Chapter Text
“Welcome to L'Manberg University!” declared the man in green. “I’m helping out with the orientation stuff today. All the official tours are happening tomorrow, but I’ll make sure you all end up at the right dorms tonight. My name is Philza, I work mostly with Literature students, but you’ll see a lot of me if you’re taking advanced history courses.”
Tommy perked up, taking a closer look at Philza. He was doing a BA in literature, and apparently now he’d have to deal with old people, too. (What, you think big men like him couldn’t be literate? Stop stereotyping you right wing piece of shit) But the only noteworthy thing about Philza was his fashion sense—and not in a good way. He wore a long green garment that certainly wasn’t western fashion, Tommy wasn’t even going to try and name it. Hang on a second, was he wearing sandals and fucking socks? There was no saving that man.
“The first thing we’ll do today is sort everyone into houses, then we’ll have a point-and-walk tour.” Philza pulled out a bottle of nail polish, the L'Manberg University logo indented in the glass. “Alright, who’s up first to find their house?”
Someone snorted.
Philza looked up. “Ah, I heard that. Come on, get up here.”
A white dude Tommy’s age pushed through to the front, his brown hair slicked back with far too much hair gel.
“What’s your name?” said Philza.
“Charlie, sir.”
“None of that sir business with me, Charlie. Hold out your hands.” With the precision of a toddler, Philza slapped the clear polish on Charlie’s nails. “Wait for that to dry, who’s next?” As Philza moved from person to person, he explained the house system. “All the students in this university are put into three teams to encourage relationships and participation in the community, yada, yada. You can get competitive about it if you want to, but you should definitely join the events. They’re always a blast, and just what you need in assignment hell.” He looked up, face sobering. “And trust me, you will end up there.”
Philza took Tommy’s hands, slapping on some polish before moving to the person next to him. “As the polish dries the colour will come through, and you’ll join either the red, blue or yellow house.”
A hand shot up at the back of the group.
“Yes, what’s your name?”
“Karl,” he said, In a split black and white hoodie. “And where’s the green house?”
“You looking for the sorting hat, too?” said Philza, chuckling. “Nah, I shouldn’t be bullying students on the first day. L'Manberg is far older than Harry Potter, the houses are just primary colours. We’ve got to get moving soon, but I can answer questions about the houses as we wait for everyone’s nails to dry.”
Tommy tuned out, It's not like he needed to hear this. He already knew the polish would appear whenever he was on campus—he hadn’t spent months hounding his sister for nothing. Shubble was accepted two years earlier and came back with bright eyes and hours of stories; magical mascots, scissors relays and tales of legendary pranks. She was part of the red house, and promised Tommy they could room together if he was, too. Tommy always knew L'Manberg would accept a big man like him (and it had nothing to do with nepotism, ignore whatever Shubble told you) He just needed to deal with this weeb-ass professor until his nails changed.
Oh, his nails were darkening. The clear polished had shifted to a muddy maroon, sharpening into a vivid red, strong enough he couldn’t see the halfmoons of his nails. Tommy smiled, the others exclaiming as their own colours came through.
Philza pocketed the polish, clapping his hands together. “Let’s head to the quad, then we’ll split up.” Once everyone had their bags, he took the group through the campus. He said lots of boring history stuff, and pointed out the robotics lab, the archaeology building and the library. Tommy scanned the other groups going past, trying to catch a glimpse of Shubble. Philza took them to a grassy section nestled by buildings, a clock tower on the northern one. In the centre was another group, three decked out in house-matching outfits. Oh shit, those were the mascots, weren’t they?
The red house mascot was a tall woman in a red ballgown, a butterfly mask across her eyes. That dress was—was a sewing miracle. The skirt had a large bow at the back, shaped like butterfly wings before flowing into the rest of the hoop skirt, the entire dress flowing when the mascot shifted. It even looked like the wings were flapping, holy shit.
The mascot turned towards him, meeting Tommy’s eyes. After a moment of silence, she smirked, giving a salute.
Tommy automatically did it back. “Ayup.”
The mascot rolled her eyes, then tapped a student on the shoulder.
“Oh shit, right,” said the guy, pulling his hands out of an adidas hoodie. “Greetings fledgling students! I’m Quackity, and I’m sorting out all the new red house students. Whoa, don’t look that excited, I’ll have to take my shirt off.”
The red mascot shoved him.
“Anyways, our primary dorm is in the East Quad. Follow me.” They broke away from Philza’s group and marched to the eastern building, Valiance carved above the doorframe. Tommy glanced to the guy next to him, who rocked a buzzcut. “Cool shit, innit?” he said, when the dude met his eyes. “I’m Tommy.”
“I’ll say. I’m Jack.”
“They let northerners in here?” Tommy blurted.
Jack rolled his eyes. “I thought they didn’t let children in, either, but here we are.”
Tommy sputtered. “Children? I can assure you, my good sir, my kindest lad, that I am eighteen years of age.”
Jack smirked. “Got any proof?”
“What are you, a cop?”
Jack snorted. “Fuck no. But until I see proof otherwise, you’re fourteen.”
Tommy groaned. “You’re supposed to try make a good impression with me, it’s your first day.”
“You literally insulted my accent.”
“Fine, fine, we’ll start from scratch. I’m Tommy, BA literature.”
“Jack, structural engineering.” He clapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “That wasn’t hard, was it? Us Brits have to stick together.”
“We’re an endangered species, here,” he agreed. “Just like badgers.”
Jack gave him a look, and Tommy burst out laughing.
The conversation flowed from there, Quackity leading the tour through the dorms. The red mascot didn’t say a word the entire time, just giving nods to those who passed. Tommy didn’t mind, women could speak as much or as little as they liked. Eventually they arrived in a central area, couches dotted around like a retirement village. Quackity came to a stop in the middle, a collection of pens stabbed into the roof above him. A little metal plaque sat next to it, but Tommy was too far away to read it.
Quackity caught his gaze. “Don’t worry about it,” he winked “Alright, all we have to do between now and midnight is sort out roommates. Before this goes to shit, is there anyone moving in with a current student?”
Tommy shot his hand up, the only one to do so.
Quackity winced. “Alright, who’re you rooming with?”
“Shubble Berry.”
“Wait, you’re Tommy, right? Her little brother?”
In all the ways that mattered. “Yep, that’s me. Big T himself.”
“I had a bunch of classes with her in first year, it’s good to meet you, dude.” Tommy shook his hand, then Quackity scribbled down his details. “You’ll just be in room 198, the door code should be that in reverse.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. Of course Shubble wouldn’t remember her password.
“If you see her, tell her she better not miss the lettuce club, alright?”
“I’ll pretend I know what that means,” said Tommy. Too much plant nerd shit for him.
“Oh, don’t worry, you will.”
With that threatening note, Tommy went down the hallway with his bags, wandering through the maze of corridors. Shubble spoke about the pranks culture of the dorms, but he hadn’t expected the sheer number of odd things about. Unflattering pictures of students were framed on the walls, tables with pamphlets sat on mismatching legs, and he even found a banana duct-taped to someone’s door. He ended up going in circles for a bit as he tried to go up, but he eventually found an elevator—a sign with a minimum height requirement stuck to the door. According to the sign in the elevator, room 198 was on the fifth floor. That floor had just as much stuff going on—but it also had a trophy cabinet, the largest one dedicated to prank of the year. Holy shit, he was born for this house.
Finally, he found room 198, putting in the code and shoving into it. A bed sat against either wall, with a door on the right leading to the bathroom. No sign of Shubble.
“Well fuck me,” he muttered, chucking his stuff on the bare mattress. The other was already made, Shubble’s pot plant sitting next to the window, mushrooms growing at the base. At least there were signs of her. Tommy kicked off his shoes and pulled out his phone, texting Shubble.
I got red lesgoo
Where are u
I’m in ur room btw
*Tommy sent a photo*
Cant beleive your ditching me
If your not here by tonight im sleeping in your bed
None of the messages were read, so Tommy spammed another twenty or so before giving up. Not wanting to go for a tour by himself (and get lost in the process) Tommy just scrolled through his phone, ready to waste a couple hours.
There was a rattle at the door. Tommy looked up, spotting a bracelet on the ground. Who would shove a bracelet into a dorm? He opened the door and glanced either way.
“Is someone missing a bracelet?” he said, to the row of closed doors.
None of them answered.
Tommy sighed, shutting the door. Maybe it was Shubble’s? It was pretty simple, dark red beads threaded with a brown string. Not the cheap friendship bracelet shit, either. These were wooden beads.
If this was Shubble’s, he absolutely had to wear it. Tommy picked it up, opening his camera—no, he should wear it, too. He grinned, slipping it on.
“Hello!”
Tommy jumped. “Who the fuck said that?” He spun around the room. Empty. He looked up, then shrieked.
“Whoa, I’m right here.” A red-haired woman hovered above his bed, hair floating around her like a halo.
“What the fuck are you?!”
The woman laughed. “I’m the shadow for the red house—and you’re the new red mascot.”
Tommy ignored them. “Get out of my room—there’s only room here for one big man, and that’s me. The mascot’s down with Quackity.”
“Nope,” she said. “As of twenty minutes ago, that mascot is retired. Out of all new students, you’ve been chosen for this prestigious role. You’ll get to represent the red house at all college events, boost morale and guide the—”
Tommy, a drag queen? “—Nope, you’ve got the wrong person. I consider myself very masculine and manly—not that feminine things are bad, or that heels can be masculine, of course—but it’s not for me.” He blinked, then added. “And also! I am a busy university student, with no experience in the art of makeup or being sexy. That is, sexy in a womanly, feminine way, and I do not have the time to learn. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“You’ve got plenty of time,” she said, then pointed at the red bracelet. “But you’re the next mascot, got it?”
“Nope, I do not consent. Get the fuck out of my room.”
She rolled her eyes. “Performing your mascot duties will nullify your college fees, so you don’t have to focus on income alongside—”
“Free college?! Why the fuck didn’t you start with that? Do you want me to wear pumps or stilettos?”
She snorted. “Let’s ease into this, alright? We’ll go over the basics, you take a little test run, then we can talk outfits.”
“Trust me, I can keep talking all night.”
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” said Tommy, after the third explanation. He paced back and forth as the ghost floated above his head, red bracelet thrown on the bed. “I put on my miraculous ladybug bracelet, shout mask up, then I turn into the mascot and do woman things—I mean, mascot things.”
“And you can’t talk or the magic breaks. No humming, laughing or anything like that.”
“—And I’m like Cinderella or some shit, can we start now?”
The ghost sighed. “Sure. Mask up, go for a walk through the common rooms, then find somewhere private to unmask, got it?”
Tommy grinned, grabbing the bracelet off the bed. “Free uni, here we come. Mask up.”
The maroon bracelet burned, the beads unfolding into rose petals that rushed across him. The burning spread till it covered his body, his eyes fluttering shut—no, not fluttering. His eyes closed in a manly, masculine way, and when he opened them again, all he could do was stare.
His hoodie and pants had been replaced with a fucking quince dress. It was bright red with a glittery skirt, the sequins thickening into detailed embroidery as it climbed the bodice.
Holy shit, back the fuck up. He had fucking boobs.
Tommy grinned, something shifting on his face. He touched—oh it was the masquerade mask. Tommy pushed into the bathroom, walking on tip-toes from his heels. He flicked on the light, and holy shit. A woman stood in place of his reflection, one with tawny brown skin and a flat nose, a cold red mask hiding her eyes. His dark hair was pulled back into a bun, strands framing his face and perfectly coiled. He pursed his mahogany lips, the mirror copying. Then he winked, splitting into a grin. Someone tapped his shoulder, and he flung around.
Tommy stood in front of him. Wait, not Tommy, that was the red ghost. Why the fuck did she have his body?
The ghost tugged his arm, then pointed at the door. Right, he was meant to have a test run or whatever, while the ghost got his body? That was—that was fucked, to be honest.
But Tommy hesitated before pulling out. Heh, that’s what she said. Anyways, college was fucking expensive, and loans were the death of community. If he got a degree out of it, surely being possessed was worth it, right?
The ghost pointed at the door again.
Tommy sighed, then stepped out in silence. Nothing was worse than college debt. His heels clunking on the carpeted wood, Tommy searching for the elevator. His dress was really cool, actually. He could spin around and it would flare out, whipping everyone who was too close—that would show those fascist personal space hoggers.
He came to the elevator, pressing the button with long nails. How did women grab things with nails like this? He stepped into the elevator, heels making him slay so fucking hard. They gave him an extra height boost, and he could lift his toes and spin around on them. The elevator slowly dropped floors. Tommy fidgeted with the skirt sequins, glancing around. His dress almost filled the lift, but luckily it was just him and the—the microwave plugged in at the corner. The doors pinged, and Tommy stilled. It was time to blow the common room away.
He glided into the chatter and laughter, people sitting at tables and couches. Bags were littered on every surface as students caught up with old friends and new. Fuck, what did he do now? The ghost said he just had to walk, right? Tommy roamed between the groups, squishing his skirt between the couches and tables. Eyes kept flicking to him as he moved, but Tommy averted his gaze. Most people soon turned elsewhere, but some would continue to stare—the new students, probably. Wait, it was only dudes staring at him. Tommy swallowed, something shifting in his chest. Why the fuck did that make him feel so small?
A girl with cornrows waved at him, and he held her gaze. Tommy lifted his hand in response—that counted as mascot things, right? Tommy continued to drift through the common room, catching pieces of conversation. But he couldn’t add anything to the conversation, couldn’t drop in with a well-timed joke, or even introduce himself—did he even have a name? Tommy’s heart began to race, and he hurried away from the guys that were still staring at him. He gravitated to a group of ladies in the corner. The closest looked up and smiled. “Hey girl, you miss us?”
He blinked, then nodded, giving a cheerful wave. None of that queen shit, just a waggle of his fingers.
“Awww, we missed you, too. Way more than Professor Monothomas, right Stephanie?”
Stephanie cackled, her glasses almost falling off.
Tommy batted his eyelashes, pressing a hand to his chest. What else did women do to express their emotions? All he had was Minnie fucking mouse for reference. The conversation flowed between the women, Tommy sidelined once again. He tried to react to Stephanie’s exam score and Hannah’s road trip, but he didn’t even know if they noticed him. His heart raced, sweat creeping across his forehead. Fuck, what if his armpits were sweaty? He needed to check.
Tommy eased up from the couch, only for Stephanie, “You’re leaving without giving us a good luck kiss?”
Tommy stared at her, Stephanie’s brow creasing behind her red glasses.
He…
No. Tommy could never kiss a girl who didn’t even know his name. How else would she know who gave her the best kiss of her life? Nope, Tommy would be keeping his kiss virginity tonight. (everyone knew kisses from his mother didn't count, just the same as being born from a woman's—actually, never mind, he got the point across) But he couldn’t deny them while he was the mascot, he wasn’t a tory. He ended up blowing an air kiss, then following with a wink, surely Stephanie would accept that.
Sure enough, she made a show of catching the kiss, to the delight of the other ladies.
Tommy gave a final wave before leaving, ducking into the closest door and finding a commercial kitchen, a door at either end. A steel bench lined each wall, various appliances scattered above and below it. Tommy took a shaky breath, taking a cup to the sink. How did the mascot next to Quackity make it look easy? Everyone stared at him, and he had to participate when he couldn’t even talk. Tommy filled his glass and chugged it, putting it down with trembling fingers. He wiped the water from the top of his lip, lipstick smearing on his hand. Fuck.
Someone in the doorway snickered, and Tommy automatically flipped them off—shit, that was not mascot behaviour.
He met Quackity’s eyes—of course it was Quackity—then pushed away from the sink and out the far door. He better not be blushing. Back in a random hallway, Tommy swiped at his lipstick, trying to fix it. He only smeared it more, creating a look known as la toddler de paint chugger. How did women do this?
Fuck this, that was enough mascot-ing. Tommy clacked down the hallway, his feet aching. He jiggled each door handle until one opened, revealing a stack of desk desks and pile of rugs.
“Unmask,” he said, his voice cracking. Nothing happened, for a moment, then something slammed into him, and the magic unravelled, rose petals rushing over him again. They replaced the sequined ballgown with trousers and a shirt, his heels swapped for heavenly TNs. He leaned against the dusty desks, finally dropping his shoulders.
“So… how was it?”
He didn’t jump at the ghost’s voice. “Fucking awful. How many times do I have to do that?”
The ghost hummed, reclining on the rugs. She had a broad, muscular stance, fat shit it did when she was incorporeal. “It really depends. The mascot has to show up at some events—like tomorrow’s opening ceremony—but you’ll need to mask up at random times, too. Whenever someone works to bolster the red house spirit, you’ll be there.”
A couple times a year wasn’t bad at all. He’d get better and doing mascot things, too, getting the job done in a shorter amount of time. All that minmaxxing shit, masking up could be his side hoe whilst Literature stayed his faithful wife.
The ghost nodded to herself. “It won’t take much time, but I doubt you’ll go more than a week without masking up.”
“I have to do this every week?!”
“More or less. You don’t have to worry about missing coursework, either. Whenever you’re masked up I can shadow you, pretending to be you during lectures and stuff.”
“Sure, sure, as if you won’t take my body for a fucking joyride.”
“I won’t, but you’re not going to believe me, yet,” she shrugged. “You could always get a part-time job. I reckon McPuffy’s is hiring.”
“Bitch.” Trying to buy his degree on McPuffy wages was psychological torture. The UN should ban that shit instead of wanking off.
The ghost flicked out finger guns. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Tommy eventually left the cupboard, ignoring the ghost that hovered above his head. Given that nobody reacted to the woman floating above them, she was only haunting Tommy.
On the way to his room, he bumped into Jack, who somehow dragged him into an impromptu tour. Said tour got them lost and found several times, eventually ending up in the dining hall. Shubble still hadn’t replied to any of his messages, so Tommy was ready to steal her cat plushie, the Lord of the Stars. As they walked, he kept the mascot bracelet in his pocket, every rustle burning into his brain. After another hour, he managed to say goodbye to Jack and made the trek back to his dorm. He entered eight-nine-one into the number pad, then pushed the door open. Fuck yeah, Shubble was still gone. He collapsed on the bed, peeling off his shoes and socks, then massaging his poor feet. The beaded bracelet rattled in his back pocket, and Tommy pulled it out, giving it a glare.
Nobody emerged.
He cleared his throat. “You there?”
The ghost appeared on the bed opposite, mirroring his position. “Always.”
“Bitch.”
She huffed. “So what did you want to say?”
Many things, including some new swears for the fucking prick’s vo-cab-ulary. See, he knows big words. “What am I supposed to actually do as the mascot?”
“That’s the fun part,” she said. “Your only job is to bolster the house morale, be the embodiment of the red house.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “So I could be having sex?”
Her eyes widened, so he doubled down.
“Sex is a great way to boost team morale, I could be the red house whore. That counts as mascot duties, right?”
The ghost gave him a look.
“Perfect! I’ll sleep my way to the top, impregnating—wait, I’ll be the one getting pregnant. If I get knocked up in costume, where does the foetus go when I unmask? Is it like a Schrödinger’s foetus situation? And if I give birth to a mascot baby will it look like me or—”
“—You can stop, actually,” she interrupted, face paling.
Tommy groaned. “You told me to ask questions, man.”
“Well, I can assure you, I don’t have the answers to any questions like that. Nobody has ever tried to have sex, let alone a—a child while in costume,” she said, waving a hand about. “And I’d like to keep it that way, please.”
“Well, you can rest easy, for I have never experienced nor longed to experience the penetration of a man.”
The ghost buried her face in her hands. “This is the weirdest introduction I’ve ever done. You know, everyone else asks questions like ‘What if I need to mask up in an exam?’ Or ‘How does the magic work?’ Not ‘What happens if I start fucking in costume?’”
At this point she was talking to herself, but Tommy answered regardless. “You simply don’t understand the Innit ways, because you’re not politically correct, Ghost Thing.”
“Sure, why not,” she muttered, red hair shifting in front of her face. “If it works it works.”
“—What actually is your name, by the way. I can’t keep calling you Ghost Thing.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“No, what’s your name?”
“I don’t have one, so whatever you prefer is fine.”
Tommy blinked. “You want me to just give you a name. Do you know how hard that is?”
“Well, you don’t have to.”
“I do, and I’ll call you Maggie.”
Her face scrunched up.
“Nah, you want a sophi-sticated name, don’t you? How about… Clementine?”
“Like the fruit?” said the ghost.
“Yep, it’ll keep people in suspense. Is it a fruit? A little snack? Even better: a woman.”
She snorted.
“So you like it?”
“If it works for you then that’s fine by me,” she said, gaze darting away.
“That wasn’t my question, dicknips.”
“I like it,” said Clementine. “It’s playful, you know?” She smirked. “Far better than Dicknips, anyway.”
Tommy snorted, and Clementine joined in. Before he could defend the perfectly good name, the door rattled.
Shubble breezed in, throwing her stuff on the bed. “Hey Tommy,” she said, reaching in for an obligatory hug.
He accepted the warmth, knowing this was their final truce before they devolved back to being annoying siblings. He gave Clementine a death glare over Shubble’s shoulder.
She pulled back, throwing his shoes off her bed. “You can get off my bed, now.”
Tommy groaned, rolling onto the floor. “Fuck you, I was gonna sleep so well with the Lord of the Stars.”
“He would never betray me,” said Shubble.
Clementine tilted her head but stayed, despite Tommy’s glare.
“So how was your first day?” she said.
Tommy starfished on the rug, watching Shubble kick off her muddy sneakers. “Met this Northerner called Jack. He was a bitch, though.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yup. We got lost together, ended up in the dining hall. Saw the house mascot, too—”
“—Don’t tell her,” snapped Clementine.
“—And why the fuck didn’t you tell me she was hot? I didn’t have time to prepare before I was blessed by her presence.” Tommy ignored his racing heart. “Listen, I get you don’t want to be competing with me on the romance front—you were always a sore loser—but is that really worth keeping secrets from me?”
Clementine groaned. “You do realise you’re talking about yourself, right?”
Yes, he did. It was a rare autophilia W.
Shubble sighed. “You want knowledge? Fine, I’ll give it to you. If you try to hit on Red, she will punch you. She broke two noses last year.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” said Tommy. “Not once I active my charming aura.”
“I will punch you,” said Clementine.
“Please don’t,” said Shubble.
He harumphed, sitting up. “Well I might if you ditch me again. Where were you?”
Shubble sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, I’ve had a long day. There’s so much extra work for third years, and I—I’m joining some committees, too.”
“Why the fuck would you do that? Is this a cry for help?”
She snorted, leaning back on her bed. “Not yet it’s not. But if… if I manage to pull this off, I’m definitely signing up for therapy.”
Tommy waited for her to elaborate, but she just opened her laptop, the fans whirring as she sat it on her thick quilt.
“Well, what’s your committee for?”
“It—It doesn’t really matter does it?” she said, still staring at the screen.
“Yeah, but I wanna know. I’m your brother, so you have to tell me everything.”
She sighed. “I don’t know if I can, this time. I’ve got a lot riding on this.”
Tommy’s stomach sank. “I can keep fucking secrets. Mum still doesn’t know I crashed into the letterbox.”
“We knew that was you, she’s still waiting for you to fess up.”
“Fuck, really? I better call her.” Tommy pulled out his phone, but Shubble continued.
“And it’s not about you, either. I’ll ask Ka—the committee members if I can let you know, alright?”
“You better. I can’t believe you’re keeping secrets from me, your own baby brother.”
“I’ll disown you again, don’t test me.”
Fuck, she had him there. “Fine, but it better be worth dealing with all those commies.”
She grinned. “Oh, it will be.”