(ForceOfTheSea, I've tagged you in my
fanfic. 🤠)

On the twelfth of March, you're walking around some shady-looking forest, camera in hand (some small, cloaked Chinese girl had scammed you, telling you that there's beautiful scenery in this place, though there clearly isn't), when you hear a demonic shriek.

Well, it might only be two foxes doing the deed (yes, foxes scream), but you doubt it.

Anyways, you're terrified-it's not everyday, where someone makes a sound that seems like they're saying, "Help me, I'm getting murdered brutally!"

So, being you, you (of course it's you) decide to run away, because [BLEEP] curiousity-you are not risking your life for that, unlike typical W*ttPad good girls who think they're better than everyone else, but really aren't-

Oops, you're getting off-track.

So, since you actually have common sense, you decide to DASHI RUN RUN away, even if there may be someone telepathically yelling "SAVE ME!!!" in your head (or, maybe, that's just you being a "lowkey" K-Pop fan, and an ARMY in denial).

Nope, you're not staying.

Whilst dramatically kneeling on one leg to start sprinting, you notice something in the screen of your camera.

Woah.

Through the camera lens, you see something beautiful.

A turquoise sea brushes softly against golden sand that gleam, the moon casting a silver glow. On the fairy-dust ground is a giant blanket the of shade cornflower. A long, ivory table carries china plates holding small snacks, muffins, a wine bottle holding chocolate milk, and a garlic-bread pizza. dim, white lanterns light a path to a mansion-sized beach-house, coloured a pastel blue, with the ceiling, door and window-frames white.

At the sound of the waves, the smell of sea-salt, and the feeling of a light breeze, you look up, taking your eyes off the screen.

You're in the beach.

As in, the beach that you saw in your camera screen.

The beach that the lens magically presented.

The place calms your nerves completely, and you can't help but close your eyes, enjoying the peace and sort-of-quiet.

"ELLUSH LAMIONE PUNCAKE, I SWEAR TO THOR, I WILL BREAK OUT OF THIS BARRIER!" A slightly-American-slightly-foreign voice snaps you out of your miniature paradise, and your heart thuds at the shock.

"Put me into Cardiac Arrest, will ya?" you murmur under your breath, palm pressed against your chest.

"Sorry about that-our fam are known for being crazy," a petite woman wearing a crimson halter dress says with a warm smile, slender brown eyes warm. Her black hair curls to a stop under her shoulders, light-brown skin shining under the moonlight.

Dumbfounded, you reply, "Oh- erm, no, it's fine- yeah, er... it's all good." You mentally facepalm at your stuttering, dying a little inside, when the woman laughs softly.

"Ahah, don't feel embarrassed-we're all awkward, here." You distinctly hear an accent within the woman's singer's-voice. "Anyways, I need to go get some stuff, so I'll be right back," she tells you, voice melodic. Still slightly stunned, you nod awkwardly and watch her enter the house.

"OH MY GOD, CINDERALLY, I'M GONNA SQUISH YOU WITH THESE OLD BLUE SHOES UNTIL YOU'RE FROG PASTE. NO-WE'RE NOT GIVING MUFFIN A BICYCLE WITH VLADMIR PUTIN ON IT." Once again, this time at the voice of a female with a foreign accent, you jerk from shock and begin to wonder whether you'll make it out of this place alive.

Probably not.

"You're just batsh*t crazy, Lenovo," the not-so-deep voice of a male replies, voice tinged with an American accent. "We're all batsh*t crazy."

"I swear-" the girl huffs.

As their voices gradually increase in volume, you nervously wait for them to see you, and vice-versa.

A frog.

A frog.

You, when entering a shady-looking forest, did not expect to find a talking frog. Especially not one that proudly wore a crown and a flowing maroon cloak. No. You certainly did not.

Oh well-sanity's only a step away, and what's the worse that can happen? Seeing ghosts?

Wow, the world really hates me, you think at the sight of a ghost-girl.

Floating a few inches above the ground, the girl (who's holding an old, blue shoe in her hand)'s long hair flows like the sea, her brown skin glowing with a slightly-blue aura. She wears an off-the-shoulder top (you can't really tell what colour it is, because she's glowing blue, ya know?) that quotes, 'Any salad is a caesar salad if you stab it hard enough.' Words of wisdom, really.

Behind her trails a goat that chews casually on sprinkles, a few leaving its mouth every once in a while. You assume that its name is Ana FluffSprinkles, due to the name being printed in bold, underlined, rainbow letters on the shirt it wears. Not that it's a dead giveaway, or anything. Pshh, no.

When the frog meets eyes with you, he suddenly blurts out, "Somebody touch ma spag-"

The ghost cuts off the frog-prince by slamming the shoe in her hand onto him, crushing the poor guy, and turning him into frog paste, as she had promised. "No, Cinderally-no one's touching your spaghett," she deadpans.

Slightly terrified, you watch her with wide eyes, glancing at the bleating goat, every once in a while.

"Hi, I'm Ana, as in Ana McSprinkles, which is a gifted short form of my ridiculously-long name, and that's my twin brother, Cinderally, but we call him Lon," she sighs, "So much talent, yet nowhere to store it." After a while, she speaks again. "Also, that's my pet goat, Ana FluffSprinkles. Lamione inherited mom's typo-queen powers."

You awkwardly nod, bemused, before you answer, "Er, hi..?"

Oh, wow, top ten greetings. You think to yourself, sarcasm laced in your inner voice.

At the awkwardness, none of you know what to do.

After a while, Ana and Lon decide to go back to grab all of the Harry Potter books, bringing Ana FluffSprinkles with them, thus leaving you alone to wither away of embarrassment.

Yay, you think to yourself.

Your eyes are wide, when you find yourself looking at three tall-ish, elegant, normal-looking women.

Make that two-one of them's stroking a cat. Oh, yeah, also, she's possibly an alien.

Nope, one. Another is dragging a motorcycle and wearing a cap that says 'SUP, FELLOW STALKER?' in bold lettering.

Okay, the world's against you, because none of them are remotely normal. The last one has 'GAG ME WITH A FRIKIN' KNIFE' imprinted in her shirt, and you're absolutely terrified, hElP-

"Hi," the cat-loving-alien chirps, bubbly. "I'm Maegen, but most people call me Meg, or Mushira."

Mushira smiles at you, looking you in the eyes. That's when you see the silver irises that gleam more under the moon. Her dark-ish ski glows, and cat ears sprout at the top of her dark hair. Yup-she's an alien.

After you return the greeting, the next woman (the stalker) casually says, "Sup? I'm Kyrene Esmeralda, but people just call me Esme." With a casual nod, she gives you a small smile, brown eyes and dark hair shining.

The last woman (the one with a knife kink) grins widely at you, saying, "They call me Mari, and I'm a proud muslim." Slightly creeped at the grin but feeling respect for her pride, you smile slightly. Her black hair looks glossy under the light, and her eyes gleam with either insanity or kindness-it's hard to tell.

They're all wearing pretty casual clothing-tank tops, jeans, etcetera-and, after checking everything, they go back in the mansion.

"Hi!" You're startled when a chirpy voice cuts you out of your "peace", which literally doesn't exist anymore. "I'm Gigi, and I'm a genie!" At that, a tall girl appears with a puff of blush-coloured smoke.

Her long pastel-pink hair contrasts with her brown skin, and she wears a frilly white tank top to match with rose jeans. As she speaks, she happily chews bubblegum.

You notice a Saiyan-boy behind her, floating off the air, and carrying a bookshelf on one hand. His spiky hair is lightning-yellow, sharp eyes brown. In fact, he glows with a sort of superpower energy.

Placing down the bookshelf, the boy says, "Hi, I'm Xavier, but you can call me Oli," and then leaves you slightly dumbfounded.

"AHHHHH!" You jolt when Gigi vanishes, leaving a poof of pastel-pink smoke in her wake.

You think you're finally starting to get used to the shock, so decide to watch the sea as it folds, gleaming in the low sun.

"YES, I'M FREEEEEEEE!!!!!" The first voice (the one that's slightly-American-slightly-foreign) returns.

Okay, never mind.

You're not getting used to the shocks.

"NO, WAIT, DYNOSAUR!" Another girl yells. Her voice holds a dramatically posh British accent, and- wait, why's there a Brit in the midst of foreign-Americans?

With a flash of mint-green, a small Chinese girl appears right in front of you, stumbling slightly. Her black hair floats in the air from the movement, crazily-bright brown eyes widening.

She wears a pine-coloured crop T-shirt along with black high-waisted leggings. In her fist is a long, pointy stick with a metallic-green wire twisted around it and there are small emeralds embedded in it as well.

"Yo," she begins, the rapper-style word contrasting with her posh voice. "I'mEllushLamionePuncakebutpeoplejustcallmeLa, andifyoudidn'tgetthat, I'mnotrepeatingit."

Bemused, you nod, and return the greeting.

La sighs, then says, "It's too late-she'll come out anytime soo-"

Suddenly, the doors open dramatically, revealing a the figure of a tall female.

Her eyes gleam with madness through the glasses perched atop her nose, mouth curling with a goofy grin. Under the moonlight, the girl's brown skin glows, and her raven hair shines, flowing with the light breeze.

She wears a grey and dark-grey hoodie over a plaid shirt that contains the colours purple, black and white as well as silver threads that run through the top, matching the moonlight. These are matched with her dove-grey leggings.

The girl shines, glowing with the moon, which is in no way brighter than her.

She's like the sun, but also the moon, you think.

Everyone else comes out, each holding something in their hands.

"Oh, okay, surprise, I guess. I swear, you did that as payback," La grumbles, sounding slightly bitter.

"Anyways," the witch continues. "Happy birthday, Dy. You're, like, the superglue of our family-you keep us all together and positive, and we all couldn't be more thankful for that. We're not always alive-especially not Spirit," Ana grins in agreement, "but we all love you."

"I sorta assumed that you'd prefer a day to relax, and, thankfully, you said you do, when I asked you.

"So, happy birthday, and, as I promised, I'll make sure that your birthday's a good day, even if you hate March."

On the twelfth of March, you and the Crazy Fam relax on the beach, read, watch the sun rise, eat, and goof around.

After the sunrise, they all start getting up, and speak: