#even if its fucking dumping blue and green dye on my head

[lover-lyn]

🆂🅷🅴 🅻🅸🅺🅴🆂 🅰 🅱🅾🆈

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Nami was selfish.

She was a lying no good thief.

She manipulated people for her own benefit and entertainment.

Whenever she was around, people would hold their purses, phones and wallets close to them and make sure to not give the pickpocket a chance to get her hands on them.

Nami was greedy, and she was ok with that.

She stole things from others that they had worked hard for, she had done so for years now, and had never felt an once of guilt. Not when shed stolen a diamond necklace that had once been a family heritage, or when shed seduce men to get her drinks and jewellery only to ghost them afterwards.

 At some point she had convinced herself that she was unable to fell guilt, regret or remorse.

But here she was. drunk off her ass,  feeling as though shed done the unforgivable, although in her mind she had.

This was Vivi’s special day, Vivi`s special party so why was she feeling as though she shouldn’t spend it with her special person?

Nami was many things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them, she knew why.

It was the disgusting feeling she shouldn’t be experiencing.

The disgusting feeling she didn’t deserve. Not after all she’s done.

So instead of acting on it like all her other temptations, she stood there, hoping that the alcohol would help her get over the childish, dumb fit of jealousy she was in, all the while the devil whispered promises of sweet sin and satisfaction in her ears.

`Vivi deserves this’ she told herself

`she deserves him’ she spoke over the devil

…

`I should leave before I do something stupid’

Her hands hurt, she was gripping the toilet too tight and she couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol or that  stupid emotion that caused her nausea, maybe a mix of both, either way this wasn’t fun at all

“thought you could handle your liquor?” the sudden voice wasn’t what startled her, but the hands holding her hair back from her face did, she didn’t need to turn around to know who they belonged to.

“don’t you have a party to guard?” her tone wasn’t a mocking one but rather a frustrated one

“the princess let me off-he pulled his hands away from her- want to get the fuck out of here and have shitty pancakes with even shittier coffee at the nearest diner?” she smirked, turning back to look at him

“you read my mind”

“this is making me want to throw up even more” despite her words she took another sip of the coffee in her hands “keep complaining its distracting me from the sugar covered shit I’m eating” grumbled the green haired policemen

 she didn’t know why his hair was such an unnatural colour, anytime anyone had tried to ask him, namely Luffy and Usopp- who once tried to dump a bucket of water and hair dye remover shampoo on him, which had ended with both their heads stuck in buckets- he always found a way to sidestep the question

“funny how you never complain about food when he’s the one who made it” she teased

“that’s different and you know it” she smirked at his slight blush ”how so?”

taking the coffee from her hands he replied “the same way you rarely tax the Princess” he took a slip of the now cold beverage

her smirk fell upon being reminded of the blue haired girl she'd left at the party,  she didn't reply, opting to averting her gaze to the side.

His mood soured after noticing the clear sorrow in his friend's eyes “listen there's nothing stopping you from making a move on Vivi, yo-“

 “yes there is-she interrupted- and you know that better than anyone, if there is nothing stopping me from being with Vivi there shouldn't be a reason why you can't be with Sanji” now he was the one looking away

she knew she should back down , that saying it aloud would only hurt her more but comforting Zoro was her priority “it's true that Sanji is always fawning over and flirting with women but he's never expressed in any way that he wasn't into men, my case is different-she paused for a second- Vivi is openly bi but she's in love with someone else”

 she felt sick again, as if the mere thought of Vivi with someone else disgusted her and in a way, it did

“keeping her from that would be selfish” she whispered the last part

 meeting her eyes he questioned “I thought you were selfish?”

 she shook her head and replied

“not with her... Never with her”

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#one piece #nami x vivi #zosan #zoro x sanji #she likes a boy #just you wait till i write the rest

[frostsinth]

Laughing at Clouds - Commission One-Shot

This was a commission one-shot for the lovely @toocurly4me who requested a monster match based upon some information given. The request was set to modern day, and with a little info about what our MC is into, I was more than happy to write out a little something for them! I had fun writing this. It was nice to be in our own time for once, and I love seeing our monsters out and about with the rest of us!

Want your own commission? I have a few slots left open. Check out my post HERE for details, or DM me directly. You can also BuyMeACoffe while you peruse my other ramblings on my MasterList

All the best and enjoy!

It was a rainy day on campus, with the cold biting chill of the morning lingering in each droplet that beat against the navy fabric of her school sweatshirt. The forecast hadn’t said anything about rain today. The storm felt like it had come out of nowhere. Hell, it was nearly the middle of winter! If the weather was going to do anything unpredictable, it should be snowing! Then she wouldn’t be caught so horribly unprepared; it would have been easier to brush off soft powder instead of soaking up the ice cold water into every inch of fabric on her body and plastering it to her small form. Until she was completely miserable, and pretty certain her dark skin would have a distinctive blue tint to it from her sweater’s dye bleeding into it.

But there had been nothing for it. Attempting to wait out the worst of the storm in the back of the science building where she had snuck in to view the new zoology exhibit had led to the downpour only getting heavier. And she had that end of term paper due the day after tomorrow. There was no way she could waste another minute lingering beneath those flickering lights. It was only a ten minute walk. How drenched could she possibly get in ten minutes?

The answer was “very”. “Soaked to the bone” also seemed a much more concrete and visceral description to her now than it ever had before in her life. And the young woman wasn’t even sure if she was even still headed in the right direction anymore. Three years on campus had imprinted the memory of the sidewalks of the commons into her mind's eye, but the rain was driving down sideways now, and she had bowed her head and pulled her hood as low as she could over her thick braids to keep it from smacking her in the face.

So she had a lovely view of her grey and black striped boots right when she hit something far more solid than the sheets of rain.

Her center of gravity forcibly shifted, a soft squeak escaping from between her lips before she could even process the fact that her feet were trying to continue forward even as her upper body fell backwards.

Just before she completely lost her balance, she felt something strong and firm catch hold of her flailing arm. Stubbornly denying the will of gravity.

“Hey, woah! Watch out!” Came the cry, the smoky sounding voice muffled by the pounding rain.

But it seemed to no avail. She was going down, and now whoever was the owner of the voice would be coming with her. The young woman toppled backwards, catching the majority of the impact on her bottom before toppling the rest of the way to her back. The icy cold puddles on the sidewalk splashed up about her in a stumpy wave almost comically. Or at least, it would have been comical, had another form not fallen pretty much directly on top of her as well.

Her lips sputtered for air momentarily, stuck somewhere between the weight of the stranger’s body forcing the air from her lungs and the pouring rain making her feel as though she were halfway underwater. She flailed her arms about, gasping in surprise as she tried to get her bearings.

Her progress was impeded by the person currently flailing about themselves as they tried to find solid ground. The full realization of her predicament had her face flushing dark, and she managed to sink her palms into the puddles on either side of her and start to prop herself up. Feeling the water thoroughly soak into the seat and back of her worn jeans as she did.

Her would-be rescuer slash the instigator of all her woes managed to get to their feet first, and she found a hand extended into her line of sight. Dark brown eyes darted up, blinking through the rivers of rain streaming down her face that seemed to pool at the ends of her long lashes. The first thing that cleared the mists beyond the tip of her nose was a set of sharp, sparkling white teeth bared in a sheepish smirk above her. The young woman reached up in a daze, and found her forearm caught in his offered hand. She could barely make him out through the thick turrets, but as he leaned back to help tug her to her feet, she was very aware of the fact that he was not human. Not that she could really tell much else amid the pouring rain. The man was about her height, perhaps shy an inch or two, and that was about the extent of her analysis at the moment. That, and those glitteringly sharp teeth he shot her once more. She couldn’t help but stare a little in surprise even as she got her feet back under her.

It certainly was not entirely out of the scope of possibility. Her university was one of the most diverse in the area. But still, having come from the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and coupled with the fact that she tended to avoid the more crowded aspects of college life in favor of quieter, more solitary activities, the young woman was always a little surprised at first to run into any of the non-human students of the campus. In this case, she was being quite literal about the “running into” part.

“Sorry!” He exclaimed as loudly as he dared, having to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the rain. “I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed as she fished for her soaked hood. “Me neither, I’m sorry too!” She replied quickly, eager to be on her way and out of the downpour. She cast an eye about, and realized she must have turned right at the fork instead of left. She was going completely the wrong direction, which would mean even longer out in the icy grip of the storm. She shivered at the thought.

He seemed to be looking about as well, and reached for what appeared to be an umbrella that had been lost to the side of the path in the scuffle. As he scooped it into hand and turned it right side up, she gave a shriek of surprise which matched his own yelp as a fresh bucket of water fell on both of them.

“Aw, fuck!” He shouted, jumping a little. “Damnit! Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

Now freshly soaked and feeling like a drowned cat, she looked at him. Her arms wrapped around her shivering body, her thick hair plastered to her face and neck. He moved to hold the umbrella high over the both of them, again returning her bewildered stare with another sheepish look. He managed to reduce the rain’s assault on the tops of their heads at least, save for a few errant drips, but increasing its pounding crescendo tenfold in their ears as it pounded against the top of the umbrella instead.

“Look, my place is just there,” He told her, pointing to one of the scraggily buildings repurposed for dorms a few yards down the road, “Come on, it’s fucking cold out here. We’ll catch our deaths.”

She glanced over at the building, still shivering, and opened her mouth to reply. Quite before she could, she found his arm scooped in hers. Steering her the few yards to the creaky iron gate and up to the door. She was far too surprised to object.

Once on the covered porch, he released her arm, then shook the excess water from his umbrella and turned to look back over the drenched campus behind them.

“Gods above, what a dreadful day.” He grumbled before turning to face her properly. “I’m sorry I knocked you over…. And then dumped water on you…” He cocked his head to the side, smirking grin returning to his face, “And then proceeded to kidnap you. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

The woman blinked at him stupidly a few times, finally able to take him in from head to toe without the rain impeding her line of sight.

He was slender built, with an athletic form currently generously framed by the way his drenched clothes stuck to him like spandex. Water dripped from the tip of a long slender nose, and his eyebrows arched in the center of an over pronounced brow as he looked at her. It was impossible to tell what color his hair was normally, as it was several shades darker now with water dripping from the spikey tips that were currently flattened to the top of his head. She ventured to guess it was probably a copper brown, and he seemed to have the sides shaved stylishly short while the top was wild and long. Long enough to possibly braid down the back of his slightly oversized head she imagined, should he so choose. He also boasted a pair of large ears, nearly as wide as her palm where they connected to the side of his skull, but then tapering into a broad but slightly rounded point a few inches beyond. The tips were loose, and shifted with his features as he talked. As expressive as his wry lips, which curled back into that sheepish smirk as she watched. She would also venture to guess that he was a deep, mottled green, though in the dim light of the morning it was hard to tell the exact shade, and she imagined he might be a fair bit paler from the cold.

The goblin cocked his head back to the side under her inspection, perhaps used to such staring, and offered out his hand “I’m Jaco, by the way.”

“Uh... “ She realized her mouth was dropped open a bit, and quickly endeavored to close it. Reaching out to carefully take his hand in hers. But as she met his bright yellow eyes… the knowledge of her own name suddenly fled her. “Oh.. I’m… Um…”

His brow raised quizzically. “... Ah, Are you alrig-”

“Rachelle!” She blurted quickly, then cleared her throat embarrassedly. “... I’m Rachelle…”

That sheepish grin returned, and his eyes glinted mischievously. “... Perhaps you hit your head when we fell?” He offered, almost as if he could read the loud hum that seemed to be currently filling her cranium. Though it certainly wasn’t from falling. Well… not the fall he meant at least...

She did laugh now, releasing his hand bashfully and pushing the loose strands of her sopping hair out of her face. “Something like that…”

“Sorry again about all that... “ He shuffled his feet, clearing his own throat and sneaking a peak up at her. “Can I make it up to you? Perhaps some tea or coffee? Or maybe hot chocolate, if you’ve got a sweet tooth?”

Rachelle gave a hefty sigh, shaking her head. “I really shouldn’t, I’ve got a term paper due that I haven’t even started-”

“Well, you won’t be able to start until you get dry, right?” He interrupted. “Why not dry off and warm up over some cocoa with some company?”

Her face blazed hot again, and she sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I’d just get wet again.” She pointed out with a small smile.

“I’ll escort you back, if you want.” He offered. “Or you can take my umbrella; I’ll enchant it this time so you won’t get a drop on you.” Her eyes lit up at the word ‘enchant’, and the goblin eagerly latched on. “I’m here studying enchantments.” He explained. “Working on my thesis actually, in thermopartical magicks and their effect on…” He dropped off, looking a little embarrassed at the sudden gush of enthusiasm for an obviously favored topic “... Ah, I don’t want to bore you with the science-”

“No, it’s not boring at all!” She returned quickly, almost bouncing on her toes in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about magic, but humans aren’t allowed to study the Application field, only research and historical.”

His sharp toothed grin grew to reach almost to his ears. “I am certainly not above showing off with a few magic tricks for a beautiful woman.” He teased, and his ears flopped as he cocked his head to one side. “Especially if it makes her eyes sparkle like that when I do.”

She nearly toppled over as her head spun at his words. A shy laugh petered from her lips, and she shuffled her feet. But she couldn’t completely hide the embarrassed smile that slipped across her lips. Jaco waited a moment, then bowed his shoulders, trying to catch her eye.

“... Can I tempt you again with the hot cocoa, Rachelle?” 

She grinned again, looking up at him coyly.  “... I could probably be convinced.”

He returned the smile, and reached for the handle of his door, bowing melodramatically at the waist as he opened it for her. She couldn’t help another laugh, and moved to step around him. As she did, her foot slipped on the old wooden boards of the porch, having spent the last few minutes becoming horribly slick with the water dripping in streams off their clothes. She gave another squeal, and felt herself sliding backwards for the second time that day. This time, Jaco reacted quicker, and his arm snaked out, catching her and lending his strength as she gathered her feet beneath her once more.

However, the motion brought him perilously close to her, and both of their eyes widened slightly at their sudden proximity. A hesitant silence filled the air, punctuated only by the drumming rhythm of the rain around them. Her breath caught and fluttered about in her throat, her heart skipped sporadically in her chest. He smelled of rain right now, but there was also the distinct hint of something spicy beneath it… cinnamon maybe? The realization that he was close enough to distinguish that made the balls of her cheeks grow hot despite the chilly morning air.

She couldn’t help her eyes darting down to his thin lips. Which curled into a smile as she did. Rachelle quickly corrected her gaze, meeting his yellow eyes with dark pools of velvet brown.

“Don’t let me stray down that train of thought,” He warned her lightly, his voice teasing and soft, “I’m trying to be a gentleman. Cocoa and an enchanted umbrella seem more than sufficient for a good first impression, no?”

She straightened a little more, and realized his three fingered hand had lingered in the small of her back. “Oh?” She managed after a shallow little wisp of a breath. “And I suppose a gentleman wouldn’t kiss a woman they’ve just met?”

She meant it to sound teasing and light, but his sharp yellow eyes danced at the sound of her voice. She caught him sneaking a peak at her full lips and they tingled under his scrutiny. She chased a nervous breath down her throat with a quiet swallow.

“I suppose they might. But the problem is,” He purred, leaning a little closer, “If I kissed you now, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop...”

#monster lover #monster fluff #monster x human #goblin lover #goblin boyfriend #modern monster #terato #exophilia #soft stuff #one shot #citrus #monster romance

[shinycorvidae]

Head Cannon Dump Part 4 of 6

The two Vs, NV/Vic/V Part 1: Physicality and Personality

-NV is Vic, my V, a nomad

-Hiro or SKV, her roommate, then friend, then lover, Street kid background (vaguely), hes @smilepal s

Basic/Physical:

She's 28, at game start

Half Cuban, half white and has lived in a desert for most of her life so she has warm brown tanned skin. Warm yellow/brown eyes which can look piercingly through you or soft and understanding depending on her mood.

Her hair is a blue color with a tinge of green. It was supposed to be a forest green but her sister grabbed the wrong bottle of perma-dye when they broke into the local ripperdoc's clinic to dye their hair.

Her lips are also permanently colored. She likens it to war paint but she doesn't want the hassle of applying it/worrying about it rubbing off.

Ex-nomad, sleeps like the dead anywhere because she's used to having people around to watch her back

Her bones crack like fucking glow sticks.

-Johnny: how are your bones in worse condition than mine were?? I was in my 30s?

-Vic *just finger guns*

Vic sleeps like an idiot, all contorted and sideways

-Hiro tries to push her back into a normal situation so she doesn’t wake up with her back hurting more than usual.

Has a snake tattoo snaking around her chest for Viper, got it with funds from the first mission with Jackie. She also has a devils head and Chippin' In lyrics on her back from her teen years.

V really didnt want to admit to Johnny that she was a samurai fan so she goes out of her way to not look at her back while hes in her head. "Who? Is that some bushido reenactment shit?"

This goes well until Johnny has control of her body and goes to the bathroom to check on her ribs, thinking he broke them.

-J: "I know, Vic."

-Nv: "What?"

-J: I know about your secret."

-Nv: "Ehehe secret? Wha-"

-J: "I SAW YOUR BACK V"

-Nv: "oh fu-"

-J: "BUSHIDO REENACTMENT MY ASS."

Pansexual.

She has a pair of mantis blades, which are basically a safety blanket for her, weapons that can't ever be taken away so she's never helpless. So when she's nervous/feeling helpless she runs her fingers over the seam of them.

They’re her weapon of last resort though so if you find her at home cleaning the blood off them, you know a mission went fucking sideways

They were her dad, Michael's, which he got from the army so they're military issue high end suckers. Also around 50 years old lmao.

They make Vik weep because finding replacement parts is impossible

V only smokes the occasional joint and gets drunk once in a blue moon. She's managed to avoid smoking completely and is pissed that Johnny tried to sabotage that.

“She gives him the occasional cigarettes "as a treat"

"Aww Johnny you were actually a decent human being, here have a cigarette"

"I'm not a fucking cat V"

"Just say thank you, Dickhead"

"Fuck off"

"Love you too"

Has a bullet wound scar on her thigh which is covered up with a simple black band tattoo. Her only other significant scars are some on her chest from a motorcycle crash as a 16 year old. She's always had decent access to a ripper doc so while she's been injured a lot, she doesn't have many scars

Personality:

V is a sweetheart. She honestly believes the best of everyone. She grew up in a nomad community where everyone worked together for the good of everyone, and kind of expects the same of everyone in night city.

She continues to trust people blindly, despite being burned a couple times. She has faith in herself to be able to fight her way out of a bad situation should she get backstabbed, so shed rather bet on people being generally good.

Life can be rough in the badlands. Resources are scarce. Vic learned how to conserve resources from a young age. Shes frugal with her money, hoards anything that might be useful, and is really into reusing/recycling things. Shes brought Hiro cyberware she pulled out of dead bodies and is generally handing with mechanical fixes.

This also applies to food. When youve had days were literally the only thing you had to eat that day were some dusty grasshoppers you managed to forage, your standards for food fall drastically.

This drives Hiro and Johnny nuts who often have to stop her from eating random/possibly poisoned food.

The fact that shes a blindly trusting person just amplifies this.

*V walking in with a plate of cookies*

"..whats that V?"

-Nv: "Oh hey, the neighbor gave me these cookies! Want some?"

*Johnny and Hiro who both know you shouldn't accept random food from strangers in Night City, immediately disposing of them.*

-Nv: "What a waste of food :("

-H: "HOW MANY DID YOU EAT?"

-J: "How did you live before us?!"

-H: "Jackie. It was definitely Jackie, the Saint."

-...Not very long later,

"we see you V, don't eat those out of the bin"

-Nv:" :("

She's very secure in her sexuality, a naturally attractive and sexual person. Her clan had very little sexual stigma at all, its hard to have any shame over sex when there's only tents without soundproof walls. Her whole clan was definitely also very into free love/poly/open relationships, to the point were most kids didn't know who their parents were and were raised communally. Having sex was just a platonic thing that just sort of happened.

-Nv: “It’s hard to get all embarrassed about privacy when you grew up in a place with only tent walls. It’s just sex.

-SKv: “V, you blush and get tongue-tied whenever the hot neighbor even vaguely looks your way.

-NV: “WELL I didn’t normally have to ASK for sex, it just kinda happened and flirting is HARD, AND YOU NIGHT CITY RESIDENTS ARE ALL SNEAKY ABOUT IT”

Shes used to having sex with her platonic friends, her first couple of one night stands in NC were just an absolute mess--then she tried to sleep with Jackie which went predictably well.

-NV: “Do you want to have sex?”

-Jackie: *Chokes on his tequila. “What?! I’m with Misty??”

-NV: “...and?”

-Jackie: “I mean...I mean you never gave any signs?!

-NV: “Signs??”

-Jackie: “Hermana, most people in NC don’t just sleep with their friends. I mean. They do. But they don’t. It’s complicated.”

-NV: “Obviously.”

Considering that, V is. HORRID. at flirting in Night City. She's never really had to do that kind of verbal dance before and a lot of come on/innuendo goes over her head. She also has zero body shame and often walks around their apartment naked and will change nonchalantly in public.

-Nv: *Noticing people staring at her at the club and going into work mode*

-Hiro: *Noticing Nv counting the exits*

"what's wrong?"

-Nv: "That man's staring at me. Maybe he's Arasaka."

-Hiro: "He's staring at your ass, V."

-Nv: "Oh."

Definitely has the occasional “why the fuck didn’t you just say so?!” moments with the boys

*Cue SKv trying to be seductive all day, dropping things and bending over to get them all slow, changing in the living room/working out shirtless, ect. Nv is appreciative but she doesn’t really do anything, and by the end of the day*

-SKv: “For the love of god JUST FUCK ME ALREADY”

-Nv: “What? Alright, geeze all you had to do was ask.”

As trusting as V is, she's an amazing soldier. Her ex military father has been training her to kill people and protect their clan since she was six. She killed her first human at 9 years old.

Due to this while she is a friendly, happy person when she's in a fight or during a mission, she becomes a cold and calculated person, all emotion wiping from her face. She makes quick, decisive decisions, cutting her enemies down at the knees before they have a chance to fight back.

She's a brutal shot with her sniper rifle, knows her way around precision rifle and is deadly with knives both as a close range and throwing weapon.

Vic has a tactical brain/training and is always planning. Its instinct by now. Planning the exits to a room, the quickest way to take down any possible assailants, an enemys open weak points. She takes pride in her skills as a soldier as she sees it as her way of protecting/providing for her family.

As outgoing a person she is she sometimes goes too far when in 'work mode' and needs Hiro to be her moral compass/pull her back.

Her ways of tackling missions is finding a snipers nest and waiting patiently until the perfect moment presents itself, no longer how long that takes. Plus a healthy dose of stealth and pinpoint accuracy.

It takes a lot to push her to revenge but if you threaten her family, she will pick you, your backup, adult (v doesnt touch kids.) family and resources apart methodically, patiently and brutally until your the last one standing. Then she will let you stew, waiting for her final shot. It could come immediately, a week later or even a month

#V #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk 2077 #Victory Devin #Cinnamon roll whos possessed by an assassin #literally just poison her guys #itd be so easy #v is a crackshot #She's going to drive Hiro and Johnny to an early death #that's love right #headcannons #excessive headcannons

[angelicspaceprince]

Youtuber!Beetlejuice Headcanons Part 2

I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but my Youtuber!Beej hcs have gotten almost 200 notes in like under a day (thatsalsocountingthespamjustballoonfishthingsdidbutanyway) and I promised a part two once I reached 100 so. Here we are.

Part 1

Tagging: @justballoonfishthings, @broadwaytrashstrikesagain, @imma-fucking-nerd

You have figured something wasn’t quite normal with Beetlejuice long before the two of you started dating

For one, he always ate just really weird shit

Bugs, glass, wood, paper, rat poison on one occasion and just constantly eating tide pods

At first you’d panic but as time went on, you figured it was all a prank and it was just sugar made to look like inedible stuff

Would explain his hyperactivity and why he always seemed to just need to Move

But when you eventually started spending more and more time at his and filming your videos at the Deetz’s who were his family but also not apparently, the more you realised

No there was some fucked up shit happening

The amount of times he just....took a glass from the cupboard and started munching, or just took one of Adam’s model houses and slammed the whole thing in his mouth or found a random beetle and just. Fucken ate the sucker

It was terrifying

But according to Lydia, he has a really strong stomach and he won’t die from eating literal poison as he downs a bottle of weed killer

You just watched and decided

Ok. Fine. I can handle this

Then there was the hair. On camera, you thought it was a trick of the light because during the con, his hair was a permanent green with occasionally the tips being pink, but that could be hair chalk

But at home, his hair changed constantly, on its own, according to his mood

Perhaps it was a type of hair dye that changes colour depending on body temperature

Ignoring the fact that his hair is very much, for the most part, away from his scalp

But more small things started to happen. Like how he could just disappear and reappear at random, at first you thought it was ninja skills. But then it became ‘no this is physically impossible for him to be here so quickly’

Once, you swore you saw him levitate

His total lack of regard for danger too, it just all slowly started to add up that perhaps there was more to this story than everyone was letting on

The kicker was when you literally caught him sitting on the ceiling to entertain Lydia

It wasn’t the ceiling part that got you, although that was creepy

It was the fact he was slowly turning his head a full 360 degrees

You booked it out of there, rushing past the concerned Maitlands and the Deetz’s and out the front door, all the way back to your house

Beetlejuice kept blowing up your phone with voice messages, his preferred way to text ‘You ok babes?’ ‘Adam said you looked like you’d seen a ghost!’ ‘Please message me?’ ‘Babes, seriously, are you ok? Everyone’s worried.’ ‘Are we through? Are you ghosting me?’ ‘Very mature Y/N. Call me when you decide you want to be an adult.’ ‘Please. Please at least text me. I’ll get Lydia to read it out! Just. Don’t ignore me, please babes.’

The last one sounded so broken but you ignored it

What the FUCK was that?

You could feel the panic brewing in your gut as the vision played again and again in your brain

Maybe you imagined it? No, there was no way that you thought this up

When you finally collect yourself, you text Lydia

‘What the FUCK was that with Beetlejuice?’ 

Minutes passed before you got a response, simply a question mark.

‘His head was rotating like a fucking owl Lydia!’

Almost instantly, your phone started buzzing with Beetlejuice trying to call you

You hesitate over the ignore button, but figured that it was best to hear the excuse from the man himself.

You press accept

“Babes! Are you alright?” He shouts down the phone, clearly concerned.

“What. The. Fuck.” Is all you get out, anxiety now turning into rage. “What the fuck was that? How the fuck? Beetlejuice, I could accept that perhaps you had this weird biology thing which meant you could eat weird shit, and perhaps you could decide to be light on your feet when usually I can hear you coming towards me a mile off, but what. Was. That?” You spew out in one large rush.

There is a pause, you can feel him thinking

“Say my name three times.” He begs

“What?” The change of subject confused you enough that the anger pretty much all but disappeared. “Is this a hypnosis thing?”

“No!” His protest is loud as he struggles to remain composed. “Look, just. It’s hard to explain. Just say my name three times, it’s gotta be spoken, unbroken ok? Just say my name three times in a row.”

You blink but decide to entertain him.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.”

“One more time. Please babes.”

“Beetlejuice.”

Suddenly, with a loud pop, he was there. In front of you. Still holding his phone. His hair was blue and purple, which you came to realise was sad and scared. He quickly hangs up and just stares at you as you process what just happened.

“What. Ok. I’m losing my mind.” You finally decide. “Stress, I have too busy a schedule, I’m just stressed.” You flinch when his hands move to grab your shoulders

“No babes, it’s me.” He hesitates for a second before taking a breath. “I’m dead.” “You’re gonna be.” “No, I mean now. I’m the ghost with the most. Dead.”

You blink before mouthing the words ‘dead’. “I need to see a shrink, clearly I’m psychotic.”

Beetlejuice groans. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was scared you were gonna run off and. Well. I didn’t want that.” His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb running at the skin under your eyes gently. “But this is real, and I’m still real, even if I’m a dead guy.”

“Hence the glass and bugs and rotating head.” He nods.

“It’s not all I can do, but it’s some of it.”

You poke his chest, causing him to push back slightly before sighing. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

He looks at you confused. “You’re not dumping me?” You raise an eyebrow

“I moved halfway across the country to be closer to you. You’re still the same dumbass I fell in love with, the one with Mommy issues who loves it when people during out livestreams spend the entire time gushing over how lucky I am to have you, because it gives you an excuse to say that you’re the lucky one that I chose you. Still the dumbass who laughs during horror flicks because its so unrealistic and claims to be best pals with the Mothman and is addicted to Buzzfeed Unsolved and wants to do a collab with them. I’m not dumping you. You hid this from me for a reason and I’m just glad that you’ve told me now. But, as I said.” You make eye contact for the first time since you saw his head spin around his body like a Beyblade. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“I tried to marry Lydia in an attempt to become alive but she killed me shortly after, Delia gave me the ok to kill a man and I’m pretty sure Charles has come close to murdering me too, but we are all friends now. Also, the Maitlands are also ghosts.” He gets it out in one long breath. You just stare at him.

“Is everyone in that house dead?” “No, just me and the Maitlands.” “Lydia looks like she might be dead.” “She is on the inside.”

You nod as the shock slowly goes through your system. “You tried to marry a teenager?” “It was a green card thing!” He protests. “And, and, and! I had a full blown panic attack because breather emotions are evil and that teenager stabbed me!” “I think she had a good reason Beej.”

It takes a little adjusting and a lot more questions, but you are more or less content with the whole thing, a month before you’d fully accepted it and five weeks before you finally processed the whole thing

You had a lot of questions for the Maitlands and when they told you the sort of person Beetlejuice was before he met you, it made sense compared to all the shit he had told you in confidence 

Still

Life goes on

And it turns out you have a dead youtuber for a boyfriend, who lives in a house with two other ghosts, a teen he tried to marry, a spiritual guide who asked him to murder her ‘guru’ named Kevin and one relatively normal guy

Tbh that’s a sitcom that you’d wanna watch.

#ama writes #ama's stuff #ama answers #ama responds #ama replies #Beetlejuice the Musical #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice The Animated Series #Beetlejuice (1988) #Betelgeuse #Beetlejuice headcanons #beetlejuice the musical headcanons #headcanons #betelgeuse headcanons #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice/reader #betelgeuse/reader #betelgeuse x reader #beetlejuice x reader headcanons #beetlejuice/reader headcanons #youtuber!beej #youtuber!beetlejuice #no betas we fall like crowley

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them. 

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Word Count: 2.8k

Ao3 version

Chapter Ten: I have an idea

Eliott: Are you free next period?

Me: I can be, it's just French. Why?

Eliott: Meet me in the first floor toilets ;)

It was the last few minutes of Literature and Lucas was standing with the rest of the class by the door while they waited for the bell to ring to dismiss them. He turned his body away from the rest of his peers in order to read the messages from Eliott over again, cheeks a bright crimson. Finally the bell rang and Lucas shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, joining the crowd in the hallway and pushing past everyone on their way to their next class periods.

Lucas checked over his shoulder for anyone watching and upon seeing the coast was clear, slipped inside the boys’ toilets. Standing alone against the sinks was Eliott, wearing a massive grin, pushing himself off when he saw Lucas. “Hi! You came!” he chimed, closing the distance between them and pulling Lucas against him into another electrifying kiss.

Lucas wrapped his arms around Eliott's neck as Eliott's hands found his face, missing him insistently. His heart hammered against his chest and he felt Eliott pushing him back, back, back into the larger stall, shutting the door behind them with his foot. Lucas gasped as he felt his back being pushed against the handrail on the wall, feeling Eliott's tongue pressing inside his mouth fervently. Desperately, feverishly, Lucas grabbed Eliott's face, fighting back for a semblance of dominance as Eliott continued to push him ever more against the wall.

Lucas was feeling his way all over Eliott, like he couldn't keep still, hands roaming over his shoulders and down his back and over to his hips and around to his chest, mapping out every single inch of the other boy's body so he could memorise it forever. Eliott couldn't seem to decide between keeping his hands on Lucas’ cheeks or buried in his hair, moving back and forth every second.

Lucas flipped them around finally, pressing Eliott against the wall, smiling into the kiss as Eliott tugged lightly on his hair. “Fuck, how can you be–so beautiful–even in a toilet–stall?” Eliott breathed between kisses, eyes twinkling as he pulled away from the kiss and tilted his head against the wall. He looked a mess, gorgeous brown hair sticking up every which way and his lips swollen and wet from being kissed so intently by Lucas.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lucas replied easily with a smirk, taking a deep breath from barely breathing in the last five minutes.

Eliott shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily and whispering, “The fact that you can't see just how drop dead gorgeous you look is a crime. Have you had your sight checked recently?” Eliott slung his arms over Lucas’ shoulder, smiling fondly down at him and touching their foreheads together.

“I have. Which is why I know you're way too hot for me,” Lucas replied jokingly.

Eliott furrowed his eyebrows, pulling away abruptly and shaking his head. The air around them suddenly turned cold and thick, like a winter fog had suddenly engulfed them both. “That's not true, Lucas. Don't say that,” Eliott stated, frowning.

“But you are. You're way out of my league.”

Eliott shook his head again, holding onto Lucas’ cheeks tightly and pulling him closer. “I don't know who told you otherwise, but you absolutely deserve everything good in the world. I'm not too good for you at all, Lucas, trust me,” Eliott rambled, punctuating his statement with a short but assertive kiss again.

Before Lucas could reply, though he had no idea what else he could possibly say, the door to the toilet creaked open and he heard footsteps leading to the urinals. Eliott raised his eyebrows, covering his lips with a single finger while they waited in the dead silence for the guy to finish.

After an agonising minute and a half, the guy finally left. Much to Lucas’ disgust, he didn't even wash his hands. Once they heard the door close, Eliott sighed and sat down on top of the toilet seat. It was suddenly awkward between them, a large plummet from only minutes ago.

They could get back to that moment, right?

“Eliott?”

Eliott looked up just in time for Lucas to dive into another kiss, falling half into Eliott's lap. He kissed back just as intently, holding onto the back of Lucas’ neck and pulling him completely onto his lap. Lucas squeaked in surprise, eyes going wide before he melted into the kiss again, holding onto both of Eliott's shoulders.

As they parted ways for their next classes half an hour later, Lucas was a right state, hair sticking up on ends, clothes slightly crooked and face a bright pink. He smiled to himself as he joined the rest of his classmates on their way to class.

◇

The next day, Lucas was just making his way out into the courtyard on his way home for the day when he was cornered by none other than Eliott. Lucas stumbled back in surprise, grinning up at the other boy and tucking his earbuds in his pocket, having just taken them out to listen to music on his way home.

“Hello,” Eliott replied, beaming like the sun and practically bouncing on his heels.

Lucas knitted his eyebrows together suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “Should I be worried?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt at looking stern. Eliott shrugged. “I have an idea and I need your help,” Eliott explained simply.

“Okay, so I most definitely should be worried then.”

Eliott rolled his eyes and reached down to grab Lucas’ sleeve, beginning to drag him across the courtyard towards the exit. Lucas scuttled after him in an effort to keep up with his large stride, almost faceplanting multiple times. On their way out of the school yard, Lucas caught sight of Basile talking to Daphné, his face pulled into something like sadness while Daphné looked assertive and almost angry. Probably rejecting his flirting efforts again.

“Eliott, where the hell are we going?” Lucas asked as Eliott began tugging him across the street and towards a small chemist's.

Eliott peered over his shoulder, smiling softly and leading Lucas inside the little shop. “It's a surprise,” he said by way of explanation, looking around the tops of the aisles before heading down one a few aisles from the entrance.

“Well, that's ominous,” Lucas replied, following the taller boy down an aisle of hair products of many kinds.

Eliott stopped abruptly near the end of the shelves, causing Lucas to crash right into him with a comedic thumping sound, stumbling back and squeaking embarrassingly. At the end of this aisle there was a shockingly large variety of hair dyes staring Lucas in the face, a rainbow of dye colours and people smiling or smoldering with different colours.

“Eliott, why are we by the hair dye?” Lucas asked slowly, glancing back and forth between Eliott and the display. / Eliott crouched down in front of one of the brands, frowning in concentration as he skimmed his fingers along the thousands of different boxes. “I want to dye my hair black,” he replied shortly, pulling out one of the boxes and inspecting it closely for a few seconds before returning it to the shelf and grabbing another shade.

“You want to what?”

Eliott looked up from his place on the floor, shooting Lucas a wide eyed puppy dog smile. “I want to dye my hair black. I think it'll be cool,” he explained, turning back to the shelves to grab multiple different black hair dyes from multiple different brands. “Then I'll finally have a full on black aesthetic, see?” Eliott stood up, showcasing his signature black skinny jeans and black hoodie, presenting his hand over himself.

“Don't you think dying your hair black is maybe a step too far?” Lucas suggested, watching as Eliott read the various labels on the boxes and kept on putting them back on the shelf only to grab yet another.

Eliott shrugged, squinting at a vibrant green box. “It's just hair,” he stated, shaking his head and replacing the green box back on its shelf. “Plus, maybe then people will actually be able to tell me and Leo apart,” he added, stuffing more of the boxes back in their original spots. “I think I'll get this, this and this one, just to be sure,” Eliott said finally, holding up the three individual boxes. They all looked black to Lucas, but he wasn't the artist here.

“Come,” Eliott said over his shoulder, already marching down the aisle with his selection carried in his arms. Lucas jogged after him.

“This is insane,” Lucas mumbled as Eliott dumped his pile of things onto the counter and pulled out his wallet. Eliott chuckled, smiling sideways at Lucas and handing the cashier 20€. He slipped his change into his wallet, thanked the man and grabbed the plastic bag he was given. He strode across the store and out onto the busy street, plastic bag swinging by his side while Lucas ran after him. Eliott was particularly restless that day, Lucas decided.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Lucas’ flat with various newspapers spread out over the kitchen table and several bottles of dyes scattered about. Eliott was wearing one of Lucas’ old grey t-shirts and a frayed navy blue towel wrapped around his shoulders, prancing around the kitchen preparing the dyes. Lucas could do nothing but stand in the doorway and watch him, half-amused and half-worried for Eliott's poor hair.

“Right, so this says to put a test job on for 15 minutes,” Eliott read off one of the boxes, “But this one says to put that on for 20 while the one on the table there says for half and hour.” Eliott pointed back and forth between the different dyes, looking increasingly more excited. “Can I just leave them all on for like 20 minutes and hope for the best?”

“Eliott, you have to leave them on for however long the boxes tell you. Do you want to burn your scalp off?” Lucas chastised, tugging one of the boxes out of his hands and putting it on the table. “How about you try one of the dyes and if it works you put it on everywhere instead of wasting time doing all three at once,” Lucas suggested, leaning against the countertop and frowning sternly at the other boy.

“Ooh! Good idea!” Eliott exclaimed, grabbing Lucas’ face suddenly and kissing him quickly. “You're a genius!”

“Which one are you going to try first?”

Eliott pulled away, looking over the boxes for a contemplative moment before deciding. He held up one of the boxes which showed a white woman with startling white teeth and a jet black bob cut. “This one has the best colour and it's only on for 20 minutes,” Eliott replied, already opening up the box and pulling out the various items and tossing the box onto the table. “Lu, do you have any bowls you don't mind losing so we can mix all this shit?” he asked, spreading his arms out over the table where the things were scattered haphazardly on top of the newspapers.

“Uh, Eliott?” Lucas said, walking over to the table and picking up the small plastic bowl that came with the box, holding it out to Eliott whose face lit up instantly in a grin.

“It came with a bowl?! That's awesome. They really think of everything, don't they? Like, when they were designing this dye they thought ‘wouldn't it be great if it came with a bowl?’ Totally worth the 6€,” Eliott rambled, opening up a packet labelled ‘Developer’ and squeezing it into the small bowl. “I'm sure this is right. Right? The dye mixes with the developing stuff and then it can work. I mean, who cares if it doesn't, we have two other dyes that we can try again with if I'm wrong.”

Lucas knitted his eyebrows together as Eliott started fiddling with the actual dye, which was in a small tube with a screw cap, humming some random tune under his breath. Something was definitely going on with Eliott, but Lucas couldn't figure it out. He could just be in a very good mood, but Lucas had seen good moods before and they were never this… odd.

Lucas paused Eliott's hands mid air and looked over at the box sitting on the table, grabbing it to try to read the small print. “Eliott, why don't you just, I don't know, read the directions?” He held the box up in front of Eliott’s face, raising his eyebrows.

Eliott pushed the box aside and said, “I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing. I've seen people do it before and I doubt there's much variation across all the different dyes. Plus, I'm an artist so I'm probably right.” And then he was squeezing out all the strangely grey goop into the bowl and reaching for the fancy application brush.

Lucas quickly scanned over the directions on the box, eyes frantically darting back and forth between the box and Eliott already mixing the dye and developer enthusiastically in the bowl. He heaved a sigh of relief when it seemed Eliott was in fact right.

“Eliott, are you sure you should be mixing that so–” Lucas began before a large drop of the darkening sludge-coloured goo splattered onto the floor, “–fast.” His roommates were going to kill him.

While Eliott continued mixing around the dye and developer, Lucas grabbed a sheet of paper towel and started clumsily, feverishly cleaning the dye from the ground before it would stain too noticeably. As if summoned by his thoughts, Manon suddenly appeared in the kitchen, stopping abruptly in the doorway at the sight of the mess going on.

“What on Earth is going on in here, boys?” she asked, looking between Eliott who was pausing his stirring efforts and Lucas still crouched on the floor with a paper towel. “Who's dying their hair?” she added, wandering over to look in Eliott's saucer

“Me. I'm dying it black! See?” Eliott babbled, grabbing the empty box off the table and shoving it into Manon's hands. “I wanted to finally complete my all black aesthetic, you know? I'll walk into a room and BAM! Everyone will see the black and they'll all faint at the sight of it because it's so cool!”

Manon nodded with interest, placing the box gently onto the table. “Do you want to borrow some of my hair clips for that mop of yours?” she suggested, ruffling Eliott's hair.

“Yes! That would be great! Like a proper hair stylist you see on tv,” Eliott replied with a grin, returning to his stirring once more.

Manon disappeared back into her room, leaving the two boys alone again. Lucas finally stood up from the ground and tossed the wadded up towel into the bin under their sink. He turned back to Eliott. He was still stirring the increasingly darker mush tapping one of his toes with an unknown beat. “Eliott, is everything okay? You're acting kind of…different,” Lucas asked, leaning back against the counter.

“I've got clips!” Manon announced then, waltzing into the room, holding the silver hair clips into the air triumphantly. “You guys want any help? I don't have anymore homework,” Manon asked.

“No thanks, Manon. Lucas and I have it all under control,” Eliott replied cheerfully. Do we though? Lucas mentally asked himself as Eliott finally stopped stirring the sludge. “Can you do it for me? I don't have a mirror and I don't want to get it in my eye or something and go blind or burn my skin or whatever else this dye stuff can do to me.” He held out the applicator for Lucas who hesitantly took it from him and then the bowl.

Eliott settled into one of the kitchen chairs and Lucas placed the bowl onto the table. He finally noticed some rubber gloves from the packet and put them both on before dipping the brush end into the dark goo. Gently, Lucas searched for a bit of hair near Eliott's temple and carefully spread the liquid evenly over his hair.

“And now we wait!” Eliott announced while Lucas set a timer for 20 minutes on his phone.

AN// Okay so I know Maxence’s hair is no longer black, but I wrote this like the day after he dyed it so....

#skam france #elu fic #elu #eliott demaury #lucas lallament

[grandtheftautumn]

Looks like it’s time to fuck with my appearance

#i desperately need to feel in control of something in my life #even if its fucking dumping blue and green dye on my head #and since my internship and hospital hours are gone #so is my need to look professional #don’t listen to me

[ecotone99]

[MF] Flightless

“Clarise,” said the pigeon, peering down from the shimmering aspen trees.

She looked up. Yellow leaves fell all around her. Up above, gray clouds lined the sky.

The pigeon nodded at her. Its neck feathers gleamed violet and green.

“Remember your way home,” it said in her mother’s voice.

It flew away, hobbling through the air on crooked wings.

She walked out of the forest into the lights of Pelterridge City. Far behind her, the stick figure of her mom waved goodbye, red scarf dancing in the air.

***

It never snowed in winter. Dad set up a giant Christmas tree in the cluttered living room, beside the battered beige sofa. It was a plastic one, with an overwhelming scent of fake pine needles.

“I’m Arrick,” her stepbrother stood up and smiled uncertainly. “Um… I’m in eighth grade, and…”

He trailed off and settled for simply smiling.

“Clarise. Going to sixth grade.”

She had met her dad’s new wife several times before, but this was her first time meeting her stepbrother.

The pine needle smell was getting to her head. She sat down on the couch.

“Welcome,” Eliza Whitman, her stepmother, beamed like a lighthouse.

“Thanks,” she said.

It was December 24. Clarise didn’t know why she had to leave her real mother behind on Christmas Eve.

Her new house -- not home -- was on the fourth floor of the dingy Nelson-Eldridge Commons. It was clean, and the electricity and internet worked. But there seemed to be a clear divide between her, a Jovell, and Arrick and Elizabeth Whitman.

Her father was a Jovell too, but he had betrayed Mom and married this smiling red-haired woman instead.

She wanted to go to her real home. It was a dingier place in L.A., in the filthy apartments where electricity barely worked. It was occupied by a woman who made money by cleaning the machines at the laundromat and waitressing at bars. But the woman was her mother, and that counted more than anything else.

“Here’s for you,” Arrick muttered and shoved a wrapped cylinder at her.

“I don’t have any presents for you,” Clarise said, fidgeting with her fingers.

“It’s completely fine,” Eliza said. She had a papery smile on. “Christmas is time for family after all.”

Clarise thought that was a perfectly hypocritical thing for Eliza to say. She tore open the gaudy green wrapping paper. It was a pine needle scented candle. The smell made Clarise a bit dizzy.

***

On January 6, drizzle fell in a thin veil. Clarise stepped in the shallow puddles on the way to school, water rippling out away from her yellow rain boots. The storefronts on Cadlet Way were awakening. Warm light glowed from the bakery, candle store, and the records shop.

Winter break didn’t last forever. Eliza tried and failed to make conversation. Arrick stayed in his room all day, and Clarise avoided talking to Dad. Mom called twice, but they couldn’t find anything to say when they weren’t face-to-face.

Clarise took a turn at Kelsey Avenue. School loomed into view.

Telephone lines cut into the gray sky. Dandelion flowers bloomed, yellow among the dewy grass. Pelterridge Hills Elementary School stood like a stack of abandoned wooden blocks.

The attendance lady in the office impatiently told her that her classroom was 22B. Her teacher was Miss Hudson.

The classroom’s walls were decorated with a parade of art projects, almost all of them bright and falling apart. Clarise took her seat near the back of the classroom.

A short, pale boy stepped in seconds after the bell. He had fair hair, gray eyes, and freckles on his nose.

“You’re late again, Wilbert,” Miss Hudson said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses.

The boy grinned.

“Late again, Will Clown?” The boys at Table 1 jeered. He shrugged.

“He’s weird,” a dark-haired girl nudged Clarise. “Nobody likes him. He’s so edgy. See his shoelaces?”

They were bright yellow. They looked okay, but of course Clarise didn’t say so.

Will Clown grinned at everyone. She couldn’t figure out why nobody liked him. She also couldn’t help but smile back.

***

“You’re Claire?” Will asked, standing beside the slide that Clarise was sitting on.

“Clarise. You’re Will Clown?”

She wondered if they could be friends.

“Wilbert Clayden, technically,” he said, stumbling over the last word. “Everybody calls me Will Clown though. You can do that too. Friends?”

“Deal.”

The bell clattered, signaling the end of lunch.

Clarise and Will Clown walked home together after school.

“I want to dye my hair,” Clarise said as they passed by Newer Days Saloon, with its neon sign glowing faintly under the cloudy sky.

It would cost twenty dollars. She could scrape that up from her piggy bank.

“What color?” Will asked, eyes glinting excitedly. “We can be punks, you know.”

“Punks?”

“Going against society,” Will whistled, already caught up in his own idea. “There are those really cool people on Kaster Street. They skate and listen to punk rock. Everyone thinks they’re cool.”

“Nice. I don’t know what color I’m going to dye my hair yet.”

“White. It’ll look epic,” he said and waved goodbye to Clarise.

At not-home, Arrick was sprawled on the sofa, entranced by the television.

***

Pale bluish silver and bright crimson. The colors tipped her black hair, a mess of clashing, clamoring hues. Clarise liked how the crimson almost mirrored her mother’s treasured scarf.

“You really did it?” Will Clown grinned, wide-eyed with excitement. “Damn.”

Clarise giggled. It was five pm, and the storefronts on Cadlet Way glowed in the setting sun. The sun laid out her shadow and Will Clown’s upon the wall next to the saloon. They were dark, a witch and a short scarecrow standing side by side.

“Do you think they’d say anything at school?” Clarise twirled a strand of silver hair around her index finger and squinted against the sky.

“Nah,” Will shrugged. “Listen carefully, Clarise Jovell, because I won’t say this again.”

He tried to continue but started giggling instead.

“What?”

“Rule number one of being punk,” he finally caught his breath, “is to not give a -- a fu -- fuck about what others think.”

He smiled, proud of saying his real swear word. “We’re gonna be like these kids on Kaster Street, Clarise. You know, these cool kids? Except we won’t make fun of other people.”

She nodded. A breeze blew strands of hair across her face. Against the sun, they made a chaotic whirlwind of black and red and gray. Chaotic in a good way.

“Eliza says I have to be home by five. I have to go.”

“Me too. See ya tomorrow,” Will picked up his blue bicycle that was carelessly abandoned on the sidewalk. He rode away in the middle of the carless road, a reckless figure rapidly shrinking.

“See you.”

She walked down Cadlet Way, the backpack suddenly too heavy on her shoulders. Her red Converse shoes felt a tiny bit too tight. Unidentifiable scents drifted from the candle store window.

At the end of the street, Nelson-Eldridge Commons seemed like a prison unit. Five-story houses, dirty white walls, barred windows along the gray staircase. Pigeons perched on the laundry lines that extended from one third-story window to another. They stared at her among the ripped jeans, tie-dye T-shirts, and mustard-yellow baby socks.

Welcome to not-home, they cooed to her.

She wanted to pick up a stone and throw it at them. She wanted to feed them bread crumbs from breakfast.

Instead, she ignored them and walked up the gray stairs stained with graffiti and stark white bird droppings. She knocked on the fourth-floor door anxiously. A tiny hiss of television sounds and conversation seeped through the keyhole.

“Where --,” her stepmother flung open the door. “Hang on, what did you do to your hair?”

“I dyed it,” Clarise looked at Eliza’s chin, not meeting her eyes.

“God, you’re only thirteen,” Eliza stared at her. “Did we give you permission to dye your hair?”

“Let the girl in,” Dad called loudly from the kitchen, followed by a flutter of newspapers.

Eliza stepped out of the doorway, lines of disapproval between her flawlessly penciled eyebrows. Clarise dumped the backpack on the beige couch beside Arrick. Her eyes stung a bit. Arrick looked up from the TV.

“By golly, Clarise, you’re in some damn serious trouble,” he said.

“Watch your language,” Eliza crossed her arms, leaning against the shoe rack. “Clarise, if you’re going to make a big decision like dying your hair that atrocious color, you have to ask us first.”

“Why?” She was exhausted all of a sudden. She could have sworn that the house was poisonous and sapping all the energy out of her.

“Why?” Her stepmother repeated incredulously. Her hands gesticulated wildly in the air. Then she suddenly deflated. “Jonathan, you’re her father. You talk to her about this.”

“Alright,” her dad put down the newspapers on the kitchen table. “Clarise, we’re your parents whether you like it or not. Until you become an adult you’ll be living with us. We want what’s best for you, really.”

He rubbed his temple. Unspoken words hung in the air like laundry.

“You aren’t even my real mom.” The words escaped without Clarise’s control. Eliza froze.

“What did you say?” Dad glared at her, all the patience gone from his voice. “Apologize to her right now, Clarise Jovell.”

Arrick turned off the TV.

“But it’s true! She’s not my mom.”

The world was spinning around Clarise. She didn’t owe Eliza Whitman any apology. If anything, Eliza owed her for stealing her dad away from her real mom. And Eliza had no right to control Clarise’s hair, especially since Clarise had only been living with her for two weeks.

“Go back to your room,” Dad’s voice was deadly quiet.

“But --”

“I said go back,” he stood up. The air buzzed like a hornet’s nest.

Clarise grabbed her backpack and spun around without saying another word. She walked to her room and locked the door behind her. She didn’t slam the door -- her dad wanted her to lose her temper so that he could yell, and she won’t do that. She closed it silently.

The tears came then. They blurred her eyes and temporarily obscured the mess of unpacked boxes in the middle of the room. Outside, two voices raised.

She felt like a tied-down bird here, flightless.

A pigeon was perched on her windowsill among the dying succulents. It peered at her and cooed.

“Go away,” she whispered, wondering if her eyes were as red as the crimson parts of her hair.

Pigeon wings whistled through the chilly December air. A feather fell down, spinning, dyed gold by the setting sun.

***

Clarise had exactly $31.52 hidden in her sock drawer. At midnight, her digital alarm clock glared red numbers. She checked her backpack one more time. There was the money, some clothes, some food and water, and a detailed map of Southern California.

She was going to find her real mom at the apartment by the laundromat.

The front door groaned as Clarise pushed it open. A dog barked somewhere far away. It was freezing outside. Clarise layered on her sweater and two jackets. She could still feel the cold.

Her mom’s laundromat was exactly 23.4 miles south of Pelterridge City. But she was going to get there, and then she’d be home, and she won’t have to deal with Eliza Whitman, who was yelling at her already after two weeks.

She’d miss Will Clown though. She had a friend for two days.

The city bus rolled around the corner. For Clarise, t was a simple matter of standing on the tip of her toes and keeping her face in the dark. The driver, sluggish from exhaustion, didn’t look twice at her and didn’t know that she was only twelve.

Outside, Pelterridge City might as well have been dead. Neon signs glowed from storefronts, but there was no life on the streets besides blackbirds and pigeons.

The bus roamed the highway. There were two other passengers, both half-asleep under the dim blue light.

Clarise wondered if Will Clown was asleep at home, if Eliza and Arrick and Dad were asleep, if any of them would care that she was gone. The blue light winked at her and cast her ghostly reflection on the smudged, foggy window.

Her eyelids were weighed down. The bus rode over bumps, and soon Clarise heard the clamor of traffic. A green sign was visible in the night. Downtown LA, 5.2 MI.

She was around 5.2 miles away from her mom.

***

She found her mom’s laundromat fifty steps from the bus stop, sidewalk lined with cars and leaves and litter. The lights were bright inside, brilliantly blue, and the washing machine stood in soldier-like rows.

The address was 201 Sheller Way. She walked up a flight of gray stairs disturbingly similar to the one at not-home and arrived on the second floor. Two doors stood beside her, peeling. An orange light bulb flickered overhead.

Clarise knocked on 201. She waited.

From the telephone lines down the street, there came a flutter of pigeon wings. The door creaked open.

A woman stood in the doorway. Her wet black hair was wrapped in a towel, and there were remains of eyeliner under her eyelashes. She blinked.

“Clarise,” she said. Her eyes suddenly shone too brightly under the flickering orange light. “Come in.”

Her arms wrapped around Clarise’s narrow shoulders. Her hair smelled like soap, and there was cinnamon on her breath. There were tears budding in both of their eyes.

They sat on the tattered brown couch, Clarise and her mother. The room was illuminated by a yellow light, coins under furnitures, newspaper stuffed into corners.

“Your hair looks beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Clarise, I love you. I’m sorry I can’t take care of you. Eliza Whitman is a good woman, you know that?”

She didn’t know that, in fact.

“Yes.”

Clarise looked around. She must have inherited her mom’s talent for killing houseplants.

“Your dad told me you’re missing,” her mother went on, pushing wet hair out of her eyes.

“I love you.”

***

At three am, Jonathan Jovell and Clarise’s mother hugged. Then Jonathan ushered Clarise into a shiny red car. He drove home along the highway in silence.

Arrick’s door opened a crack at home.

“Your stepmother is worried sick, you know,” he whispered, somehow not sounding accusing.

“She cares about you,” Dad added quietly, then walked into the living room.

“I’m going back to sleep,” said Arrick, closing the door.

Then Eliza Whitman came out of her bedroom, wet hair and smudged makeup, red underneath her eyes. Clarise stood in the hallway. They stared at each other without a word. Eliza wrapped her arms around Clarise. She smelled of gingerbread instead of cinnamon, but that was good enough.

***

It was cold, but green spring was budding on the aspen trees along Cadiz Creek.

“Come on,” urged Will Clown, sprinting ahead of Clarise. She adjusted her scarf and followed. It was red and white, half knitted by her mother and half by Elizabeth Whitman.

“Slow down,” she said. The creek flashed a few feet ahead, the water rushing silver and faint blue. She caught up with Will at the water’s edge, among the leaves that hadn’t quite decayed in the winter’s cold.

“Ever fished before, Clarise?”

“No.”

Will grinned and handed her a fishing pole. “Firsts.”

The air was colder over the creek. Clarise sat down on a mossy rock and waited as Will fumbled in his backpack for baits. Warblers whistled in the air. There was the cooing of a pigeon or two, and it soothed her.

She sat with Will Clown by the creek, cold air blowing in their face, as the clouds overhead cleared and blue seeped out. A fish tugged on her pole, bending it slightly. She hesitated for a second, heart pounding with excitement and fear that water will splash all over her pale blue sweater. Then she spun the reel.

The fish was small, not much longer than her palm. It flopped, iridescent silver.

“Not fair,” said Will Clown.

Clarise laughed in reply. The sun came out behind the clouds, and the air didn’t feel so cold anymore.

submitted by /u/pickled_moon [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2M8jSlW

#Blogger #Story

[bnrobertson1]

Chin Up, Algorithms

Greta Van Fleet is known for three things: (1) Shamelessly sounding like Led Zeppelin, (2) Getting critically shat on for shamelessly sounding like LZ and (3) being the cause of people attacking the music press for, you know, just not getting it, man.* I haven’t had the privilege or desire to meet the band of Detroit teenagers, but I don’t like the thought of these up-and-comers, who so clearly have the world by the tail, being down about the cruel nature of living in the public eye. So, I decided to encourage them the only way I know how: by giving them Pump Up Speech they’ve essentially begged me for **.

*Sample quote: “It’s like an awesome new version of Led Zeppelin and refreshing for people who (like myself) are overloaded with electro-pop and generic rap that is dominating the airwaves and Spotify streams.”

** in my mind

[SETTING: BACKSTAGE @ University of Phoenix Stadium. Although the stadium walls shake with blandly enthusiastic anticipation, the band is depressed after some especially rough reviews. The label has flown me in to get them in a better headspace before they go “shred” with Imagine Dragons in front 100,000 people in the desert. They await my arrival in their green room.]

BONGO DRUMMER (I’m guessing his name is Derrrbb) [flustered]: Well, the label said they’d…

SMASH. Before anyone even realizes the door has been kicked open, Derrrbb’s head gets hit with an unidentified object and caves in like whatever politician you don’t like being questioned by whatever politician you do like.  

All are silent. There is a vacuum in the air that all present notice and appreciate, a calm before the storm heavy with some serious truth debris.

I stand motionlessly, a cricket bat (name: BAM BAM) dangles in my hand like a windchime. Finally, I animate. The next five minutes consist of me smashing any and everything that needs smashing. Vanity mirrors. SMASH. Two Man Harps. SMASH. Curling irons. SMASH SMASH SMASH. To add to the effect, my face is bleached with flour meant to resemble narcotics. Red dye, surprisingly sweet, is also on my face for even further dramatic effect, although it is mixing with the flour, making a fairly delicious combination that is difficult not to lick. I then remember I left all that fake drug crap back in my van, so we’re on the real deal, baby. My eyes start twitching as my pupils dilate. Fucking Great Van Fleet. I was saving all that for Frasier night at mom’s house. Oh well, might as well get this over with. Taking a slightly manic British affectation, I speak.

“Listen. Up. You. FUCKS!!!”

I find the closest “Eastern” instrument and spend close to half an hour tirelessly destroying it with BAM BAM into pieces so infinitesimal that it would be nearly impossible to prove that it ever actually existed. An Imagine Dragons’, let’s say, oboist(?) cries in the background, I tirelessly smash the Sitar out of its misery. Noticing I’m distracted with obliterating instruments, Greta Van Fleet’s lead singer slowly starts to gain some courage, finally speaking “Hey man! Th….”

“SHUTTTTTT ITTTTT,” I politely interrupt, picking up the lead singer, let’s call him Gene, by his VERY COOL  “Indian” apparel, discus throwing him into the sun. I finally take a deep breath. Then another. Then I seethe for fifteen minutes before speaking.

“Perhaps, I should start from scratch. I’m here because your record label paid me enough a volcano-choking amount of dough to fly here and give you boys a pick-me-up because you’ve been down in the dumps with all this negative pWess. You know, a little pep pep. Maybe a pat on the noggin, a drink at me teet. And yep, boys, it’s been brutal. Look what it says here [picking up a stray computer]: ‘derivative,’ [I throw the computer at the regular drummer like a throwing star, it sticking in his head, killing him instantly] “vampiric,” [I just punch some dude for having a pube stache], “totally passionless” [I consider how many pounds of pasta a crazy busy Olive Garden goes through the day].

I continue. “And so what? Did you really get into rock n’ roll to impress critics. CRITICS!?! Some 45-year old cumrag making in a year what you do you do in a day selling your ‘Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack?’ Do you think for one segment of a second that one of those keyboard warriors wouldn’t change places with you? They’d floss with the bones of their young just to have one person applaud them out loud, much less a 100,000 at one time.

Full name: Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack* with individually numbered Bansuri

So what do they do? They talk shit on the internet like the true desperados they are. Real John fucking Waynes, this lot. ‘Oh, they’re just some product made by record industry focus group testing?’ Oh really? Well guess what else is- EVERYTHING. But there’s hope: all the stuff you get in return does not know the difference. Let me assure you, gentlemen, breasts and narcotics…” [and this point I disappear for 45 minutes. I return very, very excited to continue our chat].

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH. Where was I?!?! Buildings! No. Oh Greta Van Fleet. So yeah like I was saying, your record label didn’t think they were signing the new Lou Reed or the new Daft Punk or fuck even the new Seven Mary fucking Three when they got you to sign on the dotted line. They just have enough data to know people like Led Zeppelin’s sound and to know that you fill that bill quite nicely. Sure, those Steve McQueen-esque critics may call you “derivative” as they take a break from their marathon love-making, but guess what- so is everybody who has ever used the word ‘the.’ Plus, derivative or not, none of you are in your sixties going on about Satanism and asking for stupid amounts of money, so the powers picked you. Plus you didn’t seem to have any pre-existing medical conditions.  But don’t fool yourself: each and every one of you cash registers are just glorified human-shaped SONOS machines. Play these songs, get your paycheck, and then exhaust all of your senses- especially which ever one tells you to ever speak. I LOVE THE LIGHTS!

Anyway, boys, think about this: Your songs have been played billions of times. BILLIONS. Add that all up and that’s more time than the entirety of Mr. “I have a Graduate Degree Yet Make Less than $35,000” Journalist McFuckFace has been on this planet, or any other. Don’t let him sting you with limp-dicked insults, boys. You have won. Look at this [picks up $10,000 guitar]. And this [picks up a huge pile of vaporizers with both hands]. ALL THE VAPES IN THE WORLD! AND THIS! [I open the treasure chest full of jewels that is in the room for some reason. I take a few of the jewels out and starts rubbing them all over my body for, let’s say, 20 minutes.]

[I continue.] Critics get to be “smart,” you get to be “rich and famous,” which is another way of saying you get to be anything you want, except smart, which is overrated. Just ask the chess master who lives in the park next to my 9,600 sq. penthouse suite. He asks for the cheese on the wax paper of my morning bagel I’m usually far too hungover to eat. That’s the type who “know about music.” When you’re thinking about what type of ice sculpture Wedding 9 should have, he’ll be teaching a Community College Class about the “Evils of Capitalism,” and mates, he’ll know that truth as soundly as you won’t remember one fucking fact about him.  

My point, my little gold mines, [I take the bassist’s face in my hands] my beautiful little gold mines [that’s not the bassist. I don’t care]  is that none of this shit matters. We’re just here for a blip, so make it a boom. Who cares if “the right people” respect you? Or if that cute girl with the thick-brimmed glasses who keeps uncracked Pynchon nearby admires your mind? I’ve got bad news for you all: none of you are Thom Yorke. I also have great news: NONE OF YOU ARE THOM YORKE. You’re not doomed to spend your days thinking about the feelings of a vacuum cleaner replacement part or some shit. Embrace your inner hedonism- that is the true spirit of LZ. Not some stolen blues riffs and shark fucking (google it). Let your creativity run wild with how you put things in and out of your bodies. AND BECOME A GOD FOR IT.  

So sorry, people will not be studying your album notes decades from now looking for clues into your genius or how the structure of some ballad is meant to mirror some fucking world ill. And that shouldn’t bother you one bit- worrying about how the future will consider you is for academics and people who think because their current life blows that it will somehow be championed in the future because they didn’t have the gall to do anything in the present. If they’re lucky they’ll get a paper towel made in their honor. If we’re lucky, that paper towel will be produced using child-labor and earth-destroying products. Nothing wipes the shit grin off their “sophisticated” faces quite like hypercriticism, and buddy, we’ll assure you there’ll be plenty of that.  

So people are calling you just a rip-off of Led Zeppelin? Congrats, you’ve hit the gold mine. Now all that’s left to do is shine. Oh, you’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

As I start to leave, one of the band member’s asks a question about “authenticity” and whether I wondered whether aping the musicians who aped other musicians “problematic.” My brain- whose resting speed is somewhere in between a figuring out how to fly and a full blown aneurysm- weaponizes, liquifying all remaining members who are in the room. I take the liquid and make ceremonial “Energy Pendants,” where I put a drop or two in a vaguely “spiritual” rock (I call them ‘crystals’), selling them for $3,500 a piece. I become a millionaire and marry Kate Upton on the moon. Oh, and because I’m so well liked and wealthy, the actual Led Zeppelin plays the reception. They play a 14- minute version of “Kashmir.” It slays.  

THE END  

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The Award Goes To... (Part 10)

Thoom!

“Agh!” Weiss screamed, a hand flying up to her face as red began to pour down over her left eye.

“Oh crap!” Akko cried as she rushed over to Weiss, ignoring the motorized training dummies pelting her with wicker-ball bullets and whacking her with bamboo swords. “Weiss, are you okay?”

“No!” Weiss screamed as she gestured down to herself. “Look at me—the paint’s getting everywhere!”

“Clock’s still ticking, kiddos!” Nick yelled from some distance away.

The two of them ignored him.

“I’m sure Auntie Freya’s got something back in the house that’ll get it right out!” Akko said.

“And if she doesn’t and you just permanently dyed my clothes?” Weiss asked.

“Well, uh… red looks really good on you, Weiss!” Akko said, smiling.

Weiss glared at her, before she sighed. “Yeath, I guess it does… you know who else it looks good on, though?”

“Who?”

“You!” Weiss cried, before she dropped her training sword, pressed her paint-covered hands all over Akko.

She squealed and fell to the ground, before the two of them started laughing as they wrestled with each other, smearing red paint all over their skin and their clothes.

Nick just sighed, and shook his head. “Stopped the clock, kiddos!” he said as the dummies started to deactivate, whirring and humming to a halt. “Get out of those clothes and get cleaned up—Frosty’s going to kill me if you come home looking like that!”

Akko and Weiss rolled away from each other and sat up. “Okay, Grandpa/Uncle Nick!” they called out, before they looked at each other, giggled at the mess they’d made of the other.

“Hey, Weiss?” Akko asked as she picked up her practice grenade launcher.

“Yeah, Akko?” Weiss said as she retrieved her own wooden sword.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Weiss snorted. “Why would I be? It was an accident, right? Besides, like you said--” she held out her arm, put on a mock serious expression as she examined it with her clear eye “--red DOES look good on me.”

Freya did not agree, as the girls overheard one day while Nick was doing the laundry. "Do you realize how much wastewater you dump down the river every time you clean their training clothes?"

"A couple fuck tons, I'm assuming, but I swear, Frosty, I'll cut it down to just a fuck ton in a couple of weeks, and you can stop needing to make so much detergent."

"It's not the detergent I'm pissed about, Nick, it's all the red dye that washes out! I swear, people are starting to think we're a family of serial killers who dump the bodies in the river!"

"Okay, sorry: I'll switch to a different colour."

"You had better."

And so started the tradition of different coloured paint grenades every session—solid colours like blue, green, or yellow; combinations of them like orange and purple stripes; even some more exotic varieties like glow-in-the-dark paint for late night training, psychedelic swirls, and night sky blue with glitter “stars,” until they found it really did get into everything for days afterward. Most of the time, Akko and Weiss chose the colour; sometimes, Nick chose it himself to “shake things up a little;” and the rest of the time, they were limited by the stock at the nearby town of Hoshiko, or what Nick could find for a good price at the Mistral markets.

Always, they painted the training grounds and dummies in that session’s colour, and themselves too, going late into the afternoon trying to scrub their skin clean, or using the excess to make temporary tattoos and “war paint” for themselves. Whatever colours their clothes were originally was impossible to tell under the thick layers of paint, but as the weeks passed, it turned to swaths and blotches, then streaks and splatters, till sweat, mud, and propellant dust were the only things staining their clothes.

“I wonder what colour it’s going to be today...” Akko mused as she and Weiss headed up the well-trodden path to the training grounds. “You think it’d be blue?”

“We already did that five days ago, it’ll definitely be something different. Maybe something warm, like orange; the general store doesn’t seem to lack for anything this week!”

“You think it might be time for the return of red? They were having a sale for all the extra batches they got by mistake.”

Weiss snorted. “If it is, Grandpa won’t have anything less than every grenade fired perfectly—I’m pretty sure Grandma will actually kill him this time if she sees it on us again.”

Akko snorted. “I can do that, easy—I’m getting super good at explosives now.”

Their conversation stopped as they saw Nick setting up grenade boxes that definitely did not have paint  bombs inside them, the other much more serious, military-grade training equipment like solid wooden swords.

“Hey there, Uncle Nick!” Akko greeted. “What’s in the box?”

Thunk!

“Your new equipment, kiddos,” Nick replied as he he set down a crate of grenades on a table, and dusted off his hands. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about them last night—you’d be surprised at how hard it is to get surplus military equipment in bulk, much less delivered out to a PO box in a town outside of Mistral.”

“So those aren’t new paint grenades…?” Akko asked.

“Nope!” Nick said. “Low-power frags. Blast isn’t nearly as wide nor powerful as the paint bombs, but the shrapnel can seriously test you auras if it detonates close enough to you. Similar deal with everything else here, which is why I want to ask you two if you’re both 100% sure you feel you’re ready to take the step up in your training.

“Anything less, these are going in the cellar till you are—no rush, no pressure, kiddos, we’ve still got plenty of the old equipment till you feel ready to make a choice.”

Weiss and Akko looked at each other, then at the new equipment, then back at Nick, determined expressions on their faces. “We’re ready,” they said.

“Sure?” Nick said.

“Yes,” Weiss replied, nodding.

“If Weiss thinks she’s ready, then I’m ready too!” Akko said, her fists held in front of her chest.

Nick smiled, beaming with pride. “Then let’s get started.” His expression turned serious. “Basic form, firing range, and attacking and blocking technique first—this shit’s heavier and sturdier, and I don’t want you injuring yourselves because you’re not used to the recoil when you fire, or something hits the blade.”

And so they stopped painting the training grounds every session, started covering it in red dust, scorch marks, and small craters. They stopped scrubbing paint off their skin after each session, started carefully dabbing antiseptic and poultices onto their new bruises and cuts. They stopped laughing or smiling when a grenade misfired, a swing went wide and hit the other, they got knocked down by the training dummies, and started learning how to kick them into holes or knock them well away before they detonated, recover from friendly fire, or brace themselves and their auras for more pain.

But still, they persisted, didn’t stop charging head-long into training with confident smiles, joked about their mistakes and mishaps, though sometimes they couldn’t laugh because it hurt.

Then, one day, it all changed.

A mistimed grenade, a dummy deflecting it with its shield and sending it arcing off in a completely different direction.

Weiss, stunned by the blow of a different dummy earlier, putting her aura up again too little, too late.

Screaming, the jerk and whine of the training dummies deactivating as Nick hit the emergency kill switch, Weiss kneeling on the ground, her hand over her left eye, blood trickling down from her forehead…

“Akko…?”

Akko jerked awake, flailing and gripping the Shiny Rod with white-knuckled hands, before she fell out of the bench she was sleeping on, crashed to the hardwood floor. “Itai…” she muttered as she rubbed the back of her head.

If it was any consolation, she was already inside the visitor’s lounge of Haven’s hospital.

“Holy shit—Akko, are you alright?” Winter asked as she knelt down beside her.

Akko’s eyes shot wide open. “Winter!” she cried as she threw her arms around her, her pain forgotten. “Oh my gosh, you’re back!”

“Ow, ow, OW! AKKO!”

Akko looked down, saw the sharp point of the Shiny Rod digging into Winter’s side. “Oh crap! Sorry!” she said as she pulled it out.

Winter sucked in a breath and hissed as she rubbed her side. “It’s fine…” she said as she smiled at Akko. “Though you might want to consider getting a scabbard or a holster for that thing; carrying it around in your hands all the time seems like it’ll get inconvenient real fast.”

Akko nodded. “I’m guessing you’re here because of the Shiny Rod?” she said, pulling away and holding it between them.

“Indeed,” Winter hummed. “Council wanted me to confirm that it’s actually here, and not someone trying to peddle off a VERY good imitation of it. Mind if I hold it?”

Akko frowned as she pulled it closer to her. “I would, actually—it, uh, really doesn’t like being held by anyone other than me or Ruby...”

“Will you let me anyway?” Winter asked. “Council only requested visual confirmation, but some additional proof in my report ought to go a long way.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Akko said as she held out it out.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Winter said as she took it into her hands. She blinked. “I was incorrect,”  she said, before tossed it back to Akko like it was on fire.

Akko caught it. “You alright?” she asked as she held it to her chest once more.

“No, not really,” Winter said as her whole arms shook. “Fuck me, this thing really doesn’t want you to let it go, huh?” she asked as she pulled herself back up to the bench.

“Nope!” Akko said as she followed suit and sat beside her. “I think it only trusts me or Ruby to give it back to Shiny Chariot when she comes for it.”

Winter nodded. “Speaking of which… how’s it feel to be holding your idol’s weapon?”

“Ah…” Akko looked to the side. “I don’t really know how to feel about it right now… on the one hand, it’s Shiny Chariot’s weapon! We found it and it chose me and Ruby specifically to hold it and keep it safe! But on the other...” she cast a worried glance down one of the halls leading to the patient’s rooms.

“… Was it bad...?” Winter asked quietly. “Details were really sparse, and Grandma’s being evasive again.”

Akko nodded sadly. “Yeah. Yeah it was. You remember that time Weiss wouldn’t quit trying to summon something until she either did it or dropped? Way worse. But, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been!”

“How so?”

“Well, turns out Sucy wasn’t exaggerating when she said she was well-prepared for her ‘experiment’--aside from so much ammo and explosives, she had a lot of medical supplies in her bag, including things that could stop the bleeding, keep Weiss stable long enough for the MEDVAC to get there.”

“As difficult as I imagine that decision was, I’m rather glad you decided to trust Sucy.”

“I didn’t, actually!” Akko replied. “Jasminka had to hold me down at first, and Blake tied up my legs when they brought out the funnel...”

“… The funnel…? You know what, never mind. How was it when you got here?”

“Crazy.” Akko said. “Professor Ursula was the one monitoring the feeds for our section of the Hills, and was really worried when she saw the new crater we made from all the way back here in Haven. It only got worse once they started sending out the scouting ships to investigate and they started noticing how much Grimm were out all of a sudden. By the time we got here, Uncle Nick and some seniors had to fight off the crowds so we could get Weiss into the hospital.

“Stuff this big isn’t supposed to happen in initiation, they told me.”

Winter nodded. “And how is she now?”

Akko tensed up.

Winter frowned. “You haven’t seen her since, have you…?”

Akko looked down, before she shook her head.

Winter put her hand on her shoulder. “Want to do it together?”

Akko nodded. Hand-in-hand, they went to Weiss’ room, and stopped just before the door. “You ready?” Winter asked.

Akko shook her head. “No, I changed my mind!”

“Too late, we’re already doing this,” Winter said as she opened the door.

Akko froze up, yelped as Winter put her hand to her back and herded inside the room.

“Hey there, little sister!” Winter said.

Weiss’ good eye brightened up. “Winter! You’re here! And Akko, too!” She scowled. “What took you so long, you dolt?! Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you to come visit?!”

“I’m sorry! I was afraid you’d be mad at me!” Akko said as she clung to and hid behind Winter’s leg. “Like you are right now!”

Weiss blinked, before she sighed and shook her head. “Akko: I’m mad at you for not visiting sooner! I’m not mad about the grenade.”

Akko warily peered out. “Y-You’re not…?”

Weiss smiled. “Why would I be? It was an accident.”

Akko blinked, before she started tearing up.

Weiss sighed, her voice weak and distorted for all the equipment and tubes attached to her. “Are we really going to go through this again…?”

Akko sniffed, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I just thought, you know, it was so much worse this time! We almost got killed in the tower earlier, and we just barely got out of tha picklet, and things were looking up when I got the Shiny Rod, but then--”

“Akko.”

Akko stopped, looked at Weiss.

She smiled. “Are we going to spend however long I’ll be able to stay awake talking about how we almost died, or we are going to get right back to actually living…?”

Winter put her hand on Akko’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I think the second option sounds much better.”

Akko smiled, blinked the tears out of her eyes. “Yeah… I do too.”

They talked for about half-an-hour, Akko sitting beside Weiss on her bed, Winter standing on her other side, filling her up on everything that had happened, and catching up on the parts of Winter’s life she was allowed to disclose. Weiss wanted to talk about how their entire batch had yet to be put into teams, and plans for their late start in their classes, but the exhaustion of yesterday had returned, and returned with a vengeance.

Weiss yawned, barely able to keep her eyes open. “Akko…? “If we get teamed up with Sucy, let’s take turns pretending to go to sleep at night… but in shifts, so we don’t lose too much...”

Akko listened and waited, until she heard Weiss snoring softly. She gently hugged her, Winter tucked her back into her bed before she kissed her on her forehead, and the two of them left.

“So,” Winter said as they came back out to the hallway. “I’ve got an hour or two before my stims finally run out and I have to crash—want to head to the firing range, see what the Shiny Rod can really do without the danger of getting eaten by Grimm?”

Akko nodded. “Can we bring Ruby and Diana, too? I think they’d both love to see this.”

“Of course we can,” Winter said, ruffling Akko’s hair before they headed off.

The cicadas were out in full force, their songs echoing throughout the hills and the trees. Moonlight poured in from the leaves and the branches, occasionally blocked out by a passing cloud or maybe the shadow of a flying bird. The woodland critters that normally scurried through the bushes were silent, driven away by the steady, constant sound of explosions coming from the training grounds.

Akko gasped as she put her grenade launcher down on the counter, sweat pouring down her skin, her arms aching from the constant recoil. She grabbed her water bottle, chugged the whole thing down, before she slammed it back down on the table. She spent five minutes trying to catch her breath, massaging her arms, before she headed to the ammo/dust shed at one corner.

She dug through the crates and boxes, grumbling and whining as she couldn’t find any more grenades, LP frags or paint bombs. “Come on, come on...”

Thunk!

Akko jumped, spun around in mid-air, and landed in a combat stance. She relaxed as she saw Winter unloading and stacking several crates worth of new LP frags. "Grandpa told me to tell you you're focusing too much on fire rate over accuracy and efficiency, and more importantly, you’re burning through his budget WAY faster than he expected you to.”

“But I have to get better before Weiss gets back from the hospital!” Akko said. “’Do one thing 10,000 times, over and over again, day-in, day-out, and you’ll become a master,’ right?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to get there at all if don’t do it right,” Winter said as she stepped up, and put her hands on her shoulders. “A good grenadier isn't one that can fire ten grenades with ease; rather, they can easily fire one grenade and make it just as devastating as ten. So how about we start training you to fire perfectly each and every time, make sure you get the most bang out of your boom, and save Grandpa some money in ammo while we’re at it?

Akko frowned, before she nodded. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” Winter said, pulling a strip of cloth from her pocket, and tying it around Akko’s head.”Come on: we can’t stay here all night,” Winter said as she picked up one of the boxes and carried it out with her.

With a look of renewed determination, Akko followed, and the two started training.

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