thelinksthatconnectus | Recent Entries

Summary: Like all things, Professor Crane sees his attraction to Edward Nygma as something to think over, until he has all the answers.
Fandom: Batman/DCU
Pairing: Edward Nygma/Jonathan Crane
Rating: T
Word Count: 710

He had never been one for Freudian thought. Fear only went so far there, and his followers were too avid for his taste. Jonathan couldn't be sure whom he preferred and he made sure to tell his students such. For all the devoted students in his classes, few seemed to not align themselves with someone. Most seemed obsessed with men, old, dead men that shone in the darkness of the past yet couldn't so much as hold a candle in this brightly lit, enlightened future.

Still, Jonathan had to admit that Freud had some good points. There were reasons he and his ideas had managed to stand tall for decades.

There was something interesting about psychoanalysis. He had heard thousands of speeches on it, even gave a few when his classes had a unit over it. There was something about it that made some of his students eyes light up whenever the very process of psychoanalysis was brought up, something about it that even revived old flames of curiosity in him that he had thought were eternally extinguished.

His students were the easiest to understand. Even with their eager desire to learn, most seemed to have nothing to hide and kept their thoughts close to the surface. No excitement in class could calm their hormones or help them make better decisions outside of class.

Like any good teacher, he watched his students, making sure that he knew more than just their name and grade.

It was harder with those that he already knew. His boss was just that, his boss, and beyond talking with him after meetings and giving him his paycheck, the two hardly ever interacted. His other coworkers had their own jobs to worry about, and though they themselves were no longer students, cliques still formed, groups that Jonathan never could figure out just how to get into.

Still, he had enough people to look over. His neighbors were odd people, and even odder once he sat down and analyzed them. Every interaction ran through his mind over and over again, like one turning back a movie to watch a scene again. There was always something new to discover in his memories, some former secret that had slipped under his nose.

His favorite subject had to be Edward. Edward, with his green suits and smug smile. Edward, with his cold eyes and quick wit, who always seemed to have a piece of trivia to tell, some hidden away fact.

Jonathan picked him apart, like pieces of cooked chicken from its bone. He'd been sure there was always something more to the man than his fast lips and angular facial features, but until then hadn't quite realized just what was so peculiar about him. He was a riddle of his own, even harder to solve than the many that left his lips.

Jonathan's mind, of course, was finite. It could only process so many thoughts and remember so many things before it even came to a stop.

He supposed that gave him all the more reasons to watch the other man. To "accidentally" bump into the man while getting his morning coffee, to call him more than once every blue moon, and to really mule over just what the answers to his riddles might be.

And if he thought about the other man more than a busy, focused man like him should, then who else would know? Edward was his own little subject, someone to study safely in Jonathan's own mind. If his thoughts did stray beyond simple curiosity, past the point of academia, then who else would ever possibly know? Really, who would? Not even Edward.

Only Jonathan knew. There was no way to deny it, no way to try and justify the way his thoughts strayed towards the other man's skin. Something deep inside him yearned to feel the other's touch, to know what those lips felt like when they weren't prattling off riddles, and to wonder what Edward's gaze would feel like if it were on him instead one of those crossword puzzles he was always scribbling answers into.

It wasn't as if it was merely the inner curiosity of Jonathan's subconscious speaking, despite what some of his students, and their dead inspiration, would say otherwise.

Prompt: Chemistry
Fandom: Big Hero 6
Pairing: Honey Lemon/Gogo Tomago
Rating: G
Word Count: 150

If Honey had learned anything over the years in her various chemistry classes, it's that certain things go together in certain ways. From memorizing the names of chemical compounds, to failed lab results due to using the incorrect chemical, she's had more than enough time to learn the right from wrong.

H2O, after all, was much different from H2O2. And potassium chloride was but a replacement for sodium chloride. To get things right, things had to go together correctly.

And maybe that's why she liked Gogo so much. No one, least of all them, would have expected how well that they would work out together. For once there were no books giving Honey guidelines on what to do, nor past tests. She just had to follow her heart to wherever it led her.

That was the thing about experiments, she supposed. She never would've learned anything had she never tried.

Summary: It's been a long, hard week for them both.
Fandom: Big Hero 6
Pairing: Wasabi/Tadashi Hamada
Rating: G
Word Count: 441

Tadashi could have looked a lot worse, but he also could have looked far better. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was a mess. How long had it been since it had been washed and combed? Considering his smell, which was liberally applied deodorant that couldn't mask the smell of sweat on him, Wasabi had to wonder how long it had been since hard even taken a shower. Looking over him once more, starting from the top of his head and going down to the bottom, he had to wonder a lot about Tadashi. Hadn't he worn that shirt yesterday? Were those jeans even clean? Why didn't his socks match? Did he know that his left shoe wasn't tied?

However, Wasabi never voiced any of those questions. "That must have been a long night programming Baymax, eh?"

Tadashi nodded before rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Wasabi stepped back, his nose wrinkling at the scent of morning breath mixed with coffee. "More like a long week. There's just so much that needs to be done."

"And you will finish it?"

For a moment, Tadashi's eyes lit up and he looked like his old, clean self again. "Definitely! It's been a rough time working on him, but I know that I have to keep trying. Once I'm done, Baymax will help so many people and all this work will have paid off."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, I know. I'm doing more tests today." He paused. "I wanted to apologize for ignoring you this week. I know that I've been busy all the time, and that's my fault."

"Relax, I get it." It wasn't as if Wasabi hadn't had his own rough times, where his life had existed solely in the lab. That was how his life was whenever the end of the semester and finals rolled around.

Tadashi didn't reply, just leaned up to give him a kiss. Wasabi tensed, placing his hand on his shoulder and stopping him a few inches from his face. From up this close, he smelled and looked even worse.

"Another time," Wasabi said. "You just go work on Baymax now and try to get him finished up. I have my own project to do."

Tadashi nodded.

"After you're done, you clean yourself up and rest." Wasabi grinned. "Then you and I can celebrate."

Tadashi grinned. "That sounds like a plan." He turned and left, running towards his small office.

Though Wasabi had missed his company over the week, he had persevered through it. He had waited before, and now, as he started up his laser plasma project, he could wait again a little longer.

Summary: Wasabi's one for arranging things, and he can't help but to try and get Fred where he belongs.
Fandom: Big Hero 6
Pairing: Wasabi/Fred
Rating: G
Word Count: 1447
Notes: Spoilers!

There was a place for everything. That idea had gotten Wasabi through just about everything in his life - from his struggle (and failure) to fit in at his middle school (because that wasn't his place, as he had later realized) to his realization that he needed to apply for college at The University of San Fransokyo. If anyone had a good college physics program, then it was there, and it came with a whole list of other great science courses alongside it. That was where he belonged.

He certainly didn't belong in Fred's house. House didn't even seem like the correct term for a place as big as this, but mansion didn't quite do it justice either. Fred's room alone was bigger than some of the classrooms that Wasabi spent his school hours in, and that included the lab areas in the back. There was stuff everywhere, from action figures and vintage comic books held behind glass cases, to old B-movie posters tacked up on the wall. Glow in the dark stars were glued to the ceiling, and stuffed monsters sat on Fred's bed. On one wall was a giant flat screen TV with over a dozen video game systems plugged into it. A few paintings were hung on the wall, made with fine, purposeful brush strokes and clear artistic skill, except of course for the pictures of Fred's face glued to parts of it.

On the floor was a pile of dirty clothes. Judging by how much of it alone was underwear, Fred had not been lying when he had said that he wore his underwear at least four times before getting it washed. Wasabi shivered, remembering when he had first heard the words. Wasabi himself wouldn't touch the dirty clothes pile with a ten foot pole (and a whole pile of cleaning supplies beside him). Considering the pile's atrocious odor, it was hard not to feel bad for Fred's butler. After all, it was his job to both touch and clean that stuff up.

Like all things, there was a place for Fred's dirty clothes - in a dirty clothes hamper or, even better, a washing machine.

There also was a place for everything on Fred's desk. When Wasabi had first seen it, it had been cluttered and nearly overflowing. Papers covered in doodled sat under piles of comic books, and writing utensils (everywhere from mechanical pencils to crayons) were scattered across the desk. Wasabi had taken one look at it and gotten to work, sorting the items into neat piles. The writing utensils had been placed into a cup, the pile of papers stuck into the fat center end of the desk, and the comic books stacked and pushed to the far right. Now, Wasabi could finally see the polished brown wood surface of the desk. Everything was orderly and neat, just as things were supposed to be.

Or at least they would be, once Wasabi had figured out how to organize these action figures. These toys weren't special enough to be held behind glass shrines. If their looks were any indication, with their chipped paint and broken limbs (repaired only by glue and duck tape), then he could see why.

At first he had tried arranging them smallest to largest, and then after that largest to smallest. Neither had worked, as some action figures were so similar in size that it was impossible to tell which were bigger by eyesight alone. Fred had just about everything in his room except for a ruler, and Wasabi wasn't about to go hunting around for one. There was always a chance that he could find something that he didn't want to see.

There was a place for these action figures, Wasabi reminded himself. Once he found it, everything would make sense and things would click into place. Still, it was hard to hold back a sigh. Couldn't it just be a little easier to find that place?

He arranged the figures both out of habit and to pass the time. If his watch was correct, then Fred should have been back in his room some time before. No one said that they were going to the bathroom and then not return for nearly an hour later.

Maybe he got lost in his own house, Wasabi thought. Considering the colossal size of it, he wouldn't have been too surprised if that actually did happen.

He couldn't help but chuckle for a moment at his own joke.

"What's so funny?"

It took a moment for Wasabi to start breathing regularly again. "Oh, Fred," Wasabi said, slowly turning his head to face him. "I didn't hear the door."

Fred walked forward slowly and squinted.

"Did you come to my house just so that you could color code my action figures?"

Wasabi froze, looking from the toys to back up at Fred. He had just finished arranging the green figures from the lightest to darkest shades before he had walked in. After a moment, he shook his head. "I came to ask you something." The room suddenly felt small, so very, very small. It was a ridiculous notion, but his mind no longer seemed to logically process what was around him.

"What?" Though Fred's tone was curious, his face was unusually blank and his eyes were unreadable. Though he was only a few steps away from Wasabi, an ocean seemed to be between the two.

"I, well," Wasabi replied. "Ugh." He paused, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a few deep breaths, just like his mother had taught him.

In. Out.

In. Out.

If he could just relax then things would work out and things would be the way that they were supposed to be.

Oh, why had he insisted on doing this alone with Fred? He could just have easily have asked over a doughnut and coffee at Hiro's aunt's cafe. That seemed much more preferable than here.

"I was wondering if you wanted help applying for The a University of San Fransokyo. I could get the papers for you, unless you want to apply online of course." Though he had calmed, his last few words still came out in a rush.

"Applications? What do you mean?" Fred's blank face vanished, replaced by a raised eyebrow and half frown on his lips.

"You know," Wasabi replied. "College entrance letters."

"Wait," Fred said. "You want me to sign up for college?"

Wasabi nodded. His eyes turned down to the floor.

"Why?"

"Because I think that you have a lot of opportunities, whether you realize it or not. You could learn a lot and make something fantastic."

Fred's eyes widened. "Like I can actually make myself a monster? Or make the invisible sandwich real?"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. That isn't real science." And considering that there was quite a bit of real science that Fred would need to learn, Wasabi would probably have quite a bit to teach him and more than a few books to loan him. Not that Wasabi would mind. "You'd be a science student, not a miracle worker."

"But I already do go there!" Fred threw his arms in the air. "I'm the school mascot!"

"Yeah, but you could do more than just dress up as..." Wasabi paused again. "Whatever the school mascot is, some weird fish or evolutionary anomaly."

"I'll have you know that I Sam dressed up as a mythical monster." Fred smirked. "Or at least a formerly mythical monster. Once I make that thing, it'll be a part of real science."

"So does that mean that you'll be going?" Wasabi could see Fred already. Just like Hiro, he would be a new student but would fit right in immediately and already know his way around the (nerd) lab. He would still act like his old self, cracking jokes and making references to obscure, older comic books that only he had read, but he would do it while taking advanced physics and chemistry classes or while he was building something of his own in the lab.

"I had never considered it before, but you changed my mind." Fred grinned.

"That's great!"

Fred walked forward, wrapping his arms around Wasabi's neck and putting his chin on Wasabi's shoulder. His touch was familiar, warm, and comforting, and Wasabi relaxed. "You do know that I'll be around you and the rest of the gang all day if we do this?"

"Yeah, I know." Wasabi had already considered the possibilities. It wouldn't be too different from how things were already, and he could certainly think of worse things than being around Fred all day. "Why do you think that I want you to apply so badly?"

Summary: Even if she may not immediately understand fully what her father is saying, a young Tiana always listens to him.
Fandom: The Princess and the Frog
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 844

Even from the living room, Tiana could feel the warmth of the oven. It warmed her arms, which were completely uncovered. The sleeves of the dress that her mother had made her, turning scraps of old green fabric into pure beauty as if by magic, only came down to a little past her shoulders. The smell of gumbo cooking filled her nose, and her mouth watered.

Sprawled out on the floor, she had her dolls and stuffed animals propped up at her sides. "Now Amelia," she said, waving an old wooden spoon at a stuffed elephant. Its ears were floppy, and its body drooped slightly. "You said that you would finish some things for me." Putting her hand up to her head, she adjusted the paper crown on her head, making sure that it didn't fall off.

The elephant remained still. Tiana's eyes passed over her other toys.

Her mother sat on the couch, a book in her hands. Occasionally, she would look down and smile at the girl on the floor.

Her eyes passed over to a doll that her mother had made her as a birthday gift. It was a rag doll, made of dark brown fabric for the skin, green cloth for the dress, and had old black yarn as the hair. It sat leaning next to a stuffed teddy bear with shiny black button eyes.

"Do you two need anything?" Tiana's voice softened, and she lowered her spoon. Unlike Amelia, these two toys were dependable.

Just as she grabbed one and was about to pretend to make it talk, footsteps filled the kitchen and entered into the living room. "Now what do we have here?"

Tiana turned, dropping the toy back on the ground without a care. Her father towered over the small girl, and she looked up to see his smiling face. Running up to him, she wrapped him in a warm hug, squeezing him as tightly as she could with her small arms.

"Daddy, you're just in time to meet my subjects."

"Subjects?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Tiana said, trying to speak in that matter of fact tone that adults had. "I am their princess and I have power over them."

He chuckled, and ran a hand through his daughter's hair. "You were playing this with Charlotte earlier, weren't you?"

Tiana nodded, but put her hands on her hips. "So?"

"So," he replied, "I should have figured that she would have filled your head with that fairy tale nonsense again."

Tiana rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. "You know, Tiana-"

"Fairy tales aren't real." The young girl spoke with practice, reciting the speech easily as she had done what felt like hundreds of times before. "The only way to get anywhere in this world is through hard work." At the end, she sighed.

"It's true." Her father chuckled. "But don't worry, you'll still get to be the boss of people one day."

"Huh?"

"That's what you do when you run and own a restaurant."

"So it's like being a princess?"

"I'd say that's the closest thing you can get in this country."

At those words, Tiana's mother laughed and looked up from the book that she had been reading.

"In fact," he said, a wide smile forming across his face, "it's even better than being a princess,"

Tiana's brown eyes widened. "It is?"

He nodded. "It has lots more food,"

Tiana grinned. "Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you?" He patted her shoulder before turning and heading back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

Tiana looked back down to her toys. "Amelia," she said in a sharp voice, pointing her spoon to the toy elephant. "I never said to make that dish!" Looking back to her other toys, she began to wave her spoon at them and instruct them on how to work in her imaginary kitchen. It ended with her stirring at the air with her spoon and complaining about how she did all the work around there.

When she tired of her game and the rumbling of her stomach became impossible to ignore, she stood up and walked inside of the kitchen.

"I'm almost there," her father said, smiling down at her from beside the stove. "Dinner will be ready soon."

Tiana rubbed her belly. "I'm hungry."

"Me too, sweetie, me too." He stirred the gumbo pot once more. "So, is it fun being a restaurant owner?"

"Yes, but it would be more fun if my workers actually listened to me."

"Oh, I bet it would." He patted her on the head.

"Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" He looked back down to her, his brown eyes locked on her face.

"Even if fairy tales aren't real, I'm still your princess." Tiana looked down to her hands, which were tightly locked together. Her voice trembled slightly, it's usual determined tone gone. "Right?"

Her father leaned down, getting on his knees so that he would be eye level with her. "Of course, dear." He pulled her into a warm hug. "Nothing would ever change that."

Summary: If Link wanted the world, Ghirahim would give it to him. However, all he has journeyed for instead is his sister.
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda (Skyward Sword/Wind Waker)
Pairing: Ghirahim/Link
Rating: T
Word Count: 1118
Notes: This all started with a Ghirahim as David Bowie joke on Tumblr and became this.

He had known that the boy was adventurous and foolhardy, acting before thinking, but he hadn't expected him to make it this far. After a while, Ghirahim had simply stopped watching him. There was the baby to look after, not to mention a whole army of moblins who just could not sit around waiting for the hours to pass. As always, the ugly lot had found something to complain to him about.

It was so different watching Link up close then it was through his magic. For one thing, Link actually knew that Ghirahim was looking at him. The boy gave him a hard glare, his blue eyes filled with a deep rage.

Ghirahim looked back at him. "I suppose," he said, drawing the word out and waving his hand around in the air, "that you have come for the baby. And what a sad little child she is. All that blasted crying! Oh, she just about kept me awake all night!"

Link's face only turned harder. Here now, he was not dressed in the formal wear that Ghirahim had chosen for him at the illusionary ball, but was instead back in his normal green tunic and stained brown pants; his boots looked even more scuffed than usual, and there was a tear on the side of his dark green hat that showed off his messy blond hair. Even with the sword in his hand, gleaming brightly at its sharp, pointed end, he still looked the same as when Ghirahim had first seen him.

After a moment, he gave a firm, harm nod.

"I am afraid then," Ghirahim said, stepping forward, "that your quest was for naught."

Link's face changed for a moment, and fear crossed his formerly stormy eyes. Quickly, he gritted his teeth and glared once more, but only after he had let Ghirahim see through his mask. He raised an eyebrow while clutching his sword tighter.

"Oh, the messy little brat fit right in with the moblins. She's an ugly little beast in her own way." He chuckled. "I expected you to not come here. I was ready to turn her into one of my newest moblin army soldiers."

Link's hand was bone white from clutching his sword so tightly. Ghirahim could practically taste the anger hanging in the air.

"Or, I suppose, now that I think about it," Ghirahim continued, placing a hand on his side. "If you came all the way here, even with a little help, you must care deeply for her. Why, I would have simply left her be." Ghirahim continued walking forward, his hands clenching and unclenching as he moved. "A simple soldier would be a waste on a child such as her. If she is anything like you then she surely must have great potential."

Link rushed forward, his sword raised. Just before he could strike, Ghirahim vanished from the spot.

Link's back was then to him, and he was searching for the moblin king. The boy was looking everywhere but behind him.

"Link," Ghirahim said, his voice hardening. "Leave. Go home and forget about the baby. Go back to your room and play with your bombs and your hook shots."

Link shook his head. His head moved with so much force that it nearly knocked the hat off of his head.

"Fine then. Aryll will grow up and lead my moblin army, but she will never be one." Ghirahim pursed his lips. "Does that please you?"

Link merely rushed forward once more. This time, he raised his shield up as well.

Just as the sword was about to strike him, Ghirahim turned away once more. Coming up behind Link, he grabbed him and began to force the weapons from him. Link fought back. Their bodies crashed against one another as each tried to fight.

"I did everything that you asked for! You made me feel powerless - me, Ghirahim king of the moblins." He forced the sword from Link's hand. It crashed against the floor, and Ghirahim kicked it across the room with the tip of a pointed white boot. "Every wish in your head, whimsical thoughts of something better, I knew. You wished for your adventure stories to come true, and you wished your sister away! And in that, you made me wish for you."

When the shield hit the ground, Ghirahim pulled the man back. Without his weapons, he was virtually powerless.

"I was the one who made you a hero. Real heroes struggle, and were it not for me you might still be fighting my moblin army!" He scowled. "I have done everything that you have wanted and yet you still are not happy."

Link pushed against him. Ghirahim only tightened his grip on him.

"Do you want to know what I want, Link?"

He shook his head, and then pushed roughly against Ghirahim's chest with his back.

"You already know, don't you? I want you, Link." Ghirahim gritted his teeth. "I want you to love me, fear me, and bow down to me. Do as I command, Link, and I will be your most willing slave." Ghirahim leaned forward, tightening his grip on Link to make the smaller boy freeze, and whispered in his ear. "Let me have what I want and I will give you everything in the world."

With a strength that Ghirahim did not know Link possessed, he broke free of the moblin king's arms. Rushing across the room, he grabbed his weapons from the floor.

"Do you really believe that you have any power over me?" Ghirahim had to keep himself from screaming. "Or do you believe that I have no power over you?"

The moment that he silenced, Link smirked and grinned.

"Fine," Ghirahim said. He spoke with a detached coolness that could only come from years of working around angry moblins who loved to whine and rant. He gestured for Link to step forward. "Then come and prove it to me, hero."

-

Aryll was asleep on her older brother's chest, her small thumb in her mouth. Link himself looked tired, and was lazily running his fingers through the blond girl's hair. It had been hours since Ghirahim had faced off (and lost) to him.

It seemed that Link had gotten his wish. After all, how could Ghirahim possibly refuse him of his desire?

Also propped against his chest was a large stuffed red bird. Ghirahim couldn't be completely sure but he thought the creature was called a loftwing. Link had a protective arm around his sister and her battered toy.

The light was growing fainter, and it was getting harder and harder to see the two.

For now, all Ghirahim could again do was watch and wait and want.

Summary: Vanellope races against new foes on what seems like an all too familiar track - Sweet Sweet Canyon - to the racing game that she calls home.
Fandoms: Wreck it Ralph, Mario
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 739

Every part of Vanellope's (wonderfully) glitchy body, down to her very code, was ready for this race. She had already done two and managed to score herself a firm spot in second place. At the third race, the one right before the final, she still had this coming race and the next to get herself up to the top.

That was if she could beat her competitors. Behind her was Toad; in the short time since he had arrived at the arcade, Vanellope had learned quite well that the little guy (ironically he was a few inches taller than her) was fast. They had been neck to neck in the last race, Vanellope winning only by luck and her glitch. That had made the last win all the more exciting.

Ahead of her was Luigi. She had nearly beat him in the last race, and for over half of it she had been in first place. However, on the final lap he had caught ahead of her and try as she might, she had been unable to catch up. During that time, he had given her a stare that probably would have chilled even a big guy like Ralph to the bone.

Looking behind her, Vanellope saw Toad stirring in his seat. Ahead of her, Luigi was tapping the steering wheel of his cart impatiently.

Vanellope put her hand on the accelerator. She gripped it firmly, but remained still. Timing was everything, and time was a precious commodity.

In the stands, Ralph, Tamora, and Felix were all cheering for her. She waved with her free hand.

Ralph cupped his hands at his mouth. "Show them who you are!"

"Yeah!" Vanellope yelled back, loud enough to be heard over the sound of motors.

"And what are you?" Ralph continued.

"A winner!" By then, Vanellope had forgotten just where the two had come up with that. Still, it was a comfort. She looked forward.

This was going to be the race that changed things; she just knew it. The name alone had gotten her hopes up - Sweet Sweet Canyon sounded nothing like the other places that she had raced in before, or at least in this game. Mario Kart: Arcade had become the hottest new racing game at Litwak's Arcade ever since the machine had been installed a few days before. In that time, Vanellope had raced on some of the best race tracks in the world.

Those tracks had been new, gleaming brightly with modern age graphics and a high definition look that made even Tamora and the rest of Hero's Duty look obsolete. The tracks were everywhere from weird to sleek, and none were quite like the one from before.

Sweet Sweet Canyon was even more different from the others. This track felt like home, and Vanellope couldn't help but smile. If it were like home, then how hard could it possibly be?

The cart she used wasn't like hers at home. Ralph hadn't helped her make it (and a mess of candy sand other sweets hadn't been made in the process); instead, she had to choose from pre-selected vehicle parts made specifically for the game. Still, the blue cart wasn't so bad. After all, she still managed to make it the best that she could with what little she had been given.

Three.

She gave Ralph, Tamora, and Felix one last quick glance in the stands.

Two.

From behind her, Toad looked anxious. He would probably look even more worried once Vanellope left him behind (with a stream of dust coming from behind her car).

Ahead of her, Luigi had just the slightest smile on his face. That was going to change (at least if Vanellope had anything to say about it).

One.

She was off. Accelerating forward, she raced ahead of both Toad and Luigi. Behind her was the sound of motors, wheels turning, the cheers of her friends, and angry shouting from her rivals.

Vanellope grinned.

Her black ponytail swished as it passed through the air. The familiar scent of sugary sweets filled her nostrils.

Even though she had never driven this course before, she passed through its many twists and turns easily. Parts of it weren't even as hard as some of Sugar Rush was.

Eventually, even Luigi and Toad became impossible to see behind her. The cheers of her friends could no longer be heard, the stands long gone. Still, Vanellope continued accelerating forward.