? Or will Emma find someone else? Or be single for a while? 

Super depressing post from Lucas after he comes out to Yann, a cartoon saying “God needs your boat to use as an ash tray” showing that he’s really slipping and feels like he’s drowning. When Yann walked away, he took Lucas’ last shred of hope with him. JFC.

I’m not French so feel free to explain or clarify something I missed.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!

[diningpageantry]

Year by Year

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250008

Word Count: 9376

Summary: A look into Tyrannus Basilton (Baz) Grimm-Pitch's personal diary over the years he's at Watford.

Notes: sooo this is my new years post! a good ol’ send off to 2018 with my last fic of the year. let’s hope for a good 2019! also, thank you to @sorbriquette for basically just telling me to post this fic, because tbh, i abandoned this until recently. soo thank you for giving me that little fire under my ass!

First Year

Dear Diary,

It was my first day at Watford and it was weird. Dad always told me it would be mine because it was mum’s, but I don’t feel like it’s mine at all. The Mage is weird, my bed is lumpy, and it’s an awful climb upstairs to my room. I feel like I’m supposed to fit in, but I don’t. The teachers look at me like I’m some sad little rag doll and go off about mum and how amazing she was.

I know she was amazing. I know how much dad talks about her that she was really amazing.

I kind of see her in my dreams. She tucks my hair behind my ear and sings something. I hum it sometimes when I’m scared.

I was humming it this morning.

The Crucible experience was… weird. And my roommate is weird.

I knew it was going to be him before even showing up. The Chosen One. Aunt Fiona talked about him sometimes, especially this morning she was warning me. “Don’t talk to him, Basil. He’s got it off with the Mage now, yeah? He’s his little puppet, and he’ll play you too if he gets hold of you right. He’s not right in the head; he’s not supposed to be there. He’s some Normal that got really, really lucky. It’s not right.” I’m surprised she didn’t curse. She usually does when dad isn’t around to look at her like he looks at me when I steal caramel sweets from the pantry jars. But she doesn’t. She kept talking then just dropped me off, giving me a hug. She smelt like cigarettes and polished leather. And like fresh tears. She didn’t cry a lot, but she seemed like it hurt her to be there.

I wonder if it was because of mum. It probably was.

But then I met him. He didn’t look like some wonderful savior of the Mages. Simon Snow. He looked like he never learned to comb his hair and that he’s had that shirt on since he got it a year back. He’s all freckly and practically glowing.

If he’s supposed to be the Chosen One, whoever chose him should’ve picked somebody else. He can’t even contain his magick; it’s sparking out of him in heartbeat waves. Maybe that’s why he’s so golden; it’s his magick on his skin making him a literal light bulb of magick.

And that light bulb wanted to shake my hand.

And I didn’t want to get shocked.

It was weird. He just looked at me smiling, and I had to, because apparently he’s my roommate. For eight years. Until the end, until I’m out of Watford.

I’m not supposed to like him, and I don’t think I will, but he seems too nice to me to be able to hate right now. He smiles too much; he’s missing teeth still. Growing the last ones in. He can’t even get out a regular spell. It’s weird to see that he has so much magick, but he can’t use it. I don’t like it.

I don’t have much more for tonight, diary. Snow is in the shower and I don’t want him to see what I’m writing. I don’t think we should be friendly. Dad wouldn’t like that. Fiona would hate it more.

Night night,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

*

Dear Diary,

Snow is sort of stupid. It feels weird, but he isn’t very smart.

He’s in all my classes and he struggles an awful lot. He has some friend already, Penelope Bunce. She’s smart, like me, but she helps him so much that I feel like if she wasn’t here, he would somehow be the first person forced out of Watford for not knowing anything about being a Mage.

He might be the Chosen One, but he shouldn’t have been chosen for this. Maybe he should have been chosen for moping bathrooms.

Except maybe not. He leaves the bathroom floors wet after taking showers and doesn’t even try to fix it. He just leaves it.

So maybe he’s stupid and can’t look after himself. I can’t believe I have to room with the worthless Chosen One for eight years.

But maybe I don’t mind Watford as much as I thought I would. Besides the idiot roommate and annoying students, it feels like it should be home. My bed isn’t quite as big, and I can put what I want on the walls. I can eat what I want for breakfast, so long as it’s there.

It’s comfortable.

As per usual, goodnight,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

It’s Christmas break and it’s awfully lonely. It’s typically lonely over the Holidays. Aunt Fiona comes by most years. Just drops in, drinks a lot of special eggnog really late, sings too many carols, then passes out on the couch.

This year, everyone's cooing over Mordelia. She’s an “angel”, apparently. She’s just some baby. She doesn’t even look like my dad, but maybe that’s because my dad looks like a vampire.

We don’t talk about how I look like one too, but maybe we should. I’m the only one who’s supposed to look like a vampire because I am one.

We don’t talk about that at all.

Especially at Christmas dinner.

We act all like a happy family, like nothing wrong. Like Daphne is actually my mum, and like Aunt Fiona isn’t crying in the bathroom.

I think I’ve decided, officially, that I hate the holidays.

I’d much rather be at Watford. At least there I don’t have to climb into my bed, and there it’s my bed. My roommate might be stupid, but he doesn’t at least care about some baby more than me.

At least at Watford, I’d be with mum in spirit.

Happy Christmas,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’m almost done with year one. I have seven more, then I’m done at Watford.

Then… I don’t know what.

I suppose mummy would be proud of me for finishing my first year. She would kiss my hair and call me “Starshine” then give me a little bit of her last mint aero bar. I think we’d pack up and go back home with dad, then we’d have a big dinner for the three of us, then she’d read me to sleep.

I think she’d be happy to see me go through Watford. I think she’d ready me to be the headmaster following her.

I’d get to go through her books and actually learn them.

She’d teach me how to control my magick. Dad said I spell like her, and I hope I do. I think I know what I’d say to her if I could.

Mummy, I want to be just like you, and I’m sorry you can’t teach me that.

Maybe when I die—actually die—you can teach me. I’d like that.

Until then, I’m still learning in your school.

Love, your son,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Year Two

Dear Diary,

I think I’ve decided that I officially don’t like Snow. He greeted me today with a, “Hi Baz, you’re looking perky as always,” and I immediately decided that he has to die one day.

His Bunce friend has been reading even more over the summer. She’s going to give me a run for top of the class, but that’s fine. I know I’ll get it. Especially while following Snow around like that.

Snow is going to be the bane of my existence. I want to trip him, or something like that. He knows that if he complains enough, The Mage comes to his attention and makes everyone else feel like they can’t even breathe near him. He likes to remind us that yes, I’m the Chosen One. Just not verbally. I think that makes it worse.

He still does everything like he did last year, too. He’s messy, and he eats messily too. And I don’t know why, but I feel weird when I look at him. I don’t like the feeling, so it probably means I hate him or something. It’s like my chest is punching itself, and then my stomach. I think that means I should punch him in the chest and stomach.

I don’t punch him often, though. I don’t think getting kicked out would be a good idea. Mummy would’ve been angry.

If she was here, she’d tell me that The Crucible gave him to me for a reason. Maybe the reason is it knows I can take a challenge.

We were meant to be enemies, so maybe that’s why we were put together. I’m supposed to get used to how his magick feels to be around because we’re going to fight one day, and I have to be able to deal with it. So that’s that.

Simon Snow and I are each other’s nemesis.

Sounds so evil. Maybe I’m supposed to be the bad guy… that’s how it works, right? The vampire’s the bad guy, usually. I bite someone, everyone screams, and that’s the end of me. That’s what I’d like to think. And on top of it, I think Snow’s the one who’s supposed to do it. It’s sometime after he finishes the Humdrum off that it all falls into place. We kill each other, nice and easy.

Hey diary, if I lose and don’t kill him, find someone to do it for me. Niall and Dev are both too stupid to be able to do it themselves.

Thanks,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

(P.S., people call me Baz. Should I use Baz as an ending?)

(P.S. x2., I don’t think I will. I don’t know if I like it)

*

Dear Diary,

This year is moving awfully slow. I write so often that I don’t know what to write about, even when I skip a day or few.

I still don’t like Snow. He’s awful. Aunt Fiona was right.

That’s all for today.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

My chest keeps feeling weird when I look at Snow. I would go to a Mage doctor, if only it weren’t for that vampire part. I hope it isn’t some medical issue.

If I had the internet here, I would search up “weird chest feeling”. Then some Normal answer would pop up and tell me I’m dying, as if I weren’t already dead. I know you can’t help much either, though. You’re just a book. You don’t know much. I don’t know much, except for what I write. I wish I was smarter, then, so I could figure it out.

I tried to spell myself well, but it didn’t work, and I sure as Purgatory won’t let anybody else try to spell me well. Maybe this is typical; who knows what’s typical for me. Nobody told me how to be a vampire, I just have to drink blood. It’s weird, and I wish I knew what I was doing. I feel like a monster whenever I grab a rat. I feel gross.

I also feel gross when I look at Snow, just a different gross.

Gross.

I wish this would end. Until I figure it out (or something like that),

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow called me Pitchy. I told him to melt.

Latin is too easy, and I could practically sleep during Early Magic. It hurts being as good as I am.

The days are going so slowly, but our holiday is soon. I’m absolutely excited to be doing more of what I want to be doing: Avoiding Snow (and that weird feeling).

Until I want to write again, I guess,

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

*

Dear Diary,

Aunt Fiona ditched us for her Normal boyfriend this Christmas. She sent me a new notebook, this one engraved with just “Basilton”. It’s a pretty deep blue, and the lettering has a fine paint over it in a lighter blue. Sort of looks like Snow’s eyes.

Not that I care to look at him that hard anyway.

Besides, I get to be away from him for days now without him causing some mess and just leaving to do something heroic. He fought a dragon last year. That was a mess, and I got a little angry. He doesn’t seem to care about other lives, but I guess I don’t have much to say about that. I take blood and lives from other creatures, but they’re not magickal, so it doesn’t count. I think.

I keep writing about that, I’m sorry. It just keeps coming back to mind. I don’t like it.

I guess I should be festive, but we barely have any of the festive things I see on telly. We don’t have Christmas crackers and laughter. We have quiet dinner time where occasionally politics are spoken of.

Dad hates The Mage equally (or maybe more) than Fiona does, and I can see why. He looks silly and acts like he’s some god. I’m starting to realize why I hate Snow so much. He’s like a tinier Mage, just more smiley. And he doesn’t have a ridiculous moustache (and I hope he never does have one; that would be too much to handle. I’d die laughing before killing him). I wonder if he likes being like this. I wouldn’t put it past him to have his sword out like the Mage’s, though. It’s like him.

I keep thinking about him. Weird. I don’t like it, but I have to sleep,

Goodnight, Diary. You’re nearly full now, so I’m going to use the one Fiona gave me once you’re full.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

*

Dear Diary,

Snow’s close with that Wellbelove. I don’t quite like her either now. She talks like she’s in an old black and white movie.

Maybe she’s going to be the girl we’re supposed to fight over like a proper vampire story. That’s when we fight to the death.

I don’t want to fight over her. I can’t really see why I would. Weird.

Until I figure it out (or tomorrow),

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’ve decided that girls are gross. I don’t like how they look.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Classes end in two weeks today officially and I’m not sure I want to go home. If there was a way I could go up to my mum’s room, I’d sit in front of her fireplace again. I want her to sing me to sleep again.

I sort of remember what it felt like at this time of year all the way back then. I wish I could remember more of it; it would be much more satisfying to actually live that again.

Besides that, classes are going well. I’m doing quite well, as always, and that’s what matters.

It’s been a relatively mundane year. My chest keeps feeling weird, but I think it’ll change eventually. It goes away when I’m not near Snow, or when I don’t think about him, so I will have to try that more.

I might search it once I get home, but until then, I’m stuck here with just you and the boys. Boring.

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Year Three

Dear Diary,

The chest feelings back. It’s only been a day and I don’t know what to do about it. Google said it’s a crush, so, of course, I have to crush him. That’s the only reasonable answer.

I hate him. I hate his little smile and the way he eats like a slob. He’s ridiculous. I want to see him laugh more, or pee himself so I can laugh at him. I guess that’s all I’ll get from this because I refuse to believe what the internet is telling me.

Besides Snow, I suppose everything’s just lovely, as it comes. Classes are typical and I’m bored. The Mage is still his typical weird. It’s another year at Watford, I suppose. One day in and the rest to go. Two years down. Mom would’ve been proud.

Let’s go, year three,

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I think I’ve figured how I’m going to get Snow to freak out. A Chimera in the Withering Wood. He pees himself, and hopefully, hopefully it’ll get rid of that chest thing that is absolutely not a crush. I will update more on the idea tomorrow.

This chest feeling is still between you and I, thankfully. Let’s get it away.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

It is not a crush.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’ve been sitting on the chimera idea for about a month now. Maybe after break… it’ll be funny. A new year, then I do it.

I guess it’s dangerous, but it’s absolutely worth it. It’s something Fiona would actually approve of, fucking with Snow. It’s a lovely idea.

I can hear him right now, leaving water all over the bathroom and humming so loudly. Most nights I end up listening to him go off like this, but other nights I’m actually watching him go off. How many fires has he started this year? I kept track a week or two ago of how many times he's gone off this year, but I can’t remember exactly where I was at. I think I have a few to add to that, too.

It’s distracting to have him like this. Great.

I’ll count again later.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I don’t believe in Father Christmas, but I know what I want this year.

I want Snow to shut up, new violin strings because I snapped my E string again (I’m not even sure if I want a new string because I’m about to size up. I’m at a ¼, but it sits funny and my arms are getting longer. I need a ½, I think), and as every year, I want mum back.

Thanks,

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I do not like Snow. I don’t know why anyone would.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow’s the day where it’s going to go down. I’ll get him dragged out, and that’s where the chimera will attack. I suppose I have to be careful not to catch on fire, but besides that it’s a flawless plan. I’ll laugh my magic away.

I’ll update tomorrow, Snow’s almost out of the bathroom.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

It was not flawless. I hurt.

Will update when I can.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Here’s what happened,

It didn’t go right. It was supposed to attack him, but that isn’t exactly what happened. It just… turned on me on a dime, then went after us. Snow, being the hero he is, managed to save us from it just in the nick of time before we were both dinner.

Why didn’t he leave me? I was the one who dragged him out, but there he was, dragging me along too.

I still hate him.

I hate this.

He hasn’t looked at me since we got out. He dragged himself out and there was Bunce, losing her mind, but no, don’t mind me. I would’ve bled out if I didn’t hunt enough last night. Thankfully I got myself all wrapped up and tucked away in our bathroom for an hour as he fussed outside.

We weren’t supposed to almost die, I was just trying to tease him, but that’s what Snow shouted. That I tried to kill him.

I wouldn’t try to kill him. Not yet, at least.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Why did he save me?

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

It didn’t resolve the chest feeling, but it twists more now that he won’t even go near me. He doesn’t sleep with his back to me anymore, though. I heard him say I’m plotting.

I am. I’m plotting to rid the world of him eventually, but apparently I can’t do that right. Not right now.

Curse the bloody Chimera.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow called me Grimm-Bitch today when I had to work with him in class. He flinched when I raised my wand. Maybe he has a reason to be afraid of me.

I told him I’d give him a Viking funeral if he didn’t fuck off.

I think I’m afraid of myself.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

He’s so stupid. He was stupid to save me.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’m all packed and ready to go, and even after all that’s happened, I’ve noticed some things about Snow.

He still sits near the pitch during my games. He watches from some tree, usually looking like he’s studying, and I can’t put my finger on why he does it. He doesn’t really play, and when he does he’s awful. Merlin, he can’t play for shit. So why is he there?

His scars healed well. He still suggests that I tried to kill him, and I just look at him when he says so. I don’t want to say I wanted to mess with him, it makes me sound weak, and so I just… look at him? I guess? I don’t know why.

Sometimes he looks at me for a while. Makes me chest all weird.

He’s been spending more time with that Wellbelove too. It’s the three of them; she’s not really bright, and her magic is comparatively weak. I wonder what it’s like to feel like the limp dog next to the powerhouse of the magick world.

We’re truly sworn enemies now. It feels right, but I don’t know why it also feels wrong. Maybe I just don’t feel ready to kill him. I don’t even like killing to feed, and those are small creatures.

I don’t think I like him.

Tyrannus Basilton (BAZ) Grimm-Pitch

Year Four

Dear Diary,

Fuck.

Sincerely,

Basilton Pitch (Nobody really calls me Tyrannus, so I guess I shouldn’t have to anymore, and I don’t care about the Grimm side. I’m a Pitch, like my mum.)

*

Dear Diary,

It’s only been a week, and I want to rip my own head off.

I think I do like him. He says I intentionally shoved him down the stairs (okay maybe I did it… can’t prove anything). I’ll feed him to the merwolves if I get a chance. I’m tired of seeing his tattered face and hair glittering like a coin.

Maybe he was destined to be flipped into moat, then.

I want to rub his little face into the ground as I kick him. It’s the only way to deal with him, at this point. We’ve been at each other’s throats since day one and I’m going to have to get the one up on him.

If it weren’t for the Anathema, I would’ve had this all over sometime soon.

This year is going to be horrid. The next few years are going to be horrid.

Snow seemed to have a little growth spurt over the summer, and his edges sharpened a bit. He looks like some fairy tale hero coming to life. Save me, oh Snow, from myself. Or something of the like.

With all due respect to the hell you see, Diary, I’ll bid you a goodnight from my thoughts.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Merlin and Morgana, it’s going to be a slow year. It’s only October and I want to rip my hair out piece for piece.

I wonder if I start writing dark poetry you’ll come to life and slap some sense into me. (I’ll try to put magic into it)

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary

In dark nights with light sheets

He turned bright (something cleats?)

Hang on this is terrible.

Boy of gold and hair of copper

I stare at him in wonder

If he’ll ever see me the way I see him

Or if he’ll just give me my end

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I apologize for the poetry. I now look back at my 12 pages of it and there’s no excuse. It’s either terrible, or just a list of things I’d kill Snow with.

I’ll work on it elsewhere instead of my nightly entries. I’m depressing.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow’s a pain still. No other updates. Boring day. It smells like late autumn, and the game went well tonight.

Snow still watches from the trees.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

My chest pulling has been getting harder. I hate it.

Snow nearly choked on some ham tonight and I imagined myself going to help him. Crowley, what’s happening to me?

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow looks at that Wellbelove weird. I don’t like it.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I quite hate myself

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I think I’m gay, thoughts?

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’m gay.

Basilton Pitch,

*

Dear Diary,

Men? Men.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’m going to tell Fiona I’m gay tomorrow.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

She said she’s known since I was 9 and would go around singing ABBA.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I don’t think Snow is gay. I think he likes Agatha.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

But what if Snow is gay?

Basilton Pitch

-

Dear Diary,

I hummed some ABBA, and Snow hummed some back. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I have officially decided that the gross feeling I get when I see Snow is nothing. He’s just that terrible and I do not like him one bit.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Do you recall what I said a while back? About not liking Snow? I think I might have miscalculated something.

Basilton Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Oh Merlin and Morgana. I knew it. I’ve known it. I like him. I hate that I like him, but I loathe to hate him. I’ve like him for years and it’s never going to stop. I’ll try to get rid of it this summer. I have to.

I hate this.

Basilton Pitch

Year Five

Dear Diary,

When I opened the door, there he was. My prayers weren’t answered; he didn’t disappear. He just lifted his head and said (probably sarcastically) “Lovely to see you again, Baz.” I want to swipe that stupid, pathetic smirk off his face. Or I want him to wipe mine as I taunted back with a, “You too, Snow. Lost weight or IQ points?”

Crowley, he keeps getting more handsome. His lips curl into a smile and I’m a puddle at his feet. He could launch me away and I’d thank him.

I nearly lose myself at the sight of him now, and I know why.

I’m in love with him.

Fairy tale, alright. Cartoon heart eyes and butterfly stomachs and all; it’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.

At this point, I don’t want to fight him; I want him to end me in some dramatic half-arsed battle where he slays me, but I have just enough time to pull him to me and tell him that I love him more than the stars in the sky, then I die a languished death.

I hope he buries me with some lovely flowers.

It’s all I can dream about now; kissing Snow, blood spurts (I’m not even sure if it’s because of the vampire thing, anymore), and then Snow ending this all. It’ll be beautifully poetic; more beautiful than I deserve.

Baz (Simon calls me that; I think I’ll stick with just Baz) Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I feel disgusting. I took two showers today, but I don’t know if I’ll ever feel well.

Snow’s dating that Wellbelove. Perfect.

Now, of course I never expected for him to care for me (he still brings up that I tried to kill him, which isn’t exactly correct, but that isn’t the point), but it still makes me feel like I’m drowning and Snow’s the one who tied the bricks to my ankles.  It’s like my nightmares; I’m sinking fast, and he’s laughing with one of those lovely arms around Wellbelove’s thin, frail, feminine waist and there I am, dying.

And I didn’t even get to kiss him.

I wonder if that’s how he’ll do it; I don’t even know if I can drown. I never tried… suppose I could try, but I don’t want Snow to have the gratification of finding me dead, if I do die, before him.

It’s kind of hot though. There I am, naked, and there he is, looking at my dead corpse.

I mean that’s it, but he’s still gets a full glance of me.

(I’m starting to doubt this was even about me drowning. I think I just want Snow to see me naked).

I don’t think I can write much more about this; my heart’s pounding out of my chest and I waited until Simon went to bed to write this entry, so I’m staring right at him and all I can think of is him stabbing a sword through me after he knows.

I sort of want him to know.

I need him to know, at some point. Before I’m gone.

I suppose it can wait until the last minute, then.

Until then,

Baz Pitch.

*

Dear Diary,

I wonder how strong Snow is.

I never see him really work out, except swing that sword around, but he’s the Chosen One, so there has to be some sort of muscle compensation for that, right? I see them sometimes, when he’s shirtless, but I guess we’re still kind of young.

He’s still cute, though. His nose sticks up a little at the end, and his moles and freckles all over. He looks like somebody took a paintbrush and ran their thumb along the top, splattering onto him.

I know you can’t see, Diary, but I wish you could. He’s what I’d imagine Apollo would look like if Apollo was useless. A godlike appearance on some kid who can’t even spell right.

And he makes me weak. Maybe I’m useless.

He makes me so weak that I sit here, scribbling away my thoughts because I have nobody else to say them to. I’ve already mentally made sure that I have nobody.

Dad doesn’t know I’m queer yet. I think I’m going to tell him one day, but not yet. I don’t think he’ll kick me out; it’ll be the talk of the Old Families. Oh, did you hear? Malcolm Grimm tossed out the last Pitch in the direct bloodline because he’s a poof. It’ll out him for having a gay son, which he’d rather not have known, so I guess I’m safe. Unless he knows I’m in love with Snow. Then I might be dead.

Fiona’s the “Cool Aunt”. She buys me Adam Lambert CDs (I still, after all these years, prefer ABBA) and tells me that I’m a catch for any boy. I would hope she means it, but I know when she says “any boy” she’d never even imagine that the boy I want is our sworn enemy. She’d personally bury me alive if she knew I’m fawning after Snow.

Niall and Dev are both reliable, but they don’t quite know I’m queer yet. Sure, I threaten to flirt with them, and they might’ve caught on, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to stand up and say “Alright boys, I like cock” quite yet. And even then, they won’t like that it’s Snow. Even if they do accept it, if I move on, they’ll never let me live it down. Oi, I’m in love with the Chosen One! Let him take me away on his magical steed as we ride into the sunset!

I mock myself enough for the two of them.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

It’s absolute torment that all I have is you. Granted, it’s quite funny to look back on what I said when I was 12 because my poor soul had a little crush, but it isn’t cute anymore.

It’s utter hell and I want out.

I want Snow to out me.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow followed me out when I tried to go hunting. He’s setting me a bit on edge; I’m sure he’s figured it out, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing, or the satisfaction of getting me kicked out of Watford.

For now, I’ll let him play cat and mouse. What’s the harm in liking him thinking about me?

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’m a scary vampire. Boo.

I hope Snow’s happy now (even though he’ll never see this).

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Winter break is quickly approaching, and it’s setting me on edge. While I wish for it sooner, I also dread being home.

That, and the knowledge that Snow spends his Holiday with Wellbelove, in her perfect little life. He even mocked me for it today; mentioning the Christmas party before throwing me a glare and saying, “Don’t you have an evil lair to get to for break?”

I wish I could choke him out.

Or, perhaps, to have him choke me.

In gay exhaustion,

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what I’m to do about this recorder.

I’ve been sat staring at it for the past half an hour now, and each time I try to look closer, my stomach gets queasy and I want to run off.

Oh, and happy Christmas, I suppose. Fiona made it this year, which has put me into this exact predicament. See, she and my father spent last night going back and forth about the bullshit the Mage has been pulling us through. So, this morning, I’d unwrapped my gifts from her (or rather, pulled off the tissue paper from the gift bag) and found three things: A posh styling gel, a signed picture of David Beckham, and this stupid fucking recorder. This, of course, doesn’t include the gift of a bottle of vodka and a flask she’d snuck me earlier today, telling me that it’s best to drink on campus after dark.

After a bit of confusion of the voice recorder, which included me nearly setting it off onto myself, she’d dragged me aside and explained how she’d enchanted it.

So now here I am. A half-arsed plan, a cursed tape recorder, and my horny guilt that makes it hard for me to breathe, even when Simon’s so far away.

I don’t really know if I have the nerve to do it. Not yet, at least. I’m going to have to work my way there. After all, this’ll probably take Snow away once and for all. Of course, with my luck, it’ll backfire and end me instead.

Maybe that’s just what I want.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

On the bright side of this hell away from the hell of constant Snow is the fact that I can finally jack off without waiting for Snow to go to breakfast first. Happy fucking Christmas to me.

Baz Pitch

-

Dear Diary,

First day back and I’m nearly sure that Snow has a hickey on his neck.

If you’ll need me, I’ll be floating face down in the moat.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Snow found me in the Catacombs last night.

Sorry for not writing, by the way, but I was quite a bit pissed, and I think I managed to pass out before Snow did.

I owe an explanation, I suppose.

He didn’t find me draining rats, although I think he saw a drained one or two a room away. At least he didn’t see the blood on my shirt and face; it was washed out by the vodka. I’d missed my mouth a few times too many, and I think he’d missed the point if my drunk ramblings.

With a sword pointed at me and a threatening grumble, I tried to wave Snow away by telling him about the plague deaths that I’m surrounding myself with, if that’s what he wanted to find so desperately.

You know, I should have done it then. I should've pulled the recorder on him.

I’ve kept that damned thing on me since Christmas, sitting against me and reminding me every day what sort of job I’ve set out to. It clings to me as I hunt; it reminds me I’m a monster inside and out.

I should’ve done it. I should’ve just let it end last night, but I didn’t. The look of pity on Snow’s pathetic face, and the way his sword had shown its sheen in the firelight sent my mind spiraling. I’d wished he’d stabbed me. He’d missed his opportunity.

I wish he’d wiped the dribbling, clear alcohol off my chin. If he would’ve just sat there, wiped me clean before swiping me dead, I would’ve accepted my end.

After all, that’s how I want it to end. I want it to be gorgeously morbid and neverendingly depressing. I want Simon Snow to look me in the eyes and I gasp for my last breaths, knowing how much I love him.

If only he felt the same way.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

I’ve set the date.

It’s pitifully secured onto the date before our spring break, a glaringly obvious reminder of my feelings towards him.

Snow gets to disappear the day before break, then I rush off to never see him again upon my return.

I’m pathetic. I’m a weak soul, wanting this done, wanting my feelings gone. I crave the release of something; my frustrations melting away with the rough gravel of his voice. It’ll trickle down into the water, satisfying those disgusting merwolves’ hunger.

Maybe it’ll satisfy my cravings for an ending.

It’s only two weeks away, so I wait. And I wait and wait.

And hopefully, it’ll soothe me.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Damn Philippa. Damn Simon Snow.

Damn the World of Mages.

Damn myself.

I’m going to sleep forever.

Baz Pitch

*

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow’s the last day of the year, and Snow hasn’t even looked at me properly since the incident.

Maybe I deserve a swift death. Maybe I deserve the ending I long for, but only sooner.

If I’m lucky, this war will spark this summer, and Snow will show up just to end me right on my father’s front lawn.

If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to see Simon Snow step out of our bathroom with a shaved head and dark bags under his eyes again.

If I’m lucky, I’ll be dead.

Baz Pitch

Year Six

Dear Diary,

This is hell.

This room is hell. This proximity is hell.

I feel his magick; the heat of it thumping through his veins and filling into the surrounding space. The scent of his powers, the spit in his voice as he bitterly barks back a welcome. Well, barely a welcome. It’s more of an angry spit in my direction, making a borderline spiteful comment about our summer. My summer. As in, particularly if I enjoyed my “posh, spineless cushion of a break.”

I didn’t manage to say anything back. I was too scared.

Imagine that: Me, scared.

It wasn’t quite the fear of him, but rather the fear of myself. Of the words I’ve hidden so far down that it’s all encompassing, overwhelmingly present in my mind when I see him again.

I’d spent the summer engaged in the fantasy of him not loathing me. It’s intoxicating; I can’t help but daydream nowadays. It’s all I’ll ever get, really. A sad, hormone fueled dream about some fucked up alternate dimension where we aren’t at each other’s throats at all times.

I don’t know how much more dreaming I can do, besides lustful gazing.

I wish I had more to do.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Snow thinks The Mage is ignoring him. Should I say serves him right, or is that absolutely ghastly?

Scratch that, I love ghastly.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Now that exactly 30 days have gone by, I’ve decided to make a list of certain events. These events happen to be equally two things: The most idiotic things Snow has done this year thus far, and the reasons I’m absolutely enamoured with him.

He buttered a steak even more than it was before. When I caught his eye, he challenged me by slabbing even more butter onto it.

Snow tripped over some else’s shoelace, but the person was across the room. He tripped because he was looking at the untied shoelace, shouted “Your laces are untied--” then tripped and fell on his face.

He asked me how many countries there are in Russia.

When I said, “Dear Crowley, Snow, we’re going to have to euthanize you”, he replied with, “You’re going to have to kill me first.”

I saw him cram three (I counted them, three) scones into his mouth by pressing them together with a textbook before shoving them into his mouth.

When asked what a good levitation spell is, he suggested I Believe I Can Fly.

He sneezed the other night, looked around in confusion, then said “Bless you”.

When I said “Mon dieu”, he thought I said fondue and said “Where?”

I called myself a twink, and he squinted at me for a minute before asking where I was hiding them. He doesn’t know what a twink is. He thinks I referred to myself as an non-perishable snack cake.

He sits at my football games, but I haven’t seen him once at Wellbelove’s games (This one’s much less idiotic, much more curious).

Will add to the list as the year goes on.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

37. I told him pixies can grant wishes if you pull on their hair. Trixie nearly slapped him across the courtyard.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

This year is so painfully slow, and not really fun at all. I’ve just been studying, and Snow’s been avoiding me more than ever. Which, in hindsight, is the best for both of us. Especially since he’s put on some more muscle.

I feel like a tit when I actually say it, but Snow’s a bit of a sex god.

I know it sounds a bit mental, but he really is. He’s a hunky bloke; broad shoulders and solid legs, and he’s got a ridiculously sculpted face. And, overall, I’m so painfully, unavoidably gay.

Merlin, just a look of him is uncalled for. He might be awful at combing his hair, but he’s got a sunbeam smile and the softest looking eyes you’ve ever seen. His hands are rough, and he’s filling out like a wet dream, but he's still the same snow. He’s some scared kid who I didn’t want to shake hands with.

It’s unfair. I wish I didn’t have to see him everyday, but the moment I catch his eye on the regular, I send my most intimidating glare and try to move on.

This year can’t end soon enough.

Neither can next year, or the year after that.

The sooner I can stop seeing Simon Snow everyday, the better.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

I take back what I said about not seeing Snow; I’d rather not be at home.

The twins are borderline unbearable, and I wish I’d never agreed to not going to Fiona’s.

Instead, decided to spend most of my Christmas sat at a stuffy, lonely dinner table as nobody speaks and everyone else eats.

Somehow, dinner's less boring than my empty room. Here, I get to use my laptop (I spit on the ground the Mage walks on; I wish I didn’t have to sneak it around when I’m at Watford) and just fuck around online.

And by fuck around, I mean have basically nothing to do but sit sadly and write shit poetry while watching Netflix.

I think I’ve gotten a bit better at it. Poetry, that is. Someday, I won’t be absolutely terrible. I think.

I wish Snow was here to pester, though; somehow, it’s more fun to watch him try to swing at me in a classroom than to sit and pout around because he isn’t here to tease.

I’ll see him soon enough, though.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Eyes full and lies empty

I drop myself into a grave.

Cold, watery and open,

I embrace it as a friend.

Baz

- Dear Diary,

The moment I looked at Snow this afternoon, he stared up at me and said “bitch”. So that’s how my first day back is going.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

I wonder, if I kick him hard enough, Snow will fly into that alternate dimension where he actually likes me.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

162. “Hey Baz, can vampires swim, or is it like a really weird mirror and they can’t really get in?”

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

For the second time this year, The Mage said a word to Simon. So, of course, he’s been all chipper today.

And by chipper, I mean a bigger dick than usual. He looked at me across the classroom, and when I sneered, he stuck out his tongue and made the jack off sign to me before turning back around.

Oh, if he only knew.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

I’m starting to think Wellbelove isn’t quite head over heels for Snow’s overactive heroism. After all, most girlfriends would leap into their partner’s arms the moment they return from fighting a rampant swarm of bogles. Instead, she just dusted off his shirt and gave him the most pathetic excuse for a smile.

On the same hand, she seems to have different idea for me..

And by this, I mean I think I saw her wink at me today.

Maybe I’m going mad (which is absolutely possible), but perhaps it was real. It was after dinner, as I was washing up, and she looked up as I took her plate and she bloody winked at me. I couldn’t quite believe it.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Fact check: not mental. She winked. She did it again, this time when I helped her after she dropped her books while Snow glared from across the room. Then, in what I assume was her most sensual whisper, she thanked me while her hand brushed my arm.

I wanted to gag.

I think Snow’s going to ask me to have an old fashioned duel for his girl.

I don’t want her, Snow. You’re so fucking oblivious.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Happy end of the fucking year. I did my yearly spit into the moat, and packed off nice and well. Snow’s all shaved (eck), and finally I can say six years down, two to go.

Baz

Year Seven

Dear Diary,

I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here.

I already saw Snow give a quick kiss to Wellbelove, and my entire appetite for the next eight months went out the window.

I’m living in hell and Snow’s got the fucking scythe in his hands.

Let’s go, year fucking seven.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

I miss the days where my heart didn’t ache when I look at Snow.

Maybe those days didn’t actually exist, and I’m keeping myself in a suspended disbelief over the previous normalcy. Perhaps, I just crave a situation where I never longed for him, or I just wish I could just move on.

It’d be great to move on. It’d be absolutely lovely if I could just kiss another bloke and I could be happy with my life. Do you know how easily I could get someone else if I tried? I’m not absolutely hideous, I’m just pathetically in love with someone else.

It wouldn’t last, if I tried to move on; I’d never last. I doubt I’d last more than a one night stand; smoke a cig on the balcony and gaze longingly at the sky, tracing the constellations that seem like they’re printed back onto Snow’s skin.

I’d find replacements of him, scattered among London wearing chavy clothes and speaking in a similar, thuggish tongue that he returns with after every summer. I worry that I’d have a “type”. Gold skin, blue eyes. Moles. Curls. I wonder if they’ll have the same spark of anger in them; snaps of defense and a stumbling voice that can only manage retaliations of “fuck you.”

I’m nearly sure I could copy what he looks like, and find a similarity to who he is, but I’ll never find him again. I suppose that’s my downfall is. The villain’s curse.

The bullshit to this situation. The fact that I'm in love with Simon Snow and no one else.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Wellbelove’s been distinctly distant with Snow this year.

It seems like last year wasn’t a fluke; she’s been showing acute interest in me, and I’m starting to suspect that’s not a matter that’s due to change. I’m not interested--not in the slightest. She’s too, well, too much of a girl for me to ever really care.

I wonder if my father would set us together anyway. Say it keeps the power, say it joins the bridges between the families. I get to see Snow cry, and I get to see myself keep the reins on the Pitch name.

Perhaps, it won’t be terrible.

I suppose it’s something I’ll have to find out.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Disregard previous entry. She brushed my arm and I nearly gagged.

I want nothing to do with women.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Would it be the end of me to come out to father this holiday? Just briefly stand at the dinner table, once we’re all done, and announce it to the room.

“Father, Daphne, I have an announcement. I’m into blokes. That’s all. Please send the disappointment letters through the slot under my bedroom door so I can promptly dispose of them into my fireplace. I may even light a cigarette with their charing remains, since father hates that so much.”

It’ll be lovely to give him a heart attack. The best Christmas present I could hope for; the coldness of the family to seep into our cheerful festivities.

It’s going to be a bloody happy holi(g)ay.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

He just rolled his eyes, called me dramatic, and said he’ll still try to fix me a wife.

Somewhat of a lesser reaction than I’d expected, but that’s still off my chest.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Snow’s in a cast. It’s quite funny watching him try to hobble up the stairs with his leg all wrapped up. I get a kick out of taking the pencil off his desk and dropping it onto the floor without breaking eye contact. He doesn’t quite think it’s as humorous.

I think the best overall part of this was Wellbelove’s apathy to the situation. There’s her boyfriend, injured from a backfired wand, and she just sort of stared at him and said “Pity”.

An iconic scene to watch play out. 5/5 stars. Bravo.

At least now I can keep a closer eye on Snow; he seems to think I’m plotting to fuck up his other leg, while I’m just plotting my own downfall.

How beautifully romantic.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Agatha slipped me a note today, telling me to meet her in the Wavering Wood this Friday, right as term is ending.

I think I’ll “slip up” and mention it to Snow offhandedly, just to rile him up. Whatever’s planned on Wellbelove’s part is unrelated; I’ll put up with letting her down bluntly, just to see Snow’s crumbling as I do it.

It’ll be lovely. Maybe I’ll cheer after.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Did not go as planned.

Snow disappeared, then later reappeared cloaked in his own blood and the stale stench of The Humdrum.

Then, before I knew it, we were both gone. Not a word, not a whisper to each other.

Next September is going to be the underworld brought up to life.

Baz

Year Eight

Dear Diary,

I found you, tucked among my school trunks, waiting for term to begin without me. It’s quite unfair to write in the midst of the beginning of the semester while I lay in my bed at home, too weak to rise longer than an hour. My leg’s still in a disarray, and I still feel the pain of hunger even after I eat (I can barely keep much down as it is).

I’ve paged through my old copies over these past few days; the filled pages that taunt my every fleeting thought inside that damned coffin. My cares for Snow, and my wishes for him to find me. It’s ridiculous. I knew it was, and I’m still aware that is it, but this is my final year to see him and I’m not even there.

Beautifully depressing, or hauntingly real? I can’t decide anymore.

My body aches; my heart hurts. My lungs still feel compressed, and my head still spins.

I can’t sleep in darkness. It feels too close, and I still smell myself withering away.

Some nights I lie awake, sleepless and mulling over the possibility that I’m actually dead, and this is my afterlife punishment. I’d gotten my last laugh at Snow, no kiss, and now I spend eternity in a too big posh bed with children running amuck and a doting step-mother stopping in every few hours to drop off a snack.

If this keeps up for too much longer, I’m going to assume that Hell is actually the Grimm-Pitch manor.

If I can’t go back, I’m going to send myself to hell in my own hand carved boat of my life’s worth of mistakes.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

Father says I can return to Watford next week.

The leaves have been changing, and I doubt I can go back to the football team, but there is one upside to this: Seeing Snow (somewhat) peacefully for the last time.

I’m anticipating anger; a punch on the lawn and a spit in the face. He’ll tell me off for last year, and act as though I haven’t been missing for months. It isn’t like he noticed, or anything. He avoids me on good days, so there’s nothing in particular to miss.

There’s only room for me to miss him.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

That was… something.

I’m too tired to write my thoughts.

I should go up to the Mage’s office. I will, soon. Eventually.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

The dragon, my mum. His power surges; I never knew it felt like combustion. An explosion in my arm, sparks at my fingertips.

I have so much to ask, so much to gather.

I don’t think I have much time to write in here anymore.

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

I’ve left you untouched for too long; I know that.

Break began this morning, and it feels odd to leave Snow alone on the grounds with the knowledge that he’s fending for himself.

It was a bit selfish on me, to get him to come with me just so I don’t get to miss a minute of him this year. It sounded fair; it sounded good. I offered him kindness, and then this. Fuck the truce. Fuck him. Fuck everything.

Baz

*

Dear Simon,

Fuck me?

Baz

*

Dear Diary,

In regards to the previously written entry, may I make a brief remark of last night?

I think it may very well be a possibility now (the, you know, fuck me statement). I don’t know what sort of Christmas miracle this is, but his hands burn my skin, and lips singe my heart. And I love him. And I’m going to tell him, because he made my lips sore and burnt a cross into my palm.

One day, I think I’ll finally get to tell him. And now I know it won’t end in blood. It might just end in a ring.

Baz

[ahomeganeyatsu]

Ran Off in the Night (Part 4)

He got punched in the shoulder before he could even get a word in. Arthur and Yann looked betrayed, lips pursed as they took their seats. Basile looked to be the only one remotely thrilled to be here. He had been the only one who confirmed he would come that Monday afternoon—until they shot him down and made impromptu plans just to get out of it. 

Basile was nearly bouncing in his seat and Lucas had to place a hand on his knee to keep the boy still. He wondered if it had been a good thing to bring him here. Then again, Imane had demanded that he bring all of his friends. So, Lucas' hands were washed free from this disaster waiting to happen.

“Seriously, Lucas? You said there'd be drinks!” Yann whisper-scolded, aiming his best I-am-very-disappointed-in-you-young-man stare.

“And girls! Don't forget he said there would be girls,” Arthur supplied, leaning over Basile and patting Lucas’ knee so he could get a front-row seat of his friend's displeasure.

He rolled his eyes at the two. “Are you guys blind or what?” the superior tone in his voice was clear as day. He jerked his chin to the front. “Look right in front of you: four girls. And if you want drinks, there’s orange juice right over there.” He pointedly stared at the table where the cakes and juice were set up. He was careful to keep his lips pursed, maintaining the cool—if a little exasperated at his friends—façade.

Arthur opened his mouth, but promptly closed it. Lucas hadn't exactly lied. It was all semantics really. They should have cleared things up. If they had, they wouldn't have been beaten by a fucking technicality. This was on them. And Lucas could see Arthur come to the same conclusion.

“Okay, you won this round Lallemant,” Arthur squinted at Lucas. He knew the blonde will be keeping a close eye on him. Waiting and ready to pounce on him for his revenge.

Lucas raised a brow and shrugged. Still affecting the devil-may-care attitude. This got him another punch from Yann. “You owe us Lulu.”

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I just scored you free food and drinks. What the hell is wrong with you?” Arthur reached out and poked him on the stomach while Yann, being closer, aimed for his hair and ruffled it. His mask slowly slipped and Lucas snickered at playing his friends like a fiddle.

In all of this, Basile remained in his own world. He was utterly engrossed in shooting heart-eyes at Daphne that Lucas grimaced at how sickening it was.

“Okay boys, big news. I think she just winked at me.” He relayed excitedly rubbing his hand together and smiling like the goober he was.

Arthur, ever the helpful one, took it upon himself to dash Basile's dreams and bring him back to reality. “Nope, dude. Not all. She's just rubbing her eyes.”

Yann snickered beside him and Lucas could only shake his head, a little smile tugging at his lips. Ah, Baz, the poor besotted bastard.

Lucas heard something clunk and reflex demanded him to look and see what it was. He felt dread pool in his stomach and the smile he was sporting had dropped off from the face of the earth. He met Chloe's eyes and quickly looked away.

He could practically feel her stare boring into him. He should have expected this. She was at Emma's party. There was a high possibility that she would have come to an event organized by the same set of girls. Lucas sighed internally, Well shit, there goes not seeing her again.

He wasn't known for being smart when it came to dealing with people. So, being the dumbass he often denied of being, Lucas had to check if Chloe was still actually staring at him. And big mistake. There was a pleased smile painted on her lips, eyes bright and hopeful before she shoots him a wink.

He had hoped that none of the boys had seen it. But Arthur, since he was really out to get him, had been watching her and seen the whole exchange happen. “Oh fuck, now that was a wink.”

“She's so into you dude.” Yann noted. “Did you two hook up on Saturday?”

The guys began to pepper him with questions. Questions that Lucas had no interesting in answering. The light feeling had completely evaporated, anxiety taking its place. It was at that moment where Lucas—not wanting to meet his friends’ eyes, trying to gather his wits in how to answer them—turned to the door and saw him.

The world had suddenly gone silent. He could hear nothing except for the beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breathing. At the back of his head, a piano piece, one he had tried to recreate in the music room he had snuck into a few days ago, came to life.

Lucas watched him saunter into the room. Steps light with confidence, eyes sharp and guarded with a certain curiosity. There was a barely there smile on his lips as he surveyed the gathering of students. Lucas waited for him to take a seat.

He didn't.

Instead, the guy took a spot in the corner and stood there like a shadow—an apt description considering he was clad in black from head to toe. Lucas continued to stare at him. Caution thrown to the wind, the thought of getting caught staring intently at a boy far from his primary concern.

There was something about him. Lucas couldn’t pinpoint what, but the guy just stood out in Lucas’ mind. The teen wondered who he was. If he was a hallucination or not. Lucas subtly checked if anyone was acknowledging his presence. Because, really, with that face, people were just bound to do so.

Except, no one was looking at the guy. None of the girls at the front had their eyes straying to where the stranger stood. They were completely ignoring him. Or maybe, they just couldn't see him.

He glanced at him once again and felt himself stiffen as he met the stranger's eyes. A familiar set of stormy-grey eyes.

  “You're going to be okay. Just stay with me, come on.” A hand pressed carefully on his neck and Lucas grunted in pain. He could only see the blue sky being overtaken by storm clouds.

 Lucas blinked and he was back in the common room. He had seen them before. That glimpse of something more before it's ripped away from his grasp was telling. There was just no way he could forget them. In the light, the grey seemed more prominent, the blue left into the edges. Like a storm brewing in the distance. He wasn't sure how long that connection lasted. Only tethered in this world by that gaze. Just like in that dream. It only snapped when Yann nudged him and Lucas felt the noise rush back into his world.

“Huh? Y-yeah. You could say that.” Lucas tried to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Like there wasn’t a guy drilling holes on the back of his head with that piercing gaze, standing guard near the door. Like he hadn’t been staring at what could’ve been empty space to everyone else.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, Lucas, what do you mean 'you could say that'? We need deets dude!” Yann muttered with glee.

He swallowed and calmed his breathing, “Yeah. Okay, yes I hooked up with her.” Before any of the boys could express how proud they were of his achievement, Daphne had spoken and officially started the meeting. He almost shot her a grateful look but that would have been weird so he held back.

He stole another glance at the guy, and yup, he’s still staring at me.

The meeting didn’t last long. Or it was more of a blur for him. He knew Daphne explained the purpose of the meeting and what the common room was all about, all the while shooting Basile down with every opportunity. It was hilarious and Lucas would be laughing himself silly, like Yann and Arthur. But he was hyper-aware of the guy that abandoned his post near the door and was currently checking the room. He moved with grace, avoiding brushing or bumping into anything so no one would be alerted of his presence. Save for Lucas, of course. The girls started handing them a survey and Lucas answered it with uncalled focus because if he didn’t, he would just keep watching the guy.

He tried not to react when he felt him stand right behind him. Reading the survey over his shoulder and humming contemplatively. And it was all too familiar. Too reminiscent of the past few days. He had known the moment he saw him that this was the presence that had been tailing him the whole week. But denial was Lucas' greatest companion, so he forcefully didn't reconcile the two things. Not until now.

He ignored him with all his might. He just can't afford breaking his cover. He had worked hard to hide this damned ability. He wasn't going to let this guy―gorgeous bastard or otherwise―ruin it for him. Besides, what was he going to say to his friends? Hey fellas, you don't see him but I'm being stalked by this guy who happens to be just right behind us right now. Oh, and not to freak you out but there's a secret society that exists alongside ours except you guys probably can't see it. Yeah, that will go down wonderfully.

“Guys what do I do?” Basile asked anxiously, jarring Lucas out of his musings.

“Write to her,” Lucas said without much thought, tapping the pink survey.

“Yeah, you can always write your number,” Yann added.

“Oh, and write your name. Put Baz,” Arthur interjected, motioning with his hand as if highlighting their friend's name. “My name is Baz, like that.”

“Oh, now that's a good one,” Yann praised with a laugh.

Lucas stayed quiet after that, finishing the survey in record time and handing it to Daphne along with the other guys' surveys. When he turned back to where he sat, the guy was gone.

It was at that point Lucas questioned himself. Did he really see someone? Had someone really been there? Or was it just a figment of his imagination? Driven by his desire to finally discover his stalker, for answers? Or simply a way to divert his attention from the discomfort of Chloe’s pursuit?

Will he ever really know?

[mattzerella-sticks]

The Spooky Specter on Set (Coda to 13x16 Scoobynatural)

Dean thought that his animated vacation was a one-time deal. So why is he back? And why are he and his friends the Scooby Gang? Dean's going to have to get through the episode, solve the mystery, and work out a few things if he's ever going to find his way out. But just what has the power to bring him back there? And who thought it was funny to make him...

(AO3)

                                               You’re not fooling me

                                                  Cause I can see!

                                         The way you shake and shiver

                                     C’mon we got a mystery to solve so-

           “Huh?”

           Dean blinks back into awareness, adjusting to the light. He’s pressed into a warm, solid weight, nestled against soft fabric. He turns his face in towards his makeshift pillow and whines, feeling the last shackles of sleep breaking free no matter how much he wanted to stay imprisoned.

           “Whoops, sorry ‘bout that Dean. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

           He reels back, jarred by the deep, familiar rumble coming from his leaning post. Dean doesn’t know how long he’s gaping at Cas before blue eyes meet his. It’s only for a moment – a concerned glance before he has to return focus onto the road.

           “I know you can be picky about the music,” Cas says, grip tightening on the wheel, “but I figured a quiet van might make for an easier rest.” Dean wants to make a comment – they drive a car, not a van – but another voice pops up.

           “Makes it easier to read, that’s for sure.”

           Dean has to crane his head back to where Sam is sitting, nose buried in a book. He looks up slightly, to meet Sam’s eyes and – ‘When did Sam start wearing glasses?’

           Next to Sam, Jack tilts his head in concern. It’s the same expression as the Doberman slobbering all over his leg. “Like, are you okay, Dean?” Jack asks, “You look like someone scuffed your boots.”

           Dean wants to scoff. To fire back a witty retort, saying that he’s gotten far worse on his boots then a scuff. To tell Jack to stop looking at him like that and kick the dog out his Baby. But then he notices.

           How spacious the back of the car is – there’s no backseat, just a flat bed where Sam and Jack and that dog can spread out. How the roof isn’t hovering inches away, in fact a good foot above his head. How the usual track deck was replaced with a sky blue and slime green 8-track player. The fuzzy dice hanging over the rearview mirror.

           “What the -,” Dean wheezes, looking around, “Where’s Baby?”

           The Doberman perks up, and she tilts her head to the side again, “Ri’m right rere, Rean.”

           ‘This is it,’ Dean thinks, staring wide-eyed into the deep brown eyes of a talking Doberman, ‘I’ve officially lost my mind.’

           “Dean,” Cas starts, drawing Dean away from ‘Baby’ and to him, “You don’t – are you feeling okay?” He’s not that observant – anyone with functioning vision could tell Dean wasn’t doing his best. Dean’s trying not to fall into a panic attack, but it seems like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. “Maybe,” Cas continues, “Maybe your scarf is too tight? Why don’t you loosen it?”

           ‘Scarf?’ Dean feels for the material around his neck, and loosens it the tiniest bit. It’s not a lot, but his breathing does start to even out. Probably because instead of worrying about the car – ‘van, I’m in a van’ – Dean’s focus is drawn to the scarf.

           The green scarf with ends that hang delicately at the dip of his collarbone. It pairs nicely with the snug, purple button-down he’s wearing and – ‘bubblegum pink jeans?!?’

           ‘No, c’mon… why am I…’

           It seemed like only yesterday he, Sam, and Cas had jumped out of the cartoon world and back into theirs. It was an unusual adventure – the only normalcy being the dead bodies they happened upon. But they solved the case, helped a poor boy, made some friends, and fulfilled a couple, but not all, of Dean’s childhood fantasies.

           Yet here he is. Back in the Mystery Machine – only now instead of meeting the Scooby gang, they’ve become them. And curse whatever ghost, spell, or trickster that decided he should be Daphne. When he said he wanted in Daphne’s pants, he never meant it literally.

           “Is that better, Dean?” Cas asks, drawing him away from further spiraling. He takes a good look at him, and tries not to frown. Dean may not have been Fred’s biggest fan, but at least he got to drive the damn Mystery Machine. Why give that power to Cas? He’s a total Scooby.

           He’s not even in his usual get-up, either: the tan trench coat and blue tie exchanged for a similarly colored sweater and ascot.

           There isn’t much he can do. It doesn’t look like anyone else can tell there’s something wrong with the situation. Sam has finally abandoned his book and is giving him a weird calculated stare that would be scarier if he wasn’t being cocooned by the orange turtleneck he’s wearing. At least Jack and… Baby… have moved on to sandwiches. Those two are wearing exactly what Shaggy and Scooby wore; save for Baby’s tag demarking a solitary ‘B’.

           His plan of action is clear: play along until the mystery is solved and they’re zapped back into their own world. Maybe figure out what spirit is causing it this time. If it worked once before, it can work again.

           “Yeah,” Dean sighs, pressing up against Cas again, “I think I just woke up too fast.”

           Sam snorts, turning back to his reading. He says, “Leave it to Dean to find a way to make even napping dangerous.”

           Dean bites back the ‘Bitch’ that’s balancing precariously on his tongue. It would be easy, but judging by the wholesomeness of the van, he’s afraid his PG-13 language would be too sensitive for their ears. So instead he turns his attention back to Cas.

           “So,” he starts, getting comfortable, “how long was I out for?”

           “A while,” Cas says, glancing down at him with a smile, “You conked out pretty early, muttering about ‘early starts’ and ‘beauty sleep’,” Dean blushes, “But you woke up at a good time. We’re almost there.”

           “Almost where?”

           “Like, you can’t be serious!” Jack yelps from behind, leaning up until his head presses between Dean and Cas. Dean frowns at the kid, upset at how rudely he butted in. “We’re only going to see the most fantastic, super amazing, spectacular television show in all of television history!” Jack continues, Baby nodding along behind, going “Reah, reah!”

           “Given that television hasn’t been around that long, there isn’t much to that claim,” Sam says, without even looking up, “Although having been on the air for this long… that, I will admit, is a laudable feat.”

           “Like anyone could ever cancel Dick Morrison, Ghost Detective!” Jack says, plopping back on his rear, “There’s no mystery that man can’t solve!”

           Cas, this time, leans closer to Dean, whispering, “You’d think he’d get this excited when it comes to our mysteries.” Dean bites back a giggle – because he’s a man – but there’s no harm in the chuckle that rasps its way from between his lips.

           “Like, whatever man,” Jack says, crossing his arms, “Second-hand excitement is, like, all I can handle.”

           “Still, it must get tedious to watch someone do exactly what you do, shouldn’t it?” Sam asks, abandoning his book.

           “Yeah,” Dean agrees, “Shouldn’t television be about escape and relaxation?”

           “Like, c’mon, Dean!” Jack whines, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

           Dean blinks at him, “I am?”

           Sam snorts, “Please, we all know why Dean happens to like that show – and it’s not because of the plot.” Dean glares at him, trying to piece together what he meant. And why the comment had Cas bristling beside him.

           “Look, we can all gang up on Jack later,” Cas says, “We’re rounding the block – everyone be on your best behavior.” The grumbled assent puts a small smile on Cas’s face, which he shares with Dean. It’s a special one that shines from his eyes and works at the crinkles near there. He returns it, of course. Not because of the weird flutter in his chest, but because it would be rude not to.

           ‘Oh, whatever!’

           He’ll do what it takes to solve this case – but not that. The ghoul can put Dean in the purple boots but he can’t take the scratchy flannel out of Dean.

           He looks down, eyeing his shoes.

           ‘Who even owns purple boots?’

           For the Groovy Sixties, this studio sure looks cutting edge. Well, for its time. Dean was looking over a large camera while the rest of his gang filtered their way in. He needed to distract himself with something – on the way in, he’d already been accosted by the security guard, the janitor, two production assistants, and three extras. One who had been over seventy.

           It wasn’t easy being Daphne.

           “They are fascinating, aren’t they?”

           Case in point: the guy who’s plastered to his back, whispering into his ear.

           “Yeah, man,” Dean sighed bitterly, “But I don’t think you need to inspect it this close – oh.”

           Dean had turned to give him his piece of mind – he’d had enough: key word here being had. Because after catching a good look at the man, the fight left his body. Like his steely, grey eyes were the calamine lotion that soothed his prickly irritation.

           “My apologies,” he said, taking a scant step backwards, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just believe that when it comes to inspecting true beauties,” he grins, raking his eyes over Dean’s body, “one must get as close as possible.”

           Dean can’t help it this time – he giggles. He couldn’t hold it in, distracted, unable to put more than two words together let alone control reactions. It slipped out. But it was the right call, because now his eyes are shining, and Dean’s skin is flushing deeper, and –

           “Like, it’s Dick Morrison!”

           Jack and Baby pounce, pushing Dean back and away into something solid – Cas, by the deep ‘oof’.

           “Please, please, call me Dominic,” he says, “I just play Dick on television.”

           “Like, Dick – I mean, Mr. Morrison – no, no Dominic,” Jack rushes out, stumbling over himself, “I’m a huge fan,” he holds up a small notepad, “Could I, like, get your autograph?”

           “Reah, reah,” Baby nods, holding up her own notepad, “Rautograph!”

           “Anything for my fans,” he takes a pad, signing without looking, eyes trained on Dean, “I take it you are the winners we were told would be joining us?”

           “Yep!” Jack carries on, “Me ‘n Baby here entered your ‘Spend a Day on Set with Dick’ contest, and we brought our friends: Cas, Sam, and Dean.”

           “Dean,” Dominic practically purrs his name, stepping forward to grab his hand, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He presses a light kiss to Dean’s knuckles. Dean would say he enjoyed it, but there were two things making that hard. The fact that Dominic was a dude, and the serious glare Cas is shooting the man.

           “Pantomere!” a heavy-set man in a sweat-stained button-down calls, “You’re needed for the next scene. Stop making eyes and get a move on.”

           “Unfortunately, our time is cut short,” he says, frowning a beat before dazzling Dean with another smile. “Wait for me, and when I’m done, we can pick up where we left off.” He squeezes Dean’s hand before walking away, his trench coat billowing behind him. Dean didn’t even realize he was wearing one, too caught up in the scene to pay any attention.

           Cas clears his throat behind him, and Dean turns around sheepishly. He doesn’t know why – just because Cas is Fred and Dean is Daphne doesn’t mean Dean and Cas are Fred and Daphne. But the anxious worry is still there, like being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

           “And just what,” he starts, flexing and releasing his fists, “was interrupted?”

           Dean blushes, unable to meet Cas’s interrogative eyes.

           “S’nothin’,” he mutters, “We were looking at the camera –“

           “Typical,” Sam cuts in, smirking, “We’re here not five minutes and the first thing you head towards is the camera. Classic Dean.”

           Dean glares at him, “Could you be quiet, peanut gallery?” Sam shrugs, looking quiet pleased. He can just picture the canary feathers poking out of Sam’s feline smile.

           “Can you believe it,” Jack joins in, staring at Dominic’s writing, “Dick Morrison’s autograph! This day is shaping up to be really hip!”

           “Rou raid it, Rack,” Baby said, “Really rip! Reheeheeheehee!”

           Another production assistant slides by, looking at her clipboard, “Quiet on set! We’ll be shooting in five – everyone be ready!”

           “C’mon,” Jack says, “Let’s get a good seat! I wanna be able to feel the action!”

           “Jack,” Sam starts, about to lecture Jack on small-screen acting and the power of editing, but the excited innocence startles him, and he lets his words slide away, “Sure, buddy, let’s find a spot.” They follow the assistant, Baby on their heels.

           Dean tries to follow, but a firm grip tugs at his wrist. He turns, Cas still looking at him in that strange and electrifying way. Dean tries to shake it off, not used to feeling like this. At least… as a cartoon.

           “Everything good?” Dean asks him.

           Cas opens his mouth, as if to say something. But after a beat, he closes, something in his eyes shifting course. “No,” he says, “it’s… it’s fine,” he clenches his jaw, “We should follow… go and watch Dominic.”

           Cas’s voice is blendered gravel on a good day, but when he said Dominic’s name it struck a harsh chord; like it were an avalanche rolling thunderously down a mountainside.

           “You sure?” Dean continues, “I mean… yeah, we were close but it wasn’t gonna go anywhere,” he’s blushing, ducking his head, avoiding Cas’s searching eyes.

           “Didn’t look that way,” Cas mutters, “How flustered you were getting –“

           Dean cuts him off, “I don’t get flustered, especially over guys.” It’s defensive – too much. He laid it on thick, Cas’s suspicion raising the hairs on his neck. Still, Dean needed to lay the law down. He might be Daphne, but broad shoulders and ascots don’t do it for him.

          Except Dominic’s shoulders were kind of slim and narrow. And he had a red tie, not an ascot.

           He’s looking at broad shoulders and an ascot and too-blue eyes and a cute smirk and –

           “ZOINKS!!!!!!!”

           They turn, looking at where their friends walked off. Cas darts forward, hand still on Dean’s wrist, dragging him. He doesn’t pull free until they’re at the scene, and even then he waits a few seconds.

           It’s a sight. An upturned desk, scattered papers, a shattered light. Dominic is being fawned over by several people, and Jack and Baby are shaking in Sam’s arms.

           “What happened?”

           Sam turns to them, dropping the terrified twosome and stepping over to them. “It turns out art imitates life.”

           Dean scrunches his face up in confusion, “What?”

           Sam points to a nearby wall, where large, dripping red letters are practically carved into the plywood.

           L E A V E T H E S H O W A N D N E V E R R E T U R N

           “Who could have done such a thing?” Cas asks, turning back to Sam.

           Jack and Baby, somewhat out of their stupor, still clinging tight to each other, bark out a shaky, “G-G-G-G-GHOST!”

           Dean can’t help the thought that crosses his mind:

           ‘Again?’

           Apparently, this wasn’t the first incident. There’d been other attempts made during filming – each Dominic tried to downplay as his director overplayed them.

           “Do not worry, Dean,” he was whispering to him, while the director talked the others’ ears off, “I face stuff like this all the time on the show. I do not scare easily.”

           It was easier to push him away now that the case appeared. “Neither do I,” he grinned, pulling away from the hand on his lower back and towards his friends. “So,” he says to them, “What’s the plan? Interview the crew, see if there’s any unfinished business here by some dead, disgruntled worker then a good ol’ salt and burn?” Four pairs of blank stares blink back at him. His mind catches up with his mouth, and he feels heat crawling up his cheeks.

           ‘So more like a regular episode and less like a day in my life,’ Dean thinks, ‘Looking more and more like a Trickster… if he were still alive.’

           “I mean, uh,” Dean continues, hoping what he says next is true, “That’s what they do on the show, right?”

           “Not everything you see on television is true, Dean,” Sam admonishes. Dean would be annoyed if his quick thinking didn’t pay off. “Besides,” Sam says, “This isn’t a ghost –“

           “But we saw it!” Jack says, “It had a pale, icky face… long, dark hair… bloody, sharp claws -!”

           “Rand a rhostly rail!” Baby adds, paws akimbo in a mock imitation, “Roud and rary!”

           “Whatever it is,” Cas says, “It seems to be scaring a lot of people. We need to get to the bottom of this, and fast!”

           “Then we better start looking for clues, then?” Dean asks, “Maybe around the scene?” He jerks a thumb over towards the ruined detective’s office, and the gang heads over soon enough. Well, almost all of them. Dean sees Jack and Baby sneaking off towards craft services, but pays them little mind. Not like they came in handy until towards the end of the episode – when they needed bait.

           Sam begins inspecting the letters (“It’s paint – not blood.”) while Cas looks over a few of the marks left by the ghost’s entrance. Dean decided to check around the desk. Besides the tattered scraps of paper lying about – pages of a script marked to hell – there’s nothing else really catching his eye. No slime, no shine… another sign they’re dealing with a more human monster.

           ‘Wonder if someone’s trying to buy the studio…’

           “Excuse me, just what do you think you’re doing?”

           Dean looks up, where a scrawny man is glaring at him, half his face obscured by the large beret he’s wearing.

           “Umm… cleaning?” Dean tries, but the unimpressed expression doesn’t bode well for any chance at stardom.

           “Mister DeMilo, be kind,” Dominic approaches, having changed into a fuzzy-white robe, “He’s a guest – one of the contest winners.”

           “Oh.” That’s not a good sign. Neither is the creeping intensity of his stare. “Of course, not only do I have to deal with this mess, but the danged marketing gimmick is interrupting my creative work.”

           “With all due respect, sir,” Cas starts, walking over to them, “We know a thing or two about solving mysteries – and we can help you out.”

           DeMilo points an accusing finger at him, “What you can all do is get out of my way, and stay sequestered somewhere out of my sight until this day is over, got it?”

           “Hey,” Dean barks, getting between DeMilo and Cas, “We’re trying to help. No need to act like that.”

           “And you should learn some manners, boy,” DeMilo warns, “Before speaking to someone like me. Now, Pantomere,” he turns to his actor, “Don’t think that this means you get an extended break. Once the crew gets rid of the… mess,” he casts a withering glance at them, “we are getting back on track. If you need me, I’ll be in my trailer.” He stomps away before Dean could get in a good hit.

           ‘Keep your cool, Dean,’ he thinks, fist tight, ‘Daphne doesn’t punch.’

           But she does know how to use her mouth. “Well… he’s a piece of work, ain’t he?” he asks, Cas’s snort a sign of agreement.

           “He’s a little rough around the edges,” Dominic apologizes, “But he’s really dedicated to his work. We were lucky to get such a big profile name to be a regular director –“

           “Wait,” Sam stops him, “DeMilo? You mean that was Vince DeMilo?”

           Dean shoots him a weird look, “You know who that was?”

           “Vince DeMilo is an award-winning film director,” Sam continues, “What’s he doing working in television?” He looks at Dominic, “No offense.”

           “None taken,” he shrugs, “I was surprised as well. But the studio paid a pretty penny for him – why we had to cut our episodes down,” he turns to Dean, winking, “And why my trailer is much more intimate. If you need to investigate…”

           “We’ll get there soon enough,” Cas steps in, mouth set and firm. Dean rolls his eyes.

           ‘Men.’

           Cas and Dominic seem to be in a staring match, neither wanting to be the first to look away. Dean would do something about it, if he wanted to. But there was something about the scene that punched him in the gut and took his breath. Maybe the cocky grin and brows of Dominic, or the righteous fury sparking out from behind Cas’s eyes. It was something out of a Western, which appealed more to Dean’s sensibilities than this hippie period.

           Thankfully, Sam still has his senses about him to step in. “If you two are done,” he says, “We need to get back to what we’re doing.”

           “My apologies,” he says, stepping past Cas and to Dean, “if you need me, I’ll be running lines with my co-star. Work never stops…” he presses another kiss to Dean’s knuckles, but this time he pulls his hand back instead of letting it linger in Dominic’s smooth palm. He winks, and struts away, oblivious or uncaring to Cas’s fiery stare.

           Dean turns to him, “Cas…”

           “I think I’ll go make sure Jack and Baby haven’t eaten the crew out of their meals,” he says, walking off in the other direction. Dean watches him, wanting to say something. But the thick feelings of disappointment and shame choke him, and he focuses on that. Because why should he be ashamed of not saying anything to stop Dominic. Or disappointed that Cas didn’t… defend his honor or something.

           He’s Fred, and Dean might be Daphne… but they’re not Fred and Daphne…

           ‘Right?’

           “What you’re doing isn’t right, y’know,” Sam says, knocking Dean out of his thoughts. He’s giving him a bitch face – at least they kept thatin this cartoon.

           Dean stills, his fear replacing everything else. That maybe Sam can hear what he’s thinking – judging him for the feelings that clearly aren’t his.

           Because they’re not his. They’re Daphne’s. That’s the story he’s sticking to.

           “I don’t,” he wheezes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           Sam rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you’re star struck –“

           “I am not star struck –“

           “Dean,” Sam stops him, “I’ve seen your poster of Dominic hanging in your room.” And now Dean feels that shame again, “And just because he’s famous doesn’t mean you have to be nice.”

           “I’m not being nice.”

           “Yes, you are!” Sam groans, “You always act like this when someone flirts with you. I’d have thought you’d grown out of it since…” ‘Since what?’ “well, y’know,” ‘No, I don’t know!’ “But in front of his face? That’s low.”

           Dean might have a sneaking suspicion of what Sam is getting at, but he doesn’t get the chance to see if he’s right. Not before Cas, Jack, and Baby are sprinting towards them – with a ghastly figure on their tails.

           “Run!”

           “Like, that was a close one!” Jack rasps out, leaning against Baby while he and the others catch their breaths. The Specter (‘So generic, did he name himself?’) had run on ahead, not bothering to check the supply closet the group hid in.

           “You said it,” Cas says, standing up straight, “Gang, this monster doesn’t want us looking into it. So you know what that means?”

           “We should, like, listen to it and get going?”

           “Reah, reah!”

           “No, Jack, Baby, we need… to split up!”

           Dean sighs; thankful they’re up to this part already. ‘Halfway out of this emotional turmoil.’

           “Alright,” Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, “Where are you and I going?” Cas gives him an odd look, uncertain what to make of Dean’s statement. Now if that doesn’t twist the knife deeper into his wounded heart?

           “Are you sure?” Cas asks, murmuring, “If you run into Dominic again… I don’t want to – to cramp your style.”

           Dean winces. It wasn’t a pretty sight, that’s for sure. During the chase, Dean had tripped – because of course. Cas tried to catch him, but got barreled over by Baby and Jack, while Dominic managed to make the save. He was leaning in close after, as if to sneak a quick ‘thank you’, before Cas grabbed Dean’s arm, ripping him from Dominic’s embrace. Dean squawked, more annoyed at Cas for nearly pulling his arm out of his socket than freeing him from the actor’s hold.

           But it mustn’t have looked that way to him.

           “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” Dean smiles, hoping it soothes over the hurt. And he means it, too. For once, this isn’t a Daphne feeling. Cas always makes him feel better, and when he’s out of sight there’s nothing left but the mosquito-like worry for his return.

           The slight blush working its way up his cheeks because of Cas’s boyish grin – that Dean blames on Daphne.

           “Okay,” Cas says, turning back to the gang, “So Dean and I will check out more of the studio. Maybe see if there are any offices we can take a peek in. Sam – you, Jack, and Baby can turn over the trailers.”

           “Oh no,” Jack says, “Baby and I are going to go wait in the van until you three come to your senses and join us!” Baby nods, mirroring his crossed arms and fierce frown.

           Sam sighs, “Would you two do it for some Baby Bites?” He pulls the box seemingly out of nowhere – but that doesn’t matter in a cartoon. What matters is that soon enough, the three of them are on their way towards the trailers while Cas and Dean dive deeper into the studio.

           “Look,” Cas starts, “I want to… apologize, if I am acting a bit strange,” he’s not meeting Dean’s eyes, and he seems to be fiddling with his ascot, “I know that you’d never… with Dominic. I just – I’m nervous –“

           “You? Nervous?” Dean chuckles, “I thought you ‘don’t sweat’?”

           “I do, though,” Cas continues, “I sweat, I doubt, I – I get jealous,” he sighs, wringing his hands, “I know I shouldn’t be, we discussed the possibility of this happening when Jack and Baby won,” ‘We did?’ “But talking and joking about it is entirely different than seeing it with my own eyes.” And, ‘ah shit’, there’s no masking the pain in Cas’s voice.

           Sam was right, whatever Dean is doing – it’s low. And Cas, sweet, lovable, big-hearted Cas, is suffering from Dean’s blindsided actions. He needs to stop letting Daphne get into his head and be firm. Just because some guy gives you a smile, oozes on the charm and lays it on thick, doesn’t mean Dean has to give him the time of day.

           Daphne might have been nice to Dean, but Dean doesn’t have to be like that for Dominic.

           And then it hits him. He stops, eyes wide as the realization rolls over.

           “Dean?” Cas asks, stopping just outside an office door, “Is everything okay?”

           “Yeah,” Dean wheezes out, “S’fine… peachy. This the place?”

           “Looks like the producer’s office,” Cas reads the nameplate, “Let’s check it out.”

           The door’s unlocked – because of course – so there’s not much trouble in their investigation. The only problem is Dean’s mind, unfocused because it’s busy laying into him about his own actions.

           ‘Daphne was never interested in you, ya doof,’ he starts, ‘She’s just too nice to say no – it’s how she was written. Her heart belonged to Fred, there was nothing you could have done to convince her you were even an option.’ And thinking about that doesn’t put him in any great mood either. It was like finding out Santa Claus wasn’t real – he held onto that little bit of his childhood for so long. Now, he’s spiraling without it, on uneven footing – with no idea where to turn or what was next.

           “Hey, Dean, take a look at this.”

           Snapping out of his daze, Dean makes his way over to Cas. At least he knows where he stands with him. There are a few papers in his hands, and he’s furrowed his brow in thought.

           “What do you have?” Dean asks, taking some of the pages in his hands and glancing through them.

           “I’m not sure… there’s a lot there, but nothing that adds up to one suspect,” Cas says, “You’re looking at the contract for DeMilo –“

           “Wow that’s a lot of money!”

           “You’d think,” Cas says, “But from these secretary notes, DeMilo was insulted. That if he wasn’t unable to work anywhere else, he would turn them away.”

           “With a personality like that, who’d want him?”

           Cas smiles, “They don’t want him for his personality, but for his talent.” Dean chuckles, agreeing.

           “What else is there?”

           “Just more notes,” Cas says, flipping through pages, “Meetings with different people about the show… oh.”

           “What?”

           “Very hurried notes… from a meeting between the producer and… Dominic,” Cas grumbles, “It seems he…”

           “He… he what?”

           “I’m not sure,” Cas admits, “These are smudged. No idea what they could be.”

           “It’s okay,” Dean says, squeezing at Cas’s elbow, “I’m sure it was probably something like he needs a new trailer or he’s had it up to herewith the food on set.” Cas snorts, shooting an amused glance at Dean. The uptick of his mouth is just what Dean wanted to see, and something blooms in Dean’s chest. It causes him to stand a bit straighter, his heart to beat faster, and to really take in Cas’s face – ‘how can animated lips look so plush?’

           ‘Maybe this is why you’re Daphne.’

           Like a switch, Dean feels his world up-end. He lets go and takes a step back, trapping himself between Cas and the desk. His eyes are wide, and he’s moving his mouth – but no words come out.

           Cas drops the papers and moves closer, reaching out, “Dean? Are you alright?”

           “Y – yeah…” Dean rasps, moving further away, walking around the desk, “Just feel a bit… light-headed. I think I might take a seat.”

           And that’s why he should have seen it coming. You don’t just ‘sit’ when you’re in Scooby-Doo. Especially when you’re Daphne.

           Because that chair is going to fly back, and Dean will find himself in a dark room, alone, with nothing but the monster.

           ‘Should have known,’ Dean thinks, watching as Cas tries to save him, ‘Damn not-background props.’

           The wall slam shuts.

           The one thing Dean didn’t need right now was to be alone with his thoughts. But when you’re tied up, blindfolded, and gagged – all you have are your thoughts.

           ‘This is ridiculous,’ he thinks, ‘They made it look so quick in the show – how long was Daphne tied up whenever this happened?!?’

           He gave up struggling half-and-hour ago. By cartoon law – old-school cartoon law – Dean was here until his friends found him, or the monster happened to let him go. And judging by how tight the rope on his wrists is, that won’t be anytime soon.

           ‘The perks of being the damsel in distress…’

           Why couldn’t he have been live-action Daphne instead of the original? At least Sarah Michele-Gellar kicked some serious ass. She’s never the damsel – straight up.

           But no, he has to wait for his knight in shining ascot to waltz in and free him.

           Until then… all he can do is think.

           ‘I learned my lesson, didn’t I? That’s why whoever did this made me Daphne. To show what it’s like to walk a mile in her purple pumps? So get me out of here!’

           …Nothing.

           Well, until someone stumbles upon him, he might as well sort a couple of things out. Maybe if he hits the right epiphany, he won’t need the cavalry to come barging in. He can be out of this show and back to his normal life like before. …Unless the ropes and the blindfold and the gag come with, too.

           He doesn’t need live-action Cas seeing him like this anymore than animated Cas.

           And – ‘oh crap,’ – why did he have to think that? He doesn’t want to be anymore uncomfortable. But, this show must be PG through and through, because the familiar stirring and tightness doesn’t pop up.

           …Not that thoughts of Cas and those warm, good feelings were well acquainted in the first place.

           Those feelings popped up when a bartender’s shirt was a little too low-cut, when a waitress customer service became a little too friendly, whenever he flipped the station over to Scooby-Doo to catch sight of that special member of the gang.

           In fact, that show was what kindled the roaring fire of Dean’s sexuality. He’s not ashamed to admit he popped his first boner to a cartoon – who hasn’t in today’s day and age. And who could blame him? That episode had probably been one of the animators’ best works. Just thinking about how each scene with Fred –

           ‘…With Fred?’

           No, it must be Daphne – her personality is slipping through again. He’d always been jealous of Fred – the guy didn’t deserve what they gave him. He got to hold Daphne with his big, beefy arms, smile at her with his perfect grin, take charge when the goings got rough and tough and –

           ‘Holy crap,’ Dean realizes, ‘I had a crush on Fred.’

           Dean is glad he’s gagged because he would rather not hear the hysterical squawk that tried to pass his lips. Instead he’s got to deal with the whirlwind of thoughts about things like perspective and clarity.

           ‘Somebody please come quick and save me!’

           Nothing. He’s tied up, with no sight, no voice, and now he’s dealing with a gay panic. Why couldn’t he suffer the sixties bleaching everyone else’s thoughts had gotten. Instead, a single cartoon character has upended his entire near forty years of life.

           ‘Better late then never, though… right?’

           So, maybe he had a crush on Fred. He’s man enough to admit liking another man. It’s not like it meant anything – he was a cartoon character! Those things are genderless, right? It’d only mean something if he had a crush on an actual human man.

           And Dr. Sexy doesn’t count. Neither does Harrison Ford – Indiana Jones and Han Solo (‘like anyone could choose between those two’). Nor Gunner, that was hero worship. And Ryder, a kid he used to trade hand jobs with behind the bleachers, he didn’t count; those were business transactions. Benny didn’t either because he was a vampire. And if Benny doesn’t count then you better believe he’s not gonna count –

           ‘If you have this many exceptions,’ Dean thinks, ‘Maybe you’re not as straight as you think.’

           That was the nail in the coffin of Dean’s heterosexuality. He salts and burns the corpse, just to make sure it doesn’t linger. Because now that he’s admitted it, he can’t go back.

           ‘Not like I’m fully gay anyway,’ he rationalizes, ‘Still like girls. I just… expanded my tastes.’

           And no one says he ever has to act on those tastes. Dean has a good enough self-control, if he’s held himself at bay for ten years, he can handle the rest of his life.

           ‘Ten years,’ he thinks, ‘that’s specific.’

           It’s not like there’s been anything in the past decade or so that started making cracks in the foundation of his sexuality. Nothing he can think of. Not one person. If there was, he’d have to be a bad-ass, a total stud, with a jaw that can cut glass and a voice that’s been bathed in shards and really intense baby-blues…

           ‘Maybe that’s why you’re Daphne,’ he thinks, ‘Because he’s Fred.’

           And that’s when they find him.

           “Like I said, I’m fine.”

           Dean blushes at the concern, unable to meet Cas’s eyes. It was hard enough not to stare into them when they’re the only things he can see. Cas’s face was close and personal when he untied Dean’s blindfold.

           He felt both safe and in danger at the same time – his fight or flight reflexes thrown into haywire.

           Dean had been hidden away in a prop closet, and missing for a good few hours. Thankfully, Baby managed to catch his scent at some point, and the four of them found him.

           “Lucky for us you’re so Danger-prone, Dean,” Sam says, “because of you, we were able to find a few more clues.”

           “You were?”

           “Yes,” Cas smiles, squeezing his shoulder, “And we’ve got nearly all the pieces to solve this mystery.”

           Dean blinks – ‘I must have missed out on a lot,’ – “So what’s left?”

           “The monster,” Cas smiles, “It’s time for the trap!”

           The trap. Which means Dean is walking closer and closer towards the light. Too bad he still has to deal with the trap’s failure, the chase, and the twist capture. But the way Cas’s eyes light up when he details just how they’re going to capture the Specter… he doesn’t have the heart to say anything.

           He’ll just watch it go up in flames and then – and then he’ll just make it up as they go.

           And boy, does it go up in flames. Literally. Jack and Baby are lucky that they don’t get burned. But with the monster still running free, it seems they’ve got one thing left to do before they unmask this creep.

           The chase montage; cue the groovy music!

           Cas, Dean, and Sam hightail it out of there, making their rounds throughout the studio. They separate and group up in a bunch of different combinations. At one point, Sam, him, and Baby were running across a light platform with the Specter close behind them. At one point he thinks he saw Jack and Baby plop the monster down in a chair and slapstick some makeup on him.

           And the doors – second time around doesn’t make it any less confusing. He thinks he might have been chasing the Specter at one point.

           At least the music isn’t half-bad.

           ‘I wonder if anyone else can hear it?’

           It doesn’t matter, as it fades away soon enough – leaving him, Cas, and Sam cornered by the Specter.

           “You didn’t heed my warning,” it moans, “now prepare to pay the price!” He advances, claws up and getting closers. Dean huddles close to Cas, throwing his arms around his neck.

           ‘C’mon, where’s the damn miracle!’

           “Like, watch out!”

           Jack and Baby descend in the nick of time, riding the rope of a fallen sandbag. They jump towards them, letting the bag knock the Specter out in that non-threatening cartoon way.

           “We did it!” Cas cries, “We got the Specter!”

           “Now let’s get this show on the road, then,” Dean walks towards the Specter, taking the rope from the sandbag and wrapping it up in it before it could escape. He can feel the rest of the gang crowd around them, ready to announce the person behind the mask. Dean can’t wait, putting his fingers under the sweaty latex and tearing it from the neck up.

           He didn’t expect who was under the mask, but judging by the cries of his friends, they knew.

           “Dominic Pantomere!”

           “What?”

           Dominic glares up at Dean from his position, any trace of charm and glamour gone from his face.

           “Just like I thought,” Sam says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Dominic Pantomere –“

           “Hold it,” Dean cuts him off, “Just how does this make any sense?”

           “It was obvious, really,” Sam continues, “Our biggest clue came from the trailer. While Jack and Baby distracted Dominic with questions about the show, I happened to find a letter from his manager, discussing needed reassurance that he’d be available for a new movie.”

           “Which lines up with what we found in the producer’s office,” Cas continues, “It was written in shorthand – about a fight between Dominic and the producer about his contract. Apparently, he wanted this to be the last season. But with great fan appeal and committed backing, Dick Morrison would be going on for a long time.”

           “Just beat that dead horse, why don’t they?” Dean huffs.

           “You don’t know the half of it,” Dominic speaks up, just as security made their way over, “Do you know how disappointing it is to have this be my only career? I was promised fame, fortune, and awards – not a lifetime of servitude wasting my talent acting with less worthy actors!” The guards drag him up by his elbows, putting him at eye level with Dean, “I deserve so much more than this gig. I was named one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors! I was made for so much more than this!”

           “Yeah, well it looks like you’re not gonna be made for much after this, bub,” he taps him on the cheek, “Have fun being an extra!”

           “I was going to be a star!” he shouts, kicking and flailing against the floor, “I would have had it all… if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

           ‘That never gets old.’

           “Well… I think it’s safe to say that the Ghost Detective has closed his last case,” Dean jokes, turning to everyone.

           Jack looks close to tears, sighing, “Why can’t I ever have nice things.”

           “Rou ro, Rack,” Baby comforts him, “Rere’s rizza… randwiches… rice ream… raggheti…”

           “Now I’m sad and hungry!”

           “Come on you two,” Sam grabs them by their collars, “Let’s get you fed.”

           “Like, thanks Sam!”

           “Reah, ranks Ram!”

           They disappear not soon after, leaving just Dean and Cas in the large, empty studio. A weird draft works its way through the building, and Dean takes a step closer to Cas and his weird warmth.

           ‘Fred and Daphne… Fred and Daphne… Fred and Daphne…’

           “So, Cas,” Dean starts, licking his lips, “You must be very happy Dominic was under the mask… is that why you couldn’t wait to set up the trap?”

           “I wouldn’t say that,” Cas smiles, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Dean’s, “It didn’t make me feel bad, however. I knew there was something off about him.”

           “You just didn’t like the way he looked at me,” Dean giggles, pressing his forehead in close. Cas darts his eyes to Dean’s lips, and he licks his own.

           “But,” Dean continues, “I do like the way you look at me.”

           Cas flutters his eyes closed, “Oh, Dean…”

           “Cas?”

           “Dean…”

           “Dean…”

           “Dean?”

           Dean blinks back into awareness, where Cas is looking over him with his usual head tilt. He jumps up.

           “Jeepers!” he cries, “I’m back?”

           “Back?” Cas asks, “Where did you go?”

           “You mean you don’t remember?” Dean asks, “We were… we were back in Scooby Doo – but, like we were Scooby Doo. You, me, Sam… Jack – even Baby was there! But Baby wasn’t Baby, she was a dog!”

           “Dean, you… you didn’t go anywhere.”

           He shoots him a weird look. “What are you talkin’ about Cas? It was so… so vivid. I had to have been transported by some spell or ghost or… whatever.” Dean looks towards the TV – the new one he picked up from Wal-Mart, smaller then the haunted one. An episode of Scooby-Doo is playing on the screen.

           “No, trust me, you’ve been here the entire time,” Cas starts, sitting on the arm of Dean’s chair, “You dozed off a few hours ago during our marathon. Remember? You wanted us to officially christen your,” he holds up finger quotes, “ ‘Dean Cave’.”

           “I… I did?”

           Cas smiles now, letting his hand drop to Dean’s shoulder. “You were really tired. I tried to tell you I could have waited for our marathon… but you insisted. I must say you were… very convincing.” His free hand plays with Dean’s red ascot, which is tied around his own neck. Dean blushes at the sight.

           ‘Fred and Daphne… Fred and Daphne…’

           “I gotta say, you make the ascot work better than I could, hell… even better then Fred,” Dean says, voice rough and raw. Cas looks up at him through his lashes, smiling softly. “Was that what made you stay?”

           “No,” Cas admits softly, “When I asked you why you wanted to do this now, even if you looked exhausted, you simply shrugged and said ‘It don’t matter, if it’s important you make the time.’ I… I was very flattered you consider our time together important.”

           “It is,” Dean blurts out, clutching at Cas’s hand – the one on his shoulder, “Hanging out with you… there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

           Cas is giving him his special look. One Dean only now realizes… is his look. Where the lips pull up ever so slightly on the side, Cas’s nose scrunches up, and his eyes… they’re brimming with an untold energy. Like a pool struck by lightning. He always figured his racing heart, sweaty palms, and dry mouth could be blamed by the power that rested behind those eyes. But it was never that. It was because of the sheer feeling Cas communicated freely, and how much Dean’s body responded in kind.

           “If you’re still up to it,” Dean whispers, afraid anything louder might break the spell between them, “I’m sure we can squeeze in a few more episodes before we need to get back to work.”

           “I’d like that,” Cas admits, looking to the screen, “I’ve grown fond of this show. I can see why you love it.”

           Dean’s eyes never leave Cas’s profile. “Yeah, I see why I feel that way, too, now.”

           On screen the episode plays out, and Dean can’t help the small thrill every time Fred and Daphne pop up – grinning at the way she looks at him.

           ‘Yep,’ he thinks, ‘I'm a total Daphne.’

[whimsicaldragonette]

Some Other Metal Than Earth (Part 1 of 5)

Summary: Draco Malfoy is bored out of his mind in his eighth year at Hogwarts. After a prank gone wrong, he discovers that Harry's life isn't really that much better than his own. As they try to keep their friends from realizing that they've somehow swapped minds, they find it's easier to spend time together. Becoming friends comes naturally. But are their friends really as fooled as they believe? Complete at 5 chapters; will post a chapter a day all this week as a birthday present to myself.

Part 1 (You are here)~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~

-Part 1: Monday-

A fly buzzed around the windows of the new Potions classroom, hurling itself futilely against the glass. Draco found himself wishing he could do the same. Salazar, he was bored. He sighed, propping his head on his hand, fighting to keep his eyelids from drooping. His attention wandered from the lecture again and he found himself watching dust motes dancing in the beams of golden late-afternoon light.

Thank Merlin this was his last class of the day. Staying awake through double Potions right before dinner was turning out to be nigh impossible. Especially on days like this when the sun had heated the room and turned it stifling.

Professor Slughorn’s voice droned on, listing the properties of something-or-other in painfully exhaustive detail. Merlin. The man was worse than Binns. Nearly, anyway. At least Binns could be relied upon to turn a blind eye to the eighth-years’ increasing absences. Draco had been ducking out of History of Magic for weeks now, joining most of his classmates out on the grounds.

Well, not joining, exactly. He usually joined Blaise and Pansy for a walk around the grounds, steadfastly ignoring the Gryffindors as they ran about in their usual madcap fashion or lounged in the sun. Sometimes Daphne tagged along, hauling Theo with her, but Draco was indifferent to their presence. He was only close with Blaise and Pansy, anymore. Greg had chosen to enter an apprenticeship in lieu of returning for eighth year, and Vince…

Draco tried not to think about Vince.; it hurt too much. There was an empty spot on his left, a bit like a missing tooth, and it was so hard to keep from prodding at it. Vince had brought it on himself, gotten in too far for Draco to pull him out again; but he still felt like he’d failed him.

He sat as far from the fire as possible now, leaving the cozy chairs for the irritatingly fearless Gryffindors. He felt his face pull into the familiar sneer, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the expression.  He felt the smallest flicker of jealousy; he’d loved the crackle and hiss of a cheerful fire, once. But now all he could see in the dancing flames was the fear in Vince’s eyes as he fell, burning, burning…

The other students ignored them, mostly, as they strolled around the lake. It rankled a bit. He could do with some brawling, but no one thought them worth fighting anymore. Not even Potter, who seemed content to run about with the others.

The fly buzzed past his head, avoiding his absent-minded swat and bashing into the other window. Draco tuned back into the lecture for a moment. Salazar. Slughorn was talking about Mugwort, now. He knew all this — they’d learned it years ago. Severus’ slow drawl returned unbidden, overlaying Slughorn’s higher, more nasal tones.

He could just walk out. Grab his things and— But, no. He’d have to cross in front of Slughorn to reach the door, and there was no way the man’s sharp eyes would miss him.

The screech of dozens of chair legs scraping across flagstones jolted Draco from his daze and he jumped. His eyes flitted to the clock — there was still nearly an hour left of class. Was Slughorn letting them out early? Then he noticed that the others were queueing up at the supply cupboard and grinned. Labs had been few and far between under Slughorn’s tutelage. Finally. The chance to have a bit of fun.

Draco absently gathered his supplies, wondering how best to relieve his boredom. He hesitated, hand hovering by the jar of powdered lacewing. Just a pinch would react with the mugwort and cause a decent explosion. He’d seen Finnegan do it a few times. The first by accident, the others… well. Finnegan was an enthusiastic pyromaniac. Draco tried to avoid him, as a rule. It had less to do with his infuriating Gryffindor-ness and more to do with safety.

He gazed at the small jar in his hand, wondering. How best to go about this? The sound of approaching footsteps startled him, and he hurriedly replaced the jar as another student entered the dim cupboard, blinking owlishly behind ridiculous lenses.

Draco felt his lips curl into a slow smirk. Congratulations, Potter, he thought. You just volunteered to make things interesting. He shivered in delicious anticipation, wondering whether to make his meddling known. No — there was always the chance that Granger would stick her over-large nose into it and spoil his fun. He’d just have to content himself with the knowledge that he’d been the one to cause their mishap. Though, knowing Potter, it wasn’t likely that he’d cast the blame on anyone else. History had proved that if there was anything he could blame on Draco he would, with relish.

“Potter,” he said, raising a brow as he eyed the other boy. He looked so tired lately, as if all the fight had drained out of him, leaving him an empty shell. He racked his brains for an insult that would knock Potter out of that stupor. “Granger actually trusts you to get the ingredients?” he asked, shaking his head in mock alarm. “Surely she realizes she’s jeopardizing her grades?”

Potter’s eyes flashed warningly, and Draco tensed in anticipation of finally getting a rise out of him, but the fight drained out of his face as Draco watched. It was wrong. He’d thought he’d be relieved at not being tormented or shunned by Potter this year, but this was just wrong. Potter was supposed to be brimming with rage and fire and passion. Draco felt his stomach turn over with a strange, slow flop, but ignored it. It wasn’t important just now. Potter was important. Sparking Potter’s fire was important.

Potter just shrugged, world-weary and listless, and quietly asked Draco to pass the murtlap. Draco didn’t think. His hand shot out and he snatched the illegibly-labeled bottle of lacewing he’d been eying earlier. He held his breath, hoping Potter wasn’t watching, that he wouldn’t notice the switch.

Potter didn’t look at him, just nodded as he accepted the bottle and moved back toward the light of the classroom.

Draco blinked, watching him walk away. He was a mess of roiling emotions, of frustration at Potter not responding to his taunts, relief at not being punched in the face, anticipation for what was to come. He shivered, letting the anticipation take hold, then grabbed the last jar he needed and hurried back to his seat. He didn’t want to miss the imminent explosion.

“Draco?” Pansy asked warily, as he returned to their desk with the ingredients. “What happened?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

She scooted away from him, the legs of her chair scraping across the flagstones. “Well, whatever it is, don’t get me involved. I’ve not had any detentions yet this term and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Draco shrugged. He didn’t want her help anyway. He wanted the satisfaction of finally getting a rise out of Potter all to himself.

Nothing happened for several minutes. The students measured and mixed, murmuring about the changing appearance of their potions and taking notes. Draco left the majority of brewing to an exasperated Pansy. He was too busy watching Potter adding ingredients to his cauldron.

Potter picked up one of the last jars left on his desk, tipping it over the gently bubbling cauldron. Draco leaned forward, trying to see if it was the lacewing.

“Draco! What on earth are you—”

He waved her off, not taking his eyes from Potter, ignoring her heavy sigh.

It was the lacewing, he was sure of it. The powder was tipping forward, right at the lip of the jar, and—

“Harry!” Granger lunged at him, trying to knock away his hand, but she was too late. Draco stood up abruptly and moved closer, watching in delight as the powder fell into the cauldron, settling for a moment on the sludge-brown surface — wait, Draco thought, feeling an icy finger of dread creep up his spine, it’s not supposed to be that color, is it? — and then they melted into it, spreading a golden lacy layer atop it, and he stared, fascinated. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

And then everything happened at once.

Granger’s grasping hand knocked Harry’s arm. The rest of the lacewing fell into the potion. For a second, nothing happened, and then it sucked inward and erupted with a sickening glop all over Potter and himself.

Granger escaped the muck, tumbling backward into Weasley’s arms, and Draco scowled as he wiped the brown goo from his face. It really wasn’t fair, how all of his schemes ended up backfiring. But even that frustration was familiar and oddly comforting.

Professor Slughorn approached, waving his arms in alarm, and hovered over Potter, turning occasionally to scowl darkly at Draco, then finally bundled them both off to the hospital wing.

Pomfrey listened to his rant, seemingly quietly amused, and then sent Slughorn away and turned to examine him and Potter.

“Well, boys,” she said, after running several tests, “you appear to have escaped harm this time. I feel I really ought to thank you for livening up my afternoon. It’s been duller than a blast-ended skrewt’s love life here lately.”

Draco snorted in amusement, surprised at the wan conspiratorial grin Potter flashed him. It faded quickly, though, leaving Draco feeling oddly empty.

“Come along Potter,” he drawled, “wouldn’t want you to miss dinner on my account. You’re far too thin as it is.”

Potter studied him, an odd expression on his face, and Draco racked his brain for an insult to hurl at him, just to put them back on familiar ground. But his mind had gone curiously blank, and eventually, he turned with a sniff and dramatic whirl of his robes that did little to reassure him as he stalked toward the Great Hall.

Why could Potter still get under his skin like no one else? From the moment they’d met he’d felt like Draco’s personal tormentor. His eyes darted to Potter’s face, quite without his permission. Somehow he’d caught up to Draco, and now they were walking in step, the squeak of Potter’s worn-out trainers mingling with the crisp slap of expensive leather on stone.

Draco grit his teeth. Potter was smiling at him, that lopsided smile that always sent Draco’s stomach into slow flips, though it wasn’t usually directed at him.

Draco pressed his lips together firmly, determined not to smile back. He didn’t know what Potter was doing, but they were not friends, and he wasn’t going to let his guard down that easily. Potter, seemingly reading his mind, shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other, and turned away as the entered the Great Hall, veering toward the Gryffindor table and leaving Draco feeling as if the stones under his feet weren’t quite as solid as they appeared.

“So,” Blaise asked as he sat down, nudging Draco in the ribs. “What happened?”

Draco frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t be coy, Draco,” Pansy drawled, “it doesn’t suit you. You and Potter have been gone for ages.” She raised one carefully stenciled brow, and Draco sighed.

“Drop it, Pansy. Nothing happened. Pomfrey just insisted on running as many tests as she could think of.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, what were the results of your little… experiment?”

Draco shrugged. “Nothing. A bit disappointing, really. I’d hoped for an explosion.”

“From Potter or his cauldron? Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ve been itching for a fight with him since we got back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness that had been building there, and turned his attention to his food. The only way to shut Pansy up was to ignore her so thoroughly that she gave up. After several minutes of pointedly focusing on his plate, she huffed in annoyance and turned her back to him, joining Blaise and Daphne in some inane conversation Draco had no interest in.

It was like it had never happened — those last, horrible years. They were all pretending so very hard that he thought some of them had started to believe it. He didn’t want to forget it, didn’t think he could. Maybe it was different for them. They hadn’t let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Hadn’t tried to kill Dumbledore. Hadn’t had the sodding Dark Lord living in their home, commandeering their bedroom to house some of his more loyal followers.

As usual, the thought of Greyback and Aunt Bella left Draco’s mouth tasting of ash. He shoved his plate away, suddenly unable to stomach even the thought of food, trying to shove the memories away with it.

“Excuse me,” he said, not caring that he had interrupted Pansy mid-sentence. “I’m not feeling well, after all. Think I’ll go sleep it off.”

“Draco? You don’t look so good — should we take you to the hospital wing?”

He waved her off, needing to get away from the food, the chatter, the overwhelming press of people in the Great Hall. “No. No, I just— I just need to rest, I think.”

He turned, stumbling a little as he hurried out of the room, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed, sneak another sip from the vial he kept under his mattress and let the arms of Dreamless Sleep claim him.

Part 1 (You are here)~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~

You can also read on AO3, FF, Wattpad

[moonrenegade]

Chapter 29, but it’s generated by AI

I fed AI the first (ish) line of each section of this week’s chapter. None of this is canon (obviously), but feel free to enjoy and theorise about where this is going.

Daphne, now:

Velma’s face was like glass. It remained so still I’d worried she’d died of shock right then and there. I heard the footsteps of police officers approaching as I began to sweep the room with my flashlight. There wasn’t much in it. A bedside table, a table with a desk that led to another room, and the closet door. My eyes fell on Velma.

 I touched the comatose girl’s cheek gently. I was nearly certain she was dead.

 “How’s this for a body count?” I said to myself. “P-13. Twice. A human and a Poochie.”

 I turned off the flashlight. “Jinx?”

 I climbed up on the bedside table, hiding myself behind a bookcase that had been stuck to the wall with Velma’s discarded perfume.

 “I’m sorry, Jinx. I’m really, really sorry.”

 No response.

 “Darn it!”

 I opened up the bookcase and stuck my head out to see if anyone would notice me. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. “Jinx?”

 Still no response.

 I jumped down and ran back towards the front of the house. I put my head to the ground as I approached the corner.

 “I can’t find her anywhere,” I heard a woman say to someone. “She’s nowhere to be found.”

  A teenage girl’s voice. “Oh, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m really scared.”

 “What?”

 “I’m scared because you’re talking like you’re really mad, but you don’t really sound that mad.” A man’s voice.

 “We don’t care how you feel,” the girl said, sounding just as frustrated as the man. “We just want her back.”

 “I know what she means,” said the man.

 “This is not like her. We need to know what’s going on.” The woman’s voice sounded angry now.

 “Let’s get something straight,” the man said. “You’re not going to get her back. I don’t care what you do. If she’s still alive, she’s still alive. She’s as far away from you as she can get.”

 “Just tell us where to look,” the woman pleaded. “We’ll bring the police.”

 “Oh, you want the police? Fine. Find the damn police. Find all the cops. Get your Goddamn friends together, and get ready to make the biggest goddamn mistake you’ve ever made. We’re going to start with your parents. They’ll make you pay for this.”

 I stood perfectly still in the shadows at the back of the house, hiding my face in my hands. I felt Velma and Jinx’s ghosts in the nearby walls and ceiling. If this was going down, it was not going to go the way they’d planned.

 “I’m scared,” the teenage girl said.

 It was too dark to see the expression on her face, but I could hear her. That terrible stutter of a voice. Her heartbeat was pounding in my ears. I heard the muffled sound of her breathing.

 “I know you are, honey, but you’re just like us. You’re connected to someone, but you can’t see them.”

 “I don’t understand.”

 “I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay. I wish I could make you understand, but I can’t. Maybe someday. But for now, you have to understand this.”

 The sound of a door closing. Then footsteps on the front porch.

 “That wasn’t very nice,” the man said. “When I say it’s not going to be okay, I mean it. If you get her back, it will make everything okay, but I can’t let you get her back if I have to leave this place in pieces. I mean it, baby. I can’t.”

 The footsteps disappeared. I heard the click of the back door shutting. I turned and rushed back to my house, unable to ignore the desperation of the other girl’s voice. She sounded so terrified.

 “I can’t,” she said.

 I made it back into the room, and I could hear someone rummaging in the closet. I put my face up to the bookcase, just in time to catch a glimpse of the head of someone I knew. A girl I knew by the name of Paula.

 “It’s Paula,” I whispered.

 Paula stared at me, confusion and disgust on her face.

 “What are you doing here?” she asked.

 “I’m going to need help,” I said, turning to the door.

 I stepped out into the hallway, then I caught my breath and braced myself.

 “No. You’re not,” she said. “There’s been a mistake. We have to look at this logically.”

 “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” I said.

 “We’re going to get her back,” she said. “We’re going to look at it logically.”

 “You’re right. That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll take it step-by-step, and we’ll figure out how to get her back.”

 “Why is she with you?”

 “She’s always with me.”

 “That doesn’t make any sense.”

 “She’s my sister.”

 “You can’t have a sister,” Paula said. “They’re not in your bloodline. She’s just a ghost.”

 “I’m seventeen years old, and she’s sixteen. I’m closer to her than I am to you. That means I know her better than anyone else.”

 “If that’s the case, why doesn’t she want to come back with you?”

 “She can’t.”

 “Why not? Why can’t she just come back?”

 “It’s not that simple.” Paula sighed.

 “I can’t do this,” she said. “You can’t do this.”

 “Don’t do this,” I said. “Don’t say this. Don’t even think this.”

 “He’s just going to say no,” she said.

 “I’m not.”

 “I’m not your sister. I’m nothing. Just a ghost.”

 “I’m real,” she said.

 “You’re just a ghost,” I said. “You have nothing.”

 “You’re lying,” she said. “You’re a liar.”

 “Am I?”

 “I’m coming with you.”

 “Why?” I asked.

 “Because you said it would be okay,” she said. “I can’t let it be okay if it’s not.”

 “Paula, listen to me. You’re wrong.”

 “It’s my sister,” she said. “My sister.”

 I hesitated, debating, trying to think it through. “If you came with me, you could give her a proper burial,” I said. “She would have a grave to lay in, and she’d have a name.”

 “She wouldn’t,” Paula said.

 “We’d get her a grave,” I said. “We’d get her a name. She’d know she wasn’t forgotten. That she’s cared for. You don’t know her like I do. She’s missing and no one even knows she’s missing.”

 Velma, 1994:

With that out if the way, I turned to Melissa, who was poking at what remained of my notebook. A little bit of ash fluttered off, and I hear her whisper, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

 “You didn’t ruin it. It’s in good shape.”

 “Yeah, I guess, but—”

 “It’s just, it wasn’t my notebook. It was Mel’s. I only took it because she had finished one of her stories, and I had to put it somewhere.”

 “I’m—I’m sorry.”

 Melissa looked sheepish. I think she realized what a fool she was being, but I doubted she would apologize. That wasn’t in her nature.

 “Did you go through your things?” I asked.

 Melissa nodded. “I came home one night and he was standing there, crying in the kitchen, with her notebook, asking for it back. I don’t even know why I let him take it. He’s never touched any of my things before, but I just handed it over.”

 “He’s … Mel’s boyfriend?”

 “Yeah,” said Melissa, and nodded. “They haven’t been together long, but he’s been stalking me for weeks now, threatening to ruin my life, send me to jail, and I’m—I don’t want him to, I don’t. He’s scared of me. But he wants to see what I’ve been writing. He’s calling me and asking me to meet up. And then he showed up at our home.”

 “What did you do?”

 “I punched him,” said Melissa, without any emotion.

 “Yeah, you did.”

 “He just knocked me down.”

 “The bastard.”

 Melissa flicked a finger at my notebook. “Can’t blame you.”

 “So he just stood there?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

 Melissa shrugged. “I didn’t think he was serious. He’s Mel’s boyfriend.”

 “Right,” I said.

 “He’s never done that before. I don’t even know if he’s the one who sent her letters, or if he was just a reporter who’d been sent to sniff out the truth. But he says he’s working for a newspaper called the Scribe. It’s all fake, of course, but the name gets around. I mean, it’s stupid. It’s not like I did anything.”

 I nodded, studying her face for the proper reaction. So much of her looked like her mother. The nose, the mouth, the eyes. Was she really capable of the things her father was? Would I have to watch her get hurt? It would be the same as any other parent, watching their child suffer and die. I remembered Melissa telling me once that she’d had a nightmare where her parents had gotten divorced. I remember her sitting there, saying she wished her father would leave her mother, but that she was terrified her mother wouldn’t let him. Now here I was, looking at the daughter of both of them.

 “I’m not angry,” I said.

 “Really?”

 “Really. I think you handled it really well.”

 “I … don’t know if I handled it all that well.”

 “Well, this isn’t just about you. He can’t just take advantage of someone’s trust like that.”

 “Did you tell my father?” asked Melissa, suddenly worried.

 “No,” I said, “I didn’t think it was a good idea. That asshole is probably trying to get me fired, anyway.”

 “Really? I thought it was weird that he had your father’s number.”

 “Maybe he’s trying to draw him out.”

 Melissa’s face twisted into a scowl. “Maybe he’s trying to get me fired.”

 I looked at her. The anger was gone, and her voice sounded strange, like it was coming from inside a glass jar.

 “I need to know something,” she said. “It’s important.”

 “If it’s not illegal, what is it?”

 “Tell him he can’t write about what happened.”

 I opened my mouth to protest. “No.” I paused. “There’s something I need to know first. I don’t know … I’m not sure it’s safe to tell you.”

 “I won’t tell anyone.”

 “Will you keep your mouth shut if I don’t tell you?”

 “Of course.”

 Melissa leaned forward, her eyes narrowed.

 “I need your help.”

 “I’m listening.”

 “We need to find out who’s behind all this. The main idea behind what they’re doing, what they’re really doing, is to discredit The Paper. They’re trying to get it shut down. But they’re also trying to find out about the blackmail, and they’re probably doing things they aren’t supposed to, like writing articles about it. That could be big. This could be big for you, for your family, for your newspaper. They could kill your father and ruin your career. I need to find out who’s behind it, and I need to find out what they’re really up to.”

 “Okay. What should I do?”

 “I don’t know. You could go to my father, and you could get his lawyer to contact the police. If you were my daughter, it’s what I’d do.”

 “I’m not going to the police.”

 “I’m not telling you to. But I do need to know.”

 “Are you asking me to spy on my father?”

 “I’m asking you to find out about the people he works with, and I need your help to do that.”

 Melissa sat back. She’d left the anger behind and her eyes were dark and piercing.

 “You’re asking me to spy on my father,” she said slowly.

 “I’m asking you to help me do something big. Something the whole city needs to know about. This isn’t just about you. We’re talking about the newspaper.”

 “This isn’t just about me,” she repeated. “I don’t know if I can help you. I don’t know if I can stay quiet about this.”

 “Then you should find out first.”

 “I don’t want to get anyone else involved. It wouldn’t be right.”

 I thought about this. Melissa’s argument that keeping quiet would be wrong didn’t make sense. If the blackmailers were really up to something, it would be wrong to stop them. Why should I have to let them keep doing this?

 “Okay,” said Melissa. “If you’re sure.”

 “There’s more.”

 “What?”

 “I know something you don’t. I need you to trust me.”

 “What do you want me to do?”

 “Something very big is happening, and the people behind it have someone in your father’s office. He has a business partner, someone from the publishing industry, and he has a few journalists on staff.”

[thx-quxxn]

So I watched the cinematic masterpiece that is the Original Live Action 2003 Scooby Doo movie on a plane because it was in the classics section, and I wrote down my thoughts as I was watching it. I love the movie and I’ve seen it before, but some of these thoughts make it seem like I haven’t because I got super into it and forgot about plot twists and things like that.

Anyway, here it is. My thoughts on the ORIGINAL LIVE ACTION 2003 SCOOBY DOO MOVIE:

OMG It's on the classics section finally getting the recognition it deserves

Omg I forgot how early 00's this movie was

The clothing and hairstyles fuck

The soundtrack is dope though I have to agree with shaggy, the gang should stay together

THEY'RE PARALLELING THEM TO WEED SMOKERS OMG

"All you can eat" are scooby and shaggys favorite words

7 carry-ons? Girl you crazy

ROWAN ATKINSON

Daphnes logic with the voodoo guy is hilariously wrong Just listen to the guy don't try to outthink the simple voodoo man he just wants to sacrifice his chicken in peace

"Dorky chicks like you turn me on too" COMEDY GOLD

Damn they cut out the fart jokes

Awe man they cut out scrappy peeing on daphne

"Friends don't quit," would be a wonderful line if it wasn't accompanied by shaggy literally jumping down a hole

The entirety of the Mary Jane storyline is just gold

Protoplasm, just protoplasm

That one guy who's like super into Velma and listens to her drunk ramblings is like goals

The creatures explode in sunlight and I'm assuming they know this yet they seem surprised when it happens

FRED IN DAPHNES BODY AND EVERYTHING THAT COMES WITH THAT

Why is this movie so bad yet so good

Fred hitting on himself while in Daphne's body OMG

Shaggy being amazed at wearing a skirt

That voodoo guy who's literally just there for exposition and who is always doing something with the dark arts is my aesthetic

SCOOBY DOO BEING A PURE SOUL ROWAN ATKINSON IS THE BAD GUY YESSSSSSSSSSS

This scene is so emotional they're all putting their hand in "Let's get jinky with it" will forever be my fav line

They're whole plan seems simple but relies on them finishing the set up before the ritual starts, which of course doesn't happen

"Mystery Inc rides again" what is with the lines in this movie

Shaggy beating up the guy while dancing is my shit

As if the early 00's clothing wasn't enough, now I have to watch early 00's dancing

THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP OMG SCOOBY AND SHAGGY THE REAL OTP

And the power of friendship didn't save them.... damn it

Daphne's ass is really nice just saying

ROWAN ATKINSON TURNS OUT TO BE SCRAPPY, MY LEAST FAV CHARACTER OF ALL TIME IN SCOOBY DOO

"Puppy power" he's not even a fucking puppy

His body grows before his head does for dramatic effect of scoobys name

Melvin doo is brought up again oh boy

"Totally ungroovy" what is with the early 00's????

Badass fight scenes happening simultaneously is great Fred using the rope is great Daphne being badass is great Scooby and shaggy saving each other is great

This whole scene is great

And the nose flicking thing is brought back

Yesssss bite the dudes hand daphne bite it, be a badass like you were born to be

Nothing about you is straight daphne this movie was supposed to have a romantic subplot between you and Velma

AND MYSTERY INC SAVES THE DAY THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP IS ALIVE

Scrappy just quit, you're not even ahead just quit

No don't kiss him you're supposed to kiss Velma she's in love with you and you're in love with her

THE REAL ROWAN ATKINSON IS ALIVE HOW THE FUCK

And the Led Zeppelin guy who listened to Velma drunk rant is back

THE ONE TRUE OTP SHAGGY AND SCOOBY ....And Mary Jane is here too

And Fred learns some humility good boy, and Velma gets her spotlight

"Jeez scraps no reason to freak out and try to kill all humanity" this MOVIE

"Meddling sons of..." omg I didn't think they'd actually say something like that

And shaggy and scooby are eating hot peppers by the jar it's no wonder they end up screaming