#wait. sylvie Epithet Erased too hes here as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heckyeahepithetswitched · 3 years

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candaru liveblogs reading her own writing: episode 7

let’s get right to it boys

in my head she’s doing the lame cartoon gag where they cross their arms over each other

IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE IT FITS HER JUST AS WELL AS, IF NOT BETTER THAN, HOWIE

same energy as/swap version of “Listen here, Mr. Police officer—” “It’s Ms.”

I tried to give him a gambling theme to give him SOME sort of different flavor from canon Zora, although apparently it made some of his lines confusing “-_-

listen I really love Yoomtah and Sylvie’s relationship. he pretends not to care but he doesssss

I feel like,,,, I ended up mixing motives a little bit here, but shhhhhh it’s fine

“I am NOT. a KID.” + “I’M NOTTA SQUIRE!!!”

little reference to some more Zora HCs that were later confirmed, regarding her powerset :3

I really liked this bit with the playing card, but oh BOY was the entire ending fight a giant knot to untangle. I spent like an hour trying to sort out one part in particular while my family played cards in the next room

very, very lame throwback to the McHammer reference in the Museum Arc which I regret

THIS WAS THE PART I WAS LOOKING FOR IN THE SCRIPTS WHICH MADE ME GO “I actually don’t remember writing any of this, I should do a reaction reading of my own scripts” BGJASDK

I HC that this is tied to how Ramsey lost his eye in this universe :3c

trying to write Ramsey’s voice was STUPID hard; I kept mixing Zora’s voice + accent and Will’s (Ramsey’s) voice + accent and those REALLY DO NOT MIX

there’s an improv game called “the hardest game in the world” where you have to mix two accents and now I see why it’s called that

this is 9x funnier when you consider the types of commissions Ramsey is known for

1. I am very proud of myself for figuring out a way to swap Zora’s speech

2. I got SO close to making Ramsey call Zora a “Stardew Valley character” but decided against it because I wasn’t sure if SDV was too much of a passing trend that’d become irrelevant. now I kinda regret that decision because it probably would’ve been funnier and it’s not like these were made for posterity

another small jab at Jello for THE INCONSISTENCY OF ERASER CUFFS

ok so

I originally had Percy as Sylvie’s daughter just because 1) I thought for some reason maybe that was a thing in the AU??? I think it was actually people going “haha swap!Sylvie would totally adopt swap!Percy on sight” but then like it turned into an ACTUAL thing in my head, and then 2) it provided a VERY good excuse to get the police into the museum in the museum arc because nobody ever calls the police or trips the fire alarm

but then by the time we hit this part, I was 1) in love with the Ashling-King family unit, and 2) thought that having Percy around really added motivation to Sylvie’s character, and also gave another dynamic to the bond between him and Zora, which is just (chefs kiss)

I had a split-second heart attack about “WAIT HOW DO I GET THE CUFFS OFF ZORA, SHE CAN’T HAVE HER ARM CHOPPED OFF BECAUSE I DON’T THINK SHE COULD REGROW THAT/EVEN IF SHE DID IT’D BE GRAPHIC, AND RAMSEY’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO CUT HER HE’S TRYING TO TURN HER TO GOLD—” before I remembered that gold is soft enough to bite through and I was like aw yes nevermind, I got this

hehehe :3

I knew I wanted a plot twist of some kind during the final battle because people wouldn’t be expecting it, but nothing that would impact the story, and this ended up working perfectly

also you know we had to get Beefton in there somewhere! :D

I, personally, think the gold cracks are a REALLY cool idea

everyone thank goldbricker-ramsey for that one

THE FACT THAT ZORA IS STILL TALLER THAN HIM KILLS ME

I do not remember deciding that the height chart was Zora -> Ramsey -> Sylvester but that’s how it is I guess

we decided (and by “we” I mean Mari) that since canon Zora hates kids, of course swap!Zora must LOVE them, hence her softening up around Sylvie a lot once she learns he has a daughter :’)

the hardest swap of the Museum arc was Mera and Indus because they were TOTAL OPPOSITES

the hardest swap of the Redwood arc was Ramsey and Zora because they were the EXACT SAME ENERGIES

again... I felt there was just a liiiiittle bit missing with canon Percy and Ramsey’s dynamic, and for me personally, this moment fills that missing bit in. but that’s just me and this IS my writing, so XD

so, just as a heads-up, apparently the people who did the audiobooks changed around some of these minor-character (well, “not-yet-revealed character”) swaps

and since they know the AC characters better than me, I’d proooooobably go ahead and use their swaps if this project ever did continue?? hypothetically??? basically these last bits are all still malleable

I wrote this entire scene with Trixie and Phoenicia before someone pointed out that Trixie and Phoenicia already had swaps in this universe

*facedesks*

probably not. but hey!! it was super fun!!! the most fun I’ve had in a LONG time, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a project as much as the Epithet Switched scripts.

Spliinkles thank u for letting me take ur awesome idea and just run wild with it, writer brain went brrrrrr and it was such an absolutely fantastic experience that I can only hope I get to relive :’)

#candaru liveblogs reading her own writing #epithet erased #epithet switched

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professoruber · 4 years

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A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Chapter 1: Masks and Faces (Epithet Erased Fanfiction)

Inspired by the Role Swap AU created by @spliinkles.

Synopsis: We all know the stories of Sweet Jazz City, people did things and other people reacted to those things. However what if places were switched? Banzai Captain Molly prepares for her first great heist while rambunctious twelve year old troublemaker Giovanni sneaks into a the Sweet Jazz Museum after hours.

Prologue: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189820483268/epithet-erased-role-swap-au-fanfic-a-swapped

Chapter 1: You are here

==============================================================

Giovanni couldn’t believe it, real life criminal stood before him. He had a million questions to ask them and hoped they’d be impressed by the diabolical vandalism he has committed. Through his sheer joy he manages to get through a few words of excitement.

“Wow, criminals! Awesome!”

==================================================================================

Earlier that day….

==================================================================================

Detective Sylvester Ashling stood before the crime scene, analysing it with investigative genius mind. The crime had been committed without any alarms, the culprit or culprits having gotten in from cutting through the roof while somehow not alerting anyone or any security.

And while the good detective would never admit it, even he was mildly puzzled by this.

“So, what do you think detective?” questions the stressed gallery curator, who has been spending all their time since the robbery alternating between cooperating with police and apologising to wealthy patrons.

“Well it’s about time I was brought in to bring an end to this caper. Behold as I unleash the powerful mind of a master investigator” He answers dramatically, somewhat reassuring the curator.

He returned to considering the circumstances and events this this criminal act, all while absentmindedly swinging around his yoyo. The thieves in question got in from the roof, and by that he means burst through. The cracks are visible and it seems like they simply forced their way down by sheer weight pressure, something which would’ve logically caused much noise and alerted even the most asleep night guard.

But security cameras showed all nightguards were doing their jobs, and neither security guards nor cameras recorded any unusual noises.

And then there were the teddy bears, these toys were left in place of these very expensive statues. They have already been taken in for examination but so far, no noticeable traces evidence could be found on them.

This is not the first time such an event has occurred. In past months alone there has been a variety of bear theme crimes, many committed in areas with high Banzai Blaster activity.

But as Sweet Jazz City’s most brilliant master detective, or at least that’s what he always called himself, Sylvie was sure he would get to the bottom of this in now time.

He gave a laugh which most definitely sounded awesome and showed his masterful genius and did not sound like clown laugher in anyway, which drew a few stares from others.

These criminals will rue the day they decided to commit crimes in the notice of Detective Sylvester Ashling.

==================================================================================

Dr Percival King stood admiring the fine exhibits of the prestigious Sweet Jazz Museum, honoured to be attendance of the fine work of noble historians. Truly there are few greater pursuits than that of knowledge, an ideal with Percy took to heart.

As a criminal psychologist her days consisted of long hours of analysing the sickening debauchery and vile criminal minds of her patients. Hers’ is a dangerous road yet she has chosen it nonetheless.

As she walks around examining these exhibits her attention is drawn to a tour group of children being led by two museum staff.

“Ah, I see that this museum makes sure to spread its knowledge to aspiring youths. Very excellent” she compliments to no one in particular as she was over to get a closer look.

The tour itself was fairly standard and admittedly lacklustre at time, however a notable occurrence was the information on the ‘Arsene Amulet’, a mysterious artefact capable of stealing Epithets.

Such an item would catch her attention both for her research into if a person’s Epithet affect their criminal capabilities as well as that such an item would likely come under threat of theft, and as such studying it would provide an excellent resource in delving into the dark motivation of criminals.

She respectfully waits for the tour to be finished and for the pair of museum curators to be free before approaching them.

Walking up to the young woman she believes was called Mera, Percy launches into introductions and explanations.

“Good day miss museum curator. I was hoping to discuss a hypothetical partnership with the Sweet Jazz Museum in order to further my research into the minds of the criminal element”

The museum guard in question looked caught off guard “Wait… what are you talking about? Who even are you kid?”

Percy looks somewhat embarrassed at her own forgetfulness “Uh of course. I apologise, I have not introduced myself. I am Dr Percival King, criminal psychologist residing in Sweet Jazz City” she explains matter of facty.

Mera meanwhile still looks confused and also doubtful “A psychologist? Really? Sure kid whatever you say, now did you need something”

“I can assure you I am a registered psychologist, as impersonating a professional would be a severe offence” As Percy hands Mera her business card and qualifications, she briefly notes Mera had a nervous reaction to the mention of impersonation.

Suddenly the other tour guide bursts into the scene and shouts “Greetings apprentice Mera and teenager I have never met!” He catches sight of Percy’s qualifications causing his eyes to go wide “Ah a psychologist I see. Greetings Dr Percival King, I am Indus Tarbella, the man whose Epithet is BARRIER!” He suddenly proudly shouts and flexes as his sentence finishes while he also shows off his barrier.

Percy merely nods in greeting “It is a pleasure. With your permission I seek to extend my research to that of the Arsene Amulet which I heard will be displayed in the Museum”

Mera looked startled at the mention of the Amulet, but kept her cool mostly “Uh… look ‘Dr King’, as much as we’d LOVE to assist in growing your bright young mind, I am afraid that we will be much too busy tonight with… museum work… for any ‘psychology research’ to be done”

Indus looks saddened by these works but nonetheless agrees “Indeed my apprentice speaks truthfully. Are work will take us to great lengths in the coming nights, am I am afraid we must tearfully stand in the way of your quest of knowledge”

Percy was disappointment but not upset “I understand, please allow me leave my details with you before I take my leave. And with that I bid you both good luck in dealing with the inevitable assaults on the sanctity of learning by the many vicious thieves who will no doubt be on their way here”

Despite the sincerity and non-accusing nature of Percy’s words, it still causes a great deal of alarm in Mera, who begins waving her arms around in a panic “Thieves? Who said anything about thieves? What do know kid!” Her tone shifts rapidly from fear to accusing and back around again. Causing Indus to come in to comfort her and calm her down.

Percy takes some moments to analyse Mera’s reaction but otherwise seems unperturbed by the outburst.

“I apologise for my lack of explanation, I simply assumed you were already aware. As someone who has studied criminal psychology for a number of years now, I have come to find an understanding and pattern to their actions. An artefact such as the Arsene Amulet being placed in a museum would attract many opportunists and scalawags seeking the notoriety and validation that such a theft would be assumed to entail, of course their broken vile minds are unable to comprehend that crime leads to nothing but suffer, but I digress. With crime rate increasing and many of my disenfranchised troubled peers flock to criminal dens of debauchery such as the Banzai Blaster”

Percy looks to her personal belongings “it is for those reasons why I always carry this” she begins to motion to a real ass goddamn sword which she is carrying, causing another startled reaction from Mera and a look of amazement from Indus.

“Is that...?” Indus asks with a tone of wonder. Percy nods and confirms “Indeed it is. But do not be alarmed, I assure you on my honour as a psychologist that I am both fully trained and licenced to wield such a weapon and am prepared to only use it for the purpose of self-defence”

Indus and Mera both stare at her for a while, Indus is the one to break the silence with a request “Please remain here young psychologist, while me and my apprentice talk over there”

Both Indus and Mera scuttle off to a corner to talk, while Percy stands there politely waiting. After a while they return.

“So… look here’s the deal kid. We thought about it and with all these threats of thieves and stuff around, it might not hurt to have another ear in the museum. Just so long as you stay in the offices while we’re busy” says Mera, to which Indus smiles which prompts Mera herself to give a small smile.

Indus pats Percy on the back “It is our honour to support the troubles of a young scholar such as yourself”

Percy has a look of gratitude “As a fellow academic I thank you. And you have my word that I go over my research away from your work while you are busy. And also, that I will make sure to report any suspicious behaviour to you”

==================================================================================

Meanwhile across town Molly had just finished stocking the last of the shelves with the new toys she had made. Her face plastered with false joy for the sake of the annoying customers which just love to continually interrupt her stocking with obvious and meaningless questioning.

“Right over there, sir” “No need to worry sir” “What can I for you sir” “Sorry sir those coupons are for other competitors” “I’m sorry we failed to meet your satisfaction sir”

These are some of the phrases she has trained herself to repeat without thinking since she was ten. Even if her main job was filling her dad’s place as the toymaker, she did still have to deal with customers often, and Lorelai just loved every chance to outsource her own work to Molly.

False smiles and resisting the urge to hit people who deserve it so much has been Molly’s life. She would’ve gotten crazy by now if she didn’t get a chance to be herself around her friends, and by friends she means fellow criminals.

Stocking the last shelf, Molly proceeds to make her way to the counter, stopping several times to deal with customer, all while she retained the same level of faux cheerfulness that is expected of those in retail. She walked steadily forward in the heels she swapped out her working boots for, as her mother has always made sure Molly knew to keep up appearances when in working among customers.

“All selves are done Lorelai and my shift is over. I’ll just be clocking out and heading back to my apartment to get ready for night school now” Molly doesn’t wait for her sister’s response and instead simply takes her leave, clocking out and letting another staff member know just in case Lorelai wasn’t paying attention. With their mum still probably off discussing business deals across town, it would be up to the hired staff to keep an eye on Lorelai for the night, Molly gave a silent prayer for their continued relative sanity.

She takes off her apron and places it in a small back closet of the store and continues outside in her simple green dress after having her nametag placed in her bag, nothing about her would make her stand out but anything other than a normal woman. The special devices for the heist which she has made on the side were store safely to be ‘collected’ later. Having to juggle her legitimate and illegitimate work was tough but her first job as a Banzai Captain was worth it.

Making sure to get to the bus stop before it gets too dark, she rushed to the nearby bus stop just in time to catch the next one to her apartment.

She sits down and crosses her legs, looking like just any other passenger. And just like any other passenger gets up and calmly walks from the bus and to her stop when it is called.

The rest of the walk to her apartment is simple as she wears a mask, the mask which she has trained herself to wear for almost a decade. Token girlish giggles at compliments and flirts, smile at passersby, one foot forward at a time. Her mum had always ‘encouraged’ her to act as expected and in public nothing about Molly Blyndeff deviated from what one might expect a young woman in both life in the retail world would act.

She buzzed into the apartment complex, waving and smiling at any of her neighbours who by chance were also out and about across the building, even the rude ones. She gave a final token giggle and “Thank you” to the older lady who lived down the hall who had just told her that the heels she wears everyday look particularly nice tonight. She didn’t have anything against the old lady and she did seem perfectly nice to Molly, it’s just that Molly just barely had the energy to deal with anyone after work.

Entering her room with a smile which immediately dissolves the moment the door is shut, Molly collapses into her small bed. Finally feeling the effects of all the energy, she has expended across the day in wearing her mask.

She just lays there for a while. Not moving. This is one of the few places she can still act herself, its why she worked so hard to get this tiny one room apartment, with the only attachment being a small walk-in closet sized washing room.

Getting up slowly she squeezes into the washing room and splashes some cold water on her face before taking off her dress in favour of some jeans and a purple singlet along with her favourite woolly jacket pulled over it. A cute mildly bear themed head band is snuggled into place among her hair as she takes out her retail heels in favour of criminal sneakers.

Going through her possessions to make sure tonight would go according to her plans, her eyes briefly falling to the smudged-up picture of her family, back when her dad was still alive.

It had been cried on, torn apart and put together again dozens of times and the damage showed, yet despite all this it was one of the few things Molly could see with complete clarity.

In the picture her dad was alive and holding her mum’s hand. Molly and her young sister both stood between them and Molly had a genuine real smile on her lips, a rarity as the years went on.

“I’m sorry…” she said, and unlike her trained response to customers, this apology came from somewhere else.

Sighing, Molly tucked the photo deep under her clothes, out of sight and out of mind.

What happened all those years ago is irrelevant, all that mattered to Molly tonight was the heist. Night school had simply been a cover for her work with the Banzai Blasters, once Molly may have been uncomfortable with the lies but in the tightly controlled Blyndeff Household she quickly realised that it was the only way to survive.

Refreshed and ready for the night, Molly flashes a wicked grin as she got her bear claws, a literal bear life hand attached to a stick which she can use for self-defence if need be. As well as her pair of hand claws for climbing. Stuffing them into her back for now to avoid unneeded attention.

From the moment she exited her room the mask re-established itself naturally. She walked down the halls, briefly stopping to make some polite small talk with the old lady down the hall due to Molly now having more energy to deal with people.

Soon she returned to her walk. Heading down the streets of the town and towards the building where her night class was allegedly taking place. Her mum’s frequent insistence on keeping up appearance even through tragedy plays through her mind, making her work with ease and an aura of normalcy.

The cute smile of the young woman would seem perfectly normal to those passing by her. And yet a small tint of a maniacal grin itched itself ever so slightly into it, as Molly prepared to take one more step towards freedom.

==================================================================================

Molly sat in the passenger seat of the van, her friend Sound Phoenix, real name Phoenicia Fleecity, sat in the driver’s street. Molly took a moment to look at herself in the small car mirror, her new Banzai Captain uniform and cape caused a real smile to come to her face.

She reminded herself that while in this yellow uniform she wasn’t Molly Blyndeff, the hardworking and cheerful daughter of a respected businesswoman, she was Bear Trap, dark hearted criminal and newly minted Banzai Captain.

She still remembers the thrill of finding out about her promotion. Her old captain Gorou Shimizaki had been promoted to Banzai Vice Principal despite admittedly not being the most competent individual, thanks in large part due to Bear Trap’s role in the heist of several expensive statues.

Afterwards he took her aside and told her that as his first act as Banzai Vice Principal was stealing a bunch of donuts for himself. She wasn’t sure how that was relevant to her but then he also mentioned that while he was eating those donuts, he thought about all that she’s done to help him and recommended her promotion.

No matter her opinion on the abilities or intelligence of her old captain, she was undeniably thankful to him for that. Being a member of the Banzai Blasters was one of the few things which was truly hers. Rising up the ranks of this pyramid scheme was her way to freedom.

The van pulled up in a hidden spot near the museum, any noise which may have come from it having been muffled by Bear Trap’s Epithet.

Sound Phoenix was left behind in case of need of a speedy get away. The rest of the Banzai Blasters proceeded with their captain while making sure to stay within her noise cancelling field.

They kept the dark sidelines and eventually snuck to the back wall of the building. Molly’s hand claws were may specifically for this kind of obstacle. She had also made sure to use the time she was suppose to be making toys in order to craft several more hand claws for her minions, it was hard but worth it.

The team of thieves proceeded up the wall and using a map they had found online of the semantics of the museum, they walked over to the entrance area, deeming it the best place to begin their search for valuable items to steal and be most alert of any potential dangers.

Sawing a hole in the roof took some time but Bear Trap’s epithet made it so no one could hear it happen. After several silent moments it was done and carefully placed out of the way as they begin lowering themselves with a rope.

Night Fright, also known as Molly’s friend Trixie Roughhouse, remained on the roof to keep watch of any potential dangers.

The rest of the Banzai Blasters entered the Museum along with their leader.

“Alright girls. This is the Sweet Jazz Museum. Now all that’s left to do is stick to my plan and commit all the crimes” she said with a wicked grin which was soon shared by her minions.

“Alright first let’s search this area…” Molly’s voice soon trails off as a young boy with a brush of pink hair atop his head suddenly popped out from behind a desk.

Her mind raced with panic as she rapidly pondered what this child was doing here this late. Where were his parents? Did they abandon him? Did he run away? Is he hurt? Will he yell for the staff? Are his parents the staff?

In her panic she barely noticed she had dropped her muffling bubble and now the silence which filled the room came only from the surprise and shock of those within.

She braced herself for the child’s screams which would no doubt begin once he realises that he’s alone at night with a group of dangerous criminals. She is about to move forward to silence the inevitable screams when to her renewed confusion his face begins shifting not into one of fear but into one of amazement and wonder.

“You’re, criminals! Awesome!” He said with a smile. Bear Trap…. No,… Molly paused in her place, unsure of how to respond to that.

#epithet erased #role swap au #molly blyndeff #slyvester ashling #giovanni potage #lorelai blyndeff #percival kng #indus tarbella #mera salamin #fan fiction #fanfiction

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jcmorrigan · 4 years

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Epithet Half-Baked!

I saw through @selfshipimagines that @nougatships is having a Yuletide F/O event...and I know I’m kind of a flighty, shadowy entity in this community, but I do like to write, and thought, what the hey, this’ll be fun. So here I come out of nowhere to contribute a thing.

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I decided to go with something a little on-the-nose for the “catering” theme and write about the two of us trying to arrange party food - expect much food talk and many headcanons (e.g. I see Gio as ace, even though that may not end up being Word of God). For optimal results, please listen to the Mariah Carey/MCR mashup “Welcome to the Christmas Parade” while reading this. Not to mention that song will change your life anyway. (Freeman DNI unless you’re going to get the name of the band CORRECT)

***

I wouldn’t say Christmas was my favorite holiday, because it really wasn’t. Nor would Giovanni ever say Christmas was his favorite holiday, because he wanted to look like a cool guy who didn’t care about Christmas. That said, when our invitation arrived in the mail, neither of us needed to do much cajoling to get the other to agree to attend as a plus-one. Almost immediately, we’d begun work on what we were going to wear to the occasion.

Well, to be fair, Giovanni was doing most of the work in that department. I’m still trying to figure out how a needle and thread even works for something besides a dangerous impromptu sushi fork. I did play a role in the design of my formal wear, however – a full-skirted red-and-green gown that served the purpose of making me look like the princess of Christmas and thereby able to pass laws banning the repeated playing of “Jingle Bell Rock” more than three times per night. As for Giovanni, he was dead set on creating the World’s Ugliest Christmas Sweater, and boy, did it ever deserve that capitalization. I don’t have the words to you to describe properly the conglomeration of non-coordinating colors and mismatched winter-holiday symbolism that went into that monstrosity. Which basically meant we were going to be the two best-dressed people in attendance.

However, that still left the important factor: the catering aspect. This was essentially a potluck, and as much as we would have loved to skim off everyone else’s hors d’ouevres and pretend we “dropped” ours on the way there, eventually, our need to show off our cooking skills combined with my compulsion to contribute to community activities won out over the dark side of our consciences.

My first mistake was going into that kitchen with no idea what Giovanni was planning on making. Me? I was set on a hot-chocolate-and-marshmallow cake. Festive and full of my two favorite flavors! Not to mention I’d baked in the past as a hobby, though it had, admittedly, been a while. I was actually rather looking forward to this.

“So, Composer,” Giovanni asked as I set up my laptop, “can we expect any musical entertainment?”

“Damn right,” I said as I clicked through playlists.

“Just please tell me you’re not gonna stick us with three hours of Christmas music bullshit.”

“Oh, trust me. We are going to get enough of that at this party.” I set off a rather jaunty emo-pop number with guitars that were just obnoxious enough.

“Oh, yeah,” Giovanni cried, “this is PERFECT! Totally captures our debonair yet badass essence. THIS is why I let you pick the car music.”

I gave him a playful bow. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.”

I began rounding up my ingredients: flour, sugar, cocoa powder, et cetera, et cetera…

“Done.”

Wait…”What?”

I had only just gotten my ingredients lined up on the counter, yet Giovanni was leaning over the other edge of the island, elbows on the countertop and head in his hands to give me a playfully innocent look, as an enormous pot of something steaming, golden, and tantalizingly scented sat before him.

I peered into the vessel, making note of the contents. “Is this…butternut squash soup?”

“You know it.”

“…You made soup.”

“Is there a…problem with that?”

“Your Epithet is literally soup.”

“Aaaaaand…?”

I marched around to shake my index finger at him on every word: “You. Fucking. CHEATED.”

He rose, pointing right back at me: “I’m. The. BAD GUY. So I don’t care!”

I gave my eyes a sufficiently dramatic roll. “You realize this is gonna take me like two hours.”

“I’ll watch.”

“You could at least help. You’re good with this stuff, you know.”

“Hmm…” Giovanni pretended to think it over. “No, don’t think I will.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad, because I love you a lot, Composer.”

I blushed, then muttering “IloveyoutooandIdon’thateyouandIwasjustkidding.” Quickly followed up with “Okay, I’m gonna start doing this shit BY MYSELF, then.”

Baking an entire cake with your boyfriend just smugly staring at you is…an experience. Not a bad experience. But an experience. Still, I thought I was on a good track so far. Until it came to the electric mixer.

As a disclaimer, I stated, “It’s been a while. I’m a little rusty.”

“It’s just an electric mixer.” He shrugged. “Even I couldn’t screw up – I mean even SOME LOSER LIKE SYLVIE couldn’t screw up using it.”

Well, now the pressure was on. I flicked the appliance to life, dipping it into a pool of eggs suspended in buttermilk, and immediately plunged into chaos. The thing about electric mixers is that they are an extreme balancing act. Too far down into the bowl, and the blades will make a horrible grinding noise against the bowl bottom, making a catastrophizer like me worry about glass shards ending up baked into the dough. However, it is very important that if this happens to you, you do not do what I did and overcompensate by yanking the still-spinning blades out of the bowl, thereby splattering eggs and buttermilk all over yourself.

As I was attempting to figure out damage control, I became acutely aware of Giovanni trying to hide an absolute fit of giggles. “You know,” I growled, “this wouldn’t HAPPEN if you would HELP me.”

I absolutely did not want him to help me. See, I have an inferiority complex the size of the sun, and even that feels weird to say, since it’s admitting I actually possess a large quantity of anything. I wanted to make this monster cake my goddamn self, and I wanted him to be fucking impressed. Still, I was pretty sure if I didn’t ask for his help, I would just end up with some kind of inedible toxic waste.

I wasn’t sure if he was just playing coy or if he knew me all too well when he said “No. Don’t feel like it.”

“Come on!”

“Composer, this is YOUR time to shine! I’m not getting in the way of YOUR masterpiece blowing away the competition?”

“…Gio, it’s not a com – “

“OF COURSE IT’S A COMPETITION! EVERY POTLUCK IS A COMPETITION! WHY ELSE HAVE EVERYONE BRING DISHES OF VARYING QUALITY IF NOT TO DETERMINE THE SUPREME CHEF AT THE PARTY?”

Well, if it meant somebody might think of me as supreme chef, I sure wasn’t going to argue. Unhealthy as that might be for my ego.

So I let Giovanni actively not help me. Even when I tried to crack another egg and it rather exploded from my overuse of momentum. But thankfully, the rest of it seemed to be coming together well. As it baked, I decided to use that time to put together the icing. The recipe, of course, called for cream cheese icing, but that is not real icing (don’t @ me) and I absolutely refuse to sully any of my confections with it, ever. I was making the real stuff – just butter, chocolate, milk, and way too much sugar.

However, that meant a rematch with my archnemesis: the electric mixer. I gave it a very sour glare as I picked it up again.

“Ooh, someone’s mad,” Giovanni teased.

“Damn right I’m mad,” I told him. “This thing fucking hates me.”

“No…I think you’re just bad with it.”

“WHAT THE – “

He was at my side then, using one hand to guide my face upward to meet his gaze: “Because no one and nothing could ever hate you, my beautiful, beautiful Composer. And anyone who does can EAT SOUL-SLUGGER DOOM-BAT.”

Well. Now I was a flustered mess. I gently leaned forward to rest my forehead temporarily on his collarbone. “No, you,” I teased. “I mean it. People who hate you don’t have souls. End of discourse.”

“And this is why we GO TOGETHER!”

“Damn straight.”

It would have been a beautiful moment if I hadn’t been thwarted, yet again, by the mixer. The grinding of the glass, the startled removal of the blades, a chocolate splatter –

Except this time, it missed me. No, the stuff made a direct hit on the tall, pink-haired, and handsome card-carrying villain standing next to me.

I gaped at him momentarily, unsure what to say. Then it all came rushing out: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – “

“Sorry?” he repeated, and at first, I thought he actually was angry. “You’re SORRY? Oh, it’s too late to be sorry, Composer.”

When he picked up the quarter-full bottle of vanilla extract from the counter beside us, I realized his game. “This means war,” he growled in a not-very-growly-at-all way.

Our eyes locked. His way of asking permission. I gave the slightest of nods; “I guess I deserve it. But you know I’m not going down without a fight.”

The vanilla sloshed onto me. I smashed an egg onto his shirt. He dumped about a half-gallon of soup down the back of mine.

Now, what you must understand about a food fight that takes place in the Potage-Scribere kitchen is that anything, and I mean absolutely anything, becomes a weapon. Even things that weren’t part of the dishes we were cooking. The refrigerator was raided, the cupboards stripped bare for the ensuing battle. Whatever we could hit each other with, we did. Smashing tomatoes against each other. Sneaking ice cubes into each other’s clothes to try and get a shriek. Several different flavors of soup flying through the air, of course. Retaliation in the form of grabbing the sprayer from the sink and brandishing it like a Banzai Blaster standard-issue pea-shooter.

Then my timer let out a “ding” to inform me that the cake was done baking. Giovanni froze, standing perfectly still as I transferred the cake to the fridge to let it cool down.

Then we picked up right where we left off.

It came to a head when Giovanni had ended up with two cans of aerosol whipped cream, dual-wielding them at me. I had an ice cream scoop in a tub of whipped cream, ready to lob it like a snowball.

Wait - “Gio, why do we have three things of whipped cream?”

“Well, I picked these up when you texted me our respective assignments for grocery day last weekend.”

“I told you to get toilet paper. I was gonna get the whipped cream.”

“No, you said YOU were getting the toilet paper, and I should pick up whipped cream.”

“DID EITHER OF US GET TOILET PAPER?”

“…I’m thinking no,” Giovanni mused.

“Okay, emergency store run after this for toilet paper,” I declared. “Resume.”

Instead of turning the cans on me, Giovanni spun to kick an apple off the counter so that it would hit me in the sternum. I recoiled, but only slightly. “The fuck was that?”

“That? Oh, THAT was…well, Composer, have you been keeping track of how many hits I’ve landed on you?”

My eyes widened. “SON OF A BITCH.”

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Giovanni crowed. “TWELVE! WHICH MEANS WHEN I LET THESE CANS LOOSE ON YOU, IT’S GONNA BE CRITICAL!”

I let go of the ice cream scoop; it clanged to the floor. “Okay, okay!” I put up that hand in a gesture of surrender. “I give!”

“…Seriously? But it’s no fun if you – “

“I am NOT in the mood to get blasted by critical whipped cream, Gio.”

Giovanni shrugged, not letting go of either can. “All right. Then it stops here.”

I pouted. “I really am sorry I started it. Can we just…you know…kiss and make up?”

“Absolutely.”

I had counted on this. I let him shut his eyes, pucker his lips slightly, lean forward. I advanced.

And then, screaming “WORTH IT!”, smashed the tub of whipped cream directly at his face.

The resulting blast of the aerosol whip was like getting hit with the blast of twenty-six cans of aerosol whip – which, really, isn’t that harmful at all. Just a lot messier and with some added momentum; I ended up skidding across the kitchen floor. “Okay!” I laughed. “I really do give in now! I promise!”

Giovanni was already scooping the cream off his face and shoveling it into his mouth (and this is the part where I want to remind you that as ripe of a picking as this seems for innuendo, neither of our sex-repulsed minds would have it). He then slumped down onto the tile next to me, leaning onto me.

“Well played, minion,” he said with a grin. “We’ll make a bona fide villain out of you yet.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already there.”

We actually did kiss then, tasting all the sweeter for being covered in sugar.

#yuletide f/o event #selfship #hoooo boy putting myself out here like this #kinda wanna write more of these?#they'd be tumblr-exclusive though #not for my ao3

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