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Chapter Text

“Hello and welcome to a special spook-tacular edition of Nailed It! , the show based on the internet phenomenon where ordinary people try to recreate baking masterpieces but don’t always get there …

“I’m Nicole, this is chocolate boss Jacques, and our special guest judge today is Carmilla, internationally acclaimed actress who is also famous for her blogs about unusual recipes and her glamorous line of kitchen accessories!

“Today three home bakers will recreate the creepiest epic desserts over two rounds of competition, competing for the grand prize of ten thousand dollars! Let’s meet our bakers!”

NAILED IT!

Three people stride into view of the camera. A tall man with long blond hair gathered into a neat manbun that somehow doesn’t come off as pretentious. A tiny woman with big eyes, gravity-defying hair, and a challenge to the universe in her footsteps. And finally, a tall, dishevelled man who - despite Hair And Makeup’s best efforts - looks like he has lost a fight with a hedge and then gone back for more.

The camera cuts to their introductions, beginning with the aristocratic blond man. 

“My name is Doctor Adrian Tepes, I started baking with my mother, who also inspired me to go into medicine.”

A scene of careful, precise control is displayed. He is baking at home in an expensive-looking kitchen, hair in a low ponytail, and apron over a wine-red shirt with a very low cut v-neck. Close observers may notice that it is the very same shirt he is wearing for the show. He turns to the camera, displaying a cake that looks fine to start with, but when it gets cut into, the knife almost bounces off. He looks Beautiful and Distressed.

“It helps me to feel closer to her, but somehow something always goes wrong. Still, I feel confident in my ability to learn from my mistakes.”

The second competitor comes up; Sypha Belnades, scholar.

“I’m Sypha Belnades, I travel for the purpose of learning and spreading knowledge, and I come from a… very large extended family, I think is the best way of putting it?” She looks adorable, like a little kitten.

As most kittens do, about two seconds before unleashing claws and teeth.

The camera cuts to a scene from her audition tape. That, or a terrible amateur ghost story horror film. The Sypha in the video is white from tip to toe, except for her eyes. The camera is shaking slightly and a voice comes from behind it, asking how that happened .

“I don’t knooooow ! ” exclaims ghost-Sypha. “I wasn’t even using the flour yet!”

It jumps forwards to the presentation of the final bake. Allegedly, this was meant to be a simple, traditional bake, nothing fancy. But whatever it is, it’s impossible to tell. There are lumps. There are burnt bits. It’s misshapen and parts are smoking slightly. Whoever is behind the camera - a different voice, this time - says very firmly that they refuse to put that in their mouth.

“A family friend told me I had to give this a go, and he told me he was pretty sure that I’d have a good chance at least. So I’m ready to win!”

Cut to the third and final member of the trio. Underneath his name on the screen, where his occupation would be, is simply “A Mystery”.

“I’m Trevor Belmont. Yes, that Belmont.” He looks… tired. Deeply tired. Possibly hungover. And yet the tightness of his shirt implies that maybe Adrian isn’t the only eye candy on the show this episode. “I… started baking when I was drunk and thought it sounded like a good idea. It’s a good way to wind down after…” He suddenly looks evasive, like he’s about to say something he’s not meant to. “After a hard day’s work.”

When the camera cuts to his audition video, there is a loud censoring bleep for a solid two seconds. Video Trevor has clearly made some awful mistake. Still, the brownies he turns out don’t look too bad? They’re still steaming slightly, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing one with his bare hands, stuffing it in his mouth, and then almost choking on it as he begins to curse. Again. 

“Don’t know how I’ll do, but it’s worth a shot, right?” 

The camera returns to the trio of competitors, now standing before the judges’ altar. Nicole is continuing with her opening spiel, setting the energy for the day and making so many Halloween-based puns. 

Adrian’s face is caught in exquisite detail going through a flicker of denial, then anger, and finally cold acceptance when he sees exactly who the guest judge is. 

Oddly enough, Trevor’s hand makes a move towards his hip and he has not taken his eyes off the guest judge for a second. It looks almost like he’s trying to set her on fire with his mind.

Cut to Nicole’s face, staring in unabashed appreciation.

Cut to Adrian. A pink filter descends over the shot and the fluttering notes of amorous harps are edited in.

“And let’s get on with the first round!” 

BAKER’S CHOICE

“What’s the best part of Halloween? That’s right, dressing up and going out to demand treats from strangers! And nothing says Halloween horror like… these!”

The doors open wide, revealing a little scene put together of three trick or treaters gathered around a doorway. Mist floats around, tinted by green lighting.

“Boozy cake pops! You need to make three identical cake pops in disguise for Halloween!”

They are round, stylised depictions of the three competitors, dressed up with sugarpaste ‘costumes’ as a witch, a vampire, and a vampire hunter.

All three of the real competitors look a little startled. None of them are looking at the others. Their stares are fixed dead ahead at the edible diorama before them.

“It’s baker’s choice, people! Go grab your pop!”

All three of them jump like Olympic sprinters off the blocks. Clearly, all three of them have competitiveness issues . 

Due to Adrian and Trevor getting into a little scuffle , Sypha is the first one away. The little witch is safely in her hands and she’s beaming with satisfaction. The other two return glaring at each other, cake pops held carefully as they walk. Trevor looks exactly the same, and somehow the added messiness of Adrian’s bun just makes him look More Beautiful. 

Trevor is holding the hunter, and Adrian - who seemed to win the scuffle - has the vampire. He looks like the cat who has got the cream, and Trevor is glowering at him over the cake pop.

“So, Sypha, what made you choose the witch?” 

“Oh, he just looked like the easiest one? If I’m going to win, I need to set myself up for success!” 

“Honest! And honestly, a good strategy. And you’re all getting some help - we’ve got the cake already made for you, but for the rest you’re on your own! Okay, one hour and a half on the clock! What’re you still doing here? Go!”

They scatter, all three running to their stations. Whatever issues the male competitors have with the guest judge is forgotten in favour of the need to defeat the other. While the judges’ altar is discussing the correct way to make a cake pop, the three competitors are already trying to work out how to do it. 

A member of the crew needs to remind Sypha that the recipe is on the tablet provided. And unlock it for her. When she goes to grab the jar of sugar needed to get started on her buttercream, somehow the lid comes off and all of a sudden, ghost Sypha returns. She sneezes - face away from the open container - and abruptly is wearing even more of it.

Meanwhile Trevor has made a beeline for the rum and is using a measuring cup as a shot glass. 

“Trevor?” calls Nicole. “You know that’s meant to go in the cake pops, right?”

“I’ve never baked sober before and I’m not starting now!” Trevor calls back, probably joking.

Probably. 

Still, he soon starts to make his own buttercream soon after and he doesn’t seem to be falling over yet? So it’s all okay for now. But still, he’s keeping the sound editor in a job. His station is just one solid bleep of edited out swearing.

Adrian’s station, by contrast, is a little oasis of perfect calm. He is methodically following the recipe and no grand disasters appear to have befallen him.

The camera cuts to Nicole gazing dreamily at him, another flutter of harp strings edited in. This time there’s the added visual effect of heart shapes fading into the background.

Jacques leans in to catch her attention and begins to point out something that one of the other two is doing wrong.

When Trevor has completed the bodies of his little rum-spiked cake pops and begins to make a start on his decorations, he somehow manages to cut himself. Despite the fact that the tools he has been given for the decorating stage are all plastic . A child could use them for play-dough without cutting itself and yet somehow this alleged grown man has managed it. For some reason, though, that’s the one thing that doesn’t cause a bleep to erupt from his station. 

Sypha, poor Sypha, is having so many problems. There’s various new smears on her face and cake crumbs somehow in her hair. She’s soldiering on, despite all of her problems, but it is taking its toll. Her cake pops are sliding down their sticks, the chocolate glaze dripping down into puddles at the base. Her decorations are looking a little bit wonky, and she has about as much idea of what is going on as a penguin in a sauna.

Adrian, meanwhile, is spotless. Flawless. With surgical precision, he is cutting out the little decorations needed for the vampires and with only a little dab of chocolate, they’re stuck firmly on. 

As the clock ticks on, the quantity of cursing from Trevor’s station has kicked up a notch. It seems to be as reflexive as breathing. The camera cuts to Sypha, still looking a little ghostlike, who is just staring at him - chocolate dripping from one hand - and laughing.

She’s adorable.

A mess, but adorable .

“Five!”

Stained hands are jamming cake pop sticks into holders.

“Four!”

Adrian neatly puts the finishing touches to his own offering.

“Three!”

Trevor slips and somehow manages to injure himself again with something he shouldn’t conceivably be able to injure himself on.

“Two!”

Trays being moved into position.

“One!”

Three frosted glass bells are dropped in quick succession.

“You’re done!”

Sypha is still laughing to herself. Trevor has poured himself another measuring cup of rum and downs it in one go.

NAILED IT!

The judges approach the first station. Trevor. He isn’t swearing any more, but he definitely looks strained. When Carmilla gets closer, he scowls and watches her like a sheepdog might watch a wolf. It doesn’t seem to affect her.

“Alright! Trevor, just to remind us all, this is what you were trying to make.”

Nicole holds up the little vampire hunter cake pop. It is cute, that much is undeniable. There is a lot of intricate detail with the gear and weaponry that has led to difficulties in recreating it. Long blond hair flows down the back of the long coat. In the centre of its chest is a gold-dusted cross hanging from a little ‘chain’, and in its hand it holds a little stake. The face is simple but recognisible as intended to be Adrian.

“Now, let’s see what you did!” 

The frosted glass lifts.

“Nailed it,” says Trevor. He was aiming for the usual slightly jovial, slightly self-conscious tone most competitors use. He misses, just a little bit.

“Ohhh!”

Trevor’s vampire hunter is… well, with the context of the original, it’s possible to see what it was meant to be.

Nicole points at a loop of modelling chocolate down by one hand. “Is he… a werewolf as well?”

“It’s a whip ,” Trevor replies, a little defensively. “Vampire hunters should have a whip.”

“What happened to his face ?”

“He does look a little… sad…”

“I think it’s cute!” Nicole says brightly, coming to his defence. “Anyway, it’s not all about looks!”

The second Jacques bites into Trevor’s cake pop, he coughs sharply. “You - ahem - definitely added the alcohol! What did you choose?”

“Rum.”

“I’m surprised you had any left with how quickly you were drinking it,” comes the flat voice of the model for the vampire hunter. Adrian’s arms are folded neatly over his chest and he looks deeply disapproving of what Trevor has done to his likeness.

The camera cuts between the two of them as they begin to bicker, flicking back and forth like a tennis match. Eventually, though, they are cut off by the judgement of Trevor’s cake.

“You were definitely generous with your mixture, but you have a good texture and you’ve clearly put in the effort with your decorations. I’d say add a little more buttercream next time, so it’s a little less dry, but otherwise not bad!” Coming from a Frenchman , this is high praise to a novice.

”It’s easy to see what you were going for, and it looks cute!”

Now Trevor’s arms are folded over his chest and the camera focuses for a second on Nicole’s face as she takes in his biceps. And forearms. Slowly. 

Jacques’ face, on the other hand, is immediately taken over with concern . “Trevor - is that blood? ”

“Huh? Oh, hey, yeah. Forgot about that. Caught myself with one of the tools while I was making up the decorations,” he shrugs, having cracked a little surprised smile.

‘Are you okay,’ it looks like Jacques wants to ask, but he’s not given any time to; they’re moving on to the next station. Adrian’s station. 

He looks impeccable. Pristine. Compared to Trevor’s ‘wild man of the mountains’ aesthetic, it’s indescribable. He looks like a man who knows well what exactly hygiene is.

Cut to Nicole, cut back to Adrian ft. hearts filter and harp strumming.

“Adrian! This is what you were given!” The little vampire cake pop is held up, modelled on competitor Sypha Belnades. Vampire Sypha is simplified and a little cartoonish, with gothic ‘makeup’ and two white fangs and a dribble of blood coming from her smile. Her eyes are scarlet and the costume is black and blood red. “Now let’s see what you did!”

The frosted glass is raised.

“ Nailed it .”

Trevor’s hackles are raised by how damn smug he sounds. Like a cat with canary feathers dropping from its lips. Skilled lip-readers will notice the quiet ‘Fuck off’ he mouths at him, just caught over Adrian’s shoulder.

He has reason to be smug, though. Because he fucking nailed it .

There are differences, of course. But for the most part? These cake pops do not look like they belong in the hands of a competitor on Nailed It. All three of the little vampire Syphas look pretty damn good . They look as polished and perfect as their creator.

Clearly the inside has been poisoned. He must have mixed up sugar with salt, or forgotten something, or managed put in even more alcohol than Trevor did.

The judges are wary when they bite in, ready to spit it out at any moment. And then they slowly look at each other with growing confusion when it turns out that, no, this is good too.

Something has gone badly wrong.

“Which alcohol did you choose? It’s great!” Nicole says before going back for more.

“The raspberry schnapps.”

“Well… I can’t give much criticism here. You could do with a little more attention to detail on the decorating, but otherwise you’ve created the perfect cake pop,” Jacques compliments him.

Suspicion.

Still, they move on.

“Sypha! What happened to you?!”

She is covered in powdered sugar, still. There are streaks of colouring smeared over her face and staining her hands. Bits of sugar paste and fondant are wedged all around her short nails.

“God hates me,” she replies bluntly. And it doesn’t even sound like a joke. More like a deeply-held belief. 

“Well here’s your little witch pop!” And she holds up witch Trevor on a stick. He has a little witch’s hat perched on top of his head, with a broom in one hand and a black fondant cat on the other shoulder. Witch cake pop Trevor has a broad smile and bright will to live that has probably never been seen on the real one’s face. “Let’s see your one!”

Sypha’s hand rests on top of the frosted glass for a moment, as if to gather strength.

“Nailed it!” she says, with great optimism, as she lifts it up to reveal…

Oh no.

Oh no .

Nicole snorts with laughter, but that’s okay - Sypha is laughing too.

Poor Trevor. Poor, poor Trevor.

Sypha’s cake pops have not held on to their sticks well. Two have slithered slowly down to a languid collapse, and the third is held up only by the witch hat. And even that looks more precarious by the second.

This is more like it .

“...I can see what you’ve done wrong,” Jacques says, eyes fixed on the disaster. “You put too much buttercream into the mix, and it looks like it might have been too liquid as well.”

The less said about her decorating skills - or lack thereof - the better.

The three cake pops - for a given value of ‘cake pop’ - are gathered up and tried. 

“...Yes, definitely a bit too much moisture in there.”

“Not a bad taste, but we were looking for a cake pop, not a pudding,” is the ultimate verdict.

“Thank you Sypha! Now, if you’d all come down here?”

Jacques takes the lead, giving a little rundown of their creations as a whole. Of course, there is no doubt of who wins this round.

“The winner of this round is… Adrian !”

While everyone else is giving him the usual polite applause, Trevor is staring. Directly. At. Adrian. Clapping slowly and deliberately with a face like stone. Each beat of his hands together sounds like an unspoken threat.

Carmilla smiles. Her teeth are too white. “And as the winner of this round, you get a goodie from my latest line of kitchenware. It’s a bundle of decorating goods, the highest quality on the market.”

A trolley is brought out bearing the promised goods, all of them in her signature colours. 

He gets the golden chef’s hat, and even as some sparkles flutter down to land on his shoulders, he still looks amazingly well-put together. 

“And Sypha! Now, you didn’t do the best in the last round, but don’t worry! You get a little extra help in the next round which is hidden behind door number two!”

Chapter Text

“Let’s all forget about that last round, because now everyone starts from scratch.”

Indeed, they look like they’ve been allowed to clean themselves up. Or at last, Trevor and Sypha do. Sypha no longer looks quite so much like a ghost, and someone has patched up the injuries Trevor defeated the odds to acquire. Adrian seems to be incapable of appearing as anything less than perfect.

“The grand prize of ten thousand dollars goes to the winner of this last challenge. Behind these doors is a lavishly designed creation sure to send shivers running down your spine. Now put your blood on to chill and wrap up your necks as we get ready to storm Dracula’s castle! ”

Adrian looks like he’s about to die on the spot. 

The doors swing open wide with a cheesy horror film scream. More dry ice mist floats around and the lighting is an ominous red. The Dracula’s Castle cake is made up of jagged black spires, with a decorative full moon on a stick at the top. It stands atop a bleak hill with a narrow winding path leading up to the solid-looking front door. On a balcony, there stands a bald fondant figure in a long black cape, a female figure in white swooning over his arm with long dark tresses tumbling to touch the ground.

The camera flits between the three competitors. Sypha is looking determined, not put off by the abject failure of the previous round. Adrian still looks like he is experiencing bowel problems. Trevor is trying desperately not to dissolve into hysterical laughter.

“You will need to bake the red velvet sponge to perfection before carving and stacking it on top of a rice krispie treat hill. Notice the evil Dracula seducing the helpless young woman-”

Adrian makes a strange noise like a strangled cat.

“Adrian - everything okay over there?” Nicole checks, deeply concerned.

He clears his throat. A few times. “Yes,” he says, still sounding a little bit strangled. “I’m okay.”

Nobody is convinced. But they move on regardless.

“...the evil Dracula and his tragic, innocent victim-”

Another strangled cat noise from Adrian.

“Carefully crafted from fondant. But don’t forget the intrepid hunter down below! He’s on his way to end all evil and the monster’s reign of terror!”

There is indeed a fondant figure halfway up the path, cross and stake prominently displayed.

Trevor doesn’t seem to think much of it, if his snort is anything to go by.

“Jacques! Any words of wisdom for our contestants?”

He points out the biggest danger areas, namely that they’ll need to make sure that sections like the towers and spires have adequate support.

“And it might look scary, but you’re all going to get a little help in this round! We’ve given you all a panic button, and if you need help, our favourite Frenchman will come to your rescue! You’ll have him for three minutes all to yourself, and then you’re on your own again!”

Neither Adrian nor Trevor would trust Carmilla’s help as far as they could throw her, if the way they’re both looking at her is any indication. So it’s a good thing her assistance isn’t on offer.

Sypha lifts her chin with determination; it looks like she has already vowed to herself not to use it. Despite all the evidence of the bakers’ choice round.

“And Sypha, sweet Sypha, you had… such a difficult time last round that this time, you’re getting even more help. You get another button. If you hit it, Jacques can only speak in French for three minutes. Use it wisely!”

With the look she’s shooting golden-hatted Adrian, it’s pretty clear just who she has already targeted for the anti-help button.

“You have two and a half hours on the clock! Let’s go, let’s go!” She doesn’t even have the time to chastise them for still being in place - all three of them had sprinted for their stations the moment she gave them the time limit. They, apparently, have all done their homework for the show. Either that, or they’re hypercompetitive fast learners.

It is a mystery.

Adrian is reading through the recipe they’ve been given, mentally mapping out each step he’s going to need. His approach is calm and measured and above all, efficient . Sypha is also frowning deeply at the tablet, lips moving slightly as she reads. A lip reader might notice that the words her lips are shaping are not words that would typically be found in a recipe, even a recipe for Dracula’s castle.

Trevor, on the other hand, already has a collection of cake pans at the ready and is cracking eggs with wild abandon. Is he following the recipe? Who knows. A predictable bleep censors his station when he gets a little fragment of shell in with the eggs, but then he shrugs, dismisses it as ‘extra calcium’ - which is a surprise to anyone watching, in that he knows both that calcium is an important dietary requirement, and that it is present in eggshell - and dumps all the eggs into the mixer. He stares at the mixer like it’s about to bite him and hits the go button.

No great disaster befalls him.

Sypha has started to make up her own batter with wild abandon, and again ends up covered in white from head to toe. This time, it’s the flour. It is attracted to her like magnets to iron. Nothing she can do will prevent it from covering her. Even her eyelashes have a coating, and little particles of flour spring from them when she blinks. When she takes a moment to wipe it away from her face a little, it gives her the appearance of a pastel panda. With streaks. 

Still, she presses on and is soon emptying the mix out into her tins. Which she failed to grease. She’s going to have fun turning them out, later on. The batter slops over the side as she puts them into the oven.

Adrian is folding dry into wet, and the first cracks in his appearance of perfection have appeared. A little smudge of batter has appeared on one cheek.

And wait - how did Trevor get his hands on alcohol?

“I thought the crew cleared that away! Trevor?”

“Yeah?” He has long since lost any kind of sense of shame. If he ever had one in the first place, that is. He’s trying to sound innocent. 

“What’ve you got there?”

He glances at the measuring cup of vodka in one hand, the red dye in the other. “Food colouring.” 

He makes his choice, heads on back to his station. His red velvet batter isn’t looking too bad so far, but it has been missing that important little detail of colour . So he squeezes in… pretty much the whole tube. His cake is going to be as red as-

And he slips and injures himself again. Still no swearing. Onlookers may be slightly concerned about how used he seems to be to shedding his own blood. But he keeps it from getting into his cake, so it shouldn’t prove to be a health hazard.

And his cakes are in their tins and sliding into the oven and his timer is on for the bake. It looks like they’ve been overfilled.

Adrian is still lagging behind and as he adds in the drops of food colouring, turning his head to squint at the recipe and see exactly how much it directs him to put in, he looks significantly more distressed than he had in the previous round. 

Trevor has seen this.

“Huh, so it is possible for you to get dirty!” he heckles with a grin on his way to grab a sheet of rice krispie treats. Both his and Sypha’s tins are in their ovens - Adrian is still messing around with his batter mix. “It’ll be fun seeing you turning in something that’s-” His next word is censored out. But it is probably a seven-letter word of two syllables. “- raw!”

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Belmont?” he retorts, pulling up his tins and spraying them quickly to grease them. 

“I’m a-” Another censoring bleep. “-multi-tasker!”

Trevor walks into the frame of the pantry door, having missed the actual entrance with about half his body. Karma, apparently, works fast. His breath audibly leaves his body and he just sort of… stays there for a second before stepping back. There’s no blood, this time, but it looks like it’s going to bruise.

Sypha-the-ghost lets loose a snort of laughter at him from where she has already started to unwrap her sheets of rice krispie treats. She squints at the example given before looking back at the sheet. And then she grabs a very sharp very big knife with far too much gusto for anyone to want to go near her and slices out a rough shape. The camera focuses on her face, deep in concentration, as she works out how exactly to make this look something like that .

A more talented baker - or indeed, architect - might decide that the best course of action is to cut out multiple layers following the contours of Dracula’s castle’s hill, then to further sculpt the little details with layers of buttercream.

Not Sypha.

Sypha’s vision is a bit grander than that. Far more ambitious. More economical and definitely more involved.

She cuts chunks out. She starts to fold it roughly into the shape of a hill. She gets a large wooden rolling pin.

She pummels it into submission.

There is something about just how intensely she’s concentrating on said pummelling that just makes it… a little bit disconcerting. Every so often, she pulls away from using the main length of the pin to apply a few precision blows with the end as well, before pulling back again to give it a measuring look. 

And then starting up again with raining down blows.

Cut to the judges’ altar, watching her with concern. Deep concern.

Cut to Adrian, finally sliding his cake tins into the oven. He glances over at his workstation before going to the recipe for further instructions. It is possible that he is the only one of these three who knows how to read .

And then the camera swivels, irresistibly drawn like a paperclip to a magnet to the terrible terrible thing that is about to happen.

Competitor Trevor Belmont, the man who has downed strong alcohol like it’s water, walked into a wall , and injured himself on blunt plastic, has got his hands on a knife which makes the one Sypha went for look tame in comparison. He weighs it for a moment in one hand, judges it, tests the balance. And then the fucking lunatic throws it up into the air above him as he drags his first unwrapped sheet of rice krispie treats into position.

Gasps of alarm are caught from every. Single. Microphone. 

The blade catches the light; he’d put a little spin on it. The sound effects guy doesn’t even need to add a little shing to the clip.

It comes back down, pointing directly at his other hand.

Seamlessly, effortlessly, without even looking at it, he catches it neatly by the handle and makes a tidy first cut.

Everyone starts to breathe again.

What a bastard.

He hums to himself as he continues to cut out the various contours of the castle hill, every so often pulling another show-off trick that makes hearts stop. He all but juggles with that knife and in the process he single-handedly shaves off not only the edges of his rice krispie treats, but several years of the filmcrew’s lives.

“Is he allowed to do that? Can we stop him?”

Now that she’s got over the initial shock, Nicole seems much more sanguine about the whole situation. She leans in slightly to watch Trevor’s surprising level of competence with blades. It is the first demonstration of competence he’s given all day, after all.

“He’s not doing any damage! We shouldn’t interfere.”

Cut back to Trevor again, and now the cameraman seems a little braver, coming up closer than before. He barely seems to be paying attention to the steel in his hand. It moves like an extension of his body, the fingers of his other hand darting in and out to make tiny adjustments to the rice krispies. 

Adrian is going for a method halfway between Sypha’s approach and Trevor’s. He employs some rough cutting mixed with a little bit of rolling pin ‘gentle persuasion’ to get a more natural-looking shape to the hill that still provides a strong foundation for the cake to come.

Trevor is the first to abandon his lumpy butter icing to check on his cake. 

“It looks done? How do I know if it’s done all the way through? How do I know if it’s done?” He shakes it, squinting into the open - still on - oven to see if any of his cakes wobble.

There is no wobble.

“We can’t help you, Trevor!” Nicole calls over from her seat at the judges’ table.

“Oh-” Censoring bleep. “Yeah-” 

And he leaves the tray, teetering half-in, half-out, to go and smash his fist down on the SOS button. The timer starts. Jacques descends to the plane of mere mortals.

“If you want to test it being done, you poke the middle with a skewer. If it comes out clean, then it’s done.”

Trevor obeys and looks at the skewer. It is indeed clean after being stabbed into each of his cakes. “What now?”

“Put it in the blast chiller to cool so the butter icing doesn’t melt when it’s time to assemble, shape, and decorate. You can use the time waiting to make your figure decorations.” He runs through a brief tutorial on how to get each shape.

The clock is ticking. He only has a handful of precious seconds left.

“What do I do with my buttercream? There’s lumps!”

Jacques falls over his words to try to get it in as efficiently as he can. Halfway through his explanation, however, the time runs out. Trevor calls after him-

“Don’t go! Come back! What next?!”

His plaintive cries sound like the heroine of a regency era romance novel calling after her dashing love interest who’s a bit of a scoundrel but ultimately has his heart in the right place. This does not escape Adrian’s attention; he snorts from where he’s beginning to put together his own buttercream.

But given that he’s at least two steps of the recipe behind the others, he’s got his own issues to deal with. 

Trevor still flips his middle finger up at him, and the camera has had to cut away very, very sharply. 

Sypha turns to face her oven. “Does anyone else smell burning?” This seems to be business as usual for her, though. She’s remarkably chilled about the whole thing. Even if her cake, apparently, isn’t.

She opens her oven, checks on it, and decides that it looks just fine. The burning smell was only the batter that had slopped out, in the end.

“One hour left!” Nicole yells.

Cut to Sypha running from the chiller to her station and turning out her cake. Or trying to. She’s scowling down at it and hammering on the underside of the tin. She can’t slam it down on the workstation top, because she overfilled her cake tins. 

In the end, the middle - which has been sinking steadily ever since being taken out - peels out and drops down. The crust on the edge is brown.

“Underbaked,” comes the judgement from the judges’ table. “She didn’t leave it in long enough after putting too much into her tins.”

Adrian has completed his buttercream and begun to cover his mountain with it. It looks a little rough, but the application is still far better than most of the offerings usually seen on the show. For one thing, he’s using the correct tool. A sad rarity on Nailed It! .

Trevor’s application is a little more haphazard, but the minutes are ticking steadily away. The steps are very clear; he has to have the layer of buttercream in place before he begins to carve and stack his castle cake.

Sypha has still been keeping a close eye on Adrian, to the point where her buttercream is suffering. It looks far too stiff, and there are some sections of butter which haven’t been fully blended into the rest of it. 

The camera cuts to Adrian. He has his cake out, knife in hand. He is looking even more distressed than he had at any point before in the competition. Cake stacking and shaping are, apparently, not skills he’s ever developed in the past. He hesitates. He frets. 

He slams that SOS button.

Jacques comes running while Nicole calls encouragements from the judges’ table. Just as he arrives at his station, however, Sypha hits her sabotage button.

Au secours! Voila Jacques!

She is filled with delight and savage vindictive glee as Jacques begins to talk at Adrian in rapidfire French, spouting off baking terms and phrases that even the average Frenchman on the rue - or indeed, the roux - might have difficulty understanding.

Adrian opens his mouth.

He responds in equally fluent French, speaking with the ease of the native speaker. Even with the horribly technical baking terms.

The camera focuses in on Sypha’s face. The satisfaction, which had inflated her for one glorious second, has escaped like air from a burst balloon. She is just staring and gaping at the scene before her with clear dismay as Jacques walks Adrian through assembling his cake and making sure that it is structurally sound, both of them talking in fluent, easy French.

Off to the side, out of her sight, the castle she has begun to stack is slowly collapsing and sliding down the rice krispie hill.

Cut to the judges’ table where Nicole is stage whispering a request for translation.

“Oh-” Censor noise- “you!” Trevor calls. “Smug, know-it-all bastard!”

Adrian’s face is indeed deeply smug. He still somehow looks attractive.

The clock jumps forwards and they’re entering the final stages. The cakes are, for the most part, assembled. Sypha is just beginning to realise that she has fallen short on the amount needed. With desperation, she returns to the pantry and comes out carrying more sheets of rice krispie marshmallow treats.

“Ten minutes left people!” Nicole calls. “Ten minutes!”

Sypha frowns and begins shaping her new treats to make up for the lack of her cake.

Trevor is finishing up the shaping of the castle. He’s used some… imaginative items to make the spires and other architectural flourishes, but it isn’t looking too bad? 

At least, until the camera pans to Adrian’s station where he is already all but done. He just has to make the final move to the presentation spot and tidy up anything that shifts in transfer. It doesn’t look as good as his offerings for the previous round, but it still looks pretty decent. 

And then cut to Sypha.

She is so far from done. Her buttercream is sliding off the cake - which itself is beginning to slide apart - and she is frantically trying to put in the black colouring for her castle. With the airbrush. 

Bit by painful bit, the wonky towers and spires are getting dusted black. The dye, however, keeps slopping over to stain her fingertips to the point where she looks like she has both a penchant for black nail polish and terrible hand-eye coordination. 

“Five!”

Two castle cakes are moved quickly to the presentation slots.

“Four!”

Black-stained fingers jam three figures - now also smeared with black - into place.

“Three!” 

Three boards are raised in quick succession. Trevor curses in pain.

“Two!”

Adrian darts behind his to do some last-second adjustments.

“One!”

Trevor has just released his finger from where it got trapped and is dancing from foot to foot with his finger in his mouth.

“You’re done!”

They all step back, hands raised.

Or, in Trevor’s case, hand .

They bring their bakes forwards as the judges descend to this mortal realm.

“So, Adrian, you won the last round, got the golden baker’s hat, and came into this round with a lot of pressure.”

Adrian’s fingers are stained red from the food dye, giving him the appearance of having splashed his hands in blood. There are many more golden sparkles that have drifted onto his shoulders and into his hair. His once-neat bun has slowly slipped further and further down into dishevellment. He has a smear of flour on his brow and a crease of soul-deep distress between his brows. He still looks beautiful. Nicole looks sympathetic.

The heart animation plays with the plucking of harp strings.

“Just to remind you what you were trying to recreate an incredibly tasty, spooky bake.” 

The camera cuts to the professional quality Dracula’s Castle cake, complete with white chocolate full moon, winding path, and the figures marking out a little story.

“Let’s see how well you did!”

“...Nailed it,” Adrian says, sounding much more tired and a great deal less smug than he had at the end of the previous round.

He reveals a castle that is, even with Jacques’ help, only passable. It’s not bad, no, but it’s nowhere near the polished precision of his cake pops.

Turns out he really does belong here.

“Okay! Not bad! We can see… everything? All the parts you were supposed to make! But tell me - where did your Dracula get all his hair from?”

“...Having him without hair just didn’t feel right,” he evades.

“Well, from the looks of it, you’ve got a very structurally sound creation. It’s holding its shape quite nicely,” Jacques compliments him. “And your buttercream looks a nice consistency. You’ve got some good detail work going on there, very nice.”

They move on.

“So, Trevor. How was it that you managed to injure yourself on plastic fondant sculpting tools, but you put on that knife show without a single drop of blood?”

“I’m insulted you doubt my capabilities.”

Carmilla looks like she desperately wants to say something that isn’t in line with the show’s family-friendly fun aesthetic.

“Let’s see what you’ve got for us!”

He reveals his castle. “Nailed it!”

The castle looks a little sad. The ‘moon’ is just a lollypop he’s wetted and coated in some kind of white powder. Flour or sugar, hopefully. His figures are blobby and the hunter figure, rather than being on the path to the castle, ready to save the young victim from the evil vampire’s clutches, appears to be performing a victory dance on the vampire’s head while the woman swoons over him.

The hunter also has a coil at one hip.

He has done roof-work with icecream cones and wafers sprayed black. His buttercream - still a bit lumpy - is rough and uneven in places, with the red velvet cake showing through.

“Good effort!”

They move on.

Sypha. 

Poor Sypha.

She looks far from her best.

She is wearing flour. She is wearing sugar. She is wearing food dye. 

She is also wearing an expression of deep disgust aimed at Adrian who still somehow looks photoshoot-ready.

“How are you feeling , Sypha?” Again, Nicole looks sympathetic. 

“Like I never want to go near an oven again,” she replies bluntly. “I am cursed, I’ve said this before.”

It’s hard to respond to something like that. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad! Now, let’s see your cake and you’ll never have to…?” 

Sypha nods. Her screen drops.

“ Nailed it.”

It is a scene of disaster. While she, unlike her other two competitors, has stuck to the source material - so far as anyone can tell - her castle has not stood the test of time. The layers of cake are sliding past one another on an inevitable trip floor-wards. She rescues them just in time.

Her figures - without any extra hair or accessories - are blobs of fondant that only vaguely resemble the originals. Her ‘moon’ is, like Trevor’s, a lollypop from the pantry. Unlike Trevor, she hasn’t coated it in anything. It is just a swirl of bright pinks and blues. Many of the castle walls are showing the texture of rice krispie treats through the patchy coat of black pigment.

“It certainly looks… interesting? You’ve got all the elements of the target cake?”

“Yes, your buttercream is just a little bit too liquid,” Jacques comments. “And the constructional elements could do with being a bit stronger.”

“Okay! Well, everyone cut your best slice of cake and bring it on up here!”

Trevor again shows off some scarily good knife skills. Sypha and Adrian are not actively trying to be drama queen camera-hogging divas in that moment, so they just cut their own cakes like normal human beings.

Cut to a low camera angle on the table as three plates are placed in front of three judges.

“Let’s start with Trevor!” 

They each take a bite. Jacques begins the judgement.

“Trevor, your cake has a lovely texture, and it’s nice and moist. Although you’ve clearly had some difficulties with your buttercream, it has a good flavour.”

“I’ve never had a red velvet cake as red as this before, I love it.”

All of the judges have appreciated Trevor’s cake.

“Moving on - Adrian’s cake.”

They take their tasting bites. 

Not one of them swallow.

Jacques is the first to regain capacity for speech. “You must have mistaken the salt for sugar. There is no way to salvage it. This is… inedible.”

“Sorry, Adrian, he’s right,” calls Nicole. 

“And if you look at the crust, you’ll see that it’s very thick and darker than it should be; even if you hadn’t made your mistake, this would be a very dry cake.”

They move on again, to the third and final cake.

“Alright, let’s see how Sypha did.”

The messiest plate of cake is drawn to the centre. Each of them takes a bite.

“Not bad!” is Nicole’s initial verdict.

“It is a little bit dry, but you’ve added so much moisture to your buttercream that it balances out well,” Jacques compliments her. “You should add the sugar more slowly to your butter next time, and don’t be afraid to let it be stiffer. A good strong buttercream holds cakes like this together; when you made it too soft, that’s what helped lead to the cake falling apart.”

The praise seems to have given Sypha back her spring. 

The camera cuts to focus on Nicole. “Only one of you can win the ten thousand grand prize,” she says seriously. “And our incredible, glamourous, much fought-over Nailed It! trophy. Which is-”

She looks around.

She looks unimpressed .

“Wes.

“ HWes!”

Someone is army crawling along the front of the table, unseen by the judges.

The trophy appears like magic-

And promptly falls back off the front.

Sypha laughs.

Adrian remains above it all with dignity.

Trevor, who has never once heard of dignity in his life and isn’t about to meet it now, snorts.

The camera jumps to a more distant position and the trophy is now in front of Nicole.

“As ever, this was a hard choice to make. And the winner of the Nailed It! trophy is…”

Tense silence punctuated by even tenser music.

“Trevor!”

Applause begins to ring out. 

“No-” Loud censoring bleep. “Way!” He’s grinning, unable to believe this. Notes of money are beginning to hit him aggressively in the face.

Given his track record, maybe he should be worrying about if he’ll get a bruise or a papercut.

They all huddle together for the customary selfie. For some reason, only Sypha is willing to get close to guest judge Carmilla. 

Trevor looks jubilant. Sypha is just delighted it’s all over. She’s thrown her arms around Trevor who somehow has agreed to piggyback her for the photo.

White powder is smeared all over his shoulders, and does he care? Nope.

Nicole has got in close to Adrian and exclaims about how cold his hands are. 

Still, they all crush in close and the picture flashes up. 

Huh.

Funny. 

Carmilla seems to have been shoved out of shot…

Cut to credits.

Chapter Text

The studio has fallen into darkness. The cameras, unmanned, point down at the floor. The filming is over and cast and crew have filtered out, the few edible creations shared out between them. Come evening, the cleaners will come to deal with the mess. So there really shouldn’t be anyone around.

That, however, seems to have passed Trevor by.

He walks slowly through the now-deserted studio in the dark, measuring his breath, light on his feet, looking for movement in the corners of his eyes.

“Where the fuck did I drop that thing…” he mutters, apparently to himself. His voice rings out in the dead room. 

The fingers of one hand flex slightly. Impatience flits over his face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he sighs and drops the pretence. “I know you’re here, you cut-throat bitch. There’s no way you could’ve got past the holy water I-”

A choked gurgle cuts him off. His back slams against the wall. A hand, ivory-white with scarlet talons, is at his throat. It looks far too dainty and elegant to be lifting his full weight, but his feet dangle inches off the floor. 

Despite the fact that he is in the process of being choked - and not in the fun way - Trevor smirks. “Knew… it was you,” he gets out.

“Yes. Imagine my surprise when I saw the Belmont -” She draws the surname out, a sneer of distaste on her face. It’s like she’s looking at a parasite-ridden, half-starved stray on the street. “Walk out in front of me. This is the opportunity I have been waiting for; I get to be the one to rid the earth of your cursed bloodline.” Carmilla’s accent has slipped from refined, but still modern, to something far more ancient. Her eyes flash scarlet and her lips draw back from her teeth.

Her other hand wrenches his head back. She leans in like a lazy lover, teeth bared. Her eyes focus on the jump of the pulse in his neck. She’s been wanting this ever since the first taste of blood in the air. It’s been all she could think of, how to get him alone, how to have him at her mercy, how to drain him of the lifeblood whose siren call she is unable to ignore.

“Look… down.”

Her eyes widen in the fraction of a second that she gets before she explodes into… whatever it is that happens to vampires when a blessed weapon pierces their undead corpses. Trevor drops into a crumpled heap on the floor with a grunt. It takes him a moment to unfurl, drag himself up to sit, rub at his neck. He coughs a few times.

“You’re one of those Belmonts?!”

“What the fuc-”

“I thought I recognised the name! I should’ve realised sooner! You’re a hunter , aren’t you? Your whole family was!” Blue fabric whips around with emphatic gestures. “I thought you were looking suspicious, so I stayed around to see what you were doing!”

“You-”

“So the knifework - you do that every day, right? So how did you manage to mess up so badly and injure yourself? If you knew you were in the same room as a vampire - she was a vampire, wasn’t she? - why did you cut yourself? Surely you’re not that incompetent? How did you survive all this time if you are?”

“Sheer dumb luck, I would imagine.”

Trevor’s dark head slams back against the wall again and he mutters a curse at a god he’s never believed in. “Mister Perfect too? Is the whole fucking show hiding around a corner?”

“ Doctor ,” Adrian corrects him. 

“Doctor Perfect , then.” Trevor rolls his eyes. “What the fuck are you even doing here anyway?”

Adrian’s cheeks flush the most delicate pink, barely perceptible in the darkness. “That is none of your concern.”

“He’s with me. We thought we’d get a drink together and I suggested getting you too.”

“A drink sounds like just the fucking thing I need.”

...

They find a bar near the studio that balances Sypha and Adrian’s need for cleanliness with Trevor’s desire for cheap and strong. The three of them gravitate towards a table tucked away in a corner. The lighting is dim. The atmosphere here is naturally subdued. 

It’s perfect.

While Adrian is in search of a wine list, Trevor slides into his chair with two pints. “So what’re you having?” he teases Sypha with a grin, playfully fending her hand off from the second glass.

She pouts at him and kicks him under the table. With a chuckle, he lifts his hands up and lets her take her drink.

“We’ll be waiting a while for him, I think,” she says with a nod over towards Adrian.

Trevor snorts. “What a princess. He wouldn’t last five minutes some places I’ve been.”

“At least he knows what shampoo is.”

Trevor pouts and turns his attention to his glass. Beer, at least, has never insulted him or hurt his pride.

Indirectly caused him to be insulted and physically hurt, maybe. But the beer itself was always innocent in the matter, and that is the story he’s sticking to.

He has another mouthful. Almost without thinking, he prods at a bruise on his arm.

He frowns.

It hurts.

He takes a slug from his pint.

He pokes it again.

When he’s about to give it a third poke - because clearly, the result would change so quickly - Sypha smacks his hand away.

“Explain,” she demands.

“Sure, but I’m not saying any of it twice. So, long story short, vampires are real and I had the luck of being born into the family which kills the bastards.”

And true to his words, he doesn’t repeat himself, not even when Adrian returns with a glass of inferior white wine and a disgruntled expression. Sypha thinks it’s hilarious - albeit a little petty - and does nothing to enlighten the third at the table about Trevor’s quote- brilliant plan -end quote to get rid of a particularly difficult vampire. She’s too caught up in the story anyway.

“So all those times you cut yourself, that was to make her lose her control?”

“Yeah, put blood in the air and usually even the smartest vampire turns into a pile of throat-ripping instinct held together with duct tape and frayed string.”

After he’s finished telling his story - with a few more rounds to wet his throat, of course - Trevor is tipsy enough that he is easily drawn in to telling another tale of his great feats as a hunter of all the darkest beasts of the night. Still sober enough, however, that he doesn’t tell the full truth of some of them.

It feels easy. Right . The three of them. Like this was meant to be, somehow.

They talk long into the night, sharing stories. When they leave together, it doesn’t even feel like a decision. They’re staying together. Sypha, Trevor, Adrian. A trio of terrible bakers drawn together by the fickle hands of the fates weaving at their loom.