#yellow cellophane flash

[luveline]

oh my, can we possibly have a james x shy!reader, where he gives her flowers but it's her first time receiving flowers? <3

OMG YES tysm for ur request ♡ fem!reader

There's a ferocious knocking coming from the front door. You look down at your naked thighs and decide not to answer. By the time you're dressed they would've already lost interest, a cold caller no doubt.

You sieze up and wait for them to leave. After a few minutes you relax and click play on your movie again.

"Shortcake, I know you're in there!" calls a familiar voice.

"James," you say, startled.

There's no way he would've heard you. His insistent knocking begins again. You practically fly off of your bed in your hurry to stand, searching your slightly messy room for something to wear. There's nothing, of course, because all of your trousers (pyjamas included) are currently on a high speed spin in the tumble dryer.

For lack of any better options, you pull on a hoodie that's always been too big for you and hold it against your thighs to avoid any potential flashing, and then you rush to the door.

"James," you say, opening the door just enough too see him.

Any plans of shooing him away go out the window when you see what he's holding, a bouquet three times the size of your head. It's literally bursting from its cellophane wrapping, a dazzling array of lavender, yellow, rose-red and greens. Fragrant enough to smell it clearly though he stands a good two feet away from you.

"Hey," James says, beaming at your startled expression. "I'm sorry to drop by unexpectedly."

"That's okay."

He graciously ignores your breathlessness and nods his head. "Could I come in?"

"James," you say again, sheepish. "I'm not," — heat like nothing you've ever felt washes over you, so embarrassed that you could just die on the spot — "wearing any trousers."

"Oh." He frowns at your embarrassment. "I'll wait here if you want to find something?"

He doesn't seem perturbed by the gentle rain outside. His sleeves have grown dark with wet, and raindrops play in his curls.

You shake your head and open the door. "You have to come in, it's raining."

"I won't look," he assures you.

You usher him very gratefully and wizz off to the tumble dryer. The jogging bottoms you pull out aren't really dry but you couldn't care less, more than aware that James has likely just seen a lot of skin that he's never seen before. Well, never seen before from you. He's likely seen a lot more than that of other girls.

You fluster yourself thinking about it. You're so distracted by the thought and trying to get rid of it that you'd totally forgotten about the flowers.

You're not sure what to say. Forbid you assume they're for you, you stop in front of James and his bouquet with a hesitant smile.

"They're for you," he says knowingly.

You smile and make a little gasp as you do, self-deprecating and overjoyed at once. "They're stunning. Really, really pretty. Thank you."

He hears the hint of confusion.

"Right," he says.

James runs a hand through his hair. "Would you want to go on a date with me? I know we've been for food after lecture and coffee and things, but I guess I'm trying to ask you out, uh, romantically?"

He offers the flowers.

You take them on instinct. James seems very encouraged by this, his smile near blinding. He presses his lips together and waits for you to speak. All your words have dried up like cotton in your mouth.

"I know you're-" He holds your gaze. He has a very gentle expression in place. "Well, I know you. You don't have to answer now. Or even say yes. But I think you're lovely, and I wanted to get you flowers even if you wanted to stay friends."

You're so happy you could cry.

"Nobody's ever got me flowers before," you say lightly.

"No? That's weird."

You cringe self-conciously. "You think so?"

"Absolutely I think so. Did you attend a school for the blind, before uni?" he asks seriously.

You sigh and raise the flowers up toward your face to hide your smile. His golden laugh rings out, and he closes the gap between you both to bend at the waist and peek at your face in the flowers.

"Yeah?" he asks through a laugh.

You nod, hoping he understands your enthusiasm even if you can't quite show it.

[yamasakiko---ji]

とにかく休みが長すぎて飽きたので、体調はイマイチすっきりしなかったが夜の町を徘徊していた。 黄色のセロハンよりフラッシュは赤（次回）の方がおもしろそうですな。

[cherrydreamer]

April Prompts Combo! #2 Rainstorm and #8 Window

Ok so I am rocking up late late late with this April Prompt so I combined #2 Rainstorm and #8 Window into a double ficlet! (and yes I’m STILL late, I know I know!)  Billy's been living in Hopper's old trailer for just over a month now. And he knows he should be grateful for it. And he is, he is. 

Pathetically grateful, really, for the place and the way the kids all banded together and sorted the place out. For him. Got it all patched back up, cleaned and tidied and mostly ship-shape.

Cosy, even, especially after Mrs Byers came by to pick them up and handed Billy a whole damn laundry hamper filled with crocheted blankets and a stack of plump cushions and a pair of slightly frayed yellow curtains that, when he hung them at the kitchen window, gave the whole place a soft, sunshiney air. 

And, at the time, Billy had really appreciated just how far away from town he is now. He likes the fact that he's kind of hidden away, out of sight out of mind. He really likes the view of the lake and the noise it makes, the wind on the water sounding almost like the waves on the beaches back home. 

But sometimes, like tonight, he really fucking wishes he wasn't so alone.

Because there's been a storm threatening to rage since the mid afternoon, and Billy's been on edge the whole time just waiting. Been sitting tensed on the couch, hands balled into fists, feeling the crackle of static in the air, damn near smelling the electricity, and he's known it was coming, he knew it, but knowing did nothing to help prepare him for the first flash of lightning or the crack of thunder, and all of a sudden he's thrown right back to that night in the mall, the one with lights flickering and fireworks exploding and fear and pain and I don't know what's happening but I know I'm going to die and I'm so scared and I’m so sorry.

So Billy had hurled himself away from the windows on that first flash, shoved himself into a little gap between the fridge and the wall and he's still there now hours later, huddled with his head between his knees and his hands screwed up against his ears but he can still hear it. 

Them. The screams. The cries. The begging.  The voice in his head.  Max's voice over and over again. Her sobs.  The way she called for him. Over and over. "Billy! Billy!"

"Billy!"

Billy's head jolts up at that, 

It's a voice. A real one. Not a scream of panic in his head, or his own cry of fear or desperation. Just a voice. Familiar. Comforting. A little frantic but without a single trace of anger, "C'mon, dude, lemme in!"

There's more banging. And it doesn't fit the pattern, doesn't fit the roll of thunder or the thumping of his heart or the bang of those fireworks that sound so so real. 

Someone's outside knocking on his door. Steve. Steve is outside knocking on his door.  Billy can't. Can't move. Can't talk. Can't believe it. Just…can't. It's in his head. All in his head. Has to be.

"Billy!" The handle of the door rattles, the chain of the bolt clanking against the wood, and something about the need in Steve's tone is enough to shake Billy out of his panic.

Because Steve's here. And it's not entirely unprecedented, Steve being here. Steve was there from the start, coming in at the tail end of the kids' DIY attempts and fumbling his way through fixing up some of the bigger jobs they'd attempted, and he's been there afterwards too, dropping round occasionally with items that he claimed his Mom was throwing out, but which just so happened to be the very things that Billy needed, a set of gleaming pots and pans after Billy found a whole mouse family nesting in his; a bedside lamp with a chintzy floral shade after Billy accidentally sent his old one flying across the room in the throes of a particularly violent nightmare; and, most recently, a chunky boombox with a whole box full of tapes, some so new that they still had the cellophane on but a couple that were clearly older. Well-played and well-loved, and the ones that Billy found himself coming back to them over and over.  

He wishes he'd thought to stick one on before. Maybe he could've drowned out the storm with ELO or Queen or something. 

The lightning flashes again, illuminating the room through the thin, yellow gingham and Billy wants to hide again, wants to press himself against the wall and hide from it all.   But Steve's here. Steve's out there, in the worst of it. Steve came and he's here and all Billy needs to do is open the door, just open that fucking door that he locked tight and shut with a set of extra deadbolts. He just needs to open it up and let Steve in.

He can do that. For Steve, he can do that. So he does. 

He forces himself to uncurl, standing on trembling legs and he holds it together long enough to walk the few steps to the door and wrench it open. And Steve's there. Not a figment. Not an illusion. The real Steve Harrington, his crest of hair falling wetly in his face, his brightly coloured windbreaker absolutely soaked through, his shoes squeaking on the slippery steps. 

But he's smiling. And it's a full bright sunshine kind, big enough that Billy forgets about the storm outside and the fear churning in his gut and he even manages to smile back, a little watery, as he opens the door and asks, 

"What the hell you even doing out here, Harrington?"

"I…I was just passing by," Steve tries, but there's a sheepish look on his face like he knows it's not gonna fly. No one's ever 'just passing by' this place, that's the whole point. So Billy fixes him with as stern a look as he can muster with his snotty face and red-rimmed eyes, and Steve's expression turns serious as he says, "El." 

It's enough of an explanation. Since whatever the hell happened between him and Max's psychic little best friend, the two of them have had some kind of connection. He's not surprised that she sensed his freakout from wherever she was. Part of him is relieved that someone was looking out for him. That's he's not as isolated out here as he thought.  Most of him, though? Most of him is burning with shame. He can picture it now, El seeing him at his most broken and relaying it all to Steve, then Steve grumbling and grousing as he peels himself out of his bed and trudges into the torrential rain to come play babysitter while Billy cries like a pussy in the corner over a little bit of thunder.

It's enough to have him damn near slamming the door right in Steve's face.

"I'm fine-" Billy starts, but then there's another flash and, within a split second of it, a crack of thunder so loud that it seems to rattle the walls of the trailer. and whatever embarrassment Billy was feeling, that nauseating swirl of humiliation and the desire to stay strong in front of Steve, it all fades in the face of his fear as his stomach drops, and his knees give way and he falls to the floor, arms wrapping around his head, trying desperately to muffle the pathetic keening noise he knows he's letting out. 

There's a moment where there's nothing but his whimpers in the quiet of the trailer, and then Billy hears the sound of footsteps moving away.  And he doesn't blame Steve for leaving, he'll he's glad that he did.  He is.  OK, so it hurts and he wishes like hell he could've been better, could've been less fucked up so maybe Steve would've stuck around a little longer. But he's glad. Because this is the best way. Out of sight, out of mind. He doesn't need Steve fussing over him.  So Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Swallows down past the ache in his throat and the gnawing emptiness in his heart. Because this is better. 

But then there's a sound. A click and a whirr and then the trailer fills with a familiar song, already part way through playing, 

I get a strange magic, Oh, what a strange magic

Just as Billy tunes in enough to recognise it, there's a warm, reassuring weight all around him, something soft being draped over his shoulders and Billy reaches out for it instinctively, grabbing at the thick, crocheted blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.  When he looks up, Steve is still there, kneeling in front of him with one hand raised, palm up, in an invitation.

"You wanna watch?"

"Huh?" Billy's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and his brain is still lost in the sheer fact that Steve is here. Still here. He stayed. 

"The storm," Steve clarifies, "I know…you, you, you don't…it's not…it's a lot like-" Steve waves a hand in the air, grasping for gestures when the words fail him and then waving over towards the window, "But it actually looks kinda cool, especially out over the lake."  

Billy shakes his head, a tiny movement, but Steve keeps his hand out anyway.

"It might help," he suggests, "Might make you see, I dunno, see what it is. That's it's not…not what you're thinking. What you're seeing in there." He taps on Billy's forehead with a gentle finger, then puts his hand back out, patiently waiting. "Promise you, man, it's gnarly." He grins after the last word, all dorky and pleased with himself, and Billy can't help but snort out a laugh at the awful surfer boy impression Steve had been attempting.

He's trying. Billy realises suddenly, He's trying to help. 

So he keeps one hand firmly on the blanket around his shoulders, fingers clutching through the open knit, but he places the other in Steve's, not missing the way Steve's smile turns soft the moment their fingers make contact. 

"OK." It's all Billy can manage. 

It's enough. It's all Steve needs to haul him up and tug him over to the window, flinging open the yellow gingham and getting them both next to the glass just in time to catch the next flash.  And it's still a lot. Still has Billy's heart in his throat and his stomach twisting, but he doesn't move away. Doesn't want to.  Because Steve's right. It is cool, the way the whole landscape is illuminated, just for that second and how the light dances in jagged flashes across the sky, reflected in the glassy waters below. How it's so big. So powerful. So immense.  Kinda beautiful. 

He says as much to Steve. And Steve nods. Smiles again, that soft smile. Warm and fond and all directed at Billy. And Billy's heart flips even further into his throat. Because his hand is still clasped in Steve's and when the thunder rumbles loudly, just moments later, Steve's thumb starts stroking gentle, soothing circles around Billy's knuckles, over and over until the sound fades, and even when it all stops, when it's silent again, Steve keeps hold of Billy's hand, their fingers entwined all tight like he really doesn't want to let go.

So Billy doesn't let go either. 

There's another flash. But this time all that Billy sees of it is the light flitting over Steve's face, making his eyes shine and his skin seem to glow, just for a moment. Because Steve's not watching the storm either. He's staring right at Billy.  And Billy feels it again, that thrum of electricity in the air. But it's not so scary now. Not when he thinks Steve is feeling it too. 

[tarithenurse]

Spark - 25

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shōbōtai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Angst, feels, danger, stubbornness. The usual. A/N: Manage to get myself pretty confused because it said I’d already posted 25 chapters on AO3 but here on Tumblr it only claimed 24...aaaand then I remembered posting the what-if directly in the story there but not here...so yeah! Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

25. Forged by fire

...   Reader   ...

Your brain is protesting as you wake up. No, scratch that. Your entire body is throbbing as you’re being jostled by each step of the one carrying. Benimaru. The scent and heat can only be his but it’s comforting to open the eyes and see the shock of dark hair flopping about, occasionally blocking the view of his right cheek bone. Somehow, probably with the help of Joker, you’ve been tied together, allowing your arms to hang limply over his shoulders while he supports your by wrapping his arms around your thighs. It’s not comfortable but it’s efficient.

“Wait,” Joker hisses from up ahead.

There’s very little light – barely enough to illuminate the obstacles littering the crumbled hallway – and you can’t see what has alerted the gangly man, but you feel the uncrowned king of Asakusa tense beneath you, his lungs slowly expanding as he takes in the surroundings.

“Hm. I smell it.”

Smell? Sniffing the air, you don’t pick up on anything much at first apart from Benimaru, dust; and your own need for a bath.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N], just stay calm.” He must have felt you stirring.

Nothing snappy comes to mind and it doesn’t matter because that’s when you realize that a curl of sulphurous stench is mingling with the air.

“Let me down.”

“You can’t stand on that leg,” he argues as Joker steps closer.

Already fumbling with the sash holding the two of you together, the idea of supporting the weight seems like a horrible idea. “It wasn’t an invitation to a discussion, Beni,” you growl, “I’ll hold you back if you carry me.”

“I’m not leaving you behind!” Stubbornly digging the fingers into your thighs, he’s probably stubborn enough to stick to the word.

Finally free of the restraints, you tug at his hair. “I’m only telling you to put me down for now.”

There are whispers now, low murmuring groans coming from both directions as if carried on the fumes. The lightest dust and ashes are starting to dance on the ground in spiralling patterns that clash and divide in mesmerizing patterns. They could have been fascinating to watch if it wasn’t for the temperature slowly rising.

“Do as she says, Shinmon,” Joker drawls, his eye fixed at a warm glow that has appeared in the distance.

Begrudgingly, the man sets you on the ground, careful to let you gain the balance on your good leg before letting go. It’s obvious on his face: one wrong move and he’ll sweep you off your feet. I’m so gonna use this to my benefit once we’re home. You decide to ignore the nagging sense of doubt and instead focus on the growing lights in either direction of the tunnel.

What at first was nothing more than a glow has now, beyond a doubt, taken shape of several flickering fires moving towards the same cluster of targets. Misshapen bodies cast their stretching shadows beneath the flames, obscuring dozens of shuffling feet as the pace begins to pick up. They know you’re there. They are hungry.

Glancing at the men, the darkness before them is illuminated in red and purple and the air around them is shimmering with heat.

“Let them get close.”

“Guess you’re too exhausted to think clearly, dear,” Joker chuckles but then hesitates as he sees your face, “...okay. Call it.”

...  Joker  ...

Smiling behind the collar, Joker recognizes the worry flashing across the other man’s face. It’s a bold plan and he isn’t sure it’s strictly necessary...but they can’t be sure what else they’ll be facing on their way out, so [Y/N]’s idea of preserving the would-be rescuers’ power for later makes sense.

“Lighten up...or not, actually,” he smiles wickedly at Shinmon, “let’s see what our girl can do, eh?”

The glare he receives from the captain is a logical response.

“[Y/N]...there’s no reason to push yourse-”

“I didn’t survive this shit just to be rescued like some fairy tale maiden.” The threatening purr combined with the half-dried blood makes her seem tantalizingly dangerous. “There’s no one to take out my revenge on, but at least I can clean up the mess I’ve made when I let the lab blow up too.”

Oh? That must be an interesting story...for later. Finding an adequate slab of broken concrete, he brushes it off and sits down. In one of the inner pockets of the coat is a pack wrapped in cellophane and he picks a cigarette from it, lighting it with a flick of his fingers. Aaah. The acrid taste fills him for a handful of seconds before it’s blown out through his nostrils together with the last hours’ worth of stress – he could almost chill for a moment if it wasn’t for Benimaru joining him by the boulder, sitting as relaxed as a statue about to crack.

“Has anyone ever told you t-”

“Shut up, Joker.”

The men relapse into silence. It’s not that the man with the hat doesn’t understand Benimaru’s sentiment: the girl’s in horrible condition and is using almost all her strength to stand, it seems. The white-clad ran from her. The image of a dying man clutching a bundle of hastily written notes is still clear in Joker’s mind. Abandoned a comrade together with a demon infernal...he didn’t think they could end it. It’s clear, though, that something did put it to rest, most likely causing the explosion at the same time. Show us what you’ve got, [Y/N).

...  Benimaru ...

Like lit matches, only their heads are burning as they rush forward. At first surging for whomever is nearest until a clear shout orders them to ignore the men.

“I am what you want!”

The way the infernals all zero in on [Y/N] it really looks like she’s right and as they swarm around, pushing closer but never able to touch her, he can barely see her until he stand up on the slab of concrete.

Eye glowing bright yellow even against the infernals’ blaze, she doesn’t flinch as charred fingers scrape against the air, trying to reach her. She stands, immovable, talking calmly as if they could understand her. Maybe they can. Yes, they absolutely can and some must be accepting what she says because they stop and wait without a sound. Wait for what? A few infernals continue their struggle only to be wrapped in the arms of those standing by until finally, none of them are moving more than their dead faces.

There’s a shift in the air as [Y/N] spreads her arms, smoke and heat pushed outwards by an unseen pressure and stilling the flames of the damned.

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispers a second before tugging her fists tightly to the chest and plunging the Nether in darkness once more.

Benimaru can hear the muted sounds of clothing landing in heaps on the ground, the impact softened by dust and ashes, but the room is obscured by dark flakes filling the air to the extend that the glow from Joker’s cigarette nor the captain’s excellent vision can guarantee a view of the woman they came here for.

“Impressive,” the smoking man comments, snapping a fiery playing card out of nowhere to illuminate the space.

No one is listening to the compliment. The captain of Special Fire Force Company Seven is reaching out for the swaying figure of the woman he loves, barely making it over the heap of sooty jumpsuits in time to catch her as she collapses one more time.

“[Y/N]!” he croaks, frantically feeling for a pulse.

Eyelashes flutter for a brief second before she scrunches her face to look up at him. “Yeah yeah...I’ll let you carry me this time too.”

[tl-os]

TL oS

Last night I was grocery shopping back at The Pantry. I have not been in that store in more than thirty years but I still knew exactly where everything was. This old woman, all dressed in dark purple crepe, was following behind me. She had an old-fashioned shopping basket over her arm, she wasn’t pushing a shopping cart. And she had this weird, bright yellow egg bread, wrapped up in golden cellophane. She wasn’t threatening, just strange and I did not want to deal with her. I just wanted to do my shopping and I was happy to be there. I don’t get a lot of happy in my dreams. Nice to enjoy it for a change.

I got to the dairy case and was wondering what to buy to put in my coffee because I was the me I am now, in my old lady body, so I couldn’t have the heavy whipping cream I used to have but they only had 1970s groceries, no Nutpods for me.

Then the old purple crepe woman was back at my elbow and she had this big jar of Vlassic pickles and she wanted me to open them. She was muttering about the lid being on the jar too tight. So I took them from her and loosened the lid and handed it back to her and that made her so happy.

We walked through the meat department together and then over to the checkstands and the cashier was a lady I remembered from when I was young and she looked exactly the same. She asked me about my mom and I said that she had died and she said she was sorry. I told her I still have the Pavilions card I got when they opened after they closed this place. I told her that I always feel bad when I use it at Vons because it makes extra work for the cashiers, it won’t scan anymore. It is so old. She laughed and said that it was ok. She understood why I cannot replace it.

After we checked out we went to the Federico’s bakery counter and they had the almond teacake that I cannot get anymore. I bought three of them; I figured I would freeze two. The purple crepe lady bought me this pastry. She called it a Kremowka and insisted I take it. It looked like a pale blue cloud sandwiched between two layers of lilac puff pastry and it had candied violets on top. It was perfumed with lavender. It was so beautiful and looked delicious but it also made me nervous. I didn’t know how I was going to get it home in time before it melted. It looked so fragile.

Then we were walking out and I stopped to look at the bulletin board. My mom found all of our dogs and cats there when I was growing up. But it was like my glasses were fogged up and I couldn’t make sense of the writing on the cards.

I walked out of the store, I was alone now and the card shop my mother worked in for a little while was right there so I went in. There was a woman in a nice blouse and skirt at the back of the store and it looked just like her so I ran toward her but she was walking through a doorway to the stockroom in the back and I followed her. She was just ahead of me now but I couldn’t quite catch up and we were in this series of long, black hallways with no doors and just when I would get close enough to her, she would turn down another hallway and I would lose her. It was getting warmer and warmer and at first I thought it was me, it was a hot flash, but then I could see the walls and there were red and orange shadows and I could smell burning and it wasn’t me, it was coming from down the hall, it was fire.

And then I woke up.

[redpandaramblings]

Sweet Treats  Sero Hanta x F!Reader Birthday fic.

Happy birthday, @reinawritesbnha!!!  Wanted to write you a silly little fic that I hope you enjoy.

Content Warnings:-  Not SFW situations, cake destruction, nudity, crude humor, Mineta mention, awkward situations, mentions of food, mentions of drinking, probably incorrect Spanish, aged up characters.

Spanish translations are provided at the very bottom of the fic.  I suggest waiting to look them up to avoid spoilers.

Y/n protested playfully as her friend dragged her towards the well known restaurant.  “Come on, this place is too fancy.  Pro heroes eat here!  There’s no way we’re getting in without a reservation.”

Her friend laughed, continuing to lead her towards the door.  “One, it’s not too fancy for your birthday.  Two, we do have a reservation!  It’s a weekday, so it actually wasn’t too difficult to get in.  Sucks a little that we can’t party as hard, but we get to celebrate on your actual birthday, so it all works out!  Now come on!  Everyone else is inside already getting everything set up.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but followed along without further protest.  She really had wanted to go here.  They served some of her favorite foods, and had fabulous service by all reports.  The place was really popular with the pro hero set because of their discretion and their private rooms.  Y/n hoped to maybe catch a glimpse of one of her favorites, but honestly, chances were slim.

Without any fuss, a waiter took their names and escorted them to their reserved private room.  A cheer greeted them as they walked in.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N!!!!”

“Let’s get this party started!”

And get started they did.  Drinks were served and food orders were placed.  Laughter and conversation bubbled around.  Someone pulled out Cards Against Humanity and everyone was cackling and cracking jokes, trying to find the most inappropriate answers to all the prompts.  The fun is briefly interrupted as someone knocks on the door.  A few waitstaff wheel in a covered table holding a rather large cake.  They place it in a good position before bowing and hurrying out.

One of y/n’s friends stands and walks over to it, brows furrowed in confusion.  “This doesn’t look like what we ordered…  It’s way too big.” They murmured.  “What we wanted shouldn’t need it’s own table…”  They rapped their knuckles on the table a few times to emphasize their point.

Suddenly it was like the cake exploded upward.  Flecks of frosting scattered about the room as first a brunet head, then a muscular torso came into view.  Shapely arms pose into a flexing position.  A masculine voice booms “Congrats on making the top…  fifty….”  His voice trailed off as he took in the shocked expressions of everyone in the room.  “Youuuu are not Denki.”

Y/n shook her head as she tried very hard to keep her gaze above his waist level.  A man had just jumped out of her cake.  A naked man had just jumped out of her cake.  A naked pro hero that she happened to have a massive crush on had just jumped out of her cake.  Y/n discretely pinched herself on the thigh.  Yep, it hurt.  Which means Sero Hanta was currently naked in the same room as her, his very nice looking cock covered in cake and cream.  She snapped her gaze back upward as the blushing hero began muttering to himself, clearly on the verge of a panic attack. 

“That was…  The knocks were the cue…  I mean…”

The hero sank to his knees, the messy remains of the box and cake giving him a little bit of privacy.   

“Mi vida se acabó.  Me acurrucaré en este pastel y moriré ahora.  Puedo ver los titulares.  El héroe profesional Cellophane encontrado desnudo y muerto en un pastel.”

Y/n quickly stood up, hurrying over to where the leftover party supplies were.  Luckily, there was a leftover tablecloth, since the restaurant had supplied their own.  She cautiously walked back over to Sero, holding out the tablecloth.

“Hey, it’s alright.  Promise.  Want to cover up with this?”

Sero blinked a few times, taking several deep breaths before he nodded, reaching out and taking the tablecloth.  He hurriedly wrapped it around himself, recovering some of his modesty.  “Gracias.  Lo siento.  I must have been wheeled into the wrong room.”  

Y/n nodded as one of her friends brought Sero a drink to help calm him down.  “Want us to get some staff or find your friends?  I don’t think you want to wear a tablecloth the rest of the night, though it is a rather bold fashion statement.”

Sero closed his eyes, taking a gulp of his drink as he thought for a moment.  “Flag down some staff, but ask them to bring Kirishima here?  He should have my clothes.”

“No need to get dressed on our account!”  One of y/n’s friends chirped.

“In fact we could strip if you want.  Make it all an equal playing field.”  Another friend said as they headed out the door in search of someone to help them.

Y/n buried her face in her hands and groaned.  “I’m going to murder you all.  No court would convict me.  Murder is legal on your birthday, right?”

“Wait, it’s your birthday?”  For the first time since he popped out of the cake, Hanta took his time to actually look around the room.  Black, white, and yellow balloons hung in the corners.  Crepe paper twisted around the edges of the room.  Some presents were piled in one corner.  “Oh Dios Mio, it’s your birthday.  My naked ass ruined your birthday.”

“Not ruined.”  Y/n chuckled, dropping her hands so she could look Sero in the eyes.  “Unexpected for sure.  You’ve definitely made this the most exciting birthday I’ve had.  Will be telling the story for years.  The time I accidentally got a naked man for my birthday.”

Sero raised his eyebrows.  “Not gonna mention the pro hero part?  Some people would pay good money for that, I’m sure.”

Y/n vigorously shook her head.  “No way!  I wouldn’t want to hurt your career like that!  You’ve got lots more important stuff to do than to do damage control on your public image.  I promise it doesn’t leave this room.”

The others in the room nodded and spoke up in agreement.  “Yeah dude.  Honest mistake.  We’ll laugh about it amongst ourselves, then forget about it.”

About this time, the door burst open.

“Dude!”

A blond rushed into the room.  Denki, took a moment to take in the scene in front of him before he doubled over, howling with laughter.  Kirishima, Bakugou, and Mina followed shortly behind.

“Sorry,” Kirishima rubbed his head, slightly embarrassed.  “Once Denks figured out what was going on, we couldn’t stop him.”

“This is better than if it had gone right!”  Denki wheezed, flopping over onto the floor.  “Happy birthday, nice to meet you!  Here’s my dick, give it a lick, it tastes like vanilla!”  Kaminari dissolved into nearly hysterical laughter as both Sero and y/n flushed scarlet.  Bakugou gave Denki a less than gentle boot to the ribs.  “It’s not that funny you fucking overgrown phone charger.  You really need to quit hanging out with Mineta.”

“I don’t know, guys, I think it’s pretty funny.”  Mina grinned as leaned against the doorframe.  “And I must say, the tablecloth toga is on point.  Should consider it for your next costume redesign.”

“Hardy har.  Didn’t realize this was comedy hour.  Now, did any of you payasos bring me my clothing?”

Kirishima held up a bag and gave it a shake.  “Clothes and wipes to get the gunk off ya.”

“Gracias, Eijiro.  You’re the only good man here.”

“Hey!” Bakugou objected.

“You’ll make the buen amigo list again if you manage to get services comped for these lovely folks.”

“Already did that as soon as we figured out what happened, soy sauce face.”

“Excellent.  Thank you.”  Sero sighed.  “Now can you please help me out of this table so that I can get dressed and quit intruding on the party of this encantadora dama?”

“Nope!”  Mina laughed.  “Or at least not right away.  First, pictures!”

“¿Imágenes? ¿Seriamente?”  Sero groaned.

“Absolutely!  We need to capture this moment forever!”

“Agreed!  I’ll take the pics so everyone else can crowd in and hand me your cameras if you want!” y/n’s friend piped up.

“If any of these pictures get out…” Bakugou growled.

“We’ve already been over that.  Personal mementos only!  Scout’s honour!”  y/n’s friend placed a hand over their heart and tried to tame their grin into something more serious.

And so that’s how y/n found herself perched next to her favorite hero, as flash after flash went off, taking group shots.  And it seemed that also just as quickly, Kirishima was helping to haul his friend out of the cake and cardboard remains.  They took over a corner, Denki and Kirishima holding up the tablecloth like a privacy curtain while Sero got himself cleaned up and dressed.  It was around this time that a very apologetic staff member showed up with a large angel food cake, placing it on the table while assuring everyone that their bills had been taken care of.  They wheeled out the other cake as they left.  After Sero was fully dressed, y/n cleared her throat and said,  “Would you like to stay for cake since yours is gone now?  Or have you had enough cake for the night?”

“Well,” Sero drawled, a mischievous grin on his face.  “I’m not rude enough to refuse a lady her wish on her birthday.”

“You had me at cake!”  Denki exclaimed, already sliding into a chair.

Everyone gathered around the table.  Happy Birthday was sung, candles were blown out, cake was cut and distributed.  Conversation flowed surprisingly easy, talking about jobs, and pets, and birthdays past.  Y/n shared about the birthday they’d almost accidentally set their nan on fire due to an unfortunate silly string incident.  Sero told about the birthday that was the day his quirk fully activated and he had accidentally taped himself to the ceiling.  It had taken his family half an hour to find him.  Bakugou claimed to have never had an embarrassing birthday, and threatened to explode his friends' faces when the rest of the Bakusquad started listing one thing after another.  And so several hours flew by with everyone enjoying themselves.  Bakugou finally looked at the clock and stretched, standing up.

“Hey nerds, place if going to close soon.  We need to go grab our shit.”

The others glanced at the clock before also scrambling up.  “Shit, yeah, completely lost track of time!”  Denki headed to the door.  “Later, gators!  Had an awesome night!  Should do it again sometime.  And happy birthday, Y/n!”

“Thanks, was a great night!  And congrats on cracking the top fifty!”  Y/n called.

Denki waved as he walked out the door.  Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugou also said their goodbyes and headed out.  Sero, however, lingered for a bit.

“It did turn out to be a good night.  But I am still sorry for interrupting your party like that.”

“For the last time, it’s fine”  Y/n laughed.

Sero cast his eyes down, bashfully, mumbling protests. But then, he noticed something attached to your bag. He interrupted his own rambling apology to ask “Is that a Cellophane tape dispenser key chain?”

Really, he didn’t have to ask. He knew all his own merch. That particular key chain was one of his first products. It hadn’t sold very well, and had only lasted one small run. They were really hard to find anymore. 

Before y/n had a chance to reply, her friend clapped her on the shoulder and said “Yep! She has three of them. One on her purse, a spare in case this one breaks, and one to keep in pristine condition.”

“Shut!  Up!” Y/n hissed.

Grinning, her friend continued.  “Pretty sure she has at least one of everything of the official merch.  She’s been a mega fan for years.  Total simp.  That’s why the party colors were black, white, and yellow.  Low key Cellophane themed.”

Y/n closed her eyes, resigned.  “If the floor doesn’t swallow me up right now, I’m burning your Dynamite body pillow next chance I get.”

Sero blushed as he grinned, one long arm raising to scratch the back of his head.  “Well now I don’t feel quite so bad about what happened.  One of a kind birthday show for my partidaria número uno.”

Y/n could feel their blush creeping down their neck.  “Really, it was just an honest mistake!  No big deal!”  She squeaked.

“Regardless, I do want to make it up to you, hermosa.  So, how about we exchange numbers?”

“What?!”  Y/n’s squeak reached an abnormally high pitch.

“Well this way we can get in touch, and I can make it up to you somehow.  Some exclusive merch.  Tickets to an event…  A date perhaps?”  Hanta’s grin spread wider.

Y/n’s brain stalled.  Her friends were quick to jump in.  “Yes!”

“She’d love to.”

“She’s free next Friday and Sunday!”

Y/n’s brain started to kick back in “Guys, what?  No!”

“So you wouldn’t like to go out with me next Sunday?”  Hanta whined with an exaggerated pout.

“No!  I mean…”  Y/n drew a deep shaking breath.  “I’d… I’d like that.  If you actually mean it, that is.”

Hanta pulled out his phone and handed it to y/n.  “Absolutely.  Just put in your number and I’ll text you.  No voy a dejar pasar esta oportunidad.  Tendríamos la mejor historia para contarles a nuestros hijos cómo nos conocimos.”

Y/n furrowed their eyebrows, only managing to catch a few words of the Spanish as they entered their number in.  “I didn’t quite catch all that…”

One of y/n’s friends called from across the room.  “Hey slick!  Es mejor que al menos haya una propuesta antes de planificar los hijos.”

Hanta blushed bright red while laughing.  “Noted.”

Y/n handed Sero his phone back.  “Neither of you are going to tell me what you said, are you?”

“Nope!  I’ll be texting you soon, hermosa.  But for now, hasta luego.”  Sero waved before jogging out the door and down the hallway, heading back to his friends.  Y/n waved, before going to help clean up, ignoring the giggles and teasing of her friends.  Soon enough, everything was taken care of.  Y/n said her goodbyes and headed out.  She hadn’t even made it to the car before her phone buzzed in her pocket.  When she pulled it out, there was a text from an unknown number that read “I can’t wait to see what the future brings.  Happy Birthday,  Princesa.”

My life is over.

I'll curl up in this cake and die now.

I can see the headlines. Professional hero Cellophane found naked and dead in a cake.

Thank you.  I’m sorry.

My God.

Clowns

Thanks

Good friend.

Lovely lady.

Pictures?  Seriously?”

Number one fan.

Beautiful.

I will not miss this opportunity. We would have the best story to tell our children how we met.

There better at least be a proposal before you plan of children.

Princess

Taglist- @kat-unzel

[simplybakugou]

Zapped

↝ Notorious for his usual happy-go-lucky and goofy personality, you’re stuck with having to look after Kaminari’s new change in ego after he was hit with a villain’s quirk.

BINGO SPACE: Mean x Nice

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!kaminari x prohero!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2245

A/N: another @bnhabookclub​ fic. i initially was going to write this as kaminari being mean to reader but i genuinely can’t imagine kaminari being mean like that so i decided to take a different approach to this! thank you to the anon who requested for kaminari for this prompt and this is the last kaminari fic for the bingo event! also the transparent kaminari cap is from the bnha bookclub drive.

also i had no idea how to end this so im sorry if the ending is actual shit omg

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.11.2020✐

“Man, I’m so tired,” Sero said with a sigh. “I feel like we’ve been chasing after this guy for hours.”

“That’s ‘cause we have been chasing after him for hours,” Kaminari groaned to his friend. Normally he would’ve been excited to be able to spend time with Sero who he hadn’t hung out with in months due to their jobs keeping them busy but chasing after a villain was not easy nor was it enjoyable. Kaminari started his tiring day with an early morning patrol, roaming around the blocks of Musutafu to keep an eye on any criminal activity. 

For some reason on that particular day Kaminari couldn’t catch a break as he had to reprimand and track down several villains. This time was no different as he was pursuing a man who was attacking bystanders randomly with his peculiar quirk. Kaminari ended up running into Sero on the way and now the two men were working together to take the evildoer down.

“How the hell does this guy keep disappearing so much? Is that his quirk? Invisibility or something?” Sero asked, looking up towards the rooftops of the many buildings surrounding the area.

“No, he’s zapping people or something. All I know is that I kept seeing a weird light when he used his quirk and the people he attacked acted really weird afterwards,” Kaminari informed Sero, peeking through a window of a local clothing store for any sign of the villain. 

“Zapping people? Like how your quirk works?” Sero asked as the two continued to stroll down the path, briefly waving to any bystanders that recognized them as they weren’t able to stop and sign autographs at the moment.

“Yeah but I don’t attack random people with my quirk!” Kaminari exclaimed.

The two heroes turned down the road, reaching a dead end as the area was led to a vacant lot. “I think we should just head back to the station. I don’t see that guy anywhere around here so he must be long gone.”

Kaminari nodded, letting out a sigh. “You’re right.”

Sero said his goodbyes to his friend as the pair split up, walking in opposite directions to their respective agencies. Kaminari was a little bummed out, upset with himself that he managed to lose sight of the villain. Although he wasn’t able to catch the man, at least he was able to leave early and go back home to you, his significant other who he missed so much and whom he wasn’t able to see as often due to his busy job.

Just as he had finally cheered himself up and was on his way back to his agency so he could go home, Kaminari heard Sero yell after him. “Kaminari! I saw the guy run down here!”

Kaminari turned his head around to face Sero who was using his tape arms to propel him through the rooftops. “Really?! You saw him?”

“Yeah he’s somewhere around here. You check out this area, I’ll be down there,” Sero said, pointing to the plaza a few blocks down.

“Got it!” With this information Kaminari continued to scope out the area, once again irritated with having to deal with such a nuisance of a person.

From the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure dashing in the opposite direction and Kaminari didn’t hesitate to run after it, his quirk activating as small yellow sparks arose from his body. He continued to chase after the shadowy figure down the alleyway and they finally reached a dead end.

“You’ve got nowhere to run so why don’t we just make this quick, alright?” Kaminari offered. 

The man whipped his head around, his face covered in a black ski mask as his lips curled up into a devious smirk. “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m letting a little hero catch me.” 

He grabbed a few bags filled with trash that were left on the ground, green light flashing into his hands as he threw the bags at Kaminari, who caught both bags in confusion as to why the villain would throw something so easily catchable. Just as the bags touched his fingertips, Kaminari felt a shiver run down his spine as the green light from earlier crept up from the bags and onto Kaminari’s arms. 

The villain laughed, watching as the green light from his quirk engulfed the pro hero’s entire body. “I’m tired of you heroes playing nice all the time so here’s my way of helping you out.” 

The villain cackled as Kaminari fell to the floor, a pounding sensation attacking his head and causing his temples to ache. Before Kaminari had the chance to recover, the villain ran past him, wanting to escape as fast as he could. 

“What’s going on?” Kaminari grunted as he writhed in pain on the floor, his glasses from his costume strewn on the floor. His heart was racing and he felt like something inside him was bubbling, like someone had stuck a spoon inside him and was stirring up his stomach.

Sero finally turned around the corner, finding Kaminari hunched over on the bare floor and immediately went beside him. “Kaminari!”

Sero hooked his arm around his back, holding Kaminari up from the ground. “Hey, man, are you okay? Did the guy hit you with his quirk?”

Kaminari shook his head, rubbing his temples as the pain finally subsided. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision that had become blurry and he looked over to Sero and shoved him off. “Don’t fucking touch me. Get the fuck off.”

Sero stared at him blankly, completely bewildered by what had just happened. “Huh?”

***

You thanked the receptionist at the front as you quickly sped through the hospital lobby, managing to get into the elevator before a line formed which would force you to take the stairs.

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay was all that you could keep saying in your mind as you rode up to the fourth floor. Sero had called you, informing you that your boyfriend had been put into the hospital after an encounter with a villain. He didn’t specify if Kaminari had gotten gravely injured, well more like you didn’t give Sero enough time to specify as you immediately hung up and raced over to the hospital after hearing the news.

You got out of the elevator, scanning the different rooms for the room that Kaminari was staying in. Just as you located his room, the door slid open and a doctor exited it. She seemed visibly stressed as she rubbed her temples and looked down at her clipboard.

“Hi, um, I was wondering if this is Kaminari Denki’s room?” You asked the woman.

“Oh, you must be the person Cellophane told me about,” the doctor said, shaking your hand as she briefly introduced herself. “Well, Chargebolt is fine, physically at least.”

You let out a sigh in relief, placing a hand over your chest as you were grateful that he wasn’t hurt. “Is he okay?”

“He was hit with a troublesome quirk by a villain. It seems that the quirk can change a person’s personality as the user saw fit. The villain must have decided to change Chargebolt’s personality completely because at the moment he is being quite… difficult,” the doctor said. “You’re free to take him home now but if you need help getting him out the door, please don’t be afraid to call one of the staff to support you. The quirk’s effects should wear off in an hour.”

You nodded slowly as the doctor patted your shoulder reassuringly as she left to administer another patient. You weren’t too sure about what she was going on about but nevertheless you opened the door to Kaminari’s room, peeking your head in and smiling to see Kaminari sitting up in the hospital bed.

“Denki!” You exclaimed, quickly going over to his side and holding his hand in yours. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Kaminari looked down at your hand entwined into his and shoved your grip off him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Your face fell as you stared down at your fingers. “Denki?”

“I’m guessing you’re here to get me outta this shithole?” Kaminari asked, raising a blonde brow at you. “Took you fucking long enough to get here.”

You were taken aback by his abrasive behavior, speechless for a moment before you were able to gather yourself together. “R-Right. The doctor said you’re free to leave now.”

“Thank god,” Kaminari muttered, swinging his legs over as he exited the room, not bothering to wait for you or to grab his things.

“Denki, wait!” You called out, grabbing his briefcase with his hero costume. He didn’t even care to change out of his hospital gown as he practically sped down the hall.

You managed to catch up with him and slip inside the elevator before the doors closed in on you. You glanced over at him, staring intently at the frown on his face. You knew you couldn’t take what he would say from now and the next hour to heart as it wasn’t his fault for behaving this way. 

Kaminari looked down at you, irritated that you were staring at him. “What?”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “Nothing. You just look really pretty.”

Kaminari’s eye widened slightly as he blushed, his cheeks adorning a light pink shade. “Whatever, idiot.” He sped out the elevator but you still kept up with him, laughing at the many stares he was receiving. Then again, who wouldn’t stare at the sight of one of the top heroes dashing outside in a hospital gown.

Seeing that he was about to walk straight into incoming traffic, you grabbed Kaminari’s hand, stopping him before he got run over. You tightened your grip on his hand as you practically had to drag him in the other direction towards the parking lot.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Kaminari said, his voice filled with annoyance.

“You’re going to get hurt so let’s just get to my car,” you said adamantly, not caring if he didn’t want to listen to you or not.

Kaminari scoffed, attempting to shake off your hold but actually surprised by how strong you were. Eventually he stopped fighting you and let you lead him to your car. Once you located your vehicle, you unlocked it and opened the passenger door for him.

“I don’t need you to open my door for me,” Kaminari grumbled, entering your car anyways.

“I know I don’t; it’s called being nice,” you said, shutting the door as you entered the vehicle through the other side. 

You began driving, making your way towards your shared house with Kaminari. Normally car rides with your boyfriends were enjoyable as you would both scream out your favorite song lyrics or do small things to make each other laugh. 

But this car ride was one of the most stressful experiences you had ever encountered as Kaminari would frequently lean over, slamming his fist over the wheel and honking and cursing at anyone who was driving safely at the right speed limit. You apologized as much as you could through the window, wanting to sink into your seat to recover from the embarrassment you were going through.

Finally you managed to make it home in one piece and you were more than happy to leave your car and go inside. Kaminari trailed behind you, relatively quiet with his hands in his pockets as he immediately beelined for the couch, collapsing on top of it as he sunk his face into the cushions.

You smiled, dropping his briefcase to the side and joining him on the couch. “I’m so fucking exhausted,” Kaminari grumbled.

“Do you want me to cook something?” You offered.

Kaminari scoffed, sitting up as he glared at you. “I don’t give a fuck. I don’t need you to do shit for me.”

“Denki, you can’t even make toast correctly.”

Kaminari glared at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

You chuckled, getting up and whipping up something quick and easy to make as you weren’t a great chef either, even though anyone could be a top tier chef compared to Kaminari. As you were cooking you looked at the clock, relieved that an hour had passed, meaning the quirk’s effects would wear off at any time now.  

As if on cue, Kaminari began coughing from his spot on the couch as the pounding sensation in his head returned. You could see him rubbing his forehead and you went by his side, confused at what was going on. “Denki, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Kaminari said, sighing once the painful sensation finally diminished. He opened his eyes, not hesitating to throw his arms around you. “Y/N!”

You were taken aback, still disoriented by what was going on. He pulled away, his hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry for treating you like an asshole. I’ll do the dishes for the next week and do whatever you want me to do.”

You laughed, planting a kiss on his cheek. “It’s alright, Denki, I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Kaminari hugged you once more, not letting you go for the rest of the night in compensation for his crude behavior. It was safe to say that he was going to be more careful in the future about being zapped by certain villains...

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[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter two!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features original characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, features other canon couples (and some fanon)

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It’s always posted there first.

                                                     Evaluation

“You want us to help you… find your dad’s… home planet?” Hydrangea questions.

“Not necessarily that,” Odessa replies. “I’ve been mulling over this the last couple of years. Wandering through space, it’s apparent that my father’s species has predominantly settled into Etherian life. But when I ask my father where we are from, he has no answer.”

“Not in the withholding information way,” Tristan clarifies.

“Exactly. In the sense he has no answer to give. Period. I’ve discussed it with my mother, and she believes it could be an exciting chance to find out where he’s from!” Odessa claps her hands together. “We know about the biology, physiology, mental health, behavior of one person. My father has been studied thoroughly for years, but his makeup can only tell us so much.”

They nod in understanding. It does make sense. He has been genetically manufactured over and over, thousands of versions of him co-existing among species that still have yet to see anything like him before. Hordak has lived among Etherians, has explored world upon world, but they know he is an anomaly. They all do.

Odessa looks down at her hands, an anomaly herself. Her parents have always been supportive of her intellectual pursuits, and this could very well be one of the greatest. She has filled a medical textbook composed of both Entrapta’s research, Hordak’s explanations, and her own observations, theories and notes about how his species operates. But what good is it if it simply applies to a single individual; that’s not applicable to how science or medical practice works.

Hydrangea pours them tea. She knows how determined Odessa can be once she sets her mind to something. There’s no stopping her once her brain gains traction on an idea. Tristan’s set face comprehends this as well.

Tristan speaks first, “When would you like us to begin?”

Odessa smirks, “Soon as you’re done with your drink.”

“Hm, of course you’d say that.”

��Damn right,” Odessa answers.

Hydrangea places her hands on her hips, “Alright, Des. We’ll get going soon as we’re done!”

“Or you could chug your chamomile in one go.”

“No.”

                                                              -

Dryl is etched further into rocky cliffs, its labyrinth excavated deep inside the mountain. Its residents welcome their princess, happy to see her return. Entrapta’s kingdom had been left to its own devices for years, even prior to Entrapta’s departure; yet they view Odessa as the rightful heir, and treat her as such. She supposes it's something to be grateful for, as it does leave them with a place to rest and organize without much interference.

Though she could do without the large paintings of herself lining the walls.

“I never get over how cute you were as a baby,” Hydrangea says, giggling. “Look how chubby you were!”

“You were so adorable,” Tristan gushes. “So innocent.”

“The sweetest little baby,” she continues. “I still want to pinch your itty bitty face!”

“Shut up,” Odessa pouts, blushing. Curse these portraits… and curse their laughter...

“Odessa! Hello, hello!”

Relieved, she turns, smiling at the friendly face, “Hi, Uncle Wrong-Man.”

Crushing her to his chest, he presses their cheeks together, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my most favorite niece in the world!”

“You’re going to make all the other nieces jealous,” she says. Then smiles, “But it’s true.”

“I can’t help it, you were the first niece I had!”

Back on her feet, Odessa glances at the vicinity. Normally, there’s more of her uncles wandering through the halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re working outside or in the kitchens. We heard you were back and we felt a welcoming party would be fun!”

“You don’t have to throw one every time we come back.”

His eyes turn watery, a sad, morose frown on his features, “Oh… I see… You don’t… like my parties anymore…”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Odessa says, trying to cheer him back up. “I just meant you don’t need to go through all the trouble each visit.”

He looks up at her, ears drooping lower, “Do you like them?”

“Yes, Uncle Wrong-Man, I love your parties,” she insists. “You’re the best at it!”

In seconds, his bubbly personality returns, “Excellent! I look forward to giving you another party suited to your tastes!”

Tristan leans toward Odessa, hand held up to his mouth, “Wow, for a minute I thought I heard violins.”

“He has that dramatic flair to him,” she agrees.

“How have your parents been? I haven’t seen them yet!” W.H. asks.

“Mom and Dad are fine,” Odessa tells him, following him through the halls. The maze has been modified to be easier to map out. The first time she had come here, they had gotten lost since Entrapta couldn’t quite recall where all the secret entrances were. Odessa took it upon herself to make her own layout, and added to it whenever a change had been made. “They went to Beast Island to see how it is there.”

His ears fall for a moment, “Aw, I hope they’ll visit soon!”

“I’m sure they will,” she assures him. “They had some business to conduct over there.”

“In the meantime, what brings you to Dryl?”

“I wanted to talk to you and some of the others regarding your past,” she explains.

W.H. enters the closest kitchen, walking toward the oven. Tucking on mitts, a perplexed expression crosses his features, “Our past? My dearest niece… have you been afflicted by amnesia?”

“No, my memories serve me right,” Odessa says, patient. “I am asking for information regarding where we had come from, as a whole species. What world we originated from, what our culture was like. I had spoken with father about the matter, but he said he didn’t know due to being younger than the rest of you.”

W.H. crosses over to the countertop, removing the cookies onto a cooling rack. He is silent for a few moments, and it is clear he is choosing his words carefully, trying to understand what she’s asking. He turns, a serious mien about him, unusual on his face. “I… I’m not sure, either.”

Odessa walks over to him, “Is it because you were separated from the hivemind?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies. Folding his arms over his chest, the fact they’re all one person reveals itself in his posture and tone. “We had been created to serve Horde Prime. Nothing more or less. And I do think that I myself had been cloned after your father. He had been Horde Prime’s general as well, and if he didn’t know, one of our elder brothers might have the knowledge you seek.”

Odessa glances at Hydrangea and Tristan, then back to her uncle. “Do you know who would?”

W.H. ponders for a minute. “Hm, no one here, I am certain. The residents of Dryl are like myself—of the younger group, since we have more people skills to associate with the Etherians.”

Hydrangea says, “I always wondered how that worked. Where you were designated and why.”

W.H. nods, “Oh, yes, we put thought into what our new purposes would be. After I helped my brother and sister with Beast Island, I came here to demonstrate how to function with Etherians!”

Tristan walks over to the counter, “Where do you recommend we go, then? Also, can I have one?”

W.H. beams, nodding enthusiastically, “Please do! I am going to make much more. But in regards to your first question, I would suggest visiting family in Mystacore or Beast Island.”

Odessa takes a cookie off the rack as well, munching. Mystacore is closer, so it would be prudent to try there before traveling to Beast Island. There are portals stationed throughout Etheria, but it’ll be worth stopping by Mystacore. She hasn’t seen anyone there at all yet. Although, it’s not as if there are many who live in the clouds, visiting her family there is always exciting.

“Thank you, Uncle Wrong-Man,” Odessa says, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We’ll head there now!”

“Take some food with you to go,” he insists. In a flash, he’s bagging the cookies into a cellophane sack, tying it with a pink ribbon that shapes into a butterfly. “Healthy meals are important, but so are treats! Otherwise, you get moody.”

Hydrangea and Tristan are handed their own bags, much to their surprised delight. Before Odessa can accompany them out the door, W.H. stops her, giving her another, “Would you mind taking this with you for your cousin?”

Odessa smiles, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

                                                             -

Hordak and his brothers were categorized not by their clothes, or hair dye choices, but by their eyes. Odessa and her mother had noted the various shades of eye color, their teeth matching them the most; however, inside of their mouths, it adjusts to mimic the change as well, affecting the tongue and beneath it, gums, hard and soft palates, uvula, even extending down to the oropharynx. All her uncles are in good health, and with none of them dead, she can only assume that the change continues down the esophagus. She got it in writing several years ago that, should any be willing to be dissected for scientific purposes, she has a few choices for her study.

Their eye colors are fascinating: while they all reflect light to glow, which is meant to intimidate opponents, she has observed the change serves as behavioral distinction. The lighter the color, the more mellow and passive the personality; the darker or more intense, the more independent and aggressive. A chameleon-like feature, reflecting mood. And, in turn, signifying mental and physical health, as peppier individuals tend to be less plagued by feelings of inadequacy, anger, and low self-esteem. W.H. had his eye color eventually become the joyful chartreuse yellow she’s known since birth, and her father’s returned to their fiery red sometime after the war. This is the one true variation that doesn’t need attire or fanciful hair styles and dyes to show that no matter how alike they are by DNA, they are their own separate people.

So when she teleports to Mystacore, and she finds dark blue eyes staring at her from above, she remembers, quite immediately, that sometimes, darker eye colors don’t indicate low self-esteem but rather, an egregious amount of confidence.

Her uncle jumps down from his perch, landing daintily on his feet. He narrows his eyes, leering, “Odessa… it has been ages since you’ve arrived on Mystacore.”

“Hi, Talon,” Odessa says.

He looks at her friends, “You two are faring well, I hope.”

Hydrangea smiles, “Yes, thank you for asking!”

Tristan nods, “You look good, too, Talon.”

“Indeed,” Talon answers. “It would be a shame if I lost my abilities.”

With that, he throws knives out from his sleeve. Tristan dodges the attack by barreling to the side, somersaulting along the ground. Hydrangea calls up plants from underground, knives embedding into the sides. Odessa leaps into the air, reaching behind her to draw out a handheld bar. With a click, it extends to a staff, and another morphs it quickly into a pilum.

Reeling back her arm, she launches it with full ferocity at Talon. He avoids it, jumping to the left and pulling out more knives, but he aims them at Tristan, who runs toward the nearest fountain to pull water out from its containment. Tristan moves his arms upward, pushing out enough water to create a vertical depth, the knives slowing down as they pierce its surface and float inside.

Odessa tugs her spear out from the dirt, cornering her uncle at the right. Hydrangea pulls plants forward, fingers splayed in the air. From her fingertips, electricity strings across her exoskeleton. Tristan rushes to their side, water sloshing around them, encasing Talon in its center, creating a barrier.

Talon sneers, then bursts out laughing. His stance loosens, standing upright, “Your senses haven’t weakened. Good. I’d be vexed if you squandered my generosity to teach you combat.”

Odessa smirks, minimizing her staff and settling it behind her back, “We wouldn’t do that.”

Hydrangea grins, “Tristan and I do practice on our own.”

Tristan shifts the water back toward its source, then rubs the back of his neck, “Which is great, since there was no holding back from that attack.”

“Enemies don’t show mercy,” Talon says. Adjusting his collar, he nods his head, “But tell me, what brings my niece and her companions to Mystacore?”

Odessa speaks, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?” he replies, curious.

“Yes. It’s about your origins. Uncle Wrong-Man said it might be beneficial to come to Mystacore and question my relatives here.”

Talon raises a brow. He looks up at his home, then addresses the trio, “Are you intending to stay for longer than an hour?”

“Most likely.”

“I will invite you to my home, then. Come. Dinner will be prepared soon, and we may discuss the topic during.”

Accepting this, they head in the direction of his home. An impressive, ornate building that’s three stories high; they tread up wide steps, where one can overlook the weigela bushes lined around the vicinity’s front entrance, a fountain spouting water in the garden’s center, surrounded by lilacs and roses. Cool air wafts over their bodies, welcome from the heat outside. Odessa remarks that the decor has only slightly changed, the furniture taking on silver, blue, and white qualities, polished until they gleam.

Going to the stairs, Talon nods at them, “Make yourselves at home. As usual, do not break anything. I will see you at dinner promptly.”

Once he’s gone, Hydrangea chuckles, “He’s still intense.”

“He’s gonna kill us one day,” Tristan sighs.

Odessa pats his shoulder, “Only if we let him.”

He lips thin out, “Not reassuring, Des.”

Climbing the steps, they decide to wait until they are called, and opt to entertain themselves by bothering someone else.

                                                             -

Magic radiates within the room, energy felt even behind the door. Odessa carefully pushes it open, seeing a slim figure move around. Putting a finger to her lips, she leads her friends into her cousin’s quarters. His face is stern, staring at the spell hovering over the ground at shoulder height.

Hydrangea sits quietly on a cushion on the floor, and Tristan does the same. Odessa leans against the wall, and they all watch. Eon is her cousin, and their similarities begin and end with their fathers having chosen Etherian women as their partners. He differs from her, and any other potential cousin, by having the capability to do magic. Real, Etherian magic.

Eon takes measured breathing, focusing on the spell. It elongates toward the ceiling and floor, then narrows to a thin line. Reaching for it, he plucks it with his forefinger. It snaps, and a discordant sound follows, uncomfortable and shrill. Hydrangea and Tristan cover their ears, as Odessa winces.

Eon looks at them, brow raised. He grins, “Did you all enjoy the show?”

“We did, until that,” Hydrangea complains, glaring at him. She frowns, lightly slapping her ears, “Aw no, there’s some ringing!”

“It’ll pass in a few moments,” Eon explains. “Besides, you three coming into my room unannounced and unwelcome deserves a bit of retribution.”

“By popping our eardrums?” Tristan asks, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Eon says, one hand on his hip. He turns to Odessa, and smiles. “You’re here sooner than expected.”

“I believe we arrived on time,” she answers, grinning back. She hasn’t seen him for a while, but he has gotten taller since then. He takes after their species' propensity for large heights, but she knows he’s grown a few inches and might continue to grow for the next couple of years as well.

Eon begins putting away his spellbook and notes, arranging them neatly, “What are the three of you doing here? With you on Etheria, you normally visit me later on your returns.”

“I came to ask your father some questions, but then he invited us to dinner.”

“He can be standoffish, but oddly enough, never when it comes to hosting meals.”

Hydrangea sits up, “We got into a sparring session with him right away too.”

Eon joins them on the floor, one knee bent to prop up an arm, “I had mine early this morning. You know him, he’s never done with training.”

Crossing outstretched legs, Tristan reclines against the wall, “Your parents don’t let up, huh?”

“No, but I head to my place at Bright Moon later in the month. I check in biweekly to continue my sparring and magic training, then head back and repeat.”

“That’s a lot of back and forth,” Hydrangea adds, holding a pillow to her chest.

Shrugging, Eon says, “I don’t mind. Keeps me busy.”

Odessa chuckles lightly, taking a seat beside Tristan, “For being super busy, Uncle Wrong-Man said to give you this.” Pulling out the bag, she tosses it to him.

Eon catches it deftly, a quiet ‘yes’ of triumph leaving his lips. His diet is strict when he’s with his parents, for optimal nutrition and betterment. But he has a sweet tooth that rivals Odessa and Entrapta, thus any opportunity to consume sugar is taken. Using a levitation spell, he has it placed atop his desk, and an invisibility spell follows after, keeping it from view.

“Won’t your parents find it? It’s not like you can’t smell cookies,” Odessa states.

“I’ll say it was one of you.”

Hydrangea laughs, “I don’t think they’ll be entirely fooled by that.”

“If not, that’s fine by me too,” Eon says. “I let them think they’re savvier than myself.”

Tristan smirks, “How often has that worked?”

“More than for you,” Eon says, smirking back.

Odessa and Hydrangea whoop at Tristan, who laughs in good humor.

Stretching his arms up and to the side, Eon turns to his cousin, “How did the last journey go?”

“It went as planned. We went to Pilan, and my parents found what they needed for research.”

“And you two?” he asks, addressing the others.

Hydrangea lays on her stomach, drawing circles on the pillow, “Hm… my moms have started taking me to council meetings, which is interesting. We had a gathering with some of the leaders in Plumeria that are helping to manage its growing space. And New Chelicerata has been thriving for years now, since we removed all the machinery in the Fright Zone and expanded it into the Flower Field.”

“Not all the toxins have been removed, I’m assuming.”

“Some of the groundwater had been too polluted, and it leaked into larger bodies of water, but, as a whole, we started seeing real progress six years ago.”

“I’ve been helping the residents there by removing water too far gone,” Tristan adds. “We’ve been separating them into larger containers as instructed, and we’re hoping that newer technology from Entrapta and Hordak will yield positive results in another decade or so.”

“Even if it’s slow, progression is always good.”

Odessa glances to her left, letting her mind drift. Time doesn’t pass by the same when traveling through space. She watches her mother age, while her father stays the same, and that’s the extent of how often she pays attention to the changes happening around her. It’s not from ignorance, but from not giving too much thought to it, even with the years she has spent returning to Etheria to evaluate and aid her people here.

Settling against Tristan, Odessa yawns. He keeps his body still as she falls asleep, finding their chatter relaxing. Dinner will arrive sooner if she’s napping. Even closing her eyes is enough for her body to rest, breathing quietly as she listens to them discuss any topic they happen upon.

Her friends are interrupted mid-conversation, a knock at the door grabbing their attention. Odessa opens an eye. The housekeeper bows her head, addressing Eon, “Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room. Please, follow me.”

                                                              -

Odessa knows her uncle, Talon, is a force to be reckoned with in combat, but her aunt, Nyxia, is a woman with severe features and a severer personality. If there was ever given a choice between fighting him or her, they may have to weigh their options a little more carefully.

She is seated next to Eon, with Hydrangea and Tristan placed across from them. Odessa leans toward her cousin, “Did Nyxia poison the food this time?”

Eon shakes his head, “Maybe Tristan’s.”

Tristan bawks, “Hey!”

Waving his hand, Eon smiles, “I’m teasing. It’s more than likely Hydrangea.”

“What?!” she demands, worried.

“You two are making this easy,” Eon grins, shaking his head. “Really, after all this time, you continue to doubt my parents’ hospitality.”

“I haven’t seen your mom in a while, okay? I wouldn’t know if I offended her last time,” Hydrangea breathes out, leaning back in her chair.

Ear twitching, Odessa catches the sound of footfalls, her aunt coming into view from the corridor, chin-length, violet hair framing lithe, dark features, gown flowing behind her. Definitely not a person to be out of line around.

But that only applies to non-relatives.

Nyxia smiles warmly at her niece, “Odessa! My charming girl, how have you been?”

“Wonderful, Aunt Nyxia, thank you,” Odessa replies, nodding her head in respect.

“Excellent. I heard all of you did well in your impromptu session with my husband earlier,” she says, making her way to the other end of the table. Standing beside her chair, she looks at her son’s other friends, “Talon remarked that you’ve improved considerably.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hydrangea and Tristan reply at once.

Talon comes from the opposite corridor, walking toward Nyxia. Pulling out the chair for her and sliding it beneath, he moves to the other end and takes his place at the head. The staff bring out their meal: roasted pheasants and potatoes, slathered in its drippings, with baked seasoned vegetables on the side. Wine is served to all of them, as Nyxia and Talon are lax in this department of child-rearing, though the option to have different beverages is always available. Odessa requests her usual fizzy drink, as Hydrangea asks for lemon water. Tristan and Eon have no qualms with the choice displayed in front of them.

“Smells delicious, Miss Nyxia,” Hydrangea compliments.

“Thank you, my dear,” she answers, laying a cloth on her lap. “When I heard you three were in Mystacore, I chose to make this instead.”

Odessa and Eon twiddle each other’s fingers under the table, a silent ‘fuck yeah’ to the change in menu. Nyxia is a phenomenal chef, but she abhors cooking. The usual staff do lovely work, except they are meant to keep things simple, clean, and balanced. Nyxia, despite agreeing with her husband on meal preparation, manages to create rich, satisfying food each time. Normally, when Odessa and her family are visiting.

Relishing this opportunity, Eon cuts into his pheasant, stabbing a portion of potato with it, melting on his tongue. Trying not to pretend-weep. Or actually weep.

“What was your question, Odessa?” Talon asks, swirling the wine in its glass. “It’s not like you to come without your parents.”

Dabbing her mouth, Odessa looks at him, “I wanted to ask you questions about your time serving as a soldier for Prime.”

He doesn’t break the smooth motion of his wrist, not minding that part of his life, “Yes?”

“I was told that older clones might have information regarding our origins. A life before Prime sought out to conquer the universe. My father and W.H. are too young to remember, or were never privy to it. You’re one of the eldest, so I figured to come here before heading to Beast Island.”

Talon sets down his glass, lifting his fork and knife. He takes a bite of his food, chewing quietly. Swallowing, he says, “I will be blunt: it is not possible to know such a thing. Our purpose, our life, was to do Prime’s bidding.”

“There isn’t anything you can think of?”

Talon mulls the question, glancing up at his wife, then back to the plate. He narrows his eyes, and they flicker to an even darker shade of blue for a fraction of a moment. He gives a minute shake of his head, imperceptible to all but his wife.

Odessa waits for him to speak, slipping out her recorder with a strand of hair.

“I… cannot remember a time before Horde Prime. There was only war. Ravaged lands, and screaming,” he leans forward. He meets his niece’s gaze, “You might have to go to Beast Island for your answers, though I do not trust they will know more. Many of us have been alive for decades, but not millennia.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Tristan wonders. “The hivemind was the source of connection. Did you lose memories once it left?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that way,” Talon answers, sipping his drink. “It’s more… you have recollections, starting from the present. And it continues backwards until it stops. A wall in your head, which is the moment of when we, for lack of a better word, are ‘born.’ From what I’ve gathered, raising Eon, and observing all of you growing up, an infant that develops naturally can have memories that are faint—both in sensation and imagery, and the mind’s eye develops scenarios of what could’ve happened. Piecing puzzles in your memory banks. Attempting to make sense of your childhood and surroundings, and it even causes you to feel certain emotions into adulthood on a subconscious level. For us, and my brothers, there is no guesswork. There is the instant of emerging from the vitrine, and from there it goes on. Our memories are crystal clear, and gaps do not occur. If we feel emotion, it’s from direct experiences, not preconceived ideas of maybe how we experienced living. The hivemind being removed made us how we are now, but its absence didn’t seem to affect anything else.”

“Fascinating,” Odessa says, forgetting her meal. “So, you remember everything?”

“Yes. It would seem my brothers and I recall memories at greater capacities than most.”

“Would you say you have photographic memory?” Hydrangea asks, leaning forward.

“Our superior intellect allows us to retain knowledge quicker, and we remember things for longer, but a true photographic memory isn’t an aspect we have considered.”

Nyxia cuts into her pheasant, “It’s not unlikely. Your brothers and you have shown an uncanny ability to remember things more greatly than Etherians. It might be prudent to research it further, wouldn’t you say?”

Nodding in agreement, Odessa would not rule it out. She’ll discuss it with her mother for an unbiased opinion later.

Dinner finishes with chiffon cake and fruit, leaving guests and hosts satisfied. Talon and Nyxia wave at the door, as Eon walks them to the portal.

“It was good to see you all,” Hydrangea says, turning to Eon. She clasps his hands, “You should visit more!”

Eon blushes slightly, still not used to open demeanors, “I’ll try to make an effort.”

Tristan pats his shoulder, “You have to get out more. Between you and Odessa, I don’t know who’s more of the hermit.”

“It’s definitely me,” Eon replies. “Odessa’s too needy.”

Punching him in the arm, Odessa gives a side-hug right after. She and her friends step onto the portal, “I’ll drop by again soon! And visit my parents sometime, dumbass.”

He flips her off, smirking.

Hopping through the portal, they arrive in Plumeria, where she bids goodbye to her friends. Then, she heads to Beast Island.

                                                               -

“Odessa! My little cupcake, how was your trip to Mystacore?” Entrapta asks. Imp, crawling around on the walls, chirps his greetings with Emily beeping at her return.

“It was very interesting,” Odessa says, pulling out her recorder. “Would you like to listen with me?”

“You bet!” Entrapta shouts, sidling over to sit on her hair. Odessa takes a proffered seat before playing back the conversation at dinner. She listens with rapt attention, the two of them quiet. Afterward, Entrapta grins, “That was fascinating! I had noticed that your relatives tend to be more affluent with recollection than most, but this requires more study.”

“Do you think there is a possibility that they have photographic memory?”

“We won’t know unless we test the hypothesis,” Entrapta turns to her daughter, grinning wide. “You know what that means!”

Odessa grins wide too, saying it with her.

“Time to experiment!”

                                                               -

Odessa and Entrapta had to decide what and how to measure. The test is simple on paper, but part of the reason memory tests can be difficult is due to fallibility of nature. Recalling a memory does not equate accuracy. They also had to take into account that Etherian children were more susceptible to false memories, which could affect them as adults, hence, why Talon said that there’s no guesswork for his brothers and himself. And when it came to the ethics, Entrapta reminded Odessa that it’s part of experimentation, much to the latter’s chagrin. Odessa would’ve followed, regardless, but she’s more determined to see things through without obstacles.

A lack of true full-blooded children for Hordak’s species, and Eon and Odessa were not little anymore, that wasn’t necessary to entertain. However, Odessa and Entrapta believed it would be prudent to test the memory of Eon and any other hybrid cousins simultaneously to the Etherian and Horde groups, sans Odessa.

After deliberating, they chose to experiment by gathering Etherians between the ages of 15-50, to cover the age bases of both Etherian teens and adults, hybrid offspring, and Horde descendants. After age 14, correct absolute judgments and relative judgments have better succession rates and are not as affected by false positives. With this in mind, Odessa sends out a mass message asking if anyone would like to be part of a study.

She receives her answers quickly from her uncles, who would be more than delighted to aid her in any quest. She splits them into four groups, Group A, B, C and D. To accommodate for the choice in subjects, they will be separated into three sections, Etherians being the first, hybrids the second, and her uncles will be the third subsect. Over the course of the week, she receives the rest of her subjects at Beast Island.

Tristan and Hydrangea are the first to arrive, looking forward to spending time with her and her family in the meantime. Hydrangea gives Emily and Imp hugs and kisses, cooing over them incessantly. Imp clings to Hydrangea’s neck, completely at ease.

Tristan pats Emily’s surface, smiling at her beeps, “It’s good to see you too.”

She beeps even louder and harder, spinning around in place.

Entrapta grins, “Aw, you made her day!”

“No one else is my favorite robot, are they, Ems?” Tristan asks. She spins again, and the whirring becomes softer, almost shy.

Odessa nudges his ribs, “Great, my sister has a crush on you.”

Tristan rolls his eyes, smiling.

Odessa peers at his face, “Hey, you shaved!”

“Yeah, you were right. It was horrible,” Tristan remarks.

“You look better this way,” Odessa affirms, pinching his cheek, and he lightly whacks her fingers away.

Scorpia comes a moment later, and immediately bolts over to them all. Once the hugs are done, Scorpia and Entrapta discuss things on their own. Entrapta settles into the crook of Hordak’s arm, resting easily over her shoulders. Scorpia gushes over how cute they are. Hordak humphs in disdain, despite the blush on his cheeks.

Another five minutes pass and the portal hums. Catra, Adora, and two of their children come through.

Odessa sighs. Not looking forward to having some of them here. But she smiles, walking to Adora, “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Adora smiles, giving Odessa a warm hug. She pulls back, holding her at arm’s length, “It’s no problem. We’re glad to help! You’ve gotten taller.”

“You’ve definitely sprouted more than we thought. I remember when you were knee-high,” Catra says. “You were the worst ankle-biter in Etheria.”

Odessa teases, “Still am.”

Laughing, Catra pats her back, walking hand in hand with Adora to their friends.

Her smile falters after that, though she manages to keep it in place. If Catra and Adora weren’t there, she wouldn’t hide her contempt or indifference.

They have four children in total. Quadruplets in fact. All a year younger than her at 15. Two of them, Clawdeen and Marlena, tend to spend their time in Bright Moon, and she has no opinion of them other than they’re not her sort of people. Well, that’s not true. They’re surprisingly elitist and refuse to associate with anyone they find unworthy of their time. They mind their business enough, however, so Odessa doesn’t pay them attention.

Barely coming to five feet tall, Molly is one of the children here today, a skittish, timid thing; the runt of her litter. She inherited Catra’s heterochromia, one eye blue, the other green, and that’s the one interesting thing about her. She stands, unsure, by the portal. Her appearance here is odd, since she tends to be alone. Odessa doesn’t hate her, or even dislike her, but the girl’s meekness doesn’t make her striking enough to have an opinion on either.

Adam, their one son, is another story. His eyes are bright blue, and slightly jarring in the feline face. The opposite of Molly, he is loud, prone to temper tantrums, and his temerity leaves much to be desired. She prefers the company of confident, open people, but he’s, without a doubt, the most obnoxious fucker she’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

His eyes, the only one to resemble Adora’s, land on hers, and he leaps over, grinning. Placing an arm on her shoulder, leaning, he says, “Yooooo, what’s up, girl?”

Odessa turns to him, narrowing her eyes, “Please don’t take my smile for welcome, you complete ass.”

“Ooh, baby, you need to chill,” Adam says, poking her nose.

“Try that one more time and I’ll bite it off.”

He winks, “That a promise, thottie from space?”

Odessa smiles wider, eyes flashing, “It’s a threat, you parasitic fool.”

Sensing her growing irritation, her friends bound over. Hydrangea waves at Adam, “Hey! We haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been?”

Adam turns to her, “Hey, Dragon Fruit! You know how I be—taking care of all this,” Adam gestures to his thin body, puffing out his chest. “What you been up to lately? Those flower braids are doing everything for your look.”

Hydrangea urges him to walk far, far, far, far away from Odessa’s area.

Rubbing her temples, Odessa takes a breath.

Tristan rubs her back, “Remember, Des: think of the experiment.”

Odessa nods at him. Science. Her one true refuge. “I know. It’s a little… irritating that he’s here. But I’m sure that empty-headed dolt will yield some results for me.”

Tristan smiles at her, ensuring she doesn’t lose her cool. Once he’s sure she won’t murder, he looks at Molly, “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Molly brushes hair away, looking briefly at the ground before addressing him. “Yeah… Um, my moms thought it would be cool to take one or two of us. To help Odessa out.”

Odessa shakes her head, “So glad about that.”

“Um… I’m sorry about Adam...” Molly starts.

“It’s fine,” Odessa replies, focusing back on her clipboard, walking away.

Sighing, Molly bites her lower lip, feeling uneasy.

Noticing that, Tristan smiles at Molly, “Come on. We can wait over here.”

“Sorry you’re stuck with me,” she mumbles.

“I’m not stuck with you,” Tristan answers. He leads her to an unoccupied stone ledge, the occasional pooka darting across it. “Though, I didn’t think this was your sort of thing.”

“It isn’t. I don’t really want to be here,” Molly answers, pulling her legs to her chest.

“It might be fun, right?” Tristan asks.

Shrugging, Molly places her chin onto her hands.

They both watch the portal light up, a plethora of clones marching through. It has to pause for a brief moment, then it continues to spew individuals out of it. Tristan glances down at Molly, knowing there’s no point in attempting to converse. The silence doesn’t bother him, and she seems to take more comfort out of not having to make dreadful small talk. He hates it too, so this works.

Eon and his parents eventually pass through. Waving at him, Tristan reclines in his seat, “You and your folks actually came. I didn’t think any of you left the house.”

Standing with his arms behind his back, at ease, Eon smirks, “You’re all lucky we don’t come out more often.”

Tristan sticks his tongue out at him. He gestures to his left, “You remember Molly?”

Eon looks down at her, “Yes, we have met before. Nice to see you again.”

Molly flushes, turning away, “Nice to see you too…”

He glances at Tristan, who gives a one-shoulder shrug.

She keeps quiet, looking at the people around her. Hordak and his brothers all stand out as one unit, and other cousins similar to Eon slowly arrive. Not as large in number, with more variation than Hordak’s species but less than natives. She watches Etherians coming forth as well, and doesn’t wave or acknowledge them. Hoping to blend with the background, she scoots further away, sinking behind Tristan.

Tristan notes her discomfort and doesn’t move.

Eon, however, waves at some relatives, who rush over to greet him.

Molly frowns, accepting her fate. She takes to watching Eon speak with his family, his tall, sleek body impressive even among those similar to him in build. His hair, cropped shorter at the sides, falls in front of his forehead, a darker hue than his cousin Odessa. His eyes are a lovely shade, bordering on magenta with a stronger red tint, the sclera an equally pretty color, lighter than his irises. His usual confident smirk remains on his face throughout, bright, sharp teeth against the usual backdrop of pale face with the sides of his cheekbones and neck becoming a shock of dark blue or purple. It seems to be a common male trait, since Odessa’s face is white all around, but she isn’t sure. She doesn’t see the other cousins close enough to tell.

She spies Odessa wandering with her device, either barking orders or quietly checking off things. Long, lilac hair floats behind her when not in use, her frame just as slim and tight as the others, and inheriting a tall height seems to be the norm for them. Despite her gorgeous features, Molly finds it interesting, also intimidating, how much redder Odessa’s eyes and sclera are compared to Eon’s.

Hydrangea is speaking with Odessa now, platinum blonde hair brushing against her body, falling in the softest of waves to the small of her back. Her lithe frame befits the gentler, kinder nature she has, which isn’t surprising considering who her parents are. But there’s that powerful change in limb, her arms spiking at the shoulder in dark red, the skin of her arms mottled with it, until it reaches her elbows, where it spikes again, hardens, forming another patch of chitinous skin that reaches her fingertips, claws neatly filed down. And then there’s the tail, shorter, but as potent as Scorpia’s. Deadly and graceful.

She looks up at Tristan, beautiful, brown eyes staring off to the distance. Long lashes frame them, delicate yet full. His hands rest lightly over his knees, fingernails painted black. Hair reaching the end of his neck, lightly touching muscular shoulders, it enriches brown skin with its color, more than a mere dark purple. It’s the color of wine in the dark, of a gorgeous night as the last remnants of light dash away. The blue of his clothes highlight everything further, lavish gold trim clashing against the bright colors, revealing every taut muscle without meaning to, and she traces the curve of his spine with her eyes.

She feels a gaze on her, and finds her brother staring at her from a distance. Molly, snapping from her reverie, darts her sight to the ground. Unaware of Tristan looking in her direction.

Once enough participants have arrived, Odessa claps her hands, “Alright, people! Listen up: I have divided you all into the following groups. Step up this way, where I will assign you all with a place to go to.”

Adam bounds up out of nowhere, whispering, “Can whatever group I’m in be called Team Sexy?”

Odessa ignores him, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

                                                               -

                                                    HYDRANGEA

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

“Alright,” Odessa says. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures. You will have seven seconds to absorb all the details for them, and afterward, I will ask you one simple question about what you can remember.”

“You got it!” Hydrangea sits in her chair, comfortable. “Sounds easy enough.”

Odessa smiles, “Here’s your first one.”

She holds up a simple image of table mats atop a wooden surface, decorated with plates of breakfast foods, drinks, and fresh fruits.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yep!”

“What fruits topped the waffles?”

“Oh, um… berries and apples?”

Writing it down, Odessa proceeds with the next image.

                                                      TRISTAN

                                                       Age: 17

                                               Species: Etherian

“Hello!” Entrapta says, bringing him in. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures for less than 10 seconds each, and you’ll let me know what you remember.”

“Sure thing,” Tristan replies, sitting upright.

She pulls out an image of miscellaneous items and personal effects on a desk, three photographs in the middle, a drawing in one of the corners, a grey notebook, and a folder with intricate patterns.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yes.”

“Were there tickets on the table?”

Tristan mulls his answers for a moment, “No.”

                                                        MOLLY

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

Odessa approaches the girl, relieved that she doesn’t have to deal with the handful that was her brother. She looks at Molly, “I’m going to hold up 10 pictures for you, and you will have seven seconds to absorb the image. Afterward, I will ask you questions.”

“Alright,” Molly nods, nails clicking against each other.

The image is of a mountain peak, glinting from the light; the moon shines above it, and a trip of hoofed animals moving along its surface.

“What was the total number of baby goats in the image?”

Molly thinks over the total, and says, “Five.”

ADAM

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

Entrapta comes into the room, “Hello! I’m going to be showing you some pictures—”

Adam interrupts her, “Is this going to take long?”

“Nope! It takes less than five minutes for this segment to be complet—”

“Do we get paid to do this?”

“...No.”

Scratching his nose, Adam leans back in his chair, “Got it, got it. Lay it on me, girl!”

Entrapta smiles, “Great! So, I have 10 pictures and I will show them to you for about seven seconds. I will ask you questions after each one about what you saw.”

“Question real quick: is this one of those tests that explain anything about your psychosis?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it gonna tell me anything, like, am I gonna learn about who is the most likely to be a murderer or nymphomaniac?”

Raising a brow at him, Entrapta says, “I can’t divulge too much about the study to participants. But this is not that kind of test.”

“Aw… okay,” Adam shifts back further in his seat, lifting the front legs from the ground. “Well, that’s less fun.”

Entrapta proceeds to bring out a picture: a series of potted plants are lined on shelves, different heights and colors smashed closely together in the frame, their pots not resembling the others save for a few.

“What was the centre motif for the pots?”

Adam scratches his chin, “Frog, I think.”

                                                         EON

                                                       Age: 18

                                          Species: Etherian and ?

Odessa approaches her cousin, sitting relaxed in the seat. She had gone through the first ten pictures with him already. She glances at him, “Are you ready to continue with the process?”

“Whatever this study is, I’m assuming that you need me to come back again for another trial run.”

“Yes, you will be returning a few times after today to aid in the study, as per your agreement on the written form.”

“Of course.”

“You went through the first half, and you’re going to begin the second half now. This is slightly different,” Odessa explains. Instead of photographs, she holds up a pad, similar in size and weight to her telecommunicator. “I am going to hold up one image: a grid of white and black squares. Then, I will show you a second image, of the same number of squares on the grid; however, you will choose the one square you believe was white in both image one and image two. Image three will have the grids with numbers in the squares instead for you to pick. The amount of time will be the same, seven seconds. There are four levels of difficulty, and you will proceed until we reach the last level.”

Nodding, Eon watches her lift the screen to his eyes. A grid of white and black appears, and he keeps in mind which are white only. The second image appears. Then the third. He makes his decision. He will not know if he is right, as the data is processed within for the researchers alone.

Odessa keeps her face neutral the entire time, intrigued at what this part of the test will yield from everyone else.

                                                          TALON

        Age: approx. 90 (total) | approx. 52 (mental) | approx. 52 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta smiles, “We do appreciate you helping with the test.”

“It is no trouble,” Talon states. “You and my niece are a select few that do not leave me…”

“Irritated?”

“We’ll use that word.”

Entrapta approaches her brother-in-law, setting herself down on swathes of hair, “Are you ready for the second half of the test?”

“Yes. By all means, little sister, proceed.”

“Excellent! I’m going to show you a grid with black and white squares. Another image will appear after on the device. The number of squares will not change, however, you have to decide what is the one square that remained white. You will pick that in the third image, where the squares will all be numbered.”

“Understood. You may show me the first image.”

                                                            W.H.

        Age: approx. 40 (total) | approx. 23 (mental) | approx. 27 (physiological)

                                                       Species: ?

“This must be exciting for you, isn’t it?” W.H. asks. “You haven’t done a study like this in a while.”

Readying the pad, she nods, “It has been a few years since I’ve conducted anything in this manner.”

“I still remember when you were little, and you insisted on having your first experiment be a methane explosion. You were so cute!”

Odessa smiles, “Speaking of memory, we’re going to begin the second half of the test. You will have the same amount of time to memorize the image on screen. Another will follow right after, and your task is to choose which square on the grid remained white. The image will be your selection on a numbered grid.”

“Sounds fun!”

Holding it up for him, Odessa watches his eyes stay in place, focused. A flicker to indicate change on the screen, then another before he makes his decision.

                                                        HORDAK

        Age: approx. 56 (total) | approx. 57 (mental) | approx. 35 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta can’t help but smile at him, “Thanks for helping, Lab Partner!”

Hordak smiles back, rising from the chair, “Of course. The experiment seems to be going well.”

“It’s been so fascinating!” Entrapta lifts herself up in the air, at his height. “Everyone has been super helpful, even when they’re rambling about their own assumptions!”

“Who was rambling?”

“One of Catra’s kids—the boy. He was very interesting when he talked, but I had to stay focused! We’re collecting so much data… Odessa is going to be ecstatic!”

Happy to see her in good spirits, Hordak leans forward, kissing her cheek, “When you’re done, I will be waiting for you in our room.”

Entrapta waggles her eyebrows at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh! Is this about that new maneuver you wanted to show me?”

“We’ll see if your memory serves you just as well tonight,” Hordak smirks.

Squealing, Entrapta kicks her legs behind her, pecking his mouth with her own. “Can’t wait!”

                                                               -

The results, overall, took two months to compile through the data machine and to check back in with the participants. None of the groups had different numbers, pictures, objects, or words. Odessa and Entrapta tested everyone on their eidetic and photographic memory ability. Group A had no distractions, Group B had Etherians with distractions only, Group C was where her cousins had the disturbances, and Group D it was her uncles with diversions.

When it came to eidetic memory, the numbers didn’t vary too much. But the photographic memory yielded noteworthy results. Each group was brought back a month after being tested to see if they could recall things better. A few Etherians showed some promising ability for it, but overall it wasn’t strong. Her cousins showed stronger signs for photographic memory, Eon being one of the best candidates.

But her uncles were nearly at a 97% rate of accuracy. Talon and W.H. showed an adeptness for remembering things weeks later. Hordak was somewhere in the middle. She wonders why.

“Mom,” she says, holding the charts in her hair. “I know that photographic memory is rare, but these numbers are unreal.”

“I know! The majority of your relatives have a knack for it! That’s so fascinating.”

“I have a theory that it might be due to the hivemind, and perhaps the military training they underwent. It would make sense why they have such capability, even two decades later,” Odessa says. She pulls another chart toward them, tapping her forefinger in quick successions behind it. “It may or may not be that, since we’re not certain of Dad’s origins, but it would explain aspects of it.”

Entrapta’s hair moves her behind her daughter, peering over her shoulder, “It may. I saw that Wrong Hordak was remarkable with photographic memory, and Talon as well.”

“I believe it’s possible that it might be due to neither having depressive episodes. It may have been a group study, but I saw that clones similar to Dad in terms of mental health had a tendency toward memory loss or confusion. It’s not as often or strong as Etherians, or a couple of my cousins, but it’s there. Brains are brains after all.”

“It is exceptional to write this in our records. I wish we had more examples to go by,” Entrapta says. She smiles, “I think it says quite a lot when you compare it to Etherians and your cousins, though.”

“I do find this riveting. Even if it’s Dad cloned thousands of times, there’s something in their brains, their minds, that can provide clues to them as a whole. It’d be prudent to conduct more research, but I’d like to begin as soon as possible, and I can add notes as I go along.”

Entrapta pats her daughter’s head, “And now that you have this information, what do you intend to do with it?”

Odessa looks up at her mother, then back at the data. “I’m going to have Tris and Gea come with me on a little field trip.”

[doubleattitude]

Radix Dance Convention, Dallas, TX: RESULTS

High Scores by Age:

Rookie Solo

1st: Lucia Piedrahita-’Fields of Gold’

2nd: Sylvie Win Szyndlar-’Rainbow Connection’

3rd: Ariella Scott-’Baby I’m A Star’

4th: Shale Herrera-’Wonderful World’

5th: Capri Barrett-’Ladies Night’

5th: Gwen Kramer-’Suitcase’

6th: Grace Bednar-’Cold Hearted’

7th: Saige Hibbard-’I’m A Star’

7th: Audrey Tiss-’When She Loved Me’

8th: Dejana Kostur-’More Than Words’

9th: Hayden Goren-’Cha Cha Cha’

10th: Maeve Olsen-’River’

Mini Solo

1st: Braylynn Grizzaffi-’God’s Creatures’

1st: Ellary Day Szyndlar-’Light Gathers’

2nd: Anna Holley-’Reminiscence’

3rd: Ainsley Epton-’Presto Change O’

4th: Paislyn Schroeder-’Defeated’

4th: Journey Uy-’Donna’

4th: Sasha Milstein-’Ephemera’

4th: Cali Cassidy-’Weird People’

5th: Isabella Piedrahita-’All Along’

5th: Mia Menjivar-’Spiral’

6th: Ava Grace Merritt-’Clumsy’

7th: Olivia Armstrong-’Hit Me With A Hot Note’

7th: Claire Gestring-’On The Mast of Faith’

7th: Sophia Bodendorf-’What Can I Do?’

8th: Olivia Meehan-’Parade’

8th: Delilah Hewitt-’Shop Around’

8th: Annie Carlson-’Young’

9th: Kinsley Eversole-’Circus’

9th: Olivia Randolph-’Unchained Melody’

10th: Evelin Peterson-’Able To Love’

10th: Atlee  Millard-’Big Time’

10th: Madison Ramsey-’Sunny’

Junior Solo

1st: Laci Stoico-’Mibiso’

2nd: Campbell Clark-’I’ll Be Seeing You’

3rd: Maddie Ortega-’Island Song’

3rd: Kira Chan-’Mama’

4th: Kaili Kester-’Red’

5th: Avalon Rivera-’L Train’

5th: Breanna Bieler-’Moonlight Sonata’

6th: Audrey Domingo-’Eclipse’

6th: Stella Eberts-’Valley’

7th: London Barron-’Bones’

7th: Avery Lee-’New York, New York’

7th: Gigi Johnson-’The Way It Was’

8th: Riley Zeitler-’Breathe’

8th: Lillie Lainer-’Business of Love’

8th: Tiffany Morales-’Over The Love’

9th: Eastyn Turner-’Afraid of The Dark’

9th: Carolyne Knutson-’Peace’

9th: Mia Narvaez-’Who am I?’

10th: Emmy Claire Kaiden-’Eyesore’

10th: Layla Solsvig-’Like A River Runs’

10th: Madison De Dios-’On My Mind’

Teen Solo

1st: Willow Notary-’Expo’

1st: Avery Lau-’Fear of the Unknown and The Blazing Sun’

2nd: Kaitlyn Tom-’Charity Hound’

3rd: Charlotte Cogan-’You’

4th: Ava Greenwaldt-’Outside The Lines’

5th: June Hurley-’Don’t Think of Me Like That’

5th: Grace Underwood-’Sing’

6th: Kaitlyn Ortega-’All Human Beings’

6th: Georgia Ehrlich-’On My Mind’

7th: Nia Kester-’Cellophane’

7th: Madeleine Chen-’Luminous’

7th: Laira Naslund-’Mountainside’

7th: Taylor Hoke-’Wild Is the Wind’

8th: Sarah Laskowski-’Broken’

8th: Sasha Zitser-’Do You Love Me’

9th: Maia Sokmanan-’Everything’

9th: Leigha Sanderson-’Gypsy’

9th: Kenzie Jones-’Love Of My Life’

9th: Kaylin Lehmann-’Speaking’

10th: Riley Platenberg-’Talking Points’

10th: Tatum Johnstone-’The Fall’

10th: Alexis Olson-’The Final Call’

10th: Avery Reyes-’The Garden’

10th: Faith Kramb-’Wicked Games’

Senior Solo

1st: Skye Notary-’Inside The Color’

2nd: Anna Miller-’50 Ways’

3rd: Priscilla Tom-’The Blues’

4th: Ariel Banfalvy-’Existence’

4th: Perris Amento-’Addicted to Love’

4th: Mikayla Sokmanan-’Free’

4th: Sydney Solomon-’Looking For You’

4th: Lauren Wallingford-’Put Your Head On My Shoulder’

4th: Keylee Watkins-’The Source’

5th: Riley Canterbury-’Nothing Compares’

5th: Clara Gough-’Snow Queen of Texas’

5th: Christina Naslund-’So Low’

5th: Megan McAdoo-’Timeless Existence’

5th: Makenna Wallace-’Woman’s Work’

6th: Kendall Scott-’Heart of Glass’

6th: Olivya Sessing-’House On The Hill’

7th: Dakota La Penna-’Dancing Under red Skies’

7th: Britton Moore-’Radiator’

7th: Cameron Suckle-’Sweet Dreams’

8th: Mikaela Quintana-’I Will Rescue You’

8th: Emily Chen-’Mike and Judy’

9th: Jordi Landry-’Far Away’

9th: Eyllah Babbitt-’Only The Bravest’

9th: Kennedy McCann-’Why’

10th: Brooke Ricketts-’Blank Page’

Open Solo

1st: Summer Martin-’Insomnia’

Rookie Duo/Trio

1st: Danceplex-’Stand By Me’

2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Fashionista’

3rd: AVANTI Dance Company-’It Must Be Love’

Mini Duo/Trio

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Gracious’

2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’About That Walk’

3rd: Stars Dance Studio-’Rescue’

Junior Duo/Trio

1st: Elements Dance Space-’Seperate’

2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Go Girl’

3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Painted Black’

Teen Duo/Trio

1st: AVANTI Dance Company- ‘Blue Jeans’

2nd: The Dallas Conservatory-’Falling Like The Stars’

3rd: The Dallas Conservatory-’Changes Of The Wind’

Senior Duo/Trio

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Small Things’

2nd:  AVANTI Dance Company-’Would You Be Mine’

3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Landslide’

Mini Group

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Hey Pachuco’

2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Brighter Days’

2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Nails Hair Hips Heels’

3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Angel’s Staircase’

Junior Group

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Clones’

2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Agness’

3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Dreams’

Teen Group

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’Parachute’

2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Pale Yellow’

3rd: The Industry Dance Academy-’In In’

3rd: AVANTI Dance Company-’The Cuckoo’s Nest’

Senior Group

1st: AVANTI Dance Company -’Strange’

2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Need U Tonight’

3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Say Goodbye’

Rookie Line

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Minions’

Mini Line

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Enter Sandman’

2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Monsters’

3rd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Work’

Junior Line

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Let’s Get Loud’

2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Can You Dig It?’

3rd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Sun’

Teen Line

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Bohemian Rhapsody’

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Sellers of Flowers’

2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Fever’

2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Runnin’

3rd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Highway 27′

Senior Line

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’One Eye Open’

Mini Extended Line

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’I Don’t Speak French’

2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Bills’

Teen Extended Line

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’What Kind of Man’

2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Flashing Lights’

3rd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Sinking Deep’

High Scores by Performance Division:

Rookie Hip-Hop

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Minions’

Mini Jazz

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Hey Pachuco’ 2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Nails Hair Hips Heels’ 3rd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Mambo 5′

Mini Ballet

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Code Name Vivaldi’

Mini Hip-Hop

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Monsters’ 2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Mechanics’

Mini Tap

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Bills’ 2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Places’

Mini Contemporary

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’Brighter Days’ 2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Glad It’s Raining’ 3rd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Work’

Mini Lyrical

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Angel’s Staircase’ 2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’I Will Always Love You’

Mini Specialty

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Enter Sandman’

Junior Jazz

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Agness’ 2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Let’s Get Loud’ 3rd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Can You Dig It?’

Junior Ballet

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’Spring’

Junior Hip-Hop

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Clones’ 2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Missy’

Junior Tap

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’Jitterbug’

Junior Contemporary

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’Clairvoyance’ 2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Sun’ 3rd: The Industry Dance Academy-’No Darkness’

Junior Lyrical

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’I Will Rescue You’

Junior Musical Theatre

1st: The Industry Dance Academy-’West Side Story’

Junior Specialty

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Dreams’

Teen Jazz

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Fever’ 2nd: AVANTI Dance Company-’Emotional Rescue’ 3rd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Bajale’

Teen Hip-Hop

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Runnin’

Teen Tap

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Can’t Hold Us’ 2nd: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Dress’

Teen Contemporary

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’What Kind of Man’ 2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Parachute’ 3rd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Pale Yellow’

Teen Lyrical

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Ne Me Quitte Pas’ 2nd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’I Don’t Think About You’ 3rd: Pure Movement Dance-’You Take My Breath Away’

Teen Ballroom

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Que Calor’

Teen Specialty

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Bohemian Rhapsody’ 2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Flashing Lights’ 3rd: Pure Movement Dance-’Maneater’

Senior Jazz

1st: AVANTI Dance Company-’Need U Tonight’ 2nd: The Industry Dance Academy-’Mein Herr’ 3rd: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’One Eye Open’

Senior Hip-Hop

1st: Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Formation’

Senior Contemporary

1st: AVANTI Dance Company -’Strange’ 2nd: Soar Dance Academy-’Undertow’ 3rd: Soar Dance Academy-’Reality’

Senior Lyrical

1st: Soar Dance Academy-’Reborn’

Senior Musical Theatre

1st: Pure Movement Dance-’Boots’

Senior Specialty

1st: Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Say Goodbye’ 2nd: Soar Dance Academy-’Nutty As A Fruitcake’

Best of Radix:

Rookie

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Minions’

Mini

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Hey Pachuco’

The Industry Dance Academy-’Brighter Days’

Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’I Don’t Speak French’

AVANTI Dance Company-’Glad It’s Raining’

Junior

AVANTI Dance Company-’Clones’

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Agness’

The Industry Dance Academy-’Clairvoyance’

Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’I Will Rescue You’

Teen

The Industry Dance Academy-’Parachute’

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Bohemian Rhapsody’

AVANTI Dance Company-’What Kind of Man’

Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Sinking Deep’

Senior

AVANTI Dance Company-’Strange’

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Say Goodbye’

Soar Dance Academy-’Undertow’

The Industry Dance Academy-’Mein Herr’

Studio Standout:

The Industry Dance Academy-’Parachute’

Beyond Belief Dance Company-’Bohemian Rhapsody’

Artistry In Motion Performing Arts Center-’Sinking Deep’

AVANTI Dance Company-’What Kind of Man’

[jaggugram]

Understanding Lights and Colours

Experiment with different colour light sources and different colour outfits to see the impact of mixing of colours and its results. 

I have also converted it onto black and white photographs for future references.

Light Source : LED flash light & Red, Yellow, Blue cellophane paper

White Balance : Daylight

Red + Yellow = Orange (Secondary colour)

Red + Blue = Purple (Secondary colour)

Green + Yellow = Yellow Green (Tertiary Colour)

Blue + Yellow = Green (Secondary colour)

TINT

SHADE

A Blue Colour Shirt in various lights including Natural Daylight

White balance : Daylight

INFERENCE:

The mixture of different wavelengths of light creates different colours, and the more light you add, the brighter and lighter the colour becomes.

In Black and White - Blue light darken most colours and reduce contrast across an image.

Yellow lights produce pleasing skin tones enhance brightness across an image.

Red lights produce a very strong effect and greatly increase contrast.

Fundas of Visual Design Colours

[maximoffvizh]

fic: as spring became the summer

or, five times wanda gave vision flowers | fluff

1.

“You wanna try any of these fancy teas?” Natasha asks, pulling Wanda out of her thoughts and into the aisle, the display of multi-coloured boxes in front of them. “We’ve got so many mugs, may as well use them to sample every flavour you can.”

“Um-” She stares up at the boxes, all the bright colours, all the choice. “Maybe...the apple?”

“I know you’re faithful to Earl Grey, but you may as well try new things on SHIELD coin,” Natasha says with a wink. “Come on. I promised Sam his precious ingredients by six so he can treat us all to mac and cheese tonight.”

Obediently following the team leader towards the checkouts, Wanda finds her eyes caught by the tier of buckets displaying flowers. Her eyes flicker over the bright, bountiful bouquets reaching out towards consumer hands, landing on a tiny bunch of white buds. There’s a yellow sticker proclaiming them on sale, and she runs her fingers over the browning at the edges of the petals. She must be become soft-hearted amongst the Avengers, but she feels a pang at the thought of leaving these flowers behind to be thrown out at the end of the day.

She takes them up to the checkout, and Natasha mercifully doesn’t ask questions. Cradles the slim bundle in its crackling cellophane as Natasha drives back to the compound, only moving to flash her face at the guard at the door, and while Natasha is calling for Sam to help her she slips away from the group. Her room is already teeming with decoration, with the photographs and the art and the old guitar Sam gave her in pride of place.

When she knocks on Vision’s door, he opens it immediately, glancing down at her. “Good evening, Ms. Maximoff,” he says, and she bites back the instinct to tell him to stop being so formal. He’ll stop in his own time. “Is there something I can do for you? Would you like assistance in the training room again?”

“No, I...” She trails off, searching for the right words to explain to him what she wants. How to make him understand when he’s still learning, has been ever since they moved into the compound. “I bought these flowers at the store and I...there isn’t room for them in my room. I thought maybe you’d like them? Because your room is pretty empty except for books, and I...you should decorate.” She holds the bouquet out lamely, suddenly conscious of how the flowers are past their best, drooping slightly, and bites at the inside of her cheek in fear that he’ll push her away.

“Oh, I...” He takes the bouquet gently from her hands, the gear in his eyes swirling at he stares at them, and she watches his throat bob as he swallows. “Thank you, Ms. Maximoff. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” she says softly, and tries not to wonder too much over the soft golden glow diffusing in his cheeks. Only allowing herself one chance to look back as she walks towards the drawling of Sam and Rhodey arguing in the kitchen, to look at the wonder in Vision’s expression as he traces his fingertips delicately over the velvet edge of a petal.

2.

The room is spinning as Wanda almost falls into her chair after Steve is done twirling her energetically around the floor, fanning her flushed face with a discarded menu. Vision is still dancing with Pepper, and for a second her gaze lingers appreciatively on the cut of his suit to his shoulders before Sam’s voice breaks through the fog of champagne. “Hey...hey Wanda...Wanda!”

She glances across the table at him, sprawled with his feet in Natasha’s abandoned chair, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I don’t wanna dance anymore,” she says, easing her aching feet out of her heels, hiding her chipped nail polish under the hem of her dress.

“I dare you to steal the centrepiece,” Sam says with a sly grin, and Wanda stares at it. The swirling flowers blooming out of the crystal vase in a vast display of extravagance, marking the Stark Industries Christmas Gala as a place of excess. Just as she’s indulged in such an excess of champagne stealing the flowers sounds like a good idea.

“Why me?” she asks, blinking at him as he slants suddenly into two. “Why not someone else?”

“Steve and Nat have been too busy showing off, and Rhodey told me I was being immature,” he says with a frown. “And you’re the drunkest and the most likely to listen to my wisdom unquestioningly.”

“Why would I steal the flowers?” she asks, propping her chin on her hand and narrowing her eyes at Sam.

“To keep a memory of this magical, wonderful night,” Sam says brightly. “You got to slow dance with your crush. You should remember it.”

“We’re not sixteen,” she snaps, willing herself not to blush. Just because she’s had a champagne glass too many doesn’t mean she’s about to turn around to just anybody and talk about her feelings for Vision. “I’m not taking the flowers.”

“But they’ll brighten up a certain red someone’s room,” he says slyly, and she can feel the flush heat the back of her neck. “Take them. Take them take them take them take them take them-”

A lash of her fingers sends a spoon flying sharply into Sam’s nose, clattering to the floor, and silencing him. But it doesn’t stop her from sneaking back into the room under the guise of having forgotten a bracelet to take the flowers, hiding them under her coat in the car ride back.

She skids on ice getting out of the car, and Vision is there to steady her, their breath rising frosted silver in the air as he guides her back up to the compound, her feet aching enough that she limps the last few steps. “You should have a glass of water before bed,” he says, and she smiles up at him, tired enough to not care how besotted she looks.

“Can I give you something?” she asks, and he nods, distracted turning his back to her to fill water glasses and butter bread. She admires the cut of his suit again before he turns around and she produces the richly-red roses from beneath her coat, holding them out to him proudly. “Merry Christmas, Vizh.”

“Where did you find those, Ms. Maximoff?” he asks, and she shakes her head fondly at his insistence on using her full name.

“I just found them,” she says sweetly. “They’re for you.” She trades the roses for a glass of water, and watches the pleasure warm his smile while she drinks.

When Tony calls in the morning to long-sufferingly ask who stole a centrepiece, she grins into her tea at Vision’s betrayed expression.

3.

Rain is tumbling from the swollen clouds, and Wanda ducks through the nearest open doorway, frowning in irritation at the feeling of her wet socks inside her boots. Her umbrella has at least protected her hair, but she can feel the dampness seeping into her backpack, hoping that everything within is dry enough that she won’t need to spend the night trying to dry clothes in a tiny hostel room instead of being with Vision.

“Morning!” comes a chirp, and she glances up at the bright-eyed cashier. She’s managed to duck into a florist, surrounded by petals and leaves, and the young man is beaming at her. “Are you just ducking out of the rain, or would you like to look around?”

She’s about to lamely apologise, then she looks around and changes her mind. “I’ll have a look,” she says, and he smiles.

“Flowers for anyone in particular?” he asks, so casually. She supposes she should at least be grateful that it’s a sign that her newly-dyed hair is enough to keep anyone from recognising her. “Or for yourself? No shame in treating yourself to something as lovely as flowers!”

“My boyfriend,” she says. Even though they don’t use that word. She can’t explain to a stranger than it’s her best friend who she might be falling in love with coming to visit for the first time in two months because she’s on the run and he has to sneak out to see her under the guise of official government-sanctioned missions. “He likes flowers.”

“That’s sweet, ma’am,” the cashier says, and she smiles slightly. “I’ll let you browse. You must know him best.”

When she eventually braves the downpour again for the walk to the train station, waiting by herself on the platform while a broken gutter stubbornly drips water onto her, she’s cradling flowers under her arm to keep them dry. And when she sees Vision step off the train, the familiar blonde hair and the soft grey sweater he always seems to travel in, she smiles without needing to try.

He’s across the platform and kissing her before she’s even opened her mouth to greet him, and she smiles against his lips, melting into the kiss. “I missed you,” he says softly when they part, and she smiles into his eyes and draws him into another kiss, her fingers settling in the thick hair at the back of his neck.

“I got you something,” she says, and produces the flowers from behind her back. A beautiful bouquet of yellow and white, and Vision beams, taking them as gently as he did the first time she gave him flowers.

“They’re lovely, darling,” he says, and his eyes are shining. “I got you something too.”

When he pulls a box from his pocket, there’s a heartstopping whirlwind moment when some part of her thinks he’s going to propose. But there’s a necklace inside, not a ring, the pretty vintage one she saw in a shop window during his last visit and coveted for the entire week they were together. She takes the box from him, helplessly grinning, and looks up to arch an eyebrow and say, “You just can’t help but outdo me, can you?”

“Flowers are as wonderful as jewellery,” he says, and kisses her forehead. “Every gift from you is wonderful.”

She forgets to make sure she isn’t crushing the flowers when she lifts on her tiptoes to kiss him.

4.

Shuri’s labs are stark white, and the doors swish open so quietly when Wanda walks through them. She doesn’t meet any of the guards’ eyes, unable to stand the sympathy they gaze at her with, and descends another level to the room with only one bed. Where Vision is sitting alone, colour restored to the grey he was when they first woke him, staring at the wall. Silent, only the rise and fall of his shoulders with his breathing to show he’s there at all.

“I’m back,” she says weakly, and he turns his head slightly to look at her. There’s still no spark of recognition in his eyes, despite the work Shuri says she’s been putting on, despite her constant trying with the incomplete back-up she had, pulling and prodding at it to draw out his memories. “How are you, Vizh?”

“I remembered something,” he says, and she glances up suddenly from arranging her bag, feeling hope blossom warm in her chest. “I remembered Edinburgh.”

“We were there,” she says encouragingly, and he shifts on the bed. She wants to sit next to him, to comfort him, but it seems impossible to touch him when he doesn’t remember her, to think of being so close without kissing him,

“We were attacked,” he says, and she nods again. “I told you to go.” He looks at her, the same eyes she remembers so well from misty early mornings in hotel rooms, and asks, “Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t leave you,” she says, and moves slightly closer. He holds a hand out to her, as if it’s muscle memory, and she links their fingers tentatively together. “Everything I do is to protect you. To make the world safe for you again. So you can choose the life you want.”

“I remember what I asked you,” he says, and she flushes slightly. “I asked you to stay with me. You never answered.”

“Circumstances didn’t let me,” she says. She eyes the windowsill, the empty vase Shuri left just as she asked, and pulls flowers from her bag to set them in the vase, a little colour in the stark room. Her back to Vision, she takes a deep breath and says, “I would’ve said yes.”

“You would?” he asks, and she turns back to him. Staring at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. And when she nods, the slightest hint of a smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. “Wanda, may I...would you object if I wanted to come with you? Walk with you when you visit?”

“I’d like that,” she says softly, and then he really does smile. When she moves back towards him, the flowers seeming to glow faintly behind her under the harsh lights, he laces their fingers together again and brushes a soft kiss over the back of her hand.

5.

Staring at herself in the mirror, sliding hair pins tighter into the swept-up style to hold her shimmering veil in place, Wanda smiles slowly. No one else is in the room with her, Sam having been tasked with helping Clint entertain his kids while Laura guides people to their seats. She can take this moment alone, to look at herself as a bride, to take up her bouquet and adjust her necklace against her collarbones. To look at herself one last time before she chooses to share her name with the man she loves.

Opening the door at footsteps outside, expecting a harried Sam back, she stalls and smiles when she sees Vision. He’s wearing white too, a stunning contrast against his crimson skin, a yellow tie lying perfectly smooth across his chest, and he starts violently when he sees her. “Wanda, we’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!” he says frantically, and she smiles, sliding out from behind her door to languidly drape an arm around his neck.

“I don’t believe in that superstition,” she says softly, and kisses him. “We couldn’t have any more bad luck, babe. I already saw you die twice.”

“I...thought you wouldn’t want me to see your dress,” he says, and she smiles at his gaze flickering over her. “You look so beautiful.”

“You look amazing,” she says, and he smiles. Pulling a single rose from her bouquet, she tucks it neatly into his buttonhole and leans up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you at the altar. I’ll be the one in white.”

“In an hour you’ll be my wife,” he says. So softly, awestuck, fingers tracing over the silken edge of the rose petals, and she beams at him, light with love.

“You’ll be my husband,” she breathes, and leans up to kiss him, feeling his fingers warm against her skin through the thin material of her dress. Moving over her waist to cradle her, and she pulls back and smirks as she says, “And if you don’t stop that I’m going to consummate the marriage before it’s official.”

He blushes, cheeks glowing gold, and she gives him one last kiss before she forces herself away. Tucking her fingers around her flowers and allowing herself one last look at him. Staring at the rose she gave him with his eyes bright. The man she’s about to promise herself to forever.

Until the stars burn out.

[suchastart]

for @son-of-rome​ ♥

warnings for language and mention of physical injury

a sequel to this prompt here with Jason and Piper in a meet cute with a drunken night and a dog

I haven't written anything in 84 years so please be kind

*

It’s another two weeks before he sees her again.

Three, Piper corrects, as she always does when they tell the story of how they met. Though Jason is not known for having an incredibly reliable memory, he distinctly remembers those long weeks between, remembers the days he thought of her and her smile and the inevitability of never seeing her again. It’s not like he has any real proof of her--nothing but her name--and he’s not about to be the idiot who stalks a stranger on the internet.

So: he lets it go, and gets on with his life, and it’s another three weeks before he sees her again. Like the first time, he is standing in the kitchen of his townhouse, holding onto the counter, barely awake. He’s coming off the longest shift of his life and he can’t decide if he wants to pass out on the couch or drag himself upstairs to his bed.

The cold counter feels nice beneath his hands.

The sunset on the other side of the sliding glass door is pretty. Orange and gold and purple, fluffy wisps of clouds, shining rays of light.

His bed is so, so far away.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Libby is barking at something. He blinks, and the sunset has shifted, and his dog is in the backyard, barking.

Jason sighs and goes to open the glass door. He hopes Hedge doesn’t come over the fence yelling again. The guy’s a new parent, sure, and though Jason can’t fully empathize about a brand new baby in the house, he gets it. His dog should be a little quieter. But she’s a good girl, and she doesn’t really bark at much, not unless--

There’s a girl sitting in his backyard.

It’s like a punch-quick flash of deja vu, like the endless dreams and flashbacks that his therapist tells him are Okay. This one, though--this one doesn’t feel quite as dangerous. There’s a girl sitting in his backyard, and the little details are a little different--a tye-dyed tank top, camo cargo shorts, and worn sneakers. Her hair in a braid down her back. A bandage wrapped around her shin.

Some things remain the same: her warm brown skin, and the pink cast around her arm, and her laugh, loud and joyful.

Libby is shaking, her tail is wagging so hard. Piper McLean has her hands buried in the dog’s long, golden fur, and gives in completely to Libby’s aggressive affection, leans back in the grass and lets the dog lick her all over her face.

“Excuse me,” Jason calls, walking down the deck stairs.

Excuse me, Piper says, putting a hand up, interrupting his retelling. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter and has a greasy slice of pizza resting precariously on her bare thigh. Your first words were nothing near intelligible. I distinctly recall you saying, ‘Uhhh,’ for at least a few seconds. Tell it true, Grace.

Who is telling this story?

We are. Together. Go!

“Uhhh,” Jason says, walking down the deck stairs.

Libby detaches herself from Piper and hurries to him, tongue out, still wriggling. She takes an excited circle around Jason when he reaches the grass--look who came back, look who’s here!--before returning to Piper, feet tapping, tail wagging.

Piper sits cross-legged in the grass. She waves with her casted arm. “Hi.”

“Uh, hi,” Jason says. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Do I need to take my shoes off?”

“No,” Piper laughs. “Totally sober this time. No danger of ralphing on your feet. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“I only have minimal nightmares about it.”

“Understandable.”

Libby settles at Piper’s side and looks between the two of them.

Miraculously, Hedge does not come out to holler at them from next door.

Jason stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweats. He takes a breath. He doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to jinx it, lest she completely vanish, but: “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” Piper says. Jason has known her for all of half a conscious hour in total, but he recognizes immediately the bashful look on her face. She reaches back and pulls out a small bouquet of wrapped flowers he hadn’t yet noticed. Small and white and yellow and wrapped in blue cellophane. “I wanted to say sorry? For barfing on your feet, and crashing on your couch. You took care of me and you were a good guy and you didn’t have to be.”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Jason says automatically. After a stalled moment--because she’s here, and she’s brought him flowers, and he doesn’t think anybody’s ever given him flowers?--he takes them, surprised, touched. “Thank you?”

“Is that a question?”

“No. Thank you.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

The cellophaned flowers crinkle in Jason’s grip. He smells them, because they’re pretty and because why not, Piper is looking at him and he wants to be appreciative, is appreciative. He buries his face in the flowers and breathes in and tries not to be awkward, tries to think about what to say, what to ask, what not to ask--

“I’m a skater,” Piper blurts.

Jason unearths himself from his bouquet. “What?”

“I skate.” She waves her pink casted arm in the air. Jason thinks he sees a dick drawn in the space by her wrist. The whole thing is kind of a mess--scribbles, and drawings, and the rough wear and tear of plaster that she picks at. “Professionally? That’s not really a question. I, uh. I’ve been on TV. That’s a thing.”

“Wow.” He sits down a few feet across from her and motions to her arm. “What happened there?”

“This? Just landed wrong. Like, real bad.”

“No kidding,” Jason laughs.

“I have a video! It’s pretty gnarly.”

She pulls out her phone and scoots a little closer. She has to press hard on the spiderweb-cracked screen to get it to register her touch. “So, there was a meet a few weeks ago, super casual, and there’s this ramp I’ve taken a hundred times before. We call it the Empire.”

“But?”

“No but. Same ramp, same tricks. Just went down wrong, I guess.”

The screen focuses in on what looks like a huge warehouse. Several brand logos hang on the metal walls. Indistinct music plays in the background. The view shakes, is briefly obscured by a bandaged finger, and then turns; under high, bright lights, Piper frowns at the camera and makes a playful fist. She adjusts her helmet and looks down at the intimidatingly tall ramp. The wood gleams, falls into a vertical drop.

Jason feels exhilarated just looking at it. No wonder they call it the Empire.

The person holding the camera laughs, and a man says, “You gonna go or what?”

“Cool your jets, Jackson. I gotta make sure everybody’s paying attention.” She looks across the half-pipe to a shorter guy with wild curly hair, sitting on the opposite platform and fiddling with an old, hefty camera. “You almost ready?”

The guy flicks her off without looking.

“He’s ready,” Piper says, grinning. She nods and faces the ramp.

Jason feels himself holding his breath. He sees the results of this kind of thing every day, the broken bones and the bruises and the blood, but it’s never easy, watching it about to happen--watching Piper smile, and knowing what comes next.

I was alright, Piper says, now, taking a bite of her pizza. There’s a triangle of grease left on her skin, and he smacks a napkin down on her thigh. You knew I was alright.

Jason shrugs. Even years later, even in the retelling, he still feels nauseous. It still sucked, watching it. I had a big crush on you. I still have a big crush on you.

Aw, babe. That’s cute, but I wasn’t gonna let the Empire keep me down.

A hand reaches out from behind the camera and knocks on Piper’s helmet, a swift one-two, and she raises her shoulders, lets them fall, does it again, hyping herself up.

Someone shouts.

The camera follows her as she tips forward.

Piper flies. Down, and down, and down, and then back up. She does nothing special at first, a smooth turn at the apex, another trip down the ramp. Her face is focused. She pulls her board out from under her feet on her second apex, balances a hand on the edge of the ramp, is suspended upside-down, and, for the briefest second, still.

“Alright,” Piper says, leaning into his side. She brings the phone up closer to their faces, pointing to the screen. Her nails are a vivid, chipped yellow. He looks up to see her frowning in real time. It’s just as scary and endearing as it is on screen. “Look, you’re going to miss it! It’s right after this 360 Pegasus.”

“Is that English?”

She laughs, but she also puts a hand on his face and pushes his gaze back to her phone. The Piper on screen is at the end of some crazy-complicated acrobatics, twisting midair, coming back down, and it happens too quick for him to register--he doesn’t see what goes wrong, only sees Piper’s board shoot out from beneath her feet, sees her put her hands out to break her descent--

The recording shakes, blurs. Whoever’s holding the phone--Jackson, he thinks--must’ve slid down the ramp to get to her. When the view clears, Piper’s lying fetal on the wooden ramp, cradling her arm. “Shit,” she groans. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The curly-haired guy kneels next to her. “Let me see. Pipes, let me see.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she says, her voice shaking. She sits up, and Jackson, behind the camera, gasps. Her forearm is almost bent in half. “I’m fine?”

Jason looks away from her phone. He’s seen this one before.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to squick you out,” Piper says. She locks the screen. The sound cuts off. “That wasn’t cool. I should’ve asked if you were okay with, like, gory stuff--”

“I’m a paramedic,” Jason blurts.

“Oh! That’s cool?”

“Is that a question?”

“Ugh, you’re awful.” She waves her cast in the air. “So I guess you see worse, huh?”

“Doesn’t mean I want to see you like that.”

Piper blinks, and Jason feels his face go red. He rubs at his eyes. “Sorry, I’m tired, and--”

“Do you want to go for ice cream?”

“Huh?”

“It’s a nice evening, and I want to hang out with your dog. There’s a little ice cream shop a few blocks that way that we could walk to,” Piper says, nodding back over her shoulder. She squishes Libby’s face between her hands, and Jason swears that her cheeks are a little pink, too, as she avoids looking at him. “How’s about it, Libs? You wanna go get some ice cream? Huh, sweet girl? You think you can talk your dad into it?”

Like she’d have to. Jason scratches Libby’s belly. “We’d love to.”

And Piper’s smile is as radiant as the sunset. “Me too.”

[magicalmonsterhero]

Mr. Cellophane

(First part of a currently unnamed fanfic based on brueklynn’s Studiotown characters.)

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

"At roughly midnight three days ago, the Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis flared brightly enough to reach each other. Experts are still baffled as to the cause of this phenomenon..."

Jim turned away from the TV and let out a sigh. What nobody had mentioned was the strange symptoms some people had been experiencing--he was certain there was a connection. Perhaps it was because of how varied they were:

-Blondie had complained of a stomachache, forcing Henry to drag him off to bed despite the blonde's stubborn refusal to lie down.-Wallaby and Norman both had rather nasty headaches, the janitor not hesitating to use it as an excuse to slack off. Norman had simply taken a couple of aspirin, thought that did little to ease the pain.

-Samuel initially seemed to only be experiencing goosebumps, though he'd ended up dropping a few objects and stumbling once or twice. Eventually, he'd simply decided the brief spasms were just going to get in the way of his work, so reluctantly, he joined the others in resting.

-Johnny and David had both experienced dizziness, but while the former had been feeling unusual warmth in his hands and eyes, the latter just felt tired.

-Jim himself had experienced blurry vision, and an odd feeling of being only partially present.

Fortunately, it seemed a little rest had done everyone some good, but Jim didn't think it was over just yet.

As he got up, he briefly felt an odd sensation, forcing him to brace himself against the wall. Once it passed, he looked up, only to discover he couldn't see his hand. He looked down at himself, and realized, to his shock, that the rest of his body was gone as well. Even his clothes had disappeared.

"Wh-what happened to me?" he gasped.

Breathing heavily to try and calm down, the now invisible storyboarder opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Okay, just take it easy," he muttered, trying to reassure himself. "There's got to be some kind of explanation..."

A loud squawk made him jump. He leapt back, narrowly avoiding a collision with Blondie's wheelchair. Said wheelchair was followed by a dog with golden yellow fur, who slipped on a wet patch of floor and slid into a wall.

"Blondie! Are you OK?"

Wallaby came running up, carefully avoiding the wet floor patch and kneeling beside the dog, who promptly began to grow and change shape. In a flash, a dazed Blondie had taken its place. Jim stared for a moment, then he ran back into his office to grab a notepad and pencil.

Doubtless it wasn't just him and Blondie...

[ao3feed-bnha-rarepair]

Close Your Eyes

Close Your Eyes by myimmortalist

"Why was he humoring the man? Why, for once, was Todoroki trying to keep the conversation flowing? Frowning, he remembered the last time he had met with his friends, a little less than two weeks ago. Seeing anyone? They had asked, already knowing the answer. Todoroki had merely shrugged, trying to convince himself that his mind didn't immediately flash to a certain black and yellow clad vigilante, and the laughs that he definitely didn't want to hear more of."

Todoroki never asked for the vigilante who never seemed to be able to leave him alone. Cellophane never stopped acting like they were friends, and at this point, Todoroki couldn't resist him if he tried.

Words: 4238, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Vigilantes and their Heroes

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Sero Hanta, Todoroki Shouto, Yaoyorozu Momo, Asui Tsuyu

Relationships: Sero Hanta/Todoroki Shouto

Additional Tags: Vigilante Sero Hanta, Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, Flirting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, speedrun, Todoroki Shouto is Bad at Feelings, he has an attitude, Sero Hanta is a Dork, Getting Together, idk how to tag, Denial of Feelings, No Angst, Fluff, Lonely Todoroki Shouto, Somewhat, Idiots in Love, sero is always like AWOOGA, and todoroki just likes muscles and pretty smiles

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31686302

[pftones3482]

Commission for @subearbanmom. Mentions of eating disorders, but nothing super graphic. Kinda based it on how I dealt in highschool? Lotta Pidge and Lance bonding, cause it felt right. Under a cut for length. 

“Lance? Did you want seconds?” Hunk asked cheerfully, already pouring more of his space stew into Pidge’s bowl while the girl stared at it in hungry fascination, her mouth practically watering.

He gave Hunk a warm smile, clutching at the spoon in his hand and shuffling his feet under the chair. “No thanks, man. I’m stuffed. That was really good.”

The mice squeaked around his ankles, whiskers tickling the bare skin of his feet. Lance ignored them, scooping the last of the stew from his bowl with his spoon and staring at it in quiet dread before forcing it down his throat. It tasted amazing, of course it did; anything Hunk made was incredible.

But eating it, just that one spoonful, had him almost gagging in disgust, and it made his stomach curl in on itself with anger. He settled the silverware into the bowl and pushed back from his seat, swaying just a bit as he picked up his dishes and carted them into the kitchen to be washed later. The mice trailed after him, fat and content, and Lance knelt to scratch their heads, a smile on his lips. “Thanks. More where that came from, I promise.”

The biggest one squeaked, nuzzled his hand as if he were worried, and then scampered away with the other three in pursuit. Lance straightened and took a deep breath, walking out past his friends with a cheerful smile and booking it to his room as soon as he was out of sight.

His toothbrush scrubbed at his teeth so fast it was a blur, artificial peppermint wiping out the taste of food. He was crying while he brushed, quiet tears, as his brain pushed him to get rid of it, get rid of the lump in his stomach. It was the one thing he had never forced himself to do, the one thing he refused absolutely to resort to, and it stung.

~~

It went on for weeks like this, less and less food, more training, constantly training, to the point where he was beating out Keith and Shiro on the bots. He drank a concerning amount of water, so that his stomach would stop growling, so that he didn’t pass out constantly, and slowly, achingly, he got used to it again.

On one particular occasion, after about four straight days of eating nothing, he got called up from the training deck to the main room for a mission, wiping his forehead with a towel as he waited to see what Allura wanted them all for.

“There’s a Blade fleet captured by Zarkon’s forces,” she explained, glancing back at Kolivan while she spoke. “Amongst the fleet are two of their best pilots and medication for their base. Hunk, you will drop Lance and Pidge off to reclaim the ships, and then rendezvous with Shiro and Keith to rescue the pilots and the stock of medicine.”

Kolivan stepped in, eyes blazing with anger. “That medicine is meant for the rescued and injured people that we take in, and without it, they will not survive. It is of utmost importance that we retrieve it. The ships are not nearly as important,” he declared, looking at Pidge and Lance meaningfully. “If you cannot safely obtain them, retreat and wait for extraction.”

They nodded and followed Hunk to Yellow’s hangar. The mood was tense between the three of them, and Lance took a swig from his water bottle in the hopes that it would calm his nerves. He’d been feeling more lightheaded than usual lately, so he was fairly glad that he wouldn’t have to be battling a bunch of Galra. There were bound to be less people watching the stolen ships.

“The ships pilot similarly to the drones we use for smaller battles,” Pidge noted, her eyes flickering over the blueprints that Kolivan had given them. “The only difference is that they’re bigger.”

“Nearing the drop zone,” Hunk said softly. “Get ready.”

The two wished Hunk luck and headed for the door, tucking and dropping silently onto the roof of the hangar where the ships were supposed to be. Yellow vanished, and they were left to scale down the building and slip their way in through the window. Pidge nodded to the one ship on the far left of the hangar. “There’s one,” she whispered, a frown tugging at her lips. “Why is there only one?”

Lance shook his head and faltered for a moment as the room swam. He wished he hadn’t left his water bottle in Yellow. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe they’re using them to find the base? If there’s GPS or something on board…”

Pidge cursed as she realized Lance’s point and they darted over to the ship, Lance with his Bayard at the ready. She ran her eyes over the exterior and tugged her helmet off, setting it next to the ship and pressing her ear against it.

Lance frowned. “Uh….what are you-?”

“Shh!”

He snapped his mouth shut, still bewildered, and craned his neck around to view the front just in time to see a door whoosh open and a pair of Galra enter. He cursed internally, swiped up Pidge’s helmet and Pidge, and darted to a corner. To her credit, Pidge didn’t protest, instead following Lance’s lead and pressing as far into the alcove as possible.

There was a series of clangs and then a “Quiznak!” followed by the sound of someone being smacked, which would have been funny, if their lives weren’t in danger. The room rumbled, the sound of a garage door ten times the normal size, and then the ship was gone and Pidge and Lance were completely alone.

Pidge stomped out of the alcove and punched the wall, nose wrinkled in irritation. Lance followed, taking his helmet off and mopping at the sudden sheen of sweat on his forehead. “We were so close!” she snapped.

Lance licked his lips. “Kolivan did say they weren’t that important.”

The room tilted dangerously in his vision as Pidge turned, her mouth opened to protest. She froze upon seeing the way he looked, eyes flickering with fear.

“Lance? Lance!”

Pidge’s voice was panicked as he finally toppled over, her arms startlingly strong as she caught him and eased him to the floor, one hand flinging out to grab onto his helmet to contact the others. He grimaced and reached out, gripping her wrist weakly. “Don’t,” he rasped.

Her eyes shot to his, blazing with terror. “Don’t?” she repeated, sounding incredulous. “Lance, what the quiznak! You just collapsed, you could be sick or hurt or-”

“Not,” he promised. “Not hurt.”

Though she looked doubtful, she drew back, shuffling so that Lance’s head was resting in her lap. Her fingers danced through his hair as they listened to the sounds of arguing outside the room. They wouldn’t have been able to get out safely anyway, so Pidge took the moment to speak. “What’s going on with you?” she asked quietly, curling her knuckles against his scalp. “I’m worried.”

He gave her a weak smile, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just…tired.”

The look Pidge shot him was completely disbelieving, and she settled back, thinking out loud. “It’s been going on for like…weeks, Lance. You’ve been eating less and you’re more tired and get hurt more easily and…”

She frowned, fingers slipping from his hair. “Your skin and hair look awful. You’re too thin…Lance…”

Her words were on the verge of panic, and he shifted to look at her, catching the look in her eyes. His whole body slumped and he managed to push himself from the ground into a sitting position, head spinning at the sudden movement. “Pidge, it’s-”

“You’re not…you’re not eating.”

Her breathing was faster now, eyes wide, and Lance could practically see her thoughts flying through her brain. He waited silently, knowing her answer was inevitable; she was the smartest of all of them for a reason. When she locked gazes with him again, he flinched.

“You…I don’t know how to…”

He was grateful for her tact, but it made waiting all the worse. “Just say it,” he snapped, halfhearted at best.

“Do you have an eating disorder?”

His lack of response was enough of an answer, and then Pidge’s hand was moving again, for her helmet this time, and Lance panicked, flinging his hand out and snatching her helmet before she could. “Please don’t,” he whimpered, ashamed to hear the crack in his voice.

Pidge froze, staring at him, and her body relaxed. “Lance. I’m not going to tell. Just…hand me the helmet? Please?”

He handed it over slowly, reluctant, but true to her word, Pidge didn’t go for communication. Rather, she thumbed at a hatch in the side and pulled out a granola bar that she had clearly stored there for safe keeping, handing it over. “Eat it,” she ordered, eyes flashing in the semi-darkness of the hangar. “All of it. Take your time. I’m going to call Hunk to come get us.”

Lance took the cellophane wrapped bar with trepidation, his fingers making the packaging crinkle. “Pidge…I don’t know if I can…”

She fixed him with a gentle look, a sad smile on her face. “I know. Just try. For me?”

He couldn’t say no to that face, so, while she watched and started calling out for Hunk to retrieve them, he pulled down the wrapper and forced himself to slip the fake granola past his lips. He shuddered at the taste, well aware of Pidge’s gaze, and forced himself to pull back, chew, and swallow. It settled like lead in his body and Lance screwed his eyes shut, taking a breath before eating again.

Eventually, he felt Pidge’s hand in his, her thumb caressing his knuckles and her head on his shoulder, and that made it go down easier, made him less focused on the garbage he was putting in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Pidge shook her head, bumping it with his suit. “Not your fault,” she answered immediately. “I wish you had told someone, though. You can talk to me, you know.”

Lance hesitated, fingering the wrapper and watching the silver scatter light over his hands. “I just…this isn’t the first time,” he admitted in a soft voice, not missing Pidge’s intake of breath. “High school, before the Garrison…I wasn’t a small kid. And I got bullied for it a lot. That plus…” Lance’s gasp was shaky, and Pidge’s hand tightened in his. “Plus my depression…I just stopped eating?”

He phrased it like a question, like he wasn’t sure that had been what happened, but she didn’t pester him about it, instead remaining quiet. He forced down another bite, dismayed to see that he was only halfway through. “I’ve never forced myself to throw up or anything,” he managed, refusing to let her think that had ever happened. “Ruins your teeth, you know? Plus it’s just not fun.”

He licked his lips, tasting the chocolate there, and took another breath of stale air. “My mom figured it out, and she got me help, and I was okay, you know? Went to the Garrison, met you and Hunk, and Hunk’s food is just…”

He groaned and leaned back, and Pidge let out a small chuckle. “You’re not wrong,” she said, snuggling closer to him. “He’ll be here soon.”

Lance understood what she meant and forced himself to keep going, taking another bite of the granola bar and letting it sink before speaking once more. “I don’t know what happened,” he murmured after a moment. “I was doing okay, and then I just…relapsed. I don’t know, maybe it’s the space food, maybe it’s…maybe it’s just me.”

“How so?”

He swallowed and tightened his hold on Pidge, ears picking up the faint hum of Yellow blasting his way through the doors of the hangar they were trapped in. “I’m just…not strong enough.”

Pidge wasn’t able to get out another answer before Hunk came barreling in, gun at the ready and eyes blazing. He relaxed when he saw them, though his look flickered from angry to concerned. “You guys okay?” he asked, letting his Bayard flash back to its original form.

Lance looked to Pidge pleadingly, but she wasn’t even looking at him. She hopped to her feet, scooping her helmet up and tossing Lance his. He slipped the last bit of granola bar into his suit and caught her evil look as he stood and put his helmet on. He shot her a promising smile and glanced back at Hunk. “Totally,” he declared. “Just hanging.”

Hunk nodded and turned to lead the way back to Yellow. Pidge caught Lance’s elbow, an eyebrow cocked when he looked back at her, and he obliged with her unspoken order, pulling the bar from his pocket and popping the rest of it in his mouth. She nodded and remained next to him the entire flight back, chatting with Hunk amicably but never once drifting more than a few feet from Lance.

They explained over comms that they had lost the ships, their concerns about GPS tracking of the base, but Kolivan assured both of them that the pilots flew by memory, not map, and erased all data from the ships upon each landing and take-off. There was no way the Galra could infiltrate the base.

Shiro, Hunk, and Keith had been successful in retrieving the medicine, but they had only been able to rescue one pilot; the other had been tortured to death. It was disheartening, but Kolivan assured them all that they had done their absolute best.

As Hunk landed, Pidge looked sideways at him, waiting for Yellow to shut off before speaking. “Hunk, were you making dinner tonight?”

Lance’s breath hitched but Hunk didn’t notice, just chuckled. “Duh. What, would you rather have Coran do it?”

They both shuddered at that and Pidge shook her head. “No. No way. Uh…I’m not feeling too hot? Could you like…just make me some kind of broth? That mission…”

She trailed off and Hunk nodded, looking like he understood. “Course. What about you, Lance?”

Lance blinked, realizing the answer that Pidge had just given him, and nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m not…not feeling real hungry after that.”

Hunk nodded and shut Yellow down, and the three left. Pidge caught Lance by the elbow and tugged him back, looking at him pointedly. She dug into her boot’s pocket, the one that Keith kept extra knives in, and pulled out another granola bar, handing it over. Lance shook his head but took it. “How many of those do you have?” he demanded.

Pidge chuckled, turning to walk with him back to the main room for debriefing. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes I forget to eat, so Hunk always makes sure I have like, six granola bars on me at all times.”

Lance munched at it during the debrief, ignoring Hunk’s confused look and trying not to make a face every time he swallowed. Pidge followed him as they left, voice low and gaze ducked. “Look,” she murmured. “I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through…but if you need me, I’m here.”

Her eyes flashed with sincerity and Lance swallowed back the lump in his throat, tugging the girl into a hug. Her arms twined around his waist, overlapping at the small of his back, and he felt her shiver at how small he was. “Thanks, Pidge,” he murmured.

She pulled back, searching his face, and squeezed his arms. “And Lance? You’re strong enough. You always have been.”

Pidge left to go shower, leaving Lance in the hallway with a third of a granola bar and determination.

~~

True to her word, Pidge didn’t say anything to the others, though Lance had a sneaking suspicion that Hunk had figured it out after a while. He slipped Lance more snacks, softer things, like jello or pudding or broths rich with herbs and spices. Things that settled easily and tricked his brain into thinking he was just having a drink.

Pidge joined him during his workouts now, forced him to go slower and breathe more, to take down the levels a notch when he wasn’t moving fast enough. It got easier to swallow the granola bars, and from there he started eating again, not nearly as much as he should have, but more than he had been.

He pulled her aside one day after a brief search and rescue, while the others were getting changed, and at her look of confusion, he gave a small smile. “I’m uh…I’m almost back to my normal weight.”

It was a struggle to say, but the look of delight that lit up Pidge’s face was a reward in and of itself. She hugged him tight, fingers curling against his body suit and face pressed into his chest. “Good,” she mumbled. “I’m proud of you.”

She started to pull away, to go shower, and Lance stopped her with a hand to her wrist. “I um…I have something for you.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow but stayed, watching curiously as Lance knelt and fumbled at the ankle holster on his suit. He pulled out a granola bar and held it out to her, a weak smile on his face. Pidge chuckled, took the bar, and read the packaging. “Where did you get a s’more flavored one?” she demanded.

Lance smiled and pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hunk’s been helping me out with it. I um…I explained the situation, said I wanted to do something for you, and we both remembered that you had a thing for s’mores on earth, so…”

He gestured at the granola bar a little lamely, and Pidge shook her head in disbelief, going back in for another hug. “You didn’t have to do that, Lance,” she mumbled.

“Yeah I did,” he protested. “You stuck with me and you didn’t tell anyone, even though you probably should have.”

He squeezed her close, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Love you.”

“Love you too, loser.”

[yamasakiko---ji]

the yellow cellophane flash !! with fujicolor c200