#They have “Magical trees” their and somehow nobody knows where they come from

[dizzyorb]

”Legolas wouldn’t smoke pipe weed with everyone else!!”

you’re right, only the finest cocaine for the elves of Mirkwood

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 18 - Revenge

CONTINUE TO DAY 10 go read that one first if you haven’t <3

sorry it’s late again, I was lovingly kidnapped yesterday and too busy after I got back. These might just all be a day late now I don’t even know 😬 we’ll see. Also thank you to everyone who’s been reading these!! I really REALLY appreciate you guys <3 thank you so much!

Warnings: blood, violence, grief, brief mention of a dead body

ao3 link

Day 10

NEXT (day 26)

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Hyrule has been gone for over a week, and nobody knows why.

He just... disappeared. Gone out to grab some firewood, and then never came back.

Nobody was too worried at first, thinking of Hyrule’s propensity of getting lost, but as the hours, and then days, had worn on, nobody was cracking jokes anymore. Their search became frantic, and they’d combed the forest they were camped in, every bush and tree scoured. Twilight had even followed Hyrule’s scent as a wolf, but his trail had abruptly stopped, leaving no trace of the traveler.

There was no sign of him anywhere.

Something had happened to him, that much was plain to see. And they all knew the odds of it being something bad were high.

Hyrule wasn’t a loud presence in their group, but his absence was strange, and tensions grow the longer they go without any clues to where their traveler has disappeared to. Anxiety and worry color every conversation, heavy looks exchanged, and theories of good things that might have happened to Hyrule get passed around with shaky voices and glassy eyes.

And Legend stays silent through it all, a feeling deep in his gut that something was very, very wrong.

Heroes don’t just disappear.

They don’t stumble upon a portal until a full week after they last see Hyrule, and Legend isn’t the only one who stiffens at the sight. Nobody speaks, and hands remain near their weapons as they file through, faces lined with worry. Legend is the first to go, Wild right behind him, brows determined but hopeful.

Legend’s heart thuds in his ears as he enters the magic, hope and fear warring in his chest. The dark magic ripples like a syrupy soup as they step through, thick and disgusting, but Legend brushes it off, and emerges without issue.

And stares.

The others do the same, coming out from the portal, then stopping in their tracks, staring at what Legend saw with just as much dismay as him.

The sky is red.

They all stare up at it, eyes transfixed on the crimson sky, dark wisps of clouds curling in thin tendrils. All of them shift into defensive stances, breath catching, eyes wide, memories flickering in gazes.

Legend stares up at the sky, frozen as he takes in the deep, blood-red color, and has a horrible, awful, heartbreaking thought.

The blood drains from his face as he tears his gaze away from the sky and looks around the land they’re in, struggling but hardy plants, wild woods and tangled thickets, a castle standing proud in the distance. A particular flower catches his sight, an herb their missing member often keeps on him, and it hits Legend like a lynel’s hoof to the ribs.

This is Hyrule’s time.

And Legend can only think of one reason why it would look like this.

“No,” Wild whispers, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Legend. “No, he... no.”

“No what?” Wind asks, his expression worried and concerned at the devastation on Wild’s face. Not all of them know about Hyrule’s blood curse, but those of them that do soon remember it, and their expressions turn horrified as well as Wild sinks to his knees. “Guys, you’re scaring me, what does it mean?” Wind asks again in a panicked voice.

“It means Ganon is back,” Legend somehow manages to whisper. “And Hyrule...”

“He’s dead,” Wild chokes out.

“What?!”

Time quickly explains Hyrule’s blood curse to those unaware, which Legend is grateful for. He doesn’t think he could handle telling the story right now. Not with the pressure building behind his eyes, the denial, the first few sharp pricks of grief like freezing rain on his soul, the anger...

Legend latches onto the emotion, knowing it’ll serve him well in the upcoming days. Anger is what he needs right now. Not anything else.

He looks back up at the crimson sky and around at the forest, proof of Hyrule’s blood being spilled soaked into the very land itself, and feels his stomach harshly lurch. Everything around them already looks wilted and sucked of life, grass crackling under their feet, all because Hyrule is dead.

Dead.

Hyrule is dead.

Legend’s anger falters, an icy wave of grief shooting through his chest. He’ll never share a stupid joke with the traveler again, chastise him and Wild for running off to explore. Never insist Hyrule isn’t taller than him despite what the others say, never argue with him about magic, never hear his laughter that has an extra chime to it after he makes an awful pun.

Never tell him how proud he is to have a successor like him.

Kind, sassy, humble Hyrule.

Dead.

Legend can’t even remember what the last thing he said to him was.

“Oh Hyrule,” Sky whispers as Time finishes the explanation, still staring up at the crimson sky. His voice is nothing short of horrified, and Legend curls his hands into fists as he looks up, forcing back the sting in his eyes.

“Is he really dead?” Wind asks in a small voice. He looks at Legend, and Legend looks away.

“He might not be... right?” Four says hesitantly. “You just said his blood needed to be spilled to bring Ganon back. Isn’t it possible the ritual didn’t need all his blood?”

“And then what, you think Ganon would just leave him alive?” Legend snaps, and Four purses his lips.

“I only meant it’s possible,” he says quietly, his face pale, and Legend turns away. He doesn’t want to see the emotion on everyone’s faces, listen to anyone try not to cry. He can’t. He needs to focus.

Legend sharply inhales, and looks down at the castle in the distance instead, flags and banners noticeably absent from the walls. There’s smoke drifting in the air, signs of a battle at some point. Ganon must already be down there, probably captured both the princesses, probably told them of how he murdered—

Legend’s nails leave red crescent-shaped marks on his palms.

Ganon.

That vile pig.

A few of them had been quietly talking, but soon a horrible silence falls over them, heavy with shock and grief and...

Rage.

Legend wouldn’t say that they’re an angry bunch, but something hits them all then, a deep, righteous fury. That one of their own is dead, pulled away from them without any hope of helping him, that their greatest enemy used him to come back.

That they never got to say goodbye.

Legend unsheathes his sword without thinking, clutching the handle so tight it’ll leave dents on his palms.

“I’m not letting that filth roam free,” he whispers, and doesn’t even care how violent he sounds. “I’ve killed him thrice and I’ll do it again.”

“I’m with you,” Wild says, eyes blazing, his bow already out.

“We’ll take him down,” Warriors agrees in a voice like ice, eyes sharp and grieved.

Time closes his eye. “We’ll do what Hyrule could not.”

The sounds of the others drawing their swords rings out, and they stand in a circle, a noticeable gap in their ranks. Wind is the one who raises his blade forward, and the rest touch the tips together, bowing their heads in a quick mark of grief for their fallen brother.

“For Hyrule,” Twilight says in a voice both grieved and enraged.

Legend closes his eyes, hating the tears that escape.

“For Link.”

(...)

They hit the castle like a hurricane, striking fast and decisive.

There’s tons of monsters around, but they go in with everything they’ve got, only holding back in preparation for fighting Ganon himself. Their stock of equipment and healing supplies is remarkably full for once, and so nobody hesitates as they rush in a side door and storm the halls leading to the throne room.

There’s signs that there was a fight in the castle before now, but they see nothing alive except monsters. It worries Legend, but a part of him hopes that maybe the majority of the civilians got out before the worst of things, or are hiding somewhere safe.

His cynical side snorts at that, but he hopes anyway.

Vengeance speeds their blades, and they draw nearer and nearer to their goal. They’ve never been here before, but Hyrule had told Legend about it, eyes bright and smile wide as he talked about how his land was healing, the castle fixed up, what the princesses were like. Legend knows he’d hate what it looks like now, curtains and tapestries torn, plants dying, walls broken, bodies and blood strewn across the floor.

A vibrant, gory picture of what he failed to protect.

Oh Hyrule, Legend grieves, nearly wailing as he catches the dead eyes of a soldier slumped against the wall. I hope it was fast. I hope you didn’t see this.

We’ll fix it. I swear.

A smell in the air gradually strengthens as they near the throne room, a metallic, heady one. It reeks of blood, but the intensity of the scent doesn’t match the amount of crimson on the ground. Legend would maybe be concerned, but he’s stuck firmly in a cloud of grief and rage, and the fact that he notices at all is surprising in and of itself. The more squeamish Links look a little pale the stronger it gets, but it doesn’t quash their determination a bit.

And soon the doors of the throne room loom ahead of them, elegant wood looking nothing but foreboding in the red light from outside.

The heroes pause for just a moment, healing injuries that need it, taking stock of gear, going quickly over the plan of attack. Legend already has it memorized, and his very bones seethe with impatience despite how fast they got here, knowing the single being he absolutely, truly, hates is right behind the door.

His murderer is right there.

But the others finish quickly, and Twilight gives his shoulder a single squeeze. His expression is full of a lot of things that Legend knows will make him either cry or scream if he studies them too hard, so all he does is nod in return.

And finally they all face the door, grieving, fierce, and determined to take their enemy down.

They burst inside, and see him.

He isn’t as big as he is sometimes, probably only about half again as tall as Time. There’s red lines painted all over his skin and into his fur, stripes and symbols rather striking against the bluish color of his skin. They’re on his arms and chest, cheeks and forehead, though the biggest is a single blood-red handprint, right over whatever shriveled husk must be left of his heart.

He watches silently as the heroes run in, weapons unsheathed and ready to attack him, and looks only vaguely amused.

“Ganon,” Wind spits, eyes grieved and furious.

The monster smirks. “In the flesh.”

Legend startles a little, not having expected him to speak. But he supposes it makes sense. Hyrule fought a mindless beast, but his blood resurrected something more.

Ganon takes a long draught of the wine in his glass as the heroes point their blades, holding it with his long claws in a surprisingly delicate manner. He licks his lips as he lowers it, revealing fangs stained red, and Legend realizes with a sickening lurch that it wasn’t wine that he was drinking at all.

Someone gags behind him.

“Don’t look so surprised. The little hero’s blood is quite the energizer,” Ganon says with his smile growing, picking up on their horror. “Freshens one right up. Tastes better straight from the source, but it’s not bad a bit stale. And this castle has some very nice goblets.”

“You—” Twilight spits, a fury in his eyes Legend’s only seen maybe twice. “You vile—”

“Yes yes, I’ve heard it all,” Ganon says with a yawn, almost lazily picking up a huge trident by his throne. “You hate me, I hate you. Let’s skip the theatrics, shall we?”

“Bold words from the monster drinking blood from a wine glass,” Legend scoffs. Then he almost throws up as it hits him again that Ganon is drinking Hyrule’s blood.

Oh goddesses let it have been a quick death.

Ganon snorts, twirling his weapon. “Hero of Legend. You haven’t changed a bit.” His eyes narrow, and an enraged sneer alights on his face as his eyes lock with Legend’s. “You’ll find that I have though. And I can’t wait to add you to the list of heroes I’ve crushed. Would you like to know how it happened to your friend? How he sobbed at my feet, groveled, begged me to let him—”

“Liar!” Wild snarls, and looses an arrow straight at Ganon’s snout.

The monster simply moves his head right before it would have hit him, the arrow sinking into the wood of the throne with a loud thunk. Ganon laughs, a familiar booming sound that has nearly all of them freeze, and stands up, his face gleeful and enraged.

“He was a pitiful insect, unable to stand against my power. Weak. What a glorious legacy you’ve left, Hero of Legend.”

Then he rushes forward and strikes.

Legend leaps out of the way of the trident, prongs leaving marks in the floor mere inches away from him. The others scatter as Ganon laughs, and they try to put their strategy into effect.

Wild and Twilight harry Ganon with arrows from a distance, trying to hit something vulnerable like an eye. Four and Wind go for the legs and tail, while Warriors, Sky and Time do their best to deflect weapons and also hit his torso. Legend moves around to anywhere he’s needed, and as he strikes where he can, he keeps a sharp eye out for a weak spot. Ganon must have one.

And yet, no matter how hard Legend and all of them look, Ganon doesn’t show any signs of a weakness.

He’s fast on his hooves and dodges most of Wild and Twilight’s arrows. Something about his skin and fur is thick enough that any blows they land barely do a thing, and every attack he hits them with brims with power. He blasts magic at them that singes hair and very nearly takes Four’s head off at one point, and can even turn himself invisible for a few terrifying seconds, making him impossible to hit.

This Ganon is worse than any Legend has fought, which is saying something.

It’s Hyrule’s blood, he realizes grimly, narrowly dodging a strike to his chest. It must be. Almost all of us have beaten him on our own, and yet eight of us are struggling to land so much as a scratch.

They’re all accruing injuries too small to use a potion on, but draining nonetheless. Legend is bleeding from a scrape on his cheek, and his arm aches from how many times he’s had to shield against an attack.

The blunt end of the trident catches Time in the side, launching him sideways with a sickening crack. He’s back up in a few moments, face pale as he wipes potion from his lips, but they can’t keep taking hits like this.

Legend’s mind is whirling with plans, what items he could use, what needs to be done. The only thing that even remotely phases Ganon is the Master Sword, but he’s been exceptionally good at avoiding it so far.

Legend’s thoughts are going so fast he almost misses it when it begins, a tickle in his head, a featherlight touch of magic. It grows to a whisper, distracting him from the fight, but as Legend’s hair raises on the back of his neck, the strange feeling grows louder, forming abruptly into words that he can actually understand.

“...please hear me please hear me please he— AURORA I BROKE THROUGH IT WORKED!”

Legend jumps at the shout, and a few others flinch as well, Sky and Four looking around in confusion, Wild’s eyes gone wide. The others don’t react, but Legend isn’t focused on them.

He’s too busy finding that little spot in his head, the only place he ever hears a voice beside his own.

Legend hurriedly falls back to a safe distance from the fight, and focuses on the voice he’d heard, trying to connect to it and respond despite the way Ganon follows him.

...Princess? he thinks hesitantly, forcing the word out as far as it’ll go. Or, princesses? Is that you?

“Oh we really did reach them!” the voice exclaims again, tears in the words. “Oh thank the goddesses. Yes, it’s us, we’re in the uppermost tower, Ganon has magic trapping us here.”

“And you’re okay?” Legend asks out loud, dodging an attack. Ganon follows him, eyes narrowed like he knows what he’s doing.

“Yes, Yes we’re fine, but listen hero of Legend!” Zelda’s voice says frantically, her voice shaky but determined. “Link is alive!”

Legend freezes, heart pounding.

Wild almost falls off his perch nearby, and Sky and Four stop dead in their tracks.

“You’re sure?” he chokes out, and Wind nearby looks at him like he’s insane.

“As sure as I can be. We don’t know where, but he’s in the castle somewhere,” Zelda’s voice promises, still shaking. “I... I would feel it if he were dead. Ganon is drawing on him for power, you need to find him and break their connection.”

Legend almost falls over at the rush of emotion, and his instincts are the only thing that save him from being skewered by a thrust from Ganon’s spear.

Hyrule is alive, he’s strengthening Ganon against his will, he’s alive—

He whirls on the beast, fury and hope clouding his vision.

“Where is he?!” Legend howls, lunging at Ganon with his blade, Ganon barely deflecting the strike.

Emotion roars through him as he attacks, hacking and slicing and fighting furiously as he tries to land an hit on the beast. Ganon still avoids his attacks, and starts laughing, not answering his question in the least.

Legend is so blinded by fury that he misses Ganon charge a magic attack, and the blast hits him square in the shoulder. He goes flying backwards with a shout and sear of pain, and his world blacks out for a moment when he hits the ground.

He comes back to Warriors pressing something to his lips, and Legend swallows the half a potion with a pained groan, hurriedly sitting back up when he remembers what’s happening.

“Legend what are you doing?” Warriors asks when he tries to launch himself at Ganon again, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a concerned look. “What’s going on?”

“He’s alive, the princesses reached out, he’s here somewhere,” Legend snarls, and tears his shoulder out of Warriors’ grip. “That pig knows where he is!”

“Legend, slow down, explain,” Warriors demands, and drags him far enough away from the battle that hopefully they can actually exchange a few words.

Legend growls and explains as fast as possible, trying not to listen to Ganon’s laughter and the cries of the others as they struggle against him. Warriors’ face lightens with hope as he hears the princesses’ message, and Legend can see the gears turning in his head.

“We’ll have to split up,” he says finally, wincing at the thought.

“I’m going,” Legend says firmly.

Warriors nods. “I’ll go with you, and Wild can be our backup,” he says, looking quickly out at the battle. “This way we have fighters and someone to carry Hyrule as well. The others should be able to handle things here while we’re gone.”

“Sky and Four heard too, they’ll pass it on,” Legend says, catching Sky’s eyes across the room. The Skyloftian nods, face determined and furious, and Legend and Warriors rush across the room, looking for Wild.

“Hero of Legend,” a slightly different voice calls suddenly, the voice of the other Zelda. “Link is difficult to pinpoint, but we think he’s in the dungeons somewhere. Neither of us can reach out to him, you’ll need to free him and break Ganon’s hold, or else Ganon will remain undefeated.”

“Thank you. We’re going right now,” Legend chokes out, his eyes stinging again. He hurriedly wipes them on his sleeve and keeps going.

They finally reach Wild, the champion still shooting arrows, two and three at a time. He immediately turns to look at them, his cheeks damp and expression fierce.

“You heard?” Warriors asks quickly, and Wild nods, his eyes red.

“He’s alive. And we’re getting him out,” he hisses, shooting one last hail of arrows at Ganon’s face. “Let’s go.”

The three of them rush for the door, and Ganon howls, throwing magic at their backs. Time leaps forward and deflects the blast with his sword, knocking it back at Ganon, who knocks it back at Time.

“Four told us, go find him!” he shouts, the magic exploding onto the wall.

The three of them nod and they bolt, rushing out the door with Ganon’s roar shaking the walls behind them.

We’re coming Hyrule, hold on, please.

[nocturnalghoul]

Mushy May 2024

Day 4- Wound care/First aid

Rating/warnings: T (slight discussion of blood, but nothing graphic)

Pairing: Cirrus & Rain

Words: 786

Cirrus injures herself doing something Aether specifically told her was dangerous, but luckily has Rain for help.

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for organizing and @ghuleh-recs for the divider :)

“Aw, what the fuck! Shit!” Cirrus yells as she feels something caught up in the whirlwind around her slice into her arm. Her best guess as to what happened is a sharp piece of wood got caught up in her magic and slashed along the back of her arm.

She drifts back down to the ground and takes a second to poke at the wound, wincing with a sharp inhale as she finally truly registers the pain.

There is a chance that she might have let her control on her magic slip a little due to being distracted remembering the fight she had had with Aether about her plan.

So what if riding a small tornado is an “impractical method of transport” and has “potential to get somebody hurt”, it looks cool as hell and there was no way she wasn’t gonna try it out. Besides, Cirrus had argued, she is responsible enough to only try it out in the woods where nobody else would be. She thought it wouldn’t hurt to at least try, but the blood trickling down her now firmly arm points to the contrary.

The sting of the cut is one thing, but having to admit to herself that perhaps Aether was right, and her plan was stupid hurts even worse.

Shit, Aether.

Looking at the slice it’s something that could easily be patched up without a fuss, but is in an awkward enough place that she can’t get a good look at it and isn’t confident she could do it herself.

Even though she might finally be acknowledging that she was wrong in their argument, there is no chance she will let Aether know he won. Going to him so soon afterwards is a hit to her pride Cirrus refuses to take.

She pulls down her sleeve and applies pressure as she hurries down the path, deep in thought about what to do. Luckily, the answer drifts to her on the wind. On the path to the east, she hears Rain humming while on a walk.

Beelining it through the trees, she manages to catch up with him easily enough and pops out in front of him.

“Oh hey Cir, come to join me or…” he trails off, noticing the blood dripping down the back of her arm past the sleeve. “Woah, what happened?”

“The consequences of my own magical actions I guess, but just know that it was cool and totally has potential” she grumbles, looking back towards where she came from.

“You’ll have to show me later, but I saw Aeth in the kitchen before I left if you want him to check that out for-”

“NO!” Cirrus cuts in, far too forcefully before grimacing apologetically.

She sees Rain raise an eyebrow inquisitively, thinking for a moment before moving on. “I see... well I’ll take a look”

He reaches out slowly to inspect the wound humming in consideration. “Eh, I think it’ll be fine. Doesn’t need stitches or anything major, but let me clean it up for you.”

She watches as he doubles back down the path to take the opposite fork and strides after him. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to remember that there is a first aid kit in Mountain’s greenhouse, but then she sighs in relief. Rain has got it under control.

Of all the ghouls she could have run into, she is glad it’s him. Both ghouls have gotten into countless situations due to stubborn pride, but somehow the other is always there to help. No judgment, no questions, no doubt. Just whatever is needed of them in the moment.

Rain idly chats about whatever happens to run through his brain on the walk there, a pleasant distraction and exactly what Cirrus needed.

They get to the greenhouse quickly enough, Rain walking in and heading straight for the first aid kit while Cirrus makes herself comfortable on a bench Mountain keeps by the door.

It hurts for a second while she adjusts to fold her legs under her, but that initial sharp pain is gone.

Once all the blood is washed off, it’s really not much more than a shallow cut. Rain puts some antiseptic on it and a few butterfly bandages and declares Cirrus “discount healed” with a big toothy grin.

“My hero” she proclaims with a big dramatic swoon gesture before bursting into laughter. “As payment, let me tell you what the intended vision was.”

~~~

While on his evening walk, Copia swears he can see two of his ghouls atop a small localized hurricane in the distance, but quickly decides to not see it and walk the opposite direction. Whatever trouble they get up to, they can work out themselves.

[mizusswordtip]

Down The Rabbit Hole ⚝ Killian Jones x Reader (18)

find the story on wattpad

summary: Alice's plan to overthrow the Queen of Hearts is thwarted by a dashing pirate with a hook. Years later, after the curse is broken, they reunite once again.

masterlist

We'd been walking for what feels like hours when Hook, who's been leading us, calls out over his shoulder.

"Up ahead. We'll find the compass just over the ridge." I give him a nod to continue walking which he returns. Emma and Snow catch up to me.

"Do you get the feeling he's leading us exactly where Cora wants us? That this whole thing's a trap?" Snow whispers conspiratorially. I purse my lips, having been wondering the same thing the whole time. If she'd asked me yesterday, I would've jumped on that bandwagon without hesitation but... it doesn't make much sense.

"It's defiantly a trap." Emma concurs without hesitation.

"I'm not so sure." I murmer over my shoulder. Emma looks at me in disbelief.

"What? Don't tell me you trust him?" She asks, brows furrowed. Before I can answer she fires off another question. "How do you even know him?"

"He was in Wonderland. Cora forced him to blackmail me into leaving Wonderland." I explain shortly, not having time to get into the nitty gritty of the details.

"So why should we trust him?" Emma asks rhetorically with a suggestive raise of her brow.

"We shouldn't. But... I have a feeling that he's not loyal to Cora." I explain. Despite my own gripes with Hook (selfish, killer, pirate, thief) he doesn't strike me as someone who'd willingly align himself with Cora unless backed into a corner. Or maybe I'm just trying to see the good in him when there may be none. "But keep your guard up regardless." Hook comes to a stop at the tree line. I walk up to stand beside him and let out a heavy sigh at the sight in front of me. A giant beanstalk that reaches up to the clouds.

"Let me guess. The compass is up there?" I ask with a knowing look at Hook.

"Oh yeah." He answers, sending a sly smirk in my direction.

"So we climb?" I ask through an accepting sigh.

"It's not the climb you need to worry about. It's the giant at the top." He informs. I look at the others who look at the beanstalk with differing levels of concern. I take one last deep breath.

"Let's go then."

It only takes us another five minutes to reach the base of the beanstalk. Somehow, it looks even more daunting up close. I shield my eyes with my hand from the sun as I look up.

"It's a little freakier than I remember from the story." Emma comments.

"Reminds me of death." Mulan mutters to herself. My brows furrow.

"Encouraging." Snow snarks.

"A beanstalk reminds you of death?" I can't help but ask. Hook looks to all of us with a sarcastic smile.

"Well, your compass awaits. Shall we?" He asks with a wave of his arm.

"Wait. If these beans create...portals, why not just pick one and go home? Why the compass?" Emma asks.

"I imagine if there were beans, Cora would have used one already." I surmise with a shrug. Hook looks at me and smirks.

"Right you are love, there are no more. Whatever story you think you know is most certainly wrong." He tells Emma.

"There was a guy named Jack and a cow and something about evil giants with treasure and a golden goose." She explains poorly. What does a golden goose have to do with giants? Is the goose a gold color or is it literally gold? "Or harp." She mutters under her breath.

"Sounds like a lovely tale. But the truth's a little more gruesome. The giants grew the beans, but rather than use them for good, they used them to plunder all the lands. Jack and his men fought a terrible war, defeating all but one of the evil giants. The beans were destroyed by the giants as they died. If they couldn't have the magic, then nobody could. Certainly very bad form." Hook says. As he explains, the more this story sounds familiar to me. My father used to tell it to me when I was a little girl. I remember calling the giants 'villains' and my father correcting me. Told me that the victors get to tell the story, not necessarily the heros.

"Why doesn't anyone just go up and grow some more?" Emma asks.

"Because one giant survived. One that even Jack couldn't slay." I repeat my father's words. Hook nods at me in confirmation.

"And we'll have to get past him to..." He starts.

"The magic compass." I finish.

"Indeed. The treasure remains, and amongst it is the compass. Now it will guide us to your land. Cora has the means to open a portal with the wardrobe ashes, but she can't find your land without the compass. Once we get it, we steal the ashes from her, then we're on our way." I almost laugh. He makes it sound so easy. As if we can simply pickpocket the ashes off Cora.

"How do we know you're not just using us to get the compass for Cora?" Mulan asks suspiciously. He looks at her for a moment before turning his gaze to me.

"I already told you why." Comes his answer. His gaze is so intense, hard to look away from. There's something unspoken in his gaze that I can't read. I turn away from him to face the beanstalk.

"Then we better start climbing." I say, starting to head for the beanstalk when Hook's voice stops me.

"Right, so, I failed to mention that the giant enchanted the beanstalk to repel intruders." I stop and clench my jaw. I turn to look at him over my shoulder with an unimpressed look.

"So are we meant to fly up?" I ask sarcastically. He gives me an amused smile.

"No love. I've got a counter spell from Cora." He says, pointing to the cuff on his wrists before holding his bound hands out. "If you'd be so kind." I walk up to him with a sigh, taking the dagger out of my boot. I grab the ropes and cut them with little trouble. I make the mistake of looking up and seeing the soft expression on his face that I'm pretty sure I wasn't meant to see. "Thank you." He says, sounding genuine. What the hell is going on? It's hard to believe he's being genuine after what he's done to me and who he's working with. Could he actually be genuine? I turn away with a swift nod of my head. "I've got one more of these. Alice and one other can come along." My head snaps in his direction, breaking me out of my wandering thoughts.

"I thought you said you only had one other?" I ask. He points down to my sword.

"Yes but that sword you're holding wards off all magic so you don't need a fancy cuff." He explains. I sigh and then look to the others.

"You guys need to decide who then." I tell them with a sigh before turning my attention to the sky.

"Go on, fight it out. Don't be afraid to, you know, really get into it." Hook says sarcastically before turning his attention to me. "Afraid of heights?"

"No. I was imagining what it'd be like to fly." I say before looking over at him. My words are only half a lie. I'm not afraid of heights and I was thinking about what it'd be like to fly. My concern is over whether or not my body can handle the climb. Despite feeling a lot better than before, I'm still malnourished enough that passing out is a possibility. He looks like he wants to push further but simply nods his head, accepting.

"Ladies, in this world we are slaves to time, and ours is running out. In other words, tick tok." Hook says to the others. I look over to see Emma approaching, which doesn't surprise me. I give her a small smile that she returns as Hook places the cuff on her arm.

"I'm glad you're coming along." She tells me.

"Why's that?" I ask with a little laugh.

"Well if I trust anyone to kill a giant, it's the dragon slayer." She says with a raised brow and a smile.

"Actually, it's called a Jabberwocky." Hook corrects lightheartedly.

"That's not- not this time." I stumble over my words but he understands what I'm saying if his raised brows are anything to go by. I smile smugly before starting the climb up the beanstalk.

[hanibalistic]

THE CLASSIFIED INVESTIGATION UNIT | STRAY KIDS.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, friendship, action, found family au, magic au

synopsis | between meeting a new recruit and being sent to catch a criminal to do damage control, the last thing you thought would happen to you and the twins, as one of the nation's strongest trio, was getting your ass heavily kicked.

word count | 26.2k+

warning | fighting & violence, blood, injuries, descriptions of body mutilation / mentions of kidnapping & criminal activities / sacrilege

universe | tciu / here is the discord link to its world-building server if you are interested in knowing more :)

note | sonic the hedgehog. sonice the hedgehog... so nice... / thank you brat for the name :) / fight write is hard!

There was an abandoned cathedral that was never taken down. They grew trees around it instead and planted a bed of flowers on the ground surrounding it. 

An old Jesus Christ statue hung in the center of the cathedral's inside; those born without a given power would turn to Christianity to have something to believe in or a community to belong to. It almost felt daunting for you to step foot into the cathedral the first time because of the existence of Han and Jisung. Somehow you always forgot that they were not the actual manifestation of an angel and a demon, and that those labels were only reification. Jisung, the angel counterpart of the twins, turned the statue upside down when he entered.

The cathedral was still empty when you arrived. It usually was vacant, saved for the leisure moments when you would visit for peace of mind even though the cathedral was broken and ugly. 

The only trace of light came from the rose window above the double doors that creaked whenever they were moved, and it shone a light directly onto the upside-down statue of Christ. Unless the doors were kept open, most of the inside of the cathedral was barely visible. The wooden pews were dusted into homes of spiderwebs and unknown crawlers, and there were no designated seats for you or anybody else who would come by. 

The only thing left of this holy ground was an eeriness that ran strong even before its abandonment. But at least it was far away and quiet. Hidden among trees and surrounded by cooing doves, at least the cathedral held a silence nowhere else but your bedroom at three in the morning held. But, even with that, the haunting shadows unlit by the sun seemed to have a past vengeance that would sometimes creep a cold shiver down your spine, so you did think the reason why you could find inner peace in this cathedral at all was that Jisung and Han were here. 

You glimpsed at your phone to check the time before turning it off and resting it on your lap with your hands. You exhaled as you leaned your head on Han’s shoulder. He barely moved in response, already deep into concentrating ahead during this familiar waiting process. Occasionally Han would wonder how you three were often the earliest to arrive for team meetings when there were three of you while everyone else just had to prepare for one. But the issue never bothered him enough to find an answer. 

“What are we doing here?” Jisung asked from where he sat up on the end of the statue’s wooden cross, breaking the silence. He swung his spread legs, barely hitting the old sculpted marble with the back of his shoes, and he carelessly suckled on the tootsie pop. 

Han scrunched his nose in distaste when he glanced at Jisung’s careless demeanor. That was, in no way, an indication that he cared about anything of religious endeavors. But being a literal manifestation of a dead God himself, there was something about a tarnished statue once worshipped that was so unappealing to him. It could be resonance; his unknown creator died similarly, with their statue flipped over and nobody praying at their feet. But mostly, Han thought he didn’t like anything unconventional that Jisung did. It was a sibling thing. 

“Get off the cross, Jisung,” Han scolded.

Jisung popped the candy out of his mouth and pouted. The velocity of his swinging legs increased a spiteful fraction, which proved the existence of a mischievous glint hidden in his adorable eyes drenched with faux concern. He grinned in satisfaction when he met Han's glare, knowing well that his twin brother did not care about this enough to physically make him get off his unconventional seat. If nobody planned to do that, and you decided not to verbally accost him for his disrespect, he would keep doing it.

You chuckled lowly when you felt the heavy sigh trapped within Han’s chest. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you flipped your phone over to recheck the time before looking up at Jisung. He grinned at you when you two met eyes, not a care in the world, which was how he was supposedly born to live on this Earth, ironically a sharp contrast to how he was born. 

“Changbin is going to wrestle you out of there when he arrives and sees you like this,” you said. 

“He’s coming?” Jisung asked with widened eyes.

“Yeah… yeah?” You looked at him with disbelief, unsure why he was surprised, but a part of you began questioning yourself upon Jisung’s confusion. “Everyone is always at these meetings.” 

“Seungmin is never anywhere but his stupid, niche dude laboratory.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “It’s not even a laboratory. He just has computers in the room.”

That was partially true. Jisung was right about Seungmin’s government-provided office, which was just a basement Jeongin had convinced to be provided to their shared home, not being a laboratory. But there were more than just computers in the basement. A section of the wall covered with screens and multiple rolling whiteboards filled with scribbles and printed-out pictures of faces made an intricate system that only Seungmin and Jeongin could and were required to understand. 

Additionally, there was a corner of food cabinets that Jeongin would often restock to fulfill Seungmin’s wish of never seeing the light of day again. In return, Seungmin takes down any online harassment directed toward Jeongin so he can keep his terrible attitude everywhere on broadcasts.  In terms of toxic reinforcement, this duo can rival you and the twins. 

“I don’t think Chan is always here for these meetings either,” Han mentioned with a tilt of his head. “But then again, he is somehow always everywhere, all the time.” 

“I am, indeed, everywhere, all the time.”

You flinched at the closeness of Chan’s sudden appearance, almost jumping out of your seat as you turned your head to look behind your shoulder and found Chan smiling humorously between where you and Han sat. Han missed Chan sneaking up behind him, but he did not scare as easily as you, so within the calm processing of Chan’s abrupt emergence, he could execute retaliation by shooting a hand out to grab at Chan’s face. He missed because Chan swiftly scooted backward on the pew and leaned into the uncomfortable seat. 

“Where did you even come from?” you asked rhetorically, but one wouldn’t have caught onto that without explicit mention. You brushed off the hair that rose on your skin, annoyed scoffs leaving your lips. 

“Where else? From the door.” Chan pointed a thumb backward at the doors that were already closed.

You furrowed your brows. He was lying, but you could not figure out any alternative to how he could have entered the cathedral without any of you noticing him. If he went through the double doors, there should be some sensory indication of his arrival. The doors were so old that they creaked whenever they were opened. Even if Chan somehow managed to silently push one door open, the light that would temporarily shine through the gap would be impossible to miss, especially by Jisung, who was sitting directly across those doors. 

However, you would not put it past Jisung to stay quiet upon Chan’s arrival. Chan wasn’t much of a stickler for good etiquette; he didn’t have the right to be with his background. If he wasn’t asked to be on his best behavior, which he has been pleaded to on multiple occasions, Jisung would gladly not do so. He wouldn’t go out of his way to behave terribly, but he was troubling enough as his regular self.

“So,” Chan kicked his feet up and rested his ankle on his knee, “what were you guys talking about?”

“I didn’t know Changbin was coming,” Jisung muttered unwillingly as he hopped off the upside-down cross. He dusted his knees which were uncovered by his shorts. This time his face held a pout. 

Chan’s gaze trailed after Jisung as he moved begrudgingly toward you and Han. Jisung kicked Han’s feet when he squeezed between the space so he could sit next to you. 

“Why does it matter if he is coming to the meeting?” Chan asked, amused. “Does one of the shoulder twins have a bad case of daddy issue?” 

An alarmed but amazed smile slowly widened itself onto his face when the three of you simultaneously turned around to level him with an exasperated and unappreciative glare. The frequently debunked theory about you three being siblings surfaced in his head, and he shook it off with a shrug. You three were right about it being wrong, not because you would know your origin and relationship best, but because there was no way you three weren’t one unified being. The constantly coincidental rate you three operated around each other was too uncanny to be a product of just being close siblings. 

“I don’t have daddy issues,” Jisung argued. 

“Also, technically, Changbin isn’t our dad,” you said. 

“And if anyone here has daddy issues, it should be you,” Han followed pointedly after you.

You three would do this sometimes—talk in sequences, one after the other, as if you were taking turns to speak fragments of a long sentence. The sentence you three individually utter could be put together into one prolonged sentence that, frankly to Chan, could have been said by just one of you. If not one long sentence, then you three would talk in relation to what the previous person said, adding new information but not straying from the initial point. 

Chan was never a big fan of that. Everyone else brushed it off, though. 

“That’s a bit harsh,” Chan mentioned dismissively. “He was your foster dad.”

“He would still be our foster dad if we didn’t choose to leave the system once we turned eighteen,” you said, putting quotation marks around the word ‘leave.’ A distasteful shrug arched at your shoulders as you scoffed at Chan’s disagreeing brows. “We were kids, but we weren’t stupid. We were just immature.”

“Were?” Chan snickered. 

“We’re not laughing,” Han said. “Why else would we have to leave our previously perfect foster home for a single-parent household, where our guardian not only has no experience working with children before but was also coincidentally working for the military? The change happened immediately after the both of us were measured in the power scale test too.”

“We have been around since [Name] was born, and nothing outrageous has happened until we got transferred to the private school. Things started going downhill from there, and whose fault is that?” Jisung chimed in after pulling the tootsie pop out of his mouth. “There was no reason for them to suspect us unless ulterior motives existed. If they were truly afraid of us, they would have been smart enough to keep us in a nurturing environment, but they took us out instead and dumped us at the doorsteps of some military lackey who couldn’t give a shit about us.”

You pursed your lips together and laughed lowly once Jisung’s voice dropped. He looked down at you, confused, then back up at Han, who maintained a knowing smirk. He thought he was contributing to the conversation just fine, so why were the both of you laughing? Upon his genuinely questioning face, you laughed even louder and leaned back into Han to nudge him with your elbow.

“There is no reason to suspect us–pfff!” You wiped away an invisible tear. “That’s rich coming from you!”

“What?” Jisung screamed in his defense. “How am I the issue? Look at Han! He literally broke someone’s wrist with his bare hand!”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “he had to do it.” You weren’t even sure which occasion Jisung was speaking of.

“Oh, okay!” Jisung slurred in exasperation, clearly mocking you. “When he does it, it’s necessary. But when I do it, I have violent tendencies.”

“You do have violent tendencies,” you said. 

“Also, I don’t know how you could get it so wrong because you were there when it happened, but technically I didn’t break it in one go,” Han clarified with a grimace, already deduced the event his brother mentioned with little to no hints. “I fractured their bone first, and then I shattered it. It wasn’t hard to break because it was already fractured beforehand.”

You gasped in realization. “Oh, that’s what you were talking about.”

Jisung shook his head. “You didn’t know–you defended him!”

“I always assume Han only does things out of necessity.”

Chan watched you three banter away about who was more aggressive and violent. In silence, his thoughts lingered on what Jisung unknowingly revealed about how you three felt about the whole shebang you were forced to go through as children, which was that the real issue lay in the fact that you all thought Changbin didn’t care about you three. 

He always forgot how uncharacteristically human you three were. Conceived by force and birthed by love, the literal manifestations of a God, the three cosmic accidents—no matter the labels the media have slapped onto the three of you to fulfill their need to make sense of your inconceivably strong ability none has received from a God before, to reason with your inhumane existence, there was no denying that ultimately you three yearned for the same thing most people did: parental affection, and a normal childhood. 

Not a regular life, just a regular upbringing.

Most of the relationship problems Chan knew about you three and Changbin he heard directly from the foster father himself. Chan recognized many of the discrepancies Changbin has with you three resulted from Changbin not knowing how to be a father, which he could never have learned how to! He did not agree to foster you; he was ordered to after being selected as a capable candidate to keep watch over Jisung and Han. It was never a good idea. The authorities should have known that teenage fiery in the hands of powerful children would react terribly to the expectations of a man trained in the special forces. 

The only good thing about picking Seo Changbin as the foster parent was that he was a good man. Besides the disguised abuse of keeping you three under supervision like caged animals, he cared deeply about you all, and he did all he could to make the best of the time remaining in your adolescence. Alas, while he was a good man, he was not a good father, and you three wanted affection from a parent, not a kind stranger. If he was indeed a father, he would have cut himself out of fostering you three, or at least he would have done his parenting without the government's guidance. 

Immature was too harsh of a word. Ignorant, or even unknowledgeable, would be the better way to describe how you three used to feel about this because it was much more complicated than only what he could have done. There would always be what the authorities could have done to you three if Changbin didn’t agree to be your temporary guardian and did, half-heartedly, what he was told. None of you could have ever factored that into the equation as teenagers. Looking at the bigger picture and being able to analyze it was not in your bones at that age. You were still being taught how to do that.

But, ultimately, actions speak louder than words. As much as you three deny the familial relationship, you play the role of children the way most parents are familiar with. 

Ignoring Changbin’s constant nags to clean your shared room; arguing about taking turns folding the laundry and washing the dishes just to end up having your dad do everything; brief answers to questions about your day during dinner; discreetly throwing snacks into the shopping cart during grocery runs; slamming the door in retaliation of being screamed at despite having the power to do so much more damage. You can say all you want about how much you disliked Changbin, but playing the role of children and letting him act as your father was a choice you all made.

It was unfair for you three to discuss Changbin the way you were, but Chan supposed that was an inevitable experience. 

“Dude, he’s gone.”

“I’m not. I just tuned you three out,” Chan muttered as he swatted the snapping fingers before his face away. “Also, they’re right, Jisung. You do have violent tendencies.” 

Jisung sat back down in his seat with furrowed brows. A half-hearted scoff left his lips just as he pulled the almost-finished tootsie pop out of his mouth. “I know?” He put the hard candy back inside his mouth and bit down hard to crush the ball. The stick was thrown carelessly behind his shoulder after. “We were already done with that conversation. Catch up.” 

Chan smiled warmly; getting him riled up would take a lot more. He watched you three drown in short conversations, one after another, about school, work, and different variations of the same insult match. He didn’t forcefully insert himself into your discussions because he was too drowsy to handle your three ganging up on him. Whatever happened just now was enough, so he spent the next few minutes dozing off in silence until the doors dramatically opened again. 

“Yang Jeongin! You are late!” Jisung hollered after he jumped off his seat. 

“Yeah, today is our only day off from school,” you said without looking up from the clock on your phone. 

“We weren’t gonna do anything, but still,” Han finished. 

Jeongin raised a brow from the doorway. The sunlight behind him glowed over his body, making him appear like a celestial being. He let the door creak shut behind him as he shuffled to the cathedral's center at an unhurried space. Giving a nod at the upside-down statue of Christ, Jeongin walked behind the pulpit and rested his hands on the side of it. He heaved a sigh dramatically with a smile.

“Chan,” he acknowledged, “and the three musketeers.” 

Han smirked even though he didn’t particularly find it funny. He knew for sure that Jeongin’s mischief was only fueled by the sulk in you and Jisung’s shoulders, even if Jeongin may not be sure whether you two were sulking because of how fashionably late Jeongin was or that he mentioned you three were going to spend the day off being unproductive anyway.

“Sorry for being late. I had a presentation today at school,” Jeongin said with a few rhythmic tilts of his head. “Then I have an emergency press conference for the stunt you guys pulled at the metro station last week!”

You were dispatched last week to fulfill one of the more straightforward BOLO requests made on the website Seungmin made to help him better seek out cases for the unit. When Hyunjin related the matter to you, he complained about the vague details Seungmin gave him before informing you of the face of the man you were asked to catch, a broad time range and the location where he would be within the time frame. You should have asked more of the request, but you remembered Hyunjin mentioning something about the website not being within the scope of the investigation unit work, making it technically a work of vigilantism to fulfill citizen requests, which would be illegal. 

The vague details were Seungmin’s way of making sure none of you dumbasses (his words) could make an unnecessary mess with the police by oversharing. 

That man was fast; hyper-speed was typical, but catching him during rush hour made it a hassle. You suggested taking the chase to the moving train; one way to stop a runner from escaping is to block the paths he could run to. 

Before the train could reach the next station, while it was still in the middle of the railroad among shopping buildings and above car roads, you had Han manually stop it by causing a malfunction. You didn’t give him the idea to clear out a car of passengers so he could blow it up in the middle of the railroad. Han thought of that himself after Jisung jokingly pointed out that a heavy accident would stop a train. It did accomplish your goal, except Han also blew up a section of the rail where the pieces of the blown-up car fell through and landed on the road, and the remaining cars of the train approaching the hole almost followed.

Jisung clapped his hands while he barely perked up in his seat. “Oh! Han was the one who did that, not me!”

Han clicked his tongue as his eyes rolled. “Shut up. It was your idea.”

You hummed in disagreement. “Actually, I was the one who told you to do that. You just executed the plan.”

“Your plan almost killed a whole train of people,” Jeongin chimed in with a slow emphasis on each word to garner attention, almost like he was talking to toddlers. He was extremely generous by leaving out any mentions of infrastructure damage and heavily injured citizens. Then, distractedly, he waved his hand toward the three of you. “Also, stop talking in threes like that.”

“Thank you!” That was Chan.

“Seungmin should be giving us information about what I planned for you three to do later today, and Felix will fill you in on the rest. I can be the only person doing damage control, and I always have,” he briefly put a hand to his chest with an award-winning smile before his smile turned annoyed, “but I am exhausted this week, so your reckless asses are only getting thirty percent of my help.”

Jisung sneered and looked away from the pulpit. “Don’t you just have to speak into a microphone during a broadcast to brainwash people?” “Yes,” Jeongin nodded, “which I can’t be bothered to do for the mess you–”

“Han,” Jisung interjected.

“I don’t care,” Jeongin retorted with an empty, wide-eyed smile. “Just do what I ask, appease the public, and we can get this public outrage over with.”

Chan snickered from the back. His feet shook on his knee, and his eyes gleamed a certain proudness in seeing Jeongin barking (or squirming out) orders at his young age. “Han destroyed a rail built in the middle of a bustling city during rush hour,” he said. “I think this goes far beyond mere public outrage.” 

Jeongin exhaled without any thoughts. Having something to say was the last thing he wanted to do, which was unfortunate because he was born to always have something to say. Whether it was about how he felt about a situation, an argumentative point crafted out of his want to be the conversation ender, or all the information from the internet Seungmin would mindlessly feed him as they shared a supposedly relaxing space. Jeongin always has something to say, and he was born to always tell them in a world where he could be inconvenienced by speech. 

“People will sweep it under the rug a few months later.” Jeongin waved his hand with narrowed eyes. “Seungmin predicted that it would.” 

“Everybody is different.”

“He figured you would say that too,” Jeongin muttered. “He told me to tell you, verbatim, people are only different as individuals. Many people running together turns them into a system that operates on a set of rules, which will make their actions predictable patterns, so stop coming for our decisions.” 

Chan shook his head with a shrug. “I’m not coming for you two. I’m just giving a word of advice, a different perspective.” 

“Unsolicited advice is unwanted and unnecessary.”

“It won’t be unsolicited if it is wanted and necessary.”

“Isn’t it tiring to talk so much, Chan?” Jeongin asked warmly and slowly to enunciate each syllable. “I know you would love to stop talking, so do that, Chan. Stop talking.”

Forced under Jeongin’s persuasion, Chan did not reply. He just smiled, his feet shaking more vigorously and his eyes staring harder at the front center of the cathedral. Those were signs of rebellion that people rarely showed Jeongin whenever he tried to charm his way into being benefitted. Chan’s jittery movement indicated that he knew Jeongin was putting him under a vocal spell and was unwillingly submitting to it. 

“Why would you engage in a verbal battle with someone who has psychic power? Jeongin doesn’t have a pride big enough not to cheat his way to a win,” you muttered as you peeked behind you. When Chan deadpanned at you, your brows raised in faux realization, and you grinned. “Oh, right. You would love to stop talking.” 

Jisung audibly laughed. He raised his hand to give you a firm high-five, which you barely returned. You thought a snarky remark stop being snarky if it’s shown its intended purpose, and Jisung’s high-five was doing that. He noticed your lack of enthusiasm and responded to it with furrowed brows. 

You and Han were getting on his nerves through all the petty reasons he could think about. It happened before you three were pulled from a typical day to the cathedral. From you hogging the sink to wash your face when he needed to spit out the toothpaste in his mouth, to Han refusing to get him the leftover cup of bubble fruit tea in the fridge even though Han was already in the kitchen area, to the both of you ganging up on him about his (admittedly accurate) violent tendencies, and just now you refused to give him a proper high-five.

Opening his mouth and ready to scream in defense of himself, Jisung was halted to a stop when one cathedral door was kicked open. Jeongin blinked in acknowledgment upon seeing Changbin huffing by the doorway. Chan could already tell who was there by the way the door was opened, as well as the little furious taps Jisung landed on your thigh to signal you and Han about who had arrived. You didn’t react when you saw Changbin, while Han frowned. 

Changbin’s main target was Jeongin, but the first thing he did was search for you three. He relaxed when he saw all of you turned to watch him by the door. Then he raised an arm to point toward the overturned Jesus Christ statue behind Jeongin. 

“Hey!” he hollered, his accusing finger shaking. He was clearly talking to you three. “Which one of you turned Jesus upside down?”

You and Han simultaneously pointed toward Jisung. The odd one out dropped his jaw, the nape of his neck turning sour and red at the collective accusation. He would not have cared if it had been anyone else instead of Changbin. But Jisung knew you were right that Changbin would wrestle his soul out of him for what was done to an abandoned statue of Christ, and despite being intimidated by Changbin, he still did it anyway. 

“Tattle tales!” Jisung lunged at you both with his palm. Neither of you attempted to dodge his attacks seriously. 

“We told you not to do it,” Han said. 

“We did,” you agreed.

Changbin rolled his eyes as his arm dropped to his side with a weak flail. Taking his hand and rubbing it over his face and hair, he grimaced at the sweat collected at the gaps of his fingers. Jeongin had instructed him to wait outside the cathedral until being given the cue to enter, but the burning sun outside made it feel as if he had been waiting for an unnecessary hour. Plus, the man in cuffs he was watching over outside was getting on his nerves for seemingly not rolling a drop of sweat despite being in suffocating clothing. 

This meeting could have been held somewhere indoors with air conditioning, but no, the cathedral was the choice! Standing under the sun with a fuse on his head as he waited for Jeongin’s dramatic entrance to be over was the choice! When he barged in for some cool shade, the first thing he found was that one of his children had done something sacrilegious! It was not a good day for his betterment-still-in-progress temper.

“Hey,” Changbin turned to Jeongin and nudged his head to gesture out the door, “he’s outside.”

“Get him in here,” Jeongin said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

“Why is everyone coming out of nowhere today?” Upon hearing Felix's voice, Chan threw an arm over the backrest of the pew. The shaking of his feet stopped when he saw the entering of an unfamiliar man, but he kept the leg propped over the other to maintain a comfortable sitting position.

Minho, still confused as ever since he got pulled out of his prison cell this morning, examined the cathedral motionlessly through the gaps in his long hair. 

He knew Jeongin, an overconfident piece of shit at a job he was supposed to be unqualified for. But since the boy was the reason he was out of prison in the first place, Minho had no other negative thoughts about him. Then there were Changbin and Felix, both of whom he had met today. Felix was docile and kept to himself because he could not be bothered, while Changbin was uptight and kept to himself because he had a job. 

The upside-down cross caught his eyes. He thought he heard someone arguing about it—his eyes shifted to the side to where you three were seated. All possibly Jeongin’s age, two of which were identical with drastic differences in stylistic choices, perhaps to make it easier for them to be distinguished from each other. The formula was familiar. He had heard passing noises from prison guards about the emergence of sentient powers in the form of people and scored in the nation’s top percentile on the scaling test. A pair of twins and a host, to be specific. You three fit those criteria to a T.

Minho had no idea you were going to be here. Your presence caused a strain on his escape plan. 

Initially, he only had Changbin to worry about. He calculated it during the silent car ride to the cathedral; quiet for him and Changbin, chatty for Felix and Jeongin. However, he had a notion that Felix was carrying on with the conversation out of politeness. Since Felix and Jeongin possessed passive abilities, the only threat in his vicinity was Changbin, whose ability he has yet to learn of. Minho reckoned he should worry more about Changbin’s physicality than the ability he possessed, though.

He planned that once the suppression cuff was removed, he would slap it onto Changbin and make a run for it. Jeongin’s power was descended from the God of Intelligence, but his power was verbal persuasion, meaning all Minho had to do to counter him was not to listen. He could do that. He was phenomenal at ignoring people. Whatever would happen next, things such as laying low or a change of identity, he would hash it out later. That was how he had planned to escape. But with you here, he wasn’t sure if escaping was a plausible chance. 

He may have to do more than he wanted to. Should he use the suppression cuffs on you and take a risky bet with Changbin? Or should he disable the muscle man and take a risk with you? 

Minho’s eyes scanned across you three to the pew behind you. His heart flinched, but his body remained motionless when he saw Chan was already staring pointedly back at him. Chan looked deep in thought but not too drowned in it that Minho could not feel the attention Chan had grounded on his face. Minho’s eye twitched when Chan smirked. Another passive ability? Could it be mind reading? Minho wished it was mind-reading. Chan looked to have a well-toned body, and he looked like he’s got some fight in him, but Minho had a lot of hands-on experience. He could take a risk. 

The real problem here were you and Changbin. 

“He’s plotted something,” Chan whispered after he leaned his torso forward to the three of you. 

Han turned his head but kept his eyes on Minho, who was ushered to sit on the pew before you. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” Chan shrugged, “I’ve never met him before.” 

“Is he why we are here today?” Jisung muttered, watching the back of Minho’s head. “He’s wearing a prison uniform.” 

“Oh…” you exhaled quietly. Cranking your neck to examine Minho's blue suit, you finally noticed the similarities. “I didn’t know they actually look like this.”

“What else would they look like?” Han chuckled.

You shrugged, your lips quirking down dismissively. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d actually look like what television shows us.” 

“I always thought they were orange jumpsuits,” Jisung added.

“I think they have orange jumpsuits in the West,” Han said. “I saw it on a thumbnail of an American show.” 

Minho barely raised his brows during the eavesdrop. You three were idiots.

“Jeongin,” Felix called from the side when he saw that Jeongin was about to dive into a prolonged introduction. He tapped on his wrist, causing Jeongin to sigh. “Seungmin has a lead on the guy. They should leave now.”  

“Of course. Nothing ever goes my way.” Jeongin rubbed his face. He then gestured toward Minho. “Take the cuffs off. We can’t be restraining him if we’re gonna ask him for a favor.” 

Changbin remained in his seat for a begrudging second. When Jeongin made no further clarifications or alternative requests, he sighed and got up. He kept the annoyed murmurs inside his head, complaining about taking orders from a university student with too much ego for his own good, and he dragged his feet near Minho, not noticing the slightly growing smirk hidden behind the prisoner’s long hair. 

The suppression cuffs are hand print registered instead of key-locked, so only a select few individuals could release the suppression cuffs. Patiently, Minho watched as Changbin warmed his palm against the curve of the cuff, dimming its golden gleam, and slid it over his hand. 

Before the cuff was taken off his hand entirely, Minho perked his head up to catch Changbin off guard. He closed his fingers around the cuff and attempted to snatch it away from Changbin’s grasp. Changbin quickly responded, closing a fist around the curve and tugging at it. Minho tilted his head, having anticipated the reaction, aimed his free hand at Changbin’s face for his attack to be blocked expectantly. Keeping Changbin’s hand around his fist, Minho shook the cuff off both their hands, caught it before it reached the ground, and slapped it around Changbin’s wrist. 

Changbin stumbled with his arm raised, his eyes searching for the cuff he could feel around his wrist. Taking Changbin’s processing time for granted, Minho whipped around and swiftly hopped on the back railing of the cathedral pew. He looked at you—no, not you, not the host. His eyes shifted to the side. Whichever one of the twins. The one who stood up in response, perhaps.

Han quickly grabbed Minho’s swung arm, missing his hand and ignoring the sharp sound of wind reverberating throughout the motion. Putting all his weight into the fall, Minho dropped from the pew and forced Han to stumble sideways for space to move. Minho landed on his feet and wasted no time shoving Han’s grip off his wrist. He doubled his punch, trying to aim for Han’s face again but decided against it last second. He realized something, an assumption that surfaced late from watching Han stand up with an arm extended to shield himself.

This could not have just been the entertaining rumors about you three’s relationship. Han was shielding you for more than just the feelings you two shared but also because you were a lifeline. You were the reason why Han and Jisung existed. If Minho wanted to copy your power, he should take it directly from the host, not the power themselves. The twins were of no use to him. You were.

Minho retracted his fist, missing Han’s face on purpose and causing the younger boy to furrow his brows. Turning swiftly, Minho’s eyes burned a hole in your face as he moved toward you. 

“Woah, not so fast,” Jisung said as he shot his arm out and tried to close his hand around Minho’s wrist.

Minho huffed with a sneer; he didn’t think touching you would be easy. Still, he hated that it was proven difficult. He ducked his arm, dodging Jisung by a scrape, but Jisung instinctively blocked Minho’s advance toward you by changing the course of his hand downward instead of forward. Laughing aloud, Jisung pulled back just enough for his hand to land on Minho’s elbow. He grasped onto Minho and yanked. 

“Who are you?” Jisung whispered when he came face to face with Minho, his hand tight over the prisoner’s shoulder. 

Minho raised his brows, not disregarding Jisung’s bone-breaking grip. He supposed he struck a nerve when targeting at you, but he still has no plans to answer the question despite being held captive. “Maybe you’ll do.”

“What?”

Jisung peered down at his hand, which Minho had put his palm over, holding onto him and nothing else. A numbing sensation slowly cast over the covered spot, and Minho could feel it too. But it wasn’t long before the numbing sensation turned into a sharp burn. It was a feeling he could not correctly describe with words. Even though the sensation lingered only on his palm, it felt as if his entire body was overwhelmed with pressure, like a pit of fire was growing and finding an exit from within his body. 

Minho held onto the heated pressure for a little before he snapped back with a curse. His fingers twitched uncontrollably until the feeling finished soothing over at a painstakingly slow rate. Jisung stepped back with a frown as he rubbed the back of his palm off Minho’s touch. He eyed Minho up and down, feeling uncertain and mildly offended that Minho flinched away from him like that. Were his hands rough? He swore he applied lotion after showers like you asked him to!

“Everyone, this is Lee Minho. He has a copy ability, like Kirby.” Jeongin introduced casually from the pulpit. Chan tilted his head and rolled his eyes up as fragments of recognition surfaced. Jeongin continued before he could chime in, “Minho, please sit down so we can proceed. And the three little pigs–“ He paused to nod at your frowns of distaste with a smile. “I would have all of you here for the recruiting process, but we have wasted too much time, so please, talk to Felix outside.”

Changbin, who was fidgeting with the suppression cuff, debated against placing it on the pew where it was within reach of Minho. As you stood up from your seat and trailed behind Han to leave, he tried shoving the cuff in his pants pocket only to find it too big to fit. He clicked his tongue and kept it in his hands; he wasn’t sure why he acted as if he couldn’t talk to you while holding something important, like a suppression cuff or boiling soup. 

“Hey, you three!”

Felix widened his eyes a fraction by the door and looked elsewhere. His impatience dissolved for a minute to allow Changbin the time to get whatever he needed to say across. He would just have to make a point for you three to rush to wherever Seungmin needed you to be.

“What?” you responded. When Changbin took a beat too long to answer, you visibly sighed. “Jeongin said we wasted too much time, so we’re probably in a rush–“

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Jeongin pointed at you.

You rolled your eyes as Jisung threw a brief middle finger up in the air at his friend. Changbin, with unsurprised disappointment, eyed him from across. 

“You literally just said we’ve wasted too much time,” you said. 

“I didn’t say it so you can use it to get out of talking to Changbin,” Jeongin retorted, not forgetting to give Changbin an apologetic nod when the older man turned around to stare at him in shock. “Figure out your own excuse.”

“Why are you such a bitch today?” Han asked as a complaint.

“I’m a bitch every day. It’s concerning that I wasn’t a bitch enough to you for you to see that.”

“I’m gonna beat him up,” Jisung muttered. You patted his arm as discouragement. He pushed your hand away. 

Felix expected Jeongin to refrain from speaking up. He thought Jeongin didn't have to do it at all because that served no purpose other than interrupting Changbin and delaying your work even longer. He stepped forward by the door, ready to call out for your attention, but immediately stopped again when he caught Changbin raising his arm. He stepped back again, kindly letting the man have his moment. 

“Do you three want to drop by later for dinner?” Changbin asked. “I attended a high school reunion party the other day and still have a lot of leftovers.”

You, Jisung, and Han shared a few glances. The silence was deafening, and watching Changbin stand awkwardly in waiting gave Chan the urge to lighten the mood. But he was focused on watching Minho’s back, discreetly observing the changing gleams in Minho’s half-covered eye as he curiously turned around to pay attention to the painfully forced conversation. Chan wasn’t sure why he had a hunch, but he predicted that if all went well, Minho would soon shield Changbin’s fatherly heart the way Felix had been, only in very different ways.

Nobody in this investigation unit was a stranger to the strained relationship Changbin has with the three of you. Seungmin and Jeongin have read each of your profiles detailing necessary information and experiences; Chan and Felix talked to Changbin a bit; Hyunjin was a close friend of you three, so he’s got the scope of every complaint you’ve had for your foster dad. And, of course, everyone has witnessed firsthand how you guys interacted with each other, which has never been smooth sailing. 

Chan understood Changbin from an adult standpoint and suspected that Minho would too. But Felix saw Changbin from a child’s point of view—an emotionally healthy child, to clarify, and perhaps as someone who was projecting his wishes onto you three as well. Felix’s family lived overseas so he couldn’t see them as frequently as he hoped. The three of you reminded him of his siblings from home, and your relationship with Changbin reminded him of his own. 

Standing in the face of a past legal guardian trying his best to reconnect with his children after passively harming them made him sympathetic, and seeing Changbin get rejected with such foul manners was upsetting. Felix wanted to say he would have reacted differently and would have been kinder, but he could never understand. He could never stand in your shoes. He could not begin to imagine, so he had no say in this. He only understood the value of having family near when he couldn’t, and he wished you three were nicer. 

“We have never dropped by for dinner,” Han said with a faint shrug. “We’re not gonna start doing it now.”

“Oh! You should divide the portions up,” Jisung said as he made a cutting motion with his hands. “You can go days without having to spend money on food!”

“Yeah, you should do that!” you said in agreement. “It helps you eat less too. You’re packing some extra weight!”

Jisung punched your arm with laughter. As he turned around to follow you and Han to the door, he paused in realization and snapped his finger. “Oh, right!” he exclaimed. “Sorry about Jesus!”

Felix pursed his lips as you three walked past the door he held open. He looked at Changbin briefly, who smiled at his pitiful glance. Without further ado, Felix turned and left the cathedral with you.

The door shut behind him loudly, leaving the only trace of light shining on Jeongin, who maintained a respectful minute of silence before he began talking again. Changbin quietly headed to the pew Minho was seated at and sat down at a spot where their knees would not touch.

Changbin kept his gaze forward but leaned down enough to rest his elbows on his thighs. He crossed his fingers, his shoulders exhaling for him. Minho was observing his movements. 

“I don’t care what decision you make today,” Changbin whispered, his voice low and firm. He showed the suppression cuff from beneath his interlaced fingers and placed it softly on the space between him and Minho. “But do not go after those three ever again.”

Minho remained silent. He understood Changbin did not warn him for his own good, even though it was clear that you three could take care of yourselves against him just fine. It was not a warning to save him from you three. It was to keep him from the man himself. 

“Okay, we are settling down once and for all.” Jeongin leaned his arms against the pulpit. 

“I do apologize for the emergency meeting, but we–well, Seungmin has suddenly thrown us into a complicated mess yesterday when he found a lead on a man associated with the recent, and unfortunately frequent, occurrences of missing person cases. His best guess right now is that all of the reported cases are connected to one person, and a way bigger operation is happening under our nose, under everyone’s noses, whatnot.” 

Jeongin stood up straight to give himself an unnecessary pause. He was having difficulty remembering what Seungmin rambled about because he was busy memorizing appropriate answers to the press conference. 

“He hasn’t found the person yet, but he’s got a lead on someone associated with them. I have the three dispatched to get them just now, which reminds me–“ He pointed at Chan. “Make sure to check your phone. I don’t know how long the three stooges will take to catch the man, but they will notify you once they do. Get in touch with Hyunjin for more information, but you’re in charge of interrogation at the department building.”

“Wait, wouldn’t you be the better option?” Chan scooted forward, a questioning smirk on his face. “A guy like that wouldn’t just answer questions, and I’m no longer prone to violence.”

“Stop working out. Maybe I’ll believe you!” Jeongin grinned sarcastically before letting his face fall flat. “But no. I’m going to be exhausted after the press conference, and I want to use the rest of my energy to study for my finals!”

Changbin blinked incredulously at Jeongin. “Wait, hold on,” he held a hand up hesitantly, “doesn’t that mean those three also have finals? They should be studying!”

“Yes, but they take the exams together, which would make it easier for them.”

“Their high school transcripts argue otherwise.”

“They enrolled into a prestigious private high school with snobby children whose one-week allowance can hire them a full-time grade A tutor, not because they are smart but because they are strong,” Jeongin said as he rubbed his eyes. With a bang, he dropped his hand on the pulpit's surface and looked at Changbin. “They also got stuck with an adult who joined the military because his grades were terrible, so I don’t blame them for having shitty high school transcripts.”

Chan gave a hearty round of applause. He did not mind it when Changbin shoved off his comforting (demeaning) pat on the shoulder. 

“Good? Not good? We are moving on!” Jeongin clapped once. “Now, Lee Minho.”

Minho looked up with one brow raised. He had been listening intently to what everybody was saying, even the useless conversations slapped between valuable information Jeongin was telling. Something about what Jeongin said piqued his interest; it had something to do with what he overheard in prison, but he decided not to say anything yet. He wanted to hear about what Jeongin had planned for him first. 

“As I mentioned, the unit is officially involved with a complicated case. We will still be reporting back to the head of the department, but we will also have to report a reasonable amount of information we can gather to the other investigation teams that have been working on this case for a while and have gotten little to no leads on anything,” Jeongin said. “Because of this, I have decided to expand our team by one additional member–“ He nodded at Minho. “This is where he comes in.”

Changbin squinted his eyes, processing the information rather slowly because of how incredibly ridiculous it sounded. He just escorted Minho out of prison, and he knew Jeongin knew that because it was his order. But recruiting a prisoner who has done who-knows-what to get him sentenced to life in prison was outrageous. He could barely accept Chan’s recruitment when it happened, and all Chan did were fraudulent activities. 

“To give a brief introduction, we are an independent investigation team operating under the Department of Justice. There are currently nine of us, two of which are an extension of one person–the twins and their host, [Name]. You just tried to copy their power, which, pro tip, do not try again.” Jeongin waved his hand in the air, figuring out the shortest reason that doubled to explain why Minho reacted the way he did when he tried to use his power on Jisung. “A God died and turned into the twins, so each holds half of a full God’s power.”

Minho could not help but breathe out a scoff of acknowledgment. 

No wonder you three were kept under watchful eyes. Putting you under the same roof as a selected military agent somehow felt reasonable. But claiming you three only scored within the nation’s top percentile in the power scaling test should cause it to lose all its credibility. The standardized metric was created based on the average output of a regular citizen, which, if disregarding other assets, would mean it was based on only a fraction of one God’s power. Possessing fifty percent of one should break the scoring system. 

The nation’s top one percent was a label for people to make sense of the twins’ existence, not an accurate representation of their strength. Jeongin was right to advise Minho against using his copy ability on you again—there was a reason why the twins have to exist. His human body would never be able to hold an entire God. He was lucky to let go when he felt the pressure, and knowing that the power did not immediately kill him was informative.

“Well,” Minho muttered. “I guess they won’t be in too much trouble, after all.”

“What do you mean?” Jeongin asked.

Minho looked at him through the gaps in his hair, his eyes distant but focused. “Did you research who your friend may have gotten a lead on?”

“It’s not my job to do that, but Felix might know something.” 

“My cellmate was a talkative guy,” Minho said with a shrug. “I could never get him to shut up. He keeps talking and talking. At some point, when I started to listen to him, I realized he was boasting about something. Events, accomplishments, crimes that were happening outside that he was not directly involved with but somehow felt proud of.”

Felix knocked on the cathedral door and opened it. He kept quiet when he realized Minho was speaking, but the creak of the door was loud enough to cover up Minho’s voice just enough for him to miss what was uttered. 

“Wait, hold on,” Changbin held his hand out as a request to pause, “what are you trying to say?”

Minho ignored him. He turned around to look at Felix and asked, “Where did you send the three to?”

Felix looked around with wide eyes. He reached two fingers to his neck and scratched at the spot where he could feel his palpitating vein. “Huh? I’m–what’s going on?”

“Answer the question, Felix,” Changbin demanded. 

“Seungmin said there was an entrance in the MH market kept in one of the stalls that led directly underground. It’s an elaborate system, and there is no map, so he told me to tell them to sniff out a guy who looks like he’s a big deal and invite him for an interrogation.”

The Magic Hub market—just its name was lousy news enough for Changbin because of its notorious reputation, not to mention the newfound knowledge of it having a renovated underground sewage system that flew entirely off the radar. Changbin shook his head. He never understood what Seungmin was planning, but he should have been the one to go there, not you three. Not even for what Jeongin claimed to be damage control for what Han did at the metro station last week. 

“You sent two kids and their fragile lifeline to invite a branch head of a long-standing crime syndicate to an interrogation that will expose their operation,” Minho spoke monotonously. 

“Which means?” Jeongin prompted.

“Which means?” Minho repeated with strong emphasis on each word. The corner of his eye twitched. “You can’t put two and two together, dipshit?”

“Which means bad news,” Chan said, making it known that he was still present. His eyes were unreadable, and his movement seemed fidgety. He moved up his seat so he could stand near Minho. “A crime syndicate… I think I know who he’s talking about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “They may be the same people who hired me to pose as a high school teacher so I can steal the twins, so whoever those three are going to, they’re not gonna be fighting strangers.”

Chan got off the wrong foot with all of you, especially with the twins. Cozying up to you and helping you through being bullied in your new school while you were placed in suppression cuffs was a ploy to slap a thief’s tool onto the twins. Alas, he should have thought it through better than agreeing to steal powers with a mind of their own. The twins broke out of the thief’s box and attempted to kill Chan, but eventually, they only turned him into the faculty. The only reason why he was still alive now was because he was prosecuted and kept safe in prison. 

If he was roaming free, failing a job could only mean death. But that past mattered not at the moment.

“Minho is right. They’re fighting people who had years to gather information and plan for what they are capable of,” Chan said. “They haven’t initiated anything again after I failed, though.”

“Sending them to their doorstep is suicide,” Minho said. “Do you even know who the head of the branch is?” 

“You’ve got something bad to say,” Jeongin said. 

“I fucking do. Get used to it if you want to recruit me as a team member,” Minho said with a smirk. “Does any of you read the news?” 

“Not my favorite pastime,” Changbin replied. 

Felix raised his hand timidly. He was trying to shake off the feeling that he had done something wrong even when he was only following orders. “I do.”

“We are not the only ones going after this organization. A few months ago, there was news about a special agent possessing power from the God of Ruination.” Minho sniffed when he saw the recognition on Felix’s face. “You know.”

“I know a little, yes. They can kill anything or anyone as long as they sacrifice something in return, and whatever they sacrifice has to be of equal value to what they are killing. We would have recruited them if they weren’t already working for an agency,” Felix said. “They were put on emergency leave after a failed mission. I think they almost died just to end up missing their target by a mark.”

Felix heaved a deep sigh, trying to recall precisely what he had read about on the news. He couldn’t be sure what he said because there had been rumors about the news broadcast being misguided to report false information. People were talking about the case on various discussion forums when it happened because of how unbelievable the prosecution process was. But it wasn’t the sentencing that received a skeptical outcry. It was the man who was prosecuted. The man was a nobody. Not an underdog, just a nobody. The only way he could be charged for almost killing a special agent was when he was covering for someone else, someone important.

“My cellmate who kept talking was the one who got framed for what happened to that agent,” Minho said. “He was covering for his boss, the man who survived a power that was supposed to be able to kill anyone.” He shifted his weight against the hard chair and side-eyed Changbin. “Now your kids are going after him.”

“I hate to say this, but if they’ve made plans to kidnap the twins before, they are not gonna take this second chance for granted,” Minho added as he leaned against the back of the pew. He closed his eyes and hummed solemnly. “Sending a powerless con artist to interrogate the man alone is also suicide, by the way. I would volunteer, but this unit feels like a mess, so I’m not sure about working with you people.”

“Yang Jeongin!” 

Changbin was right. It should have been him. He should have gotten the job, or at least he should have been asked to tag along as backup. Sharply, he turned to glare at Jeongin, who was still cluelessly processing the newfound information. Jeongin caught his rejecting eyes and flinched in response. An anger burning inside Changbin was filled with hatred, blame, and guilt. 

Jeongin should have taken his role seriously. He would not have dispatched you three to a madman if he did. He and Seungmin should have asked for a second opinion regarding his decisions. Ignorant, busy young adults taking up the responsibility for others’ livelihood? This should have never happened. But how could any of them possibly anticipate this turn of events? Not one person questioned this. Not Jeongin, Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and definitely not you three, who have always come home unscathed. Jeongin sincerely thought this wouldn’t be a problem and was the best chance to cover up the metro station damage. 

Jeongin would never send his friends to die on purpose. This was a genuine mistake.

Changbin sighed. He couldn’t even be angry in peace. Rubbing his wrist, he stared at the floor to concentrate on the self-induced debate in his head. He spared not another glance at anyone when he straightened himself and walked out of the cathedral. Minho followed Changbin’s back with his eyes, having held himself back from making any comments from the mere intimidating sound of Changbin’s steps. 

Felix clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from clattering. He only realized his fingers displayed light tremors when he hastily took his phone out of his jean pocket. Ignoring the shaky screen, he immediately shot you multiple texts to poorly explain the situation and to urge you and the twins to turn around. He looked up between texts, witnessing Jeongin’s stable state by the pulpit, and licked his lower lip. 

“It’s not your fault, Jeongin,” Chan said, his steps toward the boy tentative. 

“Nobody can be faulted here because nothing will happen to them!” Felix managed out with forced laughter. “No mistakes were made!”

“Look, I’m sorry that this is all very sudden, but keep your thoughts in your head. Okay?” Chan requested lowly after he neared Jeongin. “You know what happens when you say things out loud.”

Jeongin knew, which made it all the more suffocating for him. Ever since growing up, any negative thoughts—his worries, anger, and anxiety—were pushed to the back corner of his mind because of his gifted verbal influence. He could control his power of persuasion for the most part, but negative feelings were often unpredictable due to their robust nature. If he says it out loud and means it, it will happen. If he talked about a worrisome future, it would turn out exactly as he worried it to be. Even if he was desperately willing to talk about his feelings, he could not.

Do not say he made a mistake. Do not say he was worried. Do not say he should have made a better decision. Do not say someone should help, just in case. Do not say anything. He might have sent his friends on a suicide mission, and he cannot speak about his feelings. 

“Minho.” Say nothing of it. “We will not be able to reduce your sentence, but if you work for us, you get out of prison. Not free, but out of it, nonetheless.” 

Minho has nothing snarky to say to Jeongin. Even though the team felt unorganized, he thought anything would be better than behind bars, so he only nodded. “Sure.” 

Jeongin looked ahead at the cathedral, his eyes grazing past Felix.

Do not say anything. 

Jisung scrunched his nose up and swung his hand before his face to waft off the sewage smell. He fidgeted about aimlessly; tapping his feet impatiently against the floor, ruffling his hair and wiping the oil off the bridge of his nose, rolling his hoodie sleeves up because his skin felt suffocated and rolling them back down immediately because he hated the thought of sewage air hitting against his skin. He let out a frustrated yell when Han closed the manhole. 

“Jeongin did this on purpose! He wants us smelling like sewage rats!” Jisung complained. “When we’re done with this, the first thing I’m doing when I see him is punch his teeth in!”

“I don’t think Jeongin even knows where he is sending us to,” you pointed out as you pinched Jisung’s nose to urge him to simply stop smelling the area. You held on despite his playful protests. “I bet Seungmin had a say in this decision.”

“I’ll punch him too!” Jisung said, his voice coming out nasally. When he finally got your fingers off his nose, he punched the air with his fists and yelled, “It smells disgusting down here!”

Han groaned in annoyance at the fit his brother was throwing. The way Jisung’s whiny voice echoed off the spacious tunnels made him even harder to ignore. “Stop whining,” he said. “The sooner we find the man, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Like I don’t know that,” Jisung slurred in a high-pitched voice. He pulled a face by frowning with exaggeration. “Felix gave us nothing to work with!”

“I’m sure Seungmin will send us something once he finds more information,” Han suggested doubtfully.

“There’s no service down here. I checked,” Jisung said with a pat on his pocket. “Which probably means that someone has been doing some tinkering down here.”

“Felix mentioned that this is related to the recent missing cases, right?” you said with crossed arms as you peeked over a corner to find a never-ending tunnel identical to the ones you could see from every direction. You looked down at your feet briefly, noticing the dark spots on your white shoes and letting your eyes trail along the floor, then you looked back up at the twins. “Come here, you guys.”

“He did say that, but I’m gonna bet on it being a speculation,” Han murmured as he leaned over your head to see what you were looking at. “Maybe all the cases are associated with this man, but saying this man is kidnapping all these people under the order of someone with a higher authority feels like a stretch to me. It could just be one maniac doing all of this on his own.”

“Why are we thinking so much about it? Let them do all the thinking. We can just do the punching,” Jisung said with a shrug. 

“Don’t say ‘we,’ you clearly aren’t thinking about anything,” Han joked lowly. 

“Actually, I was thinking about something. I was thinking about a way to get us out of here quicker.” Jisung slapped the back of Han’s head and continued to do so a few more times when Han complained with low, strangled noises paired with a glare that Jisung did not find threatening. “We should blow holes through the walls. He has got to be in here somewhere.”

You furrowed your brows in disagreement. “The market will collapse.”

“I said blow holes through the tunnel walls, not open a gaping hole on the roof,” Jisung clarified as-a-matter-of-factly.

“The tunnel walls are connected to the roof,” you waved your arms around, “which means one mistake and the whole market collapse on us!”

“Then let’s not make any mistake.” Jisung shrugged. 

“Was that what Han thought when he blew up the metro rails?”

Han let his jaw drop from the side. He was paying mild attention to the back-and-forth between you and Jisung. 

If he has to listen to you two argue about unimportant things, he would have to grant ownership of his hearing to you both. He got good at tuning you out and minding his business. He could do that exceptionally at home, where despite the close vicinity you three were bound to be in, ignoring you two was an ability indissoluble. But here, in the underground sewage system, he had nothing to do but listen. Not once has he chimed in, yet somehow he was roped into the conversation. 

“That was uncalled for,” Han said, a hand pressed firmly over his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Han, but–“ You sighed. “You did cause a lot of collateral damage for someone who could be no more than a petty thief.”

“He wouldn’t be on the BOLO list if people thought he was just stealing invaluable things,” Han argued. 

“No, I think people will complain about anything when they realize that someone is listening,” Jisung said softly, his hair bouncing with his faint nods. “Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile. The inch almost blew them up in a metro train–“ He made an explosive sound effect and mimicked a bomb exploding with his hands. “They’ll still take the mile!”

“Don’t say they should have died, even to make a point,” Han cut his twin off with a grimace.

“I’m not heartless. I wasn’t going to.” Jisung shrugged. “I was just thinking about it.” 

You audibly gagged at Jisung’s response. 

You never forget how cruel Jisung could be, even though he was superior to Han in terms of being empathetic. People always found him more approachable; he was outgoing, friendly, and excellent at accurately vocalizing other people’s feelings for them. You formed the theory that Jisung seemed to have an innate ability to put himself in others’ shoes due to his half of the power leaning towards a brighter, more divine magic. If only he acted on those emotional skills, then some things he says and does would be less outrageous. 

“You are–” You paused to sigh, not looking at Jisung. “Unbelievable.”

“I actually don’t take that as a compliment from you.”

“Good, I wasn’t being positive,” you mindlessly said as you scooted closer to the corner. You beckoned the two to stay close to you and pointed down the tunnel. “There is less water on the ground going that way.” 

“Felix said this sewage system got turned into an elaborate hideout, right?” you continued as you turned around to face the twins. “Unless that guy has a thing for smelling rotten feet, wherever in this place he decided to turn into some criminal laboratory, he will probably drain out the water.” 

“I bet he just likes sewage smell,” Jisung sneered under his breath. 

Han raised his brows in acknowledgment of what you said. It would make sense, although he doubted how presentable a criminal hideout has to be. But seeing the expected level of water in this place, not draining them would make it a hassle for anyone to navigate, so it made sense to get rid of the water if one wanted to turn this place remotely into a secret working spot. 

 “So we follow dry grounds.” Han nodded. 

“It’s just an assumption, but it’s an objective,” you said. “We can go from there.” 

Jisung already moved ahead of you both, jogging ahead to an intersection to look for a tunnel with lesser water on the ground. His head whipped around in all four directions before he hollered with his arm pointed outward. You and Han followed his lead without question as the plan was straightforward, and Han kept note of possible tunnel directions you three could take that also had sewage water drained out for future backtracking. 

At some point, when the water was drained to leave only puddles on the floor, Jisung hopped off the restricting side road and ran about freely. You didn’t say much about the sewage water he carelessly splashed against his shoes and ankle socks when he stomped on the water, but you planned to make exaggerated sighs around the apartment when you do end up cleaning the shoes for him. 

“I feel like we’re going around in circles,” you said after you stopped walking. 

Jisung pursed his lips into a frown that could double as a comedic smile. “How would you know? Everywhere looks the same. We could be making progress.”

“Walking isn’t progress, Jisung,” you heaved out. 

“Well…,” he played with his fingers, “what if I just blow one small hole in one of these walls?”

He has already decided that he would. Asking you for permission was a performative courtesy. He ignored your many protests with a smile and continuous reassurance that he wouldn’t mess things up like last time. Then he argued that the infrastructure damage could not be too severe if all he did was destroy one wall and that it didn’t make sense for the entire tunnel system to collapse just because one wall had fallen. As he placed his hand on the wall, he further joked about how hilarious it would be if he blew a hole and people were waiting on the other side.

“Jisung!” 

An explosion muffled your voice, then by the falling of concrete and debris. Jisung uncovered his face and fanned his hand around to wave away the fog. His eyes rolled upward in anticipation, and when nothing else terrible happened, he pumped his fist silently to celebrate. He turned around to face you and Han, more than ready to boast about how he was right all along, and you should have let him blow this place up since the beginning, but he paused when he saw you both staring ahead at the broken wall. 

There were people on the other side, just not waiting. Over on the other side of the wall stood two men, just enough players for the card game you saw abandoned on the foldable square table propped around the corner. They were both staring at you, which gave you the indication that Jisung and Han were invisible to them; there were no cues for Jisung to appear, and Han likely reacted before the explosion to conceal himself. 

“Oh, hello.” you greeted with widened eyes and a forced giggle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

They looked at you skeptically, but neither gave off a feeling of hostility. Judging by their attire and choice of activity to pass the time, they were likely throwaways working under this branch of the criminal organization. You thought you could test your luck with getting information out of them; nothing in detail, just some information on where their boss was located within this elaborate sewage system. But that may risk you not only getting no valuable intel from them but also being exposed that you were up to no good. Besides, there could be more groups stationed all over this place. Getting exposed would be a hassle. 

“Um…,” you kicked your feet and pointed a finger upward, “I fell down here and got lost. Do you mind showing me the way out?”

Jisung tilted his head as scoffs of disagreement shoved past his lips. He thought you would have a better plan, such as straightforwardly asking for directions to the big man. If you were afraid of suspicion, you could have easily pretended to be a foreign collaborator recently arriving in the country, given that a criminal operation was happening. There was no way these lackeys would know every person their boss kept in contact with and how everything operates, so all you really needed was a confident act, which you did not deliver.

“How did you get out of your suppression cuff?” 

You rubbed the back of your neck and stared ahead at the man who spoke. “What?”

“You, go check on the other ones, see if any of them escaped.” He turned around and gestured to his colleague, who hurriedly scurried away. He clicked his tongue when his attention was back on you. “You’re a sneaky one. I don’t remember seeing your face when you lot got dropped here. I’m not sure what you’re planning, but trust me when I say things will go much easier if you just behave.”

You stumbled back a few steps once the realization hit that he may be discussing the missing cases you’ve been reading about on the news. 

Seungmin’s speculation and what he just told you was a coincidence good enough for you to believe in your computer nerd of a friend. If it was true, there were a group of kidnappees here waiting to be dealt with—was it human trafficking? It was the thing you could think of. But would trafficking elders nearing their deathbeds be worth anything in this industry? That was a peculiar deviation from what you always hear about. Yet, why else would someone kidnap groups of people? It wasn’t a case of infatuation! Was it to start a cult? There were people down here. Some of them may be the missing ones!

The subtlety of your anxiety did not go unnoticed. Jisung observed the light tremors in your delayed response rate, your brain halting to constant stops as unfortunate thoughts popped into your head. You three have been at this job for two years already, which made dealing with terrible people a common occurrence. But, usually, by the time you three were assigned to catch someone, there was already ample information on who they were and what they had done. This case was on a much larger scale than you were used to. Coming face-to-face with it happening caught you off guard. 

You squealed when you felt touched, your thoughts coming to a halt. 

“Focus,” Han whispered into your ear as he gently pushed at the small of your back. “Follow him. He might lead us somewhere.” 

You curtly nodded without peeling your eyes off the men standing before you. You decided not to move an inch, heeding the advice to behave. You doubted they would be taking you to see their boss, but you figured if you were thrown somewhere with the rest of those who were kidnapped, you could at least break them out of this place so you could have something to report back to the team. 

Or at least you thought you could. Your heart rate picked up when you saw the gleaming suppression cuff the man hesitantly took out of his pocket. He looked behind him at his colleagues as if to ask for advice, weighing the cuff in his hand. 

You had first-hand experience during high school when you were put on suppression cuffs as punishment for Han’s use of excessive force against a student on the first day. You remembered vividly how horrible the experience was. 

Most people described the effect of the suppression cuff as annoying. People never enjoyed having a constant taken away. But the results were exceptionally terrible to you because they went beyond merely restricting your use of powers. 

Jisung and Han would be temporarily erased from existence when you put on suppression cuffs; the keyword was that there were two—one for Jisung and one for Han. The cuffs themselves were not invented to extract a toll on people. However, Jisung and Han were born as an extension of you. While not developed in the same womb (the twins began as infants), the unknown God split and reattached the umbilical cord between you and the twins as a symbol of bodily and soulful attachment. The twins’ health and strength positively correlate with yours; if both twins die, you die with them. 

You three were born to be together, always and forever. 

Losing any of one you was the equivalent of losing a limb, an organ, a part of yourself. Suppressing their existence creates not only emotional turmoil but also gradual physiological deterioration that persists just before the point of death. 

Besides those side effects, this was not the time for the twins to be put on restrictions. Additional to being an extension of yourself, the twins were your source of power. The unknown God gave all of its power for you to use; the only reason why you could not personally use it was that a human body was too fragile, hence the birth of the twins. Without them, you were as good as being powerless, which was no good at all in this context.

Your immediate response of drawing back earned you an impatient frown. He persisted, and you would admire his effort not to resort to drastic measures if you weren’t feeling so anxious. He was probably expecting you to use your power, which, if he assumed was how you blew up a hole in the wall, was something he had to look out for. However, as his patience wore thin after it was made abundantly clear that you would not cooperate, he raised his arm slowly as if charging up, then instead of hitting you as you expected, he clamped it around your wrist.

His palm was scorching hot. It was the same sensation as when you accidentally bumped your forearm against the oven rack while taking out the tray of cookies you were baking with Hyunjin at his home, except you weren’t allowed to flinch away this time. You gasped in pain, your fingers croaking as you tried to snatch your hand away from his grip. The burn on his palm was quick to fade when the man spared a glance behind your shoulders between putting the cuff on you, and immediately he saw Jisung and Han hovering over your now shrunken figure. 

“Twin–twins.” he stuttered under his breath, elements of recognition slowly trickling into his brain. He released you so he could take a few strides backward, and his eyes uncontrollably followed Jisung’s hand that reached to cradle your burnt skin. 

“[Name], this is a second-degree burn,” Jisung said after examining the injury. 

“I know,” you groaned out.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm as a motionless pond. He disregarded the attitude you gave him. “So let me take it. I can endure it better than you. Also, if we’re gonna fight, we need you in tip-top shape. Helps me heal faster than usual too.” 

You pursed your lips together. You always hated this. 

Han was out of the question regarding any abilities that could aid others; the foundation of his powers was, for lack of a better word, self-centeredness. Anything good that he can do, such as healing, he can only use it on himself. Jisung, on the other hand, can only heal others. But he must do it as a self-sacrifice, an angelic symbolism. He has to take the pain from others. Jisung’s self-healing ability fared much worse than Han's but arguably better than humans, meaning the pain would linger if not treated properly. Still, he would eventually return to his original shape.

Since Jisung has impressive physical durability, he never minded taking pain from you and, occasionally, his friends. He has been assigned the role of a healer since you were grown enough to start scraping your knees through reckless chasing. You did not bother with this gentle exchange until high school, specifically when you were put on suppression cuffs and bullied without the twins’ presence. It had been an eye-opening experience for you in the worst way possible. 

Disregarding the bullying (which vaguely tired down when Hyunjin befriended you), what your schoolmates said to be horrible and insensitive to you was right. You were useless without them. You have not learned to stand up for yourself because you never had to. You only knew how to be friendly, kind, and agreeable so your peers would stop treating you with high caution. You molded yourself after the desire to be social and make friends, and your privilege was that you never had to worry about being in danger because you always had the twins around. They made you soft. They made you easy to hurt. 

The suppression cuffs were taken off after school every day. For the earlier days of the punishment week, Jisung would sit by you on the floor of your shared bedroom and take the bruises from your body. Colliding with the metal lockers, pushed to the brick wall, being shoved and kicked around—nothing on the face for the teachers to notice, everything under clothing to be hidden from plain sight. Even if the teachers knew, you doubted anyone would do anything anyway. You three already knew you were in the private school the same way an animal in the zoo was placed on a stage to perform. You were there to be watched, first and foremost, not to receive an education. 

You figured you should handle it on your own. You wanted to tank it as proof to yourself, more than anyone else, that you do not have to rely on the twins for everything. You stopped letting Jisung heal you and requested that they leave the students alone once punishment week was over. You needed to prove yourself to be useful and durable. You didn’t ‘need your brothers to do everything for you!’ Jisung respected your wishes. But that was after you gave him a week-long silent treatment after he decided to heal you during your sleep without permission. 

“How’s their arm?” Han asked as he sneaked a peek at your injury. The developing burn was gone and transferred to a reddening spot on Jisung’s skin. You gave in due to the circumstance; if this had happened at home, you would have persisted in suffering through it. Han did not think much of it. He was glad that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore. 

Jisung had rolled up his sleeve to give the injury air. The stinging pain barely bothered him. As you two approached Han, he ushered you behind him subtly and kept a firm grip on your hand in case of emergency. Looking ahead to find the men precisely where they were before he stopped paying attention, he lightly chuckled and shook his finger in their direction. “What’s going on? Is he frozen?”

“Yeah. He hasn’t moved,” Han replied. 

“I think he recognized us,” you said as you pushed your head between their arms to get a better look at the men. “He did call you two twins.”

“That’s because we are,” Han said with a deadpan. You clicked your tongue and slapped his back just strong enough to make him flinch away with a playful smirk. 

"It doesn't seem like he’s going to do anything. Not to you two, at least," you clarified what you meant. "What if we ask him where his boss is?”

“He's not going to sell his people out like that. Let alone the head of an organization!" Han exclaimed in a whisper, with a disbelieving huff flying out his mouth a beat after the words fell that you thought were unnecessary. 

Jisung hummed with a tilt of his head. He observed the three men standing with their guard up but hadn't moved an inch still. There wasn't much to be analyzed—plain clothes, a table with a card game, one suppression cuff, a fire-type ability, and someone who left to check on the kidnappees. Jisung thought the other person might have run off to notify others of intruders, but as far as he knew, they only saw you and likely did not process you as a threat. 

"He might if we give him a reason to," he muttered as he took the initiative to approach the group of lackeys.

The man glanced down at Jisung's burnt skin and up at his calm face. It was made clear that scorching heat would not bother Jisung. He didn't think it would anyway if the rumors about the twins he heard were true. It was moving like the rumors were accurate, which would pose a huge problem. This was not about him losing miserably at a match with the twins. That part has been crystal clear since the news released their power scale scores to the public. This was about the deliberate operation to steal the twins again, which had been ordered to jump into action at any given chance they could get.

A lot has changed since the first theft operation to take the twins, which Chan was involved in. It had been a disaster. The gadget—The Steal Box—used to host stolen powers broke open shortly after the twins were stuffed inside the box. At that time, the lesson learned was that stealing power in the form of individuals capable of making decisions is inefficient because it will escape and return to its owner. An additional lesson learned was that the thieving gadget may have broken due to its inadequacy in storing a lot of energy at once. Like suppression cuffs, the Steal Box breaks when used on the twins directly. 

The renewed operation plan changed accordingly to what went wrong in the first one. The Steal Box was modified to be stronger than the one approved by the government and marketed to the public. But, most importantly, seconds after getting the twins inside the box, someone has to put you on two suppression cuffs to prevent them from breaking out. You would be released from the cuffs when the boss saw fit to do so, but it was never revealed what the desired circumstance to do that was. There was no need for anyone to know what the head of the branch wanted with the twins. The only thing anybody has to know was that the plan starts at any given chance, which was now. 

"You want to meet the boss?”

Jisung pursed his lips into a downward smile and nodded. "Yeah. Do you know where he is?"

“For what?” 

You pushed past the twins so you could talk to the man. You leveled him with a stare as you hid your arms behind your back. “Just to talk.” 

“Just to talk?” he mimicked your higher-pitched, youthful voice, then he kept a sneer on his face that you weren’t sure came from a general disregard people have for the young, or a personal grudge. “Government agents coming all the way down here to a criminal hideout is not going to be here just to talk. What do you guys want?”

“You have some nerve threatening us,” Han said.

“I’m not threatening you. I’m being an asshole. You wouldn’t know someone is being a bitch if they did it to your face.”

You pursed your lips to hold back a chuckle that Jisung heartily released from his chest. There was no distinction between threatening someone and being an asshole. It was funny because Jeongin said something similar before sending you three off to the sewage system, and perhaps the man spoke some truth about how Han has a hard time telling if people were being genuinely mean. Han based a lot of others’ intentions and actions on his feelings—if he was offended, then they must be horrible; if he wasn’t offended, then they must be neutral. The kick was that he was primarily undramatic about things. 

“We’re here because we suspect that your boss has something to do with the recent missing cases,” you clarified before pointing a finger toward the direction his colleague had run off to minutes ago. “Which makes it interesting that you told your friend to check on the kidnappees.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“It’s a shitty job!” Jisung commented with a boastful smile as if he had done something heroic by verbalizing how bad holding innocent people hostage is. He pulled back his head and grimaced when you gave him a nod of pitiful approval. 

“I know you are doing your job, which is why I strongly advise you to take us to your boss,” you said with a snap of your fingers. “Don’t tank a fall for someone who doesn’t care about you. It’s not a noble thing to do.”

Your heart thumped as you watched the hesitant man intently. He kept the silence in the air for a minute too long that Jisung started to cross his arms and tap his feet. The noise of his sneaker beating the floor echoed through the tunnel, a constant noise that made the man roll his eyes and break out of his trance. He dropped his hands to his side before reaching for his phone. You said nothing when he tapped briefly on the blackened screen. The man looked up after shoving the phone back in its original place.

“Follow me.” 

You raised your brows, but the facial change was unnoticeable. You didn’t want anyone to notice your disbelief. 

This was going too smoothly, to a point where it felt against your favor. Even though most missions have gone easy for you three because of the blatant power disparity, saved for the occasional (as Hyunjin loved to say) collateral damage, this was going far too well. Desperate people were often persistent, even in the face of utter doom. Most criminals you three have met would push through for a fleeting chance, a minor mishap, a God-given opportunity to fight back or to run. Once they get it, they will latch onto it until you rip it out of their bloody hands. 

Immediately giving up and seeing you to where you needed to go was suspicious, even if it felt like you talked the man into giving up. Perhaps he was stalling when he made those thoughtful faces to trick you into believing that you were guiding his decisions, and he had an alternative plan all along that he couldn’t have you suspecting of. You brainstormed the different ways this scenario could unfold as you walked through the spacious tunnels, and there were many ways this could go. 

One, you three were being led into a trap, and instead of notifying their boss of your arrival, they called for backup. Two, you were escorted to meet the big man himself, and you strike a fraudulent deal to trick him into following you to the department headquarters. Three, instead of him taking the deal, he chose not to cooperate, then you must forcefully bring him back to the department headquarters. Four, you three were tricked into walking in circles for as long as it would take for the boss to arrive after being notified of your presence, and you were set up to be ambushed. 

"I have a bad feeling about this," you whispered.

"You always have a bad feeling," Jisung muttered nonchalantly, his focus maintained on keeping his walking straight for his childish satisfaction. "You had a bad feeling during our statistics exam too, and guess what?”

"We got that question wrong," Han said before Jisung could continue.

“What? We did?” Jisung exclaimed to himself as he threw his arms up in defeat. They dropped to his side loosely, bouncing and bumping off his torso. He seemed genuinely disappointed, which you figured he would be since he was the one who made up the answer. But, just as you were about to say something comforting, Jisung shrugged and pointed a finger at you and Han. "For the record, we didn't get it wrong. The boy sitting next to us did. The only wrong we did–I did! Was being too trusting!" 

"You cheated?”

"We." Jisung swung his hands in a circular motion to gesture between all three of you. "We cheated."

"Jisung, why would you do that?" you asked exasperatedly. "What if the professors find out? They're going to force me back on the cuffs again during tests, and you know I won't do well when that happens!”

"Yeah, I know, but get this," Jisung held up his hands in mock surrender and a gesture of tranquility, "they didn't find out.”

"That's why the question is hypothetical," Han said immediately. "Dumb shit.”

Jisung was the last person to stop walking. Today was not going well for him! He prided himself in being optimistic and cheerful, albeit his optimism often resided in violent situations he liked to suggest. He never thought himself to be pissy (he was), but you two were getting on his last nerve! Did he do something to be ganged up on like this? He hasn’t consciously stolen leftovers in a while; he kept the bathroom clean after using it, and, well, he was loud when he was playing video games but who wasn’t? If he did something annoying, he couldn’t realize it, so why was he getting attitudes left and right?

Without realizing it, you three have stopped in your tracks to have this conversation, to have an abrupt siblings' quarrel. 

"Why are you both against me today!" Jisung raised his voice after stuttering out incoherent noises.

"That's your interpretation of what we're doing," you said.

"That's your interpretation of what we're–" Jisung yapped about in a tone that exaggeratedly mimicked yours, but he was cut short when you reached out and collided your fist to his chest, punching him hard enough to stumble. Jisung glared at you with a surprised gasp he let out. When he regained his balance, he immediately retaliated by slapping you. “What the hell!” 

“Don’t fucking hit me!” Shocked, but not enough to be taken back wholly by Jisung’s action, you hissed out as you advanced toward him with your arms outstretched.

Jisung readied himself, yet his only resort was to clumsily block your punches once your arms began thrashing about near his head and shoulders. You slapped the back of his head, punched his cheek off to the side where the jaw met, pulled his hair, and hit the back of his neck once you got his head to bow toward your direction. He continuously let out yells of protest, beyond irritated, as he haphazardly threw his hands around to either block or attack you. Whatever he could manage while being forced to look at the floor would do. When his fingers felt even a whiff of your hair, he latched onto it and pulled, turning the tables around. 

“Gosh, you both,” Han muttered before the short string of profanity targeted toward calling you two a waste of space, childish, annoying, and aggressive all in one sentence. He marched over with the intention of pulling you two apart, but when Jisung put you in a headlock and tugged you around to make you lose your balance, Han got hit on the way, causing Jisung to direct the hostility toward him. 

“Han, get out of the way!”

Like spikes unleashing, the hair on Han’s neck stood. Not only was this brawl unnecessary, but it was also dangerous. It seemed that you and Jisung had forgotten you were stooped in the middle of an underground sewage system refurbished to become a criminal hideout. Letting your guard down to resolve a quarrel with violence was the last thing to focus on. Han wasn’t even part of this brawl. He never said anything! How could Jisung yell at him like that? He cracked his knuckles and pursed his lips together, deciding he would ultimately join the sibling brawl anyway. But, as he took the first step toward you both, he paused. 

The standing of his hair wasn’t from Jisung’s misplaced annoyance. There was something else in the atmosphere. Not cold, not hot, just something, someone. 

A bolt of yellow caught the corner of Han’s eyes. He snapped his head upward to find it scraping past his peripheral vision and going down a path toward where you and Jisung were still grappling with each other. Cursing aloud, Han lunged his body toward you both, his hands stretched to his side. He pushed both of you out of the way of the bolt of lightning, causing it to hit and blow a small hole through the ground. Jisung let go of you immediately at the commotion, but he kept a hand near the base of your neck while you turned to look at where the noise came from. 

The attack did not cease after its failed first attempt. Han’s brows were furrowed when he briefly saw a man standing near the end of the tunnel. Seconds after that was another bolt of lightning coming your way, which Han managed to deter at the cost of his arm. It seemed that the bolt pierced through his upper arm, through the bone, and took his arm with it. You flinched at the blood that splattered on your face while Han looked over and grimaced at his torn sleeve. The immense pain that came with having a limb torn off vanished when his arm regenerated within a blink of an eye; bones, vessels, flesh, skin, and all those components stretching out through what was left of his arm. 

“Well,” Jisung mused, almost comedically, “that was something.” 

“I’ve never actually seen you regenerate a whole arm before,” you commented as you turned away from Han. You sucked in a deep breath and harshly knocked on your chest to reduce the urge to puke. “That was disgusting.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good, [Name],” Han said with a frown. 

“I would hope it doesn’t. You just got your arm torn off–“ You held up a hand to pause before turning around. You whimpered upon seeing the fallen arm on the floor and hit Jisung’s shoulder. “Oh no, your arm is still there! It’s still there!”

“How screwed do you think we will be if we bring it back and put it in Changbin’s room?” Jisung suggested then, snickering with a few shimmers of his shoulders. 

Han laughed with him, giving him an approving bump on the side. “He’ll fuck you up.”

It was clear as day that the three of you were prone to be absorbed in your world, and he could not imagine there was a reason why you shouldn’t develop a lack of care for your surroundings. Nothing painstakingly dangerous has ever happened to you three. Even when a threat is presented to you, it would be reduced to child’s play at the twins’ feet, like a powerless to a powered, a powered to a God. 

But there was also no doubt that a plan years in the making was finally set in motion, and he could not afford to fail. The three of you were an asset, a valuable offering to a God capable of sharing more of its magic; there was nothing like getting on a God’s good side by serving them the head of their brothers and sisters. 

“Why is everyone frozen today?” you asked under your breath when you caught sight of the man who amputated Han’s arm.

He was of average height and well-built, which you could tell from the short-sleeve shirt barely fitting his torso. One side of the sleeves was ripped off to accommodate his glowing arm. Judging by the shape and the smokey smell that erupted from the two bolts thrown at you three just then, it seemed the glow came from electricity. The man has one arm made out of pure electricity strong enough to rival the lightning current; it was a gift from one of the most popular Gods in ancient and modern days, but more informatively, he may have received a power portion more significant than usual.

You let your gaze linger on him. He must be the guy Seungmin wanted you to catch. He seemed like a big deal. 

“That’s a cool arm,” Jisung gawked quietly at first. Then he stuck his head out between you and Han to shout directly at the menacing stranger. “Hey! Cool arm!” 

You shoved his face back with alert. “Jisung, stop!” you hissed, to which he responded with a frustrated puff of air out his nose and a few slaps at your arm. 

Han inwardly condemned you two for being unable to keep still for a second while keeping his main focus elsewhere. He tilted his head as he scanned the strange newcomer thoroughly. His eyes flashed with horrific fragments before he scoffed, already making up his mind on how he felt about him. “He cut off his original arm to make this artificial one,” Han said. “I can hardly see how that’s worth the pain.”

Jisung held down a chuckle. He doubted Han would understand anything about losing a limp anyway. “You’re just jealous because you will never get a lightning arm.”

“No, Han has a point.” You shook your head after a moment of thought. “You can never hold anything with the other arm. You’ll end up frying your surroundings.”

“Oh, my bad.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “I forgot you two are banning together to go against me today.”

You clicked your tongue and shoved Jisung’s hand off your neck. Han rolled his eyes in silence, but he made a point to exaggerate his movement so that Jisung knew how annoyed he was with such a baseless accusation. Watching your attention spans collectively last no more than a few seconds was humiliating and unsurprising. The man wondered if it was the product of being a young adult drowned in a world of continuous reinforcement or if you three genuinely have no sense of danger and care for your well-being. 

Regardless, your lack of focus would work in his favor. 

“Remember our main goal.” Raising his electric arm, the man snapped his finger with a dead stare on your face. “The host.”

The illusional cloak unknowingly draped over your sight plopped from your eyes, and before you could process it, the tunnel was filled with people. Strangers surrounded you with one goal in mind: steal the twins. A heavy sigh released beneath your chest. This was an ambush. You were right to be alerted. 

“I told you I had a bad feeling about this,” you whispered.

Jisung didn’t spare a glance at you as he unconsciously took a step forward, blocking your figure behind him. What you said was both a jab at his previous reaction and a statement on the urgency of the current situation, but he could not focus on talking back. He fixed his rolled-up hoodie sleeve to ensure it stayed away from the burnt area and subtly popped his wrist.

“We’re getting the big guy there, right?” Han asked for clarification, his arms dropped to his side and his new wrist rotating so he could get used to the muscles and joints. 

“Most likely,” you replied. “We should deal with everyone else first. It’s better not to be distracted.”

Han laughed lowly. “We’re a little outnumbered.”

“We are,” Jisung mused with the tip of his tongue swiping across the corner of his lower lip. “How far can we go, [Name]?”

“Huh?” You shook your head as a confused smile grew. 

Jisung faced ahead, his hands jittery as a sign of him being trigger-happy. But he waited for your response because he understood the repercussions of him possibly killing a few people along the way. He didn’t care much about the deaths he put on his hands, but he knew Jeongin sent you here as a form of damage control—if you catch a terrible person, people will more or less forgive you for destroying public infrastructures and causing a few accidental near-death experiences. If people don’t, at least it couldn’t be argued that they did something useful. He didn’t want to block those intended results into the mud because he decided to stop a few hearts on the way, and Jeongin would end up having his work cut out for him. 

Make no mistake. Jisung couldn’t care less how Jeongin felt, and he still planned to punch Jeongin square in the face when they saw each other again. Depending on the reaction, he would punch Seungmin too. 

“Don’t kill anyone,” you said, eyeing over to the side. “And remember, we’re here to get the big guy.”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung joked. A maniacal cackle burst through Jisung’s lip after he jumped up mid-hair and pounced on the nearest person he could see. 

Despite his incredible range of magical usage, he has taken a liking to let his fists do the talking and not using magic to his advantage unless necessary. He always enjoyed the forceful feeling at the tips of his knuckles more, and he liked that he had to make accommodations to use his magic because it gave him an easy reason to keep being physical. He would try to dodge incoming attacks in combat with fewer opponents. It was another story when he was outnumbered. His focus remained on getting hits in rather than keeping his body safe. Like a masochist, pain fueled him and made his eyes glow red. It made him punch harder, run faster, and smile wider.

“He’s having fun,” you muttered, sucking in sharp air at the sight of someone’s teeth falling through the air. You could not tell if the tooth belonged to Jisung, as opposed to the blood spots on the ground where he stood. 

“He’s gonna take forever to recover from this,” Han said.

“Good. That means we get to be free of work for a while.”

“You mean he’s gonna be free of work,” Han groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If Jeongin can send us down here, you think he would stop dispatching us on missions just because–“

“Han, stop standing around!” Jisung shrieked with a fistful of someone’s hair. He carelessly dropped the fainted man on the ground so he could throw a middle finger up at Han after seeing his brother’s nonchalant expression in response. 

Not allowed to react to Jisung, Han felt the goosebumps traveling through his skin and detected a presence at his side. He leisurely raised his hand, his fingers crooked with only the index finger standing straight. You ducked behind him at the blinding light that emerged in a flash while Han stared deadly into the man’s eyes, hidden partially behind his lightning arm. It took a moment for Han to relax; it was good to know that telekinesis works on the electric arm.

“You kids are so damn weird.”

As soon as Han took off the pressure around the air, the man allowed the momentum of his arm to swing his body around. He hopped, his hips moving along with the motion to kick his leg up high. Han blocked the stomp of the leg with his forearm and shoved it away. Reaching out, he grabbed the front collar of the man’s shirt. He disregarded the burn of electrocution when the man held onto his wrist in an attempt to struggle his grip off. Han quickly punched the older man’s face, returning with his palm facing flat against it so he could slam his muscular body to the nearest wall. 

The man gritted his teeth, taking in the gist of Han’s natural strength through the pain. He twisted his hand around Han’s wrist but failed to break it. It did catch Han off-guard, though, and he took the chance to break free from the hole in the wall. Ducking his sudden arm swing, Han dropped to the ground and kicked his body into a cartwheel, his feet colliding against the man’s chin into an uppercut. The elder heaved an irritated groan as he snapped back to the present. He charged at Han. 

Han blocked his roundhouse kick twice, and he grasped onto the man’s ankle at the third kick. Pulling at his feet to throw him across the tunnel, Han did not anticipate the grab on his shoulder, causing him to halt his movement, or else he could have been thrown along with the man. Taking Han’s confusion as an opportunity, the man grounded his other feet against the floor for leverage and quickly swung Han’s lightweight body over his shoulder. He let go, leaving Han in mid-air, and charged his electric arm enough to punch Han a few yards away to the other end of the tunnel.

Jisung looked away from the lackeys at the commotion. His eyes widened when he found his brother standing up from afar, slowly registering the fact that the man must have considerable strength. But, more importantly, the next target appeared to be you. Shoving the person before him and hopping atop their stumbling body, Jisung vanished into falling white feathers and reappeared next to you. After you dodged the man’s hand from meeting your shoulder, you hopped back to give Jisung space. 

Instead of advancing, Jisung lunged toward you and tackled you into his arms, just in time to miss a punch. Before you two hit the ground, Han motioned at you both and telekinetically pulled you to where he stood. 

Jisung tightened his grip on your hand once you both were back on your feet. He wiped the blood dripping from his nose and reached his tongue out to touch the smear around his philtrum. He dealt with most people gathered, leaving a reasonable number of them roaming around. But the main problem here was the man with the lightning arm. Han may have been caught off guard, but being able to push someone several yards away at such high velocity could only mean that either he was well-trained, which wouldn’t make sense regardless, or electricity was not the only power he received, which would be unusual. 

Powers come in single forms, discounting the side effects. Electricity is only electricity. It doesn’t give you super strength. Unless the man pawned off an additional ability from a God, which was unheard of but might be the more reasonable explanation for his superhuman strength, there was no way he could have pushed Han that far. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah,” Han touched a hand to his ribcage, “he broke my ribs.”

Jisung knew his brother was okay. He eyed the crowd in the front, almost daring them to continue the fight. 

“I didn’t say anything before, but,” Han said, “why did he need this many people here?”

“I hate to say this, Han, but more people want us dead than you think.” you gasped before gradually steadying your breathing to calm yourself. 

“Yeah. Remember the first day of school?” Jisung added. “Remember what Chan did?”

Han squinted his eyes and scratched his head in recollection. That did not complicate the situation more, but it did not lighten the mood either. The newfound knowledge of the boss’s strength changed how things would turn out. The twins were not afraid, not exactly. Cautious would be a better word. Perhaps even unsure whether this was the best extent to what the older man could do. 

There have never been any recorded cases of a God gifting more of their power to a human before. But it would not make sense that he was stronger than an average person even with the criminal experience, which was beginning to seem like that was the case. 

“What’s the plan now?” Han asked discreetly, staring ahead at the crowd. 

“We catch the guy,” you replied. “But let’s get rid of everyone else first.” 

“Han, you do that,” Jisung muttered. “He was going for [Name] just then. I think he knows if they die, we die.” 

Han turned to Jisung, frowning. Nobody would sit idly by once he initiates another fight, and if he were too busy handling the crowd, Jisung would have to protect you. Han was worried about his brother’s ability to hold his own without regenerative abilities and already having sustained injuries. “Can you handle it?”

Jisung raised his brows. He should be. For some reason, the distrust did not anger him. He leaned over to bump his knuckles against his brother’s arm and chuckled. “Just come help before I lose an arm.”

“Okay.” Han rubbed the tip of his nose with a smirk. “For the record, did we forgive Chan for that?” 

“Oh yeah, totally,” Jisung said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll hate him again when we need to hold something against him.”

Han chuckled before he took off. The gust of wind blew against your face, forcing you to shut your eyes, and when you could open them again, the same electric glow was advancing only steps ahead of you and Jisung. Jisung got into a stance that Changbin taught him, and he focused his breathing in preparation. He thought of this as backyard training with Changbin, who may be the worst opponent he has ever encountered solely due to the veteran’s years of training and experiences. Nothing could be worse than fighting someone like that.

The electricity burnt his palm when Jisung caught a flying fist. He ignored it and tugged the older man forward, leading the path off-track to the side to ram his fist, coated with air pressure, straight at the man’s ribs. Jisung let go after the punch, stumbling slightly due to recoil but immediately regaining his balance to advance toward the man. He hopped up, ready to hand over a roundhouse kick, but vanished into white feathers and reappeared behind the man. Jisung grabbed a fist full of his hair, yanked his head downward to meet his knee, and attempted to fling him into the tunnel wall. 

The man could see you before him, shrunken by yourself with neither of the twins by your side. This was what he wanted, to get you alone. He was dissatisfied just then seeing that Han was standing next to you like a guard dog; in terms of getting rid of nuisances, he would much rather fight someone without regenerative abilities. This was his chance, but his anger only built up as Jisung threw him around with stupid magic tricks. Foolish, insolent child. He could not afford to fail this operation after everything he’s done to obtain the powers he wanted. 

None were enough. From his wife and children to all he had kidnapped. He needed to offer a God to another God. Imagine the gift he would receive. At some point, as his body slowly becomes accustomed to withholding more energy, he may eventually get enough power to kill a God by himself. 

Before Jisung could slam him to the wall, the man reached his zapping arm up and unthinkingly gripped around Jisung’s burnt area, which had been swollen and blistered. The younger boy gritted his teeth in pain when he felt the worm-like electricity digging into his flesh—this hurt more than any attacks he tanked a moment ago fighting the group of lackeys. Jisung released the man’s hair in a hasty attempt to tug himself away when the man began to dig his nails into his skin, tearing through tissues and drawing blood. He screamed for the man to let go, his legs squirming. 

You gasped horrifically at the sight and decided to dive into the scene to help. But, seeing you out of his peripheral vision, Jisung screamed at you to stop. 

“No! [Name], move away!” Jisung hollered as he placed his palm out, gathering a ball of air pressure and haphazardly releasing it. 

The man plummeted a few feet into the ground, and Jisung finally dropped onto the floor. You scrambled over to him and helped him up carefully. He held onto his arm, sweat lacing his hair and his face turning red as he glared at where his hand once was. The force of the air blast, the grounded nails the man had stuck into his skin, and the decaying skin due to continuous burning helped tear his hand straight off when Jisung blasted the man away from him. Jisung trembled, leaning into the pain with his eyes shut. 

He was fine. It was just very unexpected.

Before you could do anything, the man emerged abruptly from the hole in the ground. Jisung pushed you away with his body and got caught by the neck. The man smirked as he lifted Jisung off the ground. “I got you two now.” He threw Jisung over his shoulder, around, and across the tunnel to where Han was. As he did so, he yelled, “Open the Steal Box!”

Han looked up and opened his arms to catch his falling brother. He clung onto Jisung as the other boy squirmed to get back on the ground, muttering incoherent demands. Han couldn't find one when he reached to feel for his hand. He could only feel the jagged end of a bone and dripping liquid on his skin. “Jisung, what happened?”

Standing alone on the other side, you quickened your breath at the accelerating situation, and more horrifically, you could recognize two words: Steal Box.

They were not trying to kill you three. They were trying to steal the twins.

“Han, get out of the way!” you screamed when you saw a familiar device being opened behind Han. Before you knew it, your legs began to move, and you were bolting toward your brothers. 

You did not stop despite seeing Jisung and Han get sucked into the box. The lid closed, and for a moment, there were silence and the shuffling around of your running. As anticipated, the box shook and glowed along its developing cracks, indicating an attempt to break out. Before the pair of angered twins could bring themselves out of the blackened cage, you were yanked backward by your arms, and within a blink of an eye, two suppression cuffs slammed around your wrists. You gasped shakily as the shaking of the box paused to a standstill. 

Nausea overwhelmed you, which you tried your hardest to fight off. You immediately began to grow anxious without the twins around. This was expected; your body could not handle losing an essential part of itself. You had the appearance sequence of the symptoms memorized: sweating, fuzzy eyesight that would fade in and out, burning skin, migraine, stomach pain and the urge to vomit, loss of muscle strength, and so on. And there would be a mix of feeling hollowed out in your chest while being stuffed so full of nothing that you felt suffocated.

Touching a palm to your forehead, you let yourself stumble forward to the person holding the Steal Box. Having let their guard down after knowing the twins were gone, they allow you. You fell to your knees and heaved a few deep breaths. You choked on air suddenly and threw yourself into a coughing fit. Your coughs sounded through the big tunnels, covering the sound of the man’s steps nearing. 

“That was eventful.” He motioned for the Steal Box and received it gladly. He took a gracious moment to examine the box, weighing it in his hand, then leaned down to pull you up by your chin. He shook the box before you, as if to tease you of your failure. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

You pursed your lips together into a scornful grimace despite having your jaw clenched between rough fingers. “I don’t even–“ You huffed, feeling a lack of oxygen in your chest. “I don’t even know you.”

“Of course,” he hummed and dropped you leisurely to the ground. You hit your head and curled into a ball to rub at the pain. “You don’t know a lot of things.” 

“I know you’re a thief!” You accused, kneeling up. “Give them back!”

“Shouldn’t your body be deteriorating?” He peered down at you before kicking your stomach to keep you down. He inhaled calmly as he looked away, his eyes focused on the Steal Box. “Give them back–don’t fuck around. Your brothers are very valuable offerings.”

You blinked in confusion. Offerings? Like worship? But you have never heard of giving physical presents to a God before. You thought they gained their powers through prayers and beliefs! Was it just an incredibly niche practice? Raising your head, you gasped between breaths to watch the man turn around and walk away. Whatever he meant, you understood that he intended to kill the twins, which you must prevent. Not just to keep yourself alive but also because you loved them. 

After everything they have been through for you, this was the one thing you could do for them. You have to hold your own. You must endure this not because you have to prove that you didn’t need your brothers but because you did need them. Desperately, endearingly, you needed them. You three shared one life together, and you were meant to do so until the very end, which wasn’t this moment. You three were a whole existence, the same coin, buried in one grave. You three stick together, as best friends, as siblings, and you will love each other forever. That was why you have to get the Steal Box. 

You threw yourself forward and caught onto the man’s feet. He clicked his tongue and attempted to shake you off. Then he tried to hit you with the Steal Box, leaving jagged corners on your head and temples. You clawed on his skin and jumped to your feet despite the added injuries. Putting your arms around his shoulders, you used his heavier weight as an anchor and jumped onto his body. Then you climbed over his shoulder to remain on his back before, with only malicious intent, sunk your teeth into his neck. You bit until you drew blood, until you felt both of his hands on your hair, and you let him fling you off his back.

You bounced back from the fall against your migraine’s wishes and immediately ran to snatch the Steal Box from the ground. Before you bolted away, you stomped on the man’s feet and shoved his unsuspecting self into a group of others. You kept running, spitting the scratched-off skin surface and the metallic blood out into the air and hoping your legs were taking you back to where you three came from. 

Your breathing was heavier against the wind blowing against your face as you run. Clutching the box to your chest, fearing for your brothers, you felt your lungs slowly giving out. The air was turning icy and piercing in your throat, traveling like the drag of a knife against your insides. You remembered how you were never a runner. Even during school Sports Days, you always sat on the benches, cheering for others. You refused to join Changbin whenever he would take his daily jogs on weekend mornings, either. Both because you hated exercising and because your relationship with him was strained. 

Drops of tears welled in your eyes at the thought of Changbin. You knew you treated him terribly today, but it would be great if he was here. You promised God that you would apologize to him if he came and saved the day. 

A light explosion that landed near your feet made you trip. You stumbled, barely managed to catch yourself, and you quickened your pace with an alarmed cry. Fastened steps caught up from behind you and yanked at your hair, forcing you to stop. The tears that welled in your eyes rolled down your cheeks when you saw the man that torn Jisung’s hand off just a minute ago, but regardless of how much you feared him, you bit your inner cheek and clung onto your brothers as he tried to pull the box out of your hands. 

“Give me the box.” 

He sounded impatient, and he likely was because he threw you to the side by your hair, causing your back to slam against the wall on your way to the ground. He kicked you into the wall again and stomped on your hand when you tried to steady yourself, breaking some of your fingers. You let out an airy scream, your dry throat unable to produce any more shrieking noises, and you refused to let go of the box. He attempted to pry your arms off its surface, slapping and punching your curled-up body in hopes of loosening your grip. He burned your limbs with electricity, creating boiled spots over your skin. You pursed your lips and shut your eyes tight, taking the painful blows with only protecting the twins as your goal. 

“You little shit, hand me the box!”

There was a gruffness in his voice when he yelled that sounded identical but also so different from Changbin’s. He may be strict, but he would never hurt you like this. He would never hurt any of you like this. You sobbed with your cheeks pressed against the box, crying for your father, striking another deal with the unknown God, and promising to be nicer like you always did when push comes to shove. 

“[Name]? Han? Jisung?”

You snapped your eyes open, prayers heeded. Scrambling to scream for help, you looked up to find the man distracted as he looked for the source of the voice. Fighting against the growing pain and terrible headache, you tugged the Steal Box under your shirt, wrapped your arms around it, and pushed yourself up and forward. You ran, stumbled, caught yourself again, and kept running as you screamed for the echoes to carry your location to Changbin. If he entered the sewage tunnels the same way you three did, all you had to do was return where you came from. 

“Help me! I’m here!” Your voice was hoarse and barely made it out. It sounded like a metal fork scraping against a porcelain bowl or the shrieking chalk against a blackboard. 

The man was following hot at your tail, so you held your breath and pushed yourself past your body’s limit to run away from him. After a few corners turned, Changbin finally located the source of the rapid footsteps. He sighed in relief when he saw you running toward him and firmly caught you in his arms after you lunged at him. 

“What happened?” he asked when he felt how shaky your body was. Your throat scratched out strangled, desperate cries through a closed mouth. 

Changbin dropped to the floor with you, ignoring the water that wet the knees of his jeans, and he examined your body grimly. The twins were gone; he could tell from the cuffs on your wrists. Blood spilled from your lips and nose, some smeared across your forehead through gashes and cuts. There were bubbling spots of dead skin on your arms, and three of your fingers seemed broken. 

All the injuries on top of you gradually declining health, it was a miracle you hadn’t passed out yet.

He held your face gently in his hands, wiping at the falling tears, and his eyes were unreadable but shaky. Changbin felt gutted, like someone drove a knife into his stomach and slowly began picking out his organs. Each tremor of his hands that cradled your face was a weep he couldn’t afford to let out through his mouth—he was trained not to cry, and he couldn’t as the adult in this situation either, but his heart was broken and sobbing with worry. 

He asked again, his voice barely a hush. “What happened, [Name]?” 

“I’m sorry,” you croaked and sniffed, hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Okay. It’s okay.” He stroked your hair, unsure of how to respond. He was too focused on what caused all these injuries to ask for the source of your apology. 

“Jisung and Han,” you cleared your throat mid-sentence as you let the Steal Box fall from your shirt, “are in here.” You continued to talk between deep, difficult drags of air. “They sucked them into a Steal Box again. I haven’t opened it, but–“ You closed your eyes at the wave of sobs bubbling up. You let it break out. “Dad, I can’t–I can’t breathe.”

He panicked and reached into his jacket for his flask, but he stopped knowing that he had never once filled it with water. Whatever was in there would not necessarily help you. But he didn’t know what else he could do. What else was he supposed to do? He should grab you now and make a run for the hospital—of course! That should be his next step, medical attention! Forget whoever did this. He could always come back to deal with it. What mattered the most now was to get you to safety. 

“Oh… Jisung–Jisung’s hand got torn off,” you gestured a motion at your hand, “and he took a burn for me, and–“

Changbin could hear the wind pick up around him seconds before your voice fell flat. A lightning bolt molded into the form of a spear was traveling through the air to where he knelt, but before it could hit anything, Changbin shot his arm out and stopped it in its tracks by grabbing its body. You squealed, shuffling for the Steal Box and holding it to your chest again when the familiar heat neared. Seeing your reaction, he removed his attention from you and turned his head to glance behind his shoulder. The lightning man stood not too far away, amused but bothered by Changbin’s presence.

Changbin looked at the lightning sparkling across the bolt and back at your arms. He clenched his jaw, relaxed, and leaned toward you to brush the hair out of your face.

“Stay here,” he whispered, and he stood up.

His jaw tensed again. Taking a few steps forward, he stopped to keep at a safe distance from the man whom he now knew was behind all of this fiasco. Glancing at the lighting spear in his hand, he sneered disgustedly and curled his fingers tightly around it. His muscle flexed with a faint shake of his arm, his grip pressuring a few cracks onto the electrical weapon until it shattered. Changbin sighed with ease as he wiped the remaining specks of dust on his shirt, and he pressed his lips into a thin line when the man laughed.

He was getting better at handling his short temper. Sometimes Chan liked to joke with him about how he only began to grow impatient because he had to live with three teenagers and that most of what triggered his outbursts was associated with the three of you. He often denied that claim; he liked to think his aggression came from years of serving in the military and being forced into hostile environments. But perhaps he could see some truth in Chan’s assumption. Maybe most of his violence did come from you three because all he could feel now, as he stood opposite of the man who mapped your body with blood, was a choking rage spread across his body.

“At last,” the man mused, “daddy’s here.”

Changbin’s ears felt like popping after being muffled for too long, his listening filled with the flat noise of a high-pitched frequency. His joints ached with emotional restraints, and his muscles screamed to be exerted. His body wanted nothing more than to harm.

The man’s expression was vague, enough to let Changbin know that the man wasn’t a stranger to his past. Three years in the military, six years serving in the special forces, four years strangling down a pair of teenagers who were basically God, and an immunity to magic—compared to the inexperienced twins, Changbin would be worse to deal with. Not to mention he was pushed to his wit’s end after knowing the twins were stuffed in a box and seeing you all messed up and sobbing on the floor. 

Seo Changbin would be a nightmare, and he planned to be. 

“I don’t appreciate you hurting my kids,” he said, his voice monotonous.

“Well,” the man sighed. “I don’t wish to fight you.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it.” Changbin curled his hands into fists. “You won’t be fighting.”

Stepping on the shattered lightning in the process, Changbin’s slow march toward the man shifted to a jog before turning into a full sprint. The man blocked the roundhouse kick with arms crossed before his head, but even then, he was shoved back a few feet at the sheer impact. He groaned; the intensity was smiliar to Han’s punches, but unlike the younger boy, Changbin’s were heavy and certain. He aimed to immobilize using the least effort necessary instead of dishing out multiple strong blows and hoping for the best. 

Changbin gave him no time to adjust to his strength. He ran toward the man and aimed for his chest, further pushing him backward. Having had enough, he finally decided to retaliate. He blocked the follow-up kick by shoving Changbin’s feet to the side. 

Changbin skilfully swung his body toward its direction, leveling his feet against the ground to steady himself once it reached, and used it for momentum to swing his opposite arm at his target. The first punch was blocked, but when Changbin bluffed out the second one, he was able to land a blow successfully. The punch sounded out loud in contact, and the man felt blood trickling down his nose. He groaned in annoyance, glaring at Changbin with a burning gaze as if his arrival ruined his life, which it arguably did. Jumping back, he reached for his lightning arm and took a good chunk of it. The empty slot soon smoothed over with electricity. 

“I know the lightning doesn’t work on you,” he said as he shaped the lightning into something sharp. “But I’m sure a knife still does.” 

The man lunged when Changbin didn’t respond. At this point, he was more agitated than calculative; his movements began to dull predictably as he focused on injuring rather than winning. 

Changbin jumped back to dodge before the tip of the knife could graze his chest, and he continued to backtrack in between ducking away from the knife’s advances. When an opening introduced itself, he grabbed the man’s wrist and disarmed him by slamming straight down on his inner elbow, souring a sensitive spot that made him lose his grip. 

Changbin caught the electrical knife before it fell and jammed it into the man’s shoulder, causing his knees to buckle. Hopping high enough to land on one of those knees, Changbin pushed the man a few steps back when he shoved himself off the wobbly leg, back-flipping toward the wall and using it so lung himself at the unassuming man again. He kicked his stomach, causing the man to cough out saliva. Throwing the lightning knife into his other hand, Changbin stabbed its tip into a spot above the man’s wrist. He placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the tunnel wall.

He thought about it. Killing someone takes less than a second; stabbing someone was more fulfilling than shooting someone because he could feel the tightening of their flesh against the blade, desperately closing and clinging to life. It was more fulfilling, and to some degree, he thought he even enjoyed it sometimes. When he looked at the man in front of him, and flashes of your injured face appeared like fuel to fire, he thought about killing him despite having sworn off doing it again after he was discharged from the military. 

“Hold still,” Changbin mumbled. He wiggled and twisted the knife sideways. The electricity made it much easier to slice through skin tissues. Once he felt it hit the bone, he applied constant pressure through a mild, sawing motion. Maybe it was the magic infused in the blade; as soon as the blade edge seeped through, the force of the blade opened the bone for itself to pass through. 

You meekly looked up when you flinched at the piercing shrieks. Your eyesight was fading with a heavy fog, and you could barely distinguish which figure was who. Changbin pressed his forearm against the man’s hand to restrain the level of squirming until he, with effort, could let the knife breathe by pulling it out of the man’s arm. A squishy, plopping sound hit the ground. It was a bloodied hand. Seconds later, another thud dropped on the floor. It was the man who fainted. 

Throwing the knife away, Changbin sneered down at the body before he crouched and grabbed the man’s cut hand. He swung it about lightly as he jogged over to you and knelt by your feet, his eyes no longer seeing shades of crimson. 

“Hey.” he called softly as he put a hand on the Steal Box. A lock piece in the center held the lid shut; if he suspected correctly, it operated through fingerprint recognition like the suppression cuffs were. “Let’s see…”

Taking your hand, Changbin grimaced at the sight of the lifeless hand. You would definitely have a few aggressive words to say if you knew he put something so disgusting anywhere near you. Placing the hand around the suppression cuff, he watched in anticipation as it began to glow brightly before, with a click, the cuff released and rolled off your wrist. After releasing you from both cuffs, Changbin reached for the Steal Box and pressed the thumb to the centerpiece. A line of light traveled through the opening of the lid, circled the piece, and the box opened with a soft click.

A huff of cold air escaped the box as Changbin opened it. You sucked in a breath then, as if breathing in the cold air that got out, and your eyes widened abruptly at the clearing vision. A double weight pressed against your thighs. When you processed the faces in front of you, you registered that it was the twins. Han examined your injuries with a clenched jaw, his brows knitted at the center of his forehead. Jisung clung to his injured arm and gave you a reassuring smile when you two met eyes.

“We’re matching,” Jisung mumbled, pointing a finger to the dry blood on his forehead. 

You chuckled at first, and then you sniffed at the tearful knot you swallowed past your teeth. Your eyes watered as you leaned against the wall, and timid sobs rolled down your face. Han pulled his sleeve over his hand so he could dap at your eyes. His voice muttered soft words of urgency that asked you not to cry. Jisung remained silent on his knees, never too sure how to comfort a deeply distraught person, but his eyes observed you, not missing a beat of your in- and exhales. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” Han cooed, moving his knees closer to your side inch by inch. He wiped your tears and carefully plucked at the strands of hair stuck to your cheek. He kissed the crown of your head. “You’re okay.” 

“Are you both feeling fine?” 

The twins turned their heads and simultaneously softened when they saw Changbin kneeling by your feet. Han looked away to the back, and his lips pursed into recognition when he noticed the familiar man faintde on the floor. Jisung followed his brother’s gaze. His jaw dropped slightly at the sight, taken back as his hand flew to his wrist to feel for the cut tentatively. He could still feel the lingering pain, but it wasn’t bothering him much anymore. His breathing picked up when he noticed an identical injury on the man.

“I’m good,” Han replied before he eyed Jisung. “I’m not sure about him, though.”

“I’ll heal.” Jisung nodded. 

They stayed silent after that, but the glance they shared was riddled with guilt. The kind of guilt you could see in someone when they realize they have been unreasonably horrible to someone they should not be. 

“Alright. We will go to the hospital first anyway so we can get [Name] treated,” Changbin said as he stood up. He didn’t know how else to show his concern. He approached the fainted man and reached down to hoist him up so he could throw him over the shoulder. “Text Jeongin that we’re bringing him in shortly.”

“Come on,” Han said quietly as he helped you up. He frowned at how your legs trembled as you stood and how you seemed unable to stand up straight. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No,” you grunted. 

You were toughing it out, as Han assumed you have from all the injuries you sustained. There was a soft sense of pride blooming in his chest and a touch of love knowing that you did everything you could to keep them safe inside the Steal Box, just as he and Jisung did everything to keep you from harm. Not because of a mutual lifeline, but because you loved each other dearly, because you three have been with each other since birth and have never separated once, because you three make one whole. 

Han didn’t think you should have to continue holding yourself up after that, but if you insisted, he would comply. Jisung followed closely next to you, cracking jokes that mocked your walking speed. Han held onto you to keep you steady, and he laughed between steps.

The apartment has never been more rowdy since you three moved out. 

Hyunjin clapped at the movie on the television, causing you to look up from your phone. You frowned when you realized you had missed the scene entirely, but you decided not to bombard Hyunjin with questions. You repositioned the cross of your legs draped over his lap and sank further against the couch. Hyunjin clicked his tongue into a pout as he adjusted his seat to accommodate you. He quickly let go of the matter when the movie's pace picked up.

Felix sat on the edge of the coffee table before the couch. There was a small, pet container sitting on top surrounded by carelessly thrown colored pencils. In his hands sat a hedgehog unrolled into a comfortable position. The hedgehog, named Sonice but pronounced almost identical to Sonic as a wordplay, was one of Felix’s many emotion pets. It was also the most well-behaved one due to its representation of love, making it harder to trigger the hedgehog into its ten feet high, abominable form. 

Besides you, the twins were also not paying attention to the movie Hyunjin suggested watching before dinner. Han didn’t want to start it because he knew dinner would be ready in the middle, and he would lose all interest in it once dinner was done. Jisung protested against watching it because instead of losing interest, he knew he would start shoving food in his mouth for a quick finish so he could be excused earlier to continue. Either way, the two focused more on decorating Jisung’s arm cast than the movie. 

After taking you to the hospital, the doctors did sutures on some of the deeper cuts you and Jisung sustained during the mission. Your broken fingers were put back into place, and you were given a splint to prevent further injuries. Jisung was fitted for an arm cast after reattaching his hand, which he remembered to get before Changbin could drive to the hospital. Thankfully he remembered, or else he would have to wait a painfully long process for his hand to grow back, from the blood vessels to the skin and bone. 

Instead of escorting him to the department headquarters, the fainted man had to be hospitalized for his injuries before he could be dealt with. Changbin handed him over to the medical staff and returned to check on you three, wanting nothing more to do with him directly while knowing he’s got one hell of a report to write later. 

The spotty burns on your arms were more challenging to deal with. They were less severe than the palm burn you got as they were scattered and covered much smaller surfaces of your skin, but they felt swollen, and they stung. After applying ointments to the spots, the doctors gave instructions on daily cleaning of the wounds and changing the burn dressing. Getting the confirmation that, if the worst case scenario happens, Jisung would be here to take the fall for you, you three were discharged. 

Chan looked up from setting the table when he heard the doorbell. He dropped the napkins and gave a holler into the kitchen that he would get the door. Squeezing his way through the diner chairs, he opened the door to find Jeongin and Seungmin standing outside. He smiled, partially glancing downward to see Jeongin gripping Seungmin’s hand, which would explain the uncomfortable expression on his face. Looking back up, he pursed his lips to avoid asking anything he didn’t care to know the answer to and stepped aside. 

Jeongin took off his shoes and pushed them to the corner with his feet. He had been dreading this moment since he finished the press conference and got news from Changbin that you and Jisung were being treated at the hospital. Changbin didn’t say anything that was not informative, but Hyunjin raged at him through text after hearing about what happened. Hyunjin did not blame him for what happened to you three, but he found it hard not to internalize the event. 

He did send you three there. If he hadn’t done that, this wouldn’t have happened. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Seungmin said with a tug on Jeongin’s hand. “Come on.” 

He hid behind Seungmin as he got dragged to the living room. The noise from the movie was recognizable because he overheard Seungmin watch it on speaker once. You sat on the couch with Hyunjin, the two of you sitting with your legs touching. Shifting his gaze, Han was seated on the floor, focusing on the pencil sharpener in his hands. Moving up, standing off to the side with a glass of water and a colorful arm cast, was Jisung, who stared back at him blankly.

Jisung almost forgot he was going to punch Jeongin’s teeth out. He never meant it anyway. He only said it because he was angry. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, Jisung debated if he should make a joke about that promise until, after he stood up straight, he found Jeongin shuffling toward where he stood. He blinked, confused at the quietness surrounding him and the tiny steps Jeongin seemed afraid to take. When his friend neared, he was further baffled as Jeongin slipped his arms over his body and hugged him tightly. 

Jeongin sniffed back tears at his friend’s solid figure. Knowing that everything had turned out fine and nobody had died because of him gave him a sense of relief. “I’m so sorry, Jisung,” he said, his voice cracking tearfully at Jisung’s name. “I didn’t know this would happen. I’m really sorry.”

“I…” Jisung swallowed a ball of air. He felt a forgiving smile creeping on his face. At the same time, he thought that Jeongin’s apology was ridiculous because it was unnecessary. Reaching an arm up to pat Jeongin’s back, he mused, “I’m still alive.”

Seungmin chuckled from behind, but he kept his smile barely visible until you appeared near him, then it completely flattened. You squinted your eyes up at him, which he purposefully avoided looking into because he was busy counting the burn dressings on your arms. His heart sighed with exhaustion—he really miscalculated this mission, and he would spend most of his time reminding himself of this colossal mistake. He would never show it, but even then, he thought you already knew how he felt, hence why you were next to him. 

“Did everyone make it out of there?” you asked.

Seungmin looked ahead at Jisung and Jeongin. He pulled a face when Jeongin jumped behind Jisung to avoid touching Sonice. Personally, he has never seen its monstrous form before. Jeongin was friends with Felix before they were introduced to each other so he has seen the pet stretch up to ten feet tall, and he swore with his life that he never wanted to see it again. Seungmin was unsure how serious Jeongin was being when he said that. 

“Yes. We called a team down to escort them out,” he responded after a beat. “But those who have been missing are likely all dead.” 

“Yeah, well. We can’t save everyone.” You flattened your lips into a neutral smile. Glancing up at him, you found his expression remained unchanging. You looked away, your fingers fidgeting. “Don’t think too hard about it, Seungmin.”

He stiffened, his eyes softening with an unsheathing wound, knowing you meant yourself and your brothers. Eventually, he gave you a curt nod. “Thanks.” 

Growing up honing his skills to be aloof all the time was no use after years of spending time with all of you. Seungmin wondered if there were certain muscles on his face he didn’t know how to control, making it impossible for him to hide his thoughts. Chan was already good at reading people like a hawk, Han was good at predicting how people felt in general, and Jeongin was his best friend for too long not to know what he was thinking all the time. 

But none of them talked to him the way you spoke to him—brief but, to him, endearing. He chalked it up to his obsession with deep research into people’s God-given abilities, which he did a lot of yours because of its peculiarity. As time passed, even though he knew a great deal about you now, he still found himself looking up things of association to you not for knowledgeable gain but just for consumption. He tried not to think about it. 

Looking over to the couch, Seungmin found Hyunjin staring pointedly at him, his nails flicking against the cushion of his fingers frustratedly. He sneered at himself; Hyunjin annoyed him sometimes. Shifting his eyes, he looked to Felix, the twins, and Jeongin instead. Han kept Sonice in his palm, an affectionate smile on his face while his hand shoved Jisung away from attempting to poke at the pet. Seungmin heaved a long-awaited sigh; the twins were even more annoying. 

Retreating from the wall that separated the living room and the dining area, Chan returned to the table and helped Changbin set down the reheated plate of pork cutlets. “The kids are all here.”

“Yet none of them came to help set the table,” Changbin mumbled through a heaved sigh. 

“That’s okay. I got it covered.” Chan laughed as he waved his hand before his face. “Let them relax.”

Pulling the nearest chair out, Changbin rolled his eyes in defeat as he slumped onto the seat. He wiped his head of sweat that cumulated from the steamed kitchen, and his chest breathed steadily at the recognition of the younger ones’ laughing in the living room. He picked through the voices for you three, listening for your conversations. It has been an eventful day. It felt like he was dangling in the middle of a cliff, clinging onto the fortunate jutting out of a tiny ledge. Even the suffocating air of the kitchen that muffled your voices made him anxious. 

It was a usual silence that filled the air. Changbin rarely spoke, let alone continuing small talks. But Chan knew well this silence was exhausted, but with a calm relief floating around a bottle of emotions he has to bring out of Changbin somehow. Mirroring the veteran’s movement, he picked the chair just across and sat down. He leaned against the slat. This was nothing but a conversation between unlikely friends.

“How are you feeling?” Chan asked.

“Hm?” Changbin’s eyes focused, and he gazed at the man sitting across from him. Gathering his thoughts, he breathed a thoughtful hum and rubbed his hand on his thigh to fill the awkwardness that existed only to him. “Much better now.” 

“I reckon,” Chan huffed out positively. 

“Are you still going to interrogate him?” 

“Yeah, of course! Jeongin volunteered to do it himself, actually, but I thought I should be there just in case,” Chan said, rubbing his nose. “I doubt people will care about what happens to that person, but it’s best to keep the need for damage control to a minimum.” 

Changbin raised his brows at the insinuation of Chan’s words. He pondered a little on Jeongin’s character, quickly pausing as he realized how little he knew about the boy. More often than not, Jeongin was putting up an act as the unit's spokesperson. Even the exaggerated disrespect was, he thought, an act untrue to his nature. Changbin could only catch a glimpse of him being an ordinary boy when his friends were in the same room, which wasn’t a frequent occasion.

“You think he’s going to kill him?”

“I think I can’t underestimate his protectiveness over his friends and his desire to avenge them,” Chan clarified. 

“Well,” Changbin nodded in agreement, “I don’t think he will do anything unnecessary.”

Chan smiled a bit. “Was what you did necessary?”

“Elaborate.”

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Changbin tensed up. He knew exactly what Chan was referring to. Prolonging the fight when he could have quickly gone for incapacitation so that he could take out the burning across his knuckles, and pinning a weaker man to a wall to slowly brand an injury identical to the one suffered by a loved one.

“I did what I had to,” Changbin replied.

He was telling the truth. Chan knew merely from the look on his face and perhaps the context of the situation that every bit of violence was necessary not to reach the goal of the mission or to protect anybody but that Changbin needed to release the bottled-up vengeance that would have carried on with him if he never did anything. And he was satisfied with what he did because that was all he did. Years ago, he would have simply killed. As morbid as it was, giving that man a taste of his medicine after he tried to kill his children was already a leap of emotional improvement.

Chan looked ahead, seemingly forming a second opinion. Changbin wasn’t a good father in that he was unskilled at parenting, but he was a good father in that he loved the three of you immensely. In the face of that, he could not bring himself to accuse his friend of anything other than caring about you three so much that he could cut through bones and flesh. And sometimes, he wondered if he would ever do the same.

“I’m gonna go call them to eat,” Chan said as he pushed himself off the chair. He patted Changbin on the shoulder. “You should ask them to sleep over for tonight.”

“Why?” Changbin smiled, confused.

“After what happened today, they’ll feel the safest knowing you’re just down the hall,” Chan said leisurely as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’ll never ask you first. You’re just going to have to take the shame to do it–“ He giggled. “You’re the dad.”

Leaving his side, Chan clapped twice as he jogged into the living room and hollered that dinner was ready. A wave of protest erupted to delay dinner time as, apparently, all of you began to pay attention to the movie. Jisung yelled the loudest when Chan stood in front of the television and snapped his fingers, a look of disapproval you all promptly ignored. 

“You guys–“

“I want everyone at the dinner table on a count of three. One!“

Chan grimaced, then he rolled his eyes in both exasperation and amazement when all of you snapped your heads toward the direction of the dinning room upon Changbin’s nonchalant voice. 

Seungmin shrugged when you tapped his arm furiously. Hyunjin rose from the couch and began meeting you halfway. 

“Two!”

Jisung laughed as he put his hands on Jeongin’s shoulders and shoved the boy with him to the dining room. Felix trailed closely behind, almost tripping on his feet because he was busy putting Sonice in his pocket. Han made a few strides over to you, his brows raised into a smile. Hyunjin and Seungmin both frowned when he grabbed your arm and grinned as he pulled you closer to his chest.

“One!”

“No shortcut for you both,” Han joked before, within a blink of an eye, you two burst into a puff of black feathers and reappeared on top of two vacant chairs in the dining room. He brushed his arm as if to clean them and looked up to find Changbin deadpanning at him. Shrugging, Han said, “We made it in time.” 

Changbin wasn’t even thinking about the countdown. He was more concerned that your clumsy reappearance almost flipped the table of food over.

[angstproducer]

Farmer Sans x Witch Nightmare Sans

I got some kind of story head canon thing for Nightmare, I don't know. Still in progress and probably forever will. It's inspired by friefen new 2nd opening song, Haru by Yorushika.

The setting of the world would be modern except witches are normalized in some places while others not. Their magic solely depends what type it is and where it's set in the ranking. Think of a family tree or butterfly effect, there's a main magic and it's split to the sun and moon magic then splits to different kinds then it just keeps on splitting.

Nightmare always envied his twin brother who was born to have a powerful type of magic and was rare to have. Considering Dream's type was Sun magic and it rose to have a high ranking type close to its main source, everyone deemed for him to be special. Nightmare didn't have anything planning for himself and felt a bit envious yet never enough to hurt Dream. He already accepted that he'll never beat Dream. Nightmare had a wind type which was pretty far away from its main source. When he was young, everyone wanted to make sure if Nightmare was just a late bloomer and had more than just a pitiful wind type only to be wrong. Because of his weak and hard to train type of magic, no one bothered to tutor him since it was expensive to train someone with such a useless type. Only being able to control the wind was hard and only a few in history could do a powerful spell. Most could just make a breeze and fly like any other witch. For Nightmare's type, he could barely make a breeze and he couldn't be trained properly outdoors. Every time a gust of wind or god forbid a breeze pass by, it blows Nightmare away. Leading to him to fly off the air with nothing to control with. So for most of his life, he has to carry something heavy to not fly off like a piece of paper. For most wind types, they wouldn't have the trouble of being blown away by a simple breeze yet for Nightmare, he somehow got the short end of the stick.

After high school, he had enough of the city and packed everything to leave. Days worth of traveling in peace. After a week and a half, all the allowance he saved up since he was little was finally running out. Nevertheless, he was almost to where he planned to be in, the countryside. Unlike the city or suburbans, being a witch was less competitive but unlike the city, they're not very fond of witches. Since they have less regulations for having less police in the area, witches have a bad reputation for ruining crops with their magic or making herds run away. Nightmare planned to live in peace being an untrained witch in the countryside. There was more wind but if he was careful to keep his identity intact and to carry something a bit heavier than the wind could carry them he should've been good... Should've been. After almost an hour of walking with luggage, he meets a farmer who was tending to his crops.

Nightmare had promised to pay him to stay for at least one night in his house. Farmer who was ironic named Farmer denied the offer and rather wanted the help of tending for his crops. When asked about witch encounters in the area, Farmer said nobody in this area or any other surrounding farms wanted a witch around. Especially for what happened almost a decade ago where they saw a magic circle in a far away sky was activated where the aftermath of the explosion had made a gust of wind that ruined crops and scared animals away like sheeps or cows. After a couple of days, Nightmare helped Farmer with the normal chores. Nightmare had thought that no wind would come up for that one day and decided to be careless and not carry a small bag of sand in his pocket. After having lunch with Farmer, they head out to the field when suddenly a breeze passes by. He held Farmer's hand like he was about to die as he was blown up. Farmer held him in panic as he not only realized that Nightmare was a witch but he felt light as paper. They have an eye to eye moment before the wind disappeared as Nightmare fell to the ground. They have a talk between it and Farmer for some reason suggests to let Nightmare live in his home. Nightmare was shocked by this newfound kindness but all Farmer said that he needed a lending hand as he blushed. Nightmare oblivious to his emotions agreed happily as long as Farmer allowed him to live there.

Sometimes they'd farm and sometimes, Farmer would tie Nightmare with a rope to a post to help him train to at least fly a broom. Helping Nightmare conquer his fear of being blown away. It wasn't the best but he learned to at least slowly fly but he needed a leash tied to his stomach to keep him from being blown.

Character development, blah, blah, blah and etc. I had a plan where Dream finally meets Nightmare and they have an argument on who had it harder. Nightmare with his lonely neglect or Dream with his overbearing expectations. I also had an idea of what if Nightmare wasn't a bloomer but also had a hard time being trained and was actually a moon type like Dream being really close to having a sun type.

Reaper would be able to sense death and everyone was scared he had an original death type instead of sensing death so they made him cover up, leading to no one touching his skin so no one dying.

Geno would be a human who was cursed and died so he's a ghost. Also was thinking of him being a psychic witch(?)

The trio would be wanted witches. Ink can control any liquid to a limit.

I was thinking of Blue just being a normal or a witch because I couldn't think of a type at the moment.

Error carries the guilt of accidentally killing his big brother by being a witch who can summon strings to destroy, he can only destroy things by summoning his strings and nothing else interesting, idk or maybe Error is a Geno incarnate.

Fresh can be a witch with mind manipulation as in taking over their mind and controlling them, living people have a time limit while dead people don't since there's no soul fighting their will back.

What should I call it?

[racke7]

The roleplayer

Some time ago, I was in the middle of playing Skyrim when I was struck with a story-idea.

See, Skyrim is inherently a "you will become an overpowered god unless you actively avoid it"-type of game. It might take some time to get there, depending on what skills you focus on, but even when you remove whole skill-trees from your build? You'll still be able to become way too strong.

Now, most Skyrim-player solves this by limiting themselves somehow (not crafting infinite-strong weapons, avoiding certain enchantments, not putting all of your leveling-points in health until nothing can hurt you, etc). And this works, because Skyrim lets you at least partially roleplay a character.

(For example: the Thieves Guild will always play out the same, regardless of what "type" of character you're roleplaying, but you CAN choose not to join the Thieves Guild with that specific character. And this is true of basically every single quest in the game.)

What this means is that (if you want to be "consistent") your character is likely to have personal reasons to not use these very specific skills that will make you incredibly overpowered. Or a good reason to avoid talking to the quest-giver of whatever questline you're hoping to avoid.

Whether those reasons be because they're "religiously opposed to magic" or because "they actually totally suck at magic, trust me" or because "they have a long-term injury that makes heavy-armor impossible to wear".

NOW, getting to the story-idea.

What if someone got isekai'd into their favorite game. And refused to break character?

As in, someone ended up in a world absolutely filled with useful exploits and powerful skills, and instead of saying "I will use these to become god" they go "my character would never use these, so I won't either".

A roleplayer who sticks to their role, even when people are actively trying to kill them. Who reacts to betrayal, not by how they feel about it, but by how their character would feel about it.

Like, "oh no, you betrayed me in this playthrough too. what a surprise" instead becomes "you were my brother!". But like... with this weird disassociating internal pause as they're making sure that they're in-character.

Would this be a horror-story? Eh. I mean, you could absolutely write it as a roleplayer so trapped in their own commitment to the bit that they're effectively a delusional maniac who's sacrificing the lives of innocent people "for the drama".

But at the same time, it could be a tragedy, of this person being so completely unable to drop their mask. To make their entire new life in this wonderful world that they love into a pantomime. Where their loved ones only love "the character" and the person behind the mask is making sure that it stays that way (for the immersion).

Or it could be a comedy, of watching this person be effectively handed game-breaking super-artifact after artifact, and just casually toss them off a cliff when nobody's watching "oops". Of knowing that they could pick up this one extra thing, and save themselves having to trek all the way back there later, only to refuse to pick it up "there's no way I'd know about that so..." and then trek through sleet and rain in order to backtrack for a completely pointless fucking reason.

Or it could just be a regular adventure-story, with a lot more focus on "I want this to be challenging and fun", instead of trying to "defeat the ultimate evil" or whatever. A shy person who uses their roleplaying to make friends, and then slowly comes out of their shell more and more as the story progresses.

Just... I think it could be interesting.

An isekai-character who is enthusiastically playing a role, instead of "living out their fantasies".

[fairydustedtheory]

I guess it's time for a new life update and pinned post on my blog. If you've been following me for a while, you know that this year has been a bit of a struggle, to put it lightly. I'll put everything under a read more because I know most people don't want to read that.

tldr: I'm f***ing poor. Here is my Kofi account and my kid's christmas amazon wishlist

Long story short, I've had to go to court twice to see the judge to protect my kid from her father and his new girlfriend who are pretty toxic to her. (I can share more in private but basically we've been and are still going through it). My kid has had a hell of year. Both of our mental healths have greatly suffered and are still suffering but we're trying to heal and hopefully will end the year in better shape than what we've got to experience thus far.

At the end of last year, I finished my paid course which I hoped would mean I'd get a nice job but sadly it hasn't been the case because there aren't many jobs available where I live and the ones I got interviewed for were simply given to people who knew people. And nobody hides that fact. So yeah that sucks and i feel guilty about not being able to earn more money and i feel guilty that i am exhausted. but I don't feel guilty that I put my kid's mental health needs first and that I try to protect her from the bad things that happened to her. But now with all the added expenses for my kid's therapy and some health and lawyer bills that weren't part of the financial aid I got, a tight budget can only get tighter. On top of that, my kid's father decided to stop paying all child support for over a year now, because he's a neat guy like that so that's about €4000 that he owes and I don't know when that will be sorted out. It's not money issues on his part because he comes from a wealthy family and owns several restaurants. Everything's been adding up and making it pretty difficult for me. I'm fairly good at budgetting on small finances as this is how life has always been for me but all the unexpected drama has been a lot.

Like for anyone who says don't have kids if you can't afford them... well, without publicly diagnosing my ex on the internet, let's just say he was very shitty but also very convincing and I was in no way prepared to get dumped basically after giving birth. I don't regret having my daughter, she's the love of my life and even though the world keeps putting obstacles on my way, I keep the hope that we'll get to a good life for the two of us sometime.

Soooo yeah, I know the overall state of the world is bad for everyone and my problems are definitely not the worst problems that exist. I'm grateful for what I do have and I'm not expecting miracles or anything but I keep trying to convince myself that there's no shame in struggling.

I'll share my Kofi account again if anyone feels like donating a couple bucks to my dumpster fire of a life. Anything helps and will go towards paying the rent (which was raised over €50 without the landlord informing me, just to make it more fun) and groceries.

Also, in case anyone feels like being a Secret Santa for my kid, here is an amazon wishlist. We didn't celebrate her birthday the way we usually do because money and mental health weren't with us at the time but it would mean the world to me if she could still feel some Christmas magic somehow. Her first choice is a telescope because she's been fascinated by space and stars lately, so I'm going to do my hardest to save up enough to have it under the tree at Christmas.

I know I'm barely on here anymore, I don't host any events anymore and I barely talk to anyone so I don't even know who is still around but at least I got some of that off my chest and trying to manifest a good end of the year, if only in good vibes ha

[clarktooncrossing]

Giraffe's Eye View: Christmas Specials Special (2023) | Care Bears Nutcracker

Chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost is nipping at your nose. Mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again. All the dogs in the neighborhood somehow learned to bark Jingle Bells in sync. Yet retail workers are still more annoyed with Mariah Carey. Snow is getting shoveled, tossed, and formed into sentient beings leading parades without permits. It makes for an excellent distraction as the Krampus abducts children for bad behavior. Fruitcake is exchanged only to find its permanent home in the garbage. Terrorists have hijacked the Holiday office party right before your boss can give you a Jelly of the Month Club membership as your bonus. And of course, the Turducken has returned to wreak its fiery vengeance upon an unsuspecting world! If all this doesn’t put you in the Christmas spirit, perhaps these following Holiday specials will!

Greetings people of today and robots of tomorrow! It is I, Santa Clark, your geeky giraffe friend with a deep love of Christmas! My obsession for the yuletide is rivaled only by Maleficent’s hatred for it, which is saying a lot considering she once teamed up with Mad Madam Mim to kidnap the literal Spirit of Christmas. Yes, that really happened. I know this due to my annual pilgrimage to the Island of Misfit Specials, home to obscure or nerdy festive media ranging from movies, TV episodes, and comics. It’s no easy journey. Constantly I find myself confronted by sinister snowmen, genocidal gingerbread men, and worst of all, crappy commercials. Getting stabbed in the foot by a candy-cane wielding cookie is one thing, but I swear I’ve seen that ad for Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium more times than I’ve seen Miracle on 34th Street! Sometimes at night I catch myself reciting that jingle. Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium: Where Christmas meets Convenience! Huh, maybe Maleficent had a point.

Nah, my deep-rooted appreciation for this time of year can weather even the most moronic marketing! It helps that most of the merry media I’ve seen have put me in the perfect Holiday mood! Examples include the time a Ninja Turtle found himself trapped in a truck full of stollen toys, a drunk department store Santa stumbling onto a wish-granting magic bag, Big Bird nearly becoming a popsicle, Gwenpool waking up in a world where Galactus took the place of jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas, a terrifying tree stump trying to slaughter some saps over a stupid ship war, and the year when Death gave the Little Match Girl the greatest gift of all. Needless to say, I thought I had seen it all. That is, until I took my friends on a trip to the Island, tasking them to find me new, strange, seasonal specials to review! Some of them were fair, finding me festive favorites as comforting as coco in front of the fireplace. Others were fiendish, wanting to feed off my misery like Gremlins after midnight. Regardless of how naughty or nice my companions were, I’ve compiled all of their suggestions into a makeshift advent calendar! So stay tuned everyday until Christmas to see how badly my buddies can shred what little sanity I have left.

On the second day of Christmas, my buddies gave to me...

For the record, it says something when nobody's even made a GIF for what I'm about to review.

Malicious as Molly was, she may have set the bar too high with Barbie. For along comes the fairy Claire (YourClairyGodmother), set on proving that the ‘all Canadians are friendly’ claim is a myth. Having recently reviewed a slew of their work herself, she saw fit to share her suffering with me by burdening me with a Care Bears Christmas caper of my choice. Oh how nice, my executioner allowed me to pick how I get to die! Mirroring Grumpy Bear’s dour attitude, I scoured the Care Bears Wiki to make my selection, all the while wondering how this franchise is still alive after all this time. Starting out in 1981 as greeting card characters, these bears became a beloved series of plush toys parents killed each other over at Black Friday’s. Not gonna lie, having Sinbad and Arnie fight over Funshine Bear would’ve made Jingle all the Way that much funnier. It’d certainly be more entertaining then what I ended up picking, that being Care Bears Nutcracker Suite. Dear Santa, I don’t remember asking for endless torment. At this rate getting my nuts cracked probably wouldn’t be as excruciating. Still, perhaps I’m being pessimistic. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and jump right in! After all, these bears beat out Black Cauldron at the box office. Surely they have something special to offer here.

Like terrible child voice actors. We’ve got those in spades here! Okay, I know it’s not nice to call out kids who are only here because of parental peer pressure, but A Charlie Brown Christmas set the bar so high two decades prior! Though to be fair, maybe this is like Hayden Christensen regaling Padme about sand. You can only do so much when the script serves you verbal fruitcake on a platter. Such as when one of the kids, tricked into portraying the Rat King in an elementary production of the ballet by his sister, rightfully laments how lame the show is. Seeing one of her students complaining, our blonde ballet instructor halts class in order to tell a self-insert fanfiction where she herself is Clara. Whoa, deja vuh.

For all of you fearful that this is going to get repetitive, put your worries at ease. The writers made no effort to make the narrative comprehensive here. Instead of a mysterious family member, our Young Clara stand-in Anna (Tara Strong) is visited by Funshine Bear (Susan Roman) and Grumpy (Bob Dermer). Right as they tumble down the chimney ready to help this privileged dork with whatever first world problem she has, a dimensional rift abruptly appears in her room, dropping out the titular Nutcracker (Michael Beattie) and an army of rats. Sadly this time they’re not led by Tim Curry and they’re even less intimidating than before. Whereas previously they at least had swords, now they rush forward into battle with nothing but the clothes on their back. As if that wasn’t idiotic enough, they’re easily frightened off by the two bears and Anna’s younger brother Peter (Stuart Stone) in a trench coat. Wow, I was wondering how they’d top the Mouse King getting taken out by a shrunken woman’s flimsy footwear. You fail at failing to disappoint, Care Bears. Good to know I don’t need to take any of the villains seriously. By chance is it too late to bring back that creepy book lady from the movie? She’d be a better foe than the Vizier (Don Francks), a Jafar wannabe decked out in purple that commands the cowardly vermin. He’s after the Nutcracker so he can, you guessed it, take over the world and ruin Christmas. How he’d ruin Christmas is never explained, though I doubt whatever logic they presented would’ve made sense anyway.

Regardless of the reason, our heroes elect to help Nutcracker in his quest to stop the Vizier, enlisting some Care Bears Cousins to help. Though really I assume it’s to expose kids to more toys they can buy, since Funshine and Grumpy managed to make an entire armada run away in fear. Why else bring in Brave Heart Lion (Dan Hennessey) or Lotsa Heart Elephant (Luba Goy) if not for promotional purposes? Remember kiddies, pester your parents into buying these new friends or else you’ll be a sad loser! Together with Baby Tugs (Melleny Brown) and Hugs (Tracey Moore), they leap into the dimensional portal to restore order to Toyland. Along the way they encounter a bunch of cranky citizens blaming the Vizier’s rise to power on a prince named Alan. Whoa, deja vuh times two. Before anybody asks, yes, once again the Nutcracker is clearly the missing monarch. The rest of our heroes only find out after battling more rodents on a runaway train, meeting a magical fairy that’s as useless as the owl, and getting turned into wood by the Vizier. Our story ends with the titular toy’s humanity easily being restored, the villains being beheaded for war crimes, and the ballet class from earlier never really putting on their pageant as their teacher Anna walks off with her boi toi. Whoa, deja vuh times three. All while the Care Bears watch on from the raptors, waiting to pick the kids off one by one for sport.

Do I even have to say it? Honestly, what point is there in me picking out the flaws? It’d be like stating how pretty Christmas lights are, there’s no purpose in proclaiming something so patent. For the sake of keeping you all from searching up this sugary-coated crap though, I’ll list off my reasons. The pacing was painfully slow, making this extended episode feel like the director’s cut of a Peter Jackson movie. Replacing the charismatic, complex characters of those works are cardboard cutouts who are criminally one-dimensional. Even Grumpy, who I maintain is the best character in this series, feels so one-note. Worst of all is the animation. Much as I dogged out Barbie Nutcracker, I can applaud the ambition on display. Somebody clearly put some effort into the final product. At no time did I feel the same could be said for this. This was some paycheck for an animator who clearly wanted nothing to do with these blasted bears. And if all the behind the scenes stories Claire told me are any indication, I might not be too far off. Needless to say, I did not care for this special. I also didn’t care for you suggesting it to me, Claire! So when Seerius dumps something rotten into your stocking, just know that’s from me! For now though, I need a better Holiday special featuring a character voiced by Tara Strong. 

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[twotangledsisters]

Literally Nobody: ...

My brain at 4 in the morning: What if you write an AU where Gothel wasn't Gothel, instead she was actually a good person who hid from the world because using magic (even just to keep herself alive) was expressly prohibited and when Rapunzel was born she knew the baby would be silently killed for her magic so she steals the girl.

She raises Rapunzel and Cassandra in the tower as a loving, if somewhat stuck-up and not the best at communicating, mother keeps her children safe.

Eugene arrives, doesn't realize Rapunzel is magic and they leave the tower but when Eugene learns about Rapunzel's magic he's like, "Shit, your mother is right, we gotta go back to that tower and hide you!"

But Raps and Cass are like. "No, we've seen the world now. It's not as scary as we thought! We're gonna go to the village and see the lights!"

So they escape Eugene in yet another act of teen rebellion and head to danger!

Eugene is left seeking out Gothel and being like, "Hey, may have put your daughters in massive danger but they seem nice so I'd like to work with you to get them back to safety!"

I guess the girls will somehow end up saving Corona using magic, making magic kinda accepted.... or fuck Corona and they flee all four of them because Eugene (being so well travelled) knows of a place where magic is accepted.

Gothel gets back into the tower, sacks beneath her eyes as she placed the basket of food on the kitchen counter. Another villager had questioned her youth today which meant it wouldn't be long until this village was also off-limits. Corona was a small kingdom.

Before, Gothel would have simply left Corona for a few decades before coming back, but with the girls everything was more complicated.

"Mama! Mama!" Cassandra ran down the stairs.

"Careful," Gothel warned with a roll of her eyes when Cassandra nearly tripped and fell. They were so careless. "Look, look" she held up a drawing.

Gothel shook her head. "Very nice," she started unpacking the basket. She didn't have time for her daughter's art. She had so much to do. "Has your sister been okay in my absence?"

"She's still sleeping."

"Oh," she must have taken less time than she thought. "Good."

"Will you tell us a story tonight?"

"One about the world outside?"

"No!" A nice story, with magic and happy endings."

Gothel sighed. "One real story and one pretty story," she negotiated.

Cassandra hesitated before nodding. "But the scary one goes first! The nice stories help me not get nightmares."

Gothel nodded. "Alright."

-----------------

Eugene watched the blonde named Rapunzel run around a tree, the older girl named Cassandra chasing her while holding the hair in her arms. "Slow down or I'm letting your hair go so it gets tangled up!"

He frowned. The girls were very naïve, they seemed harmless enough. But why were they kept up in that tower?

Why did the blonde not cut her hair?

And most importantly, why did they have to use him as an escort? He had so many better things to be doing.

-----------------

When they climbed onto dry land Eugene had a lot of things to consider, the first thought was they were alive.

The second was they shouldn't be.

The third one he said aloud. "Your hair glows?"

Rapunzel smiled. "It's magic."

Eugene's eyes went wide, of course it was magic! What else could it be?

Eugene for a solid five seconds felt suddenly terrified of the girls, the witched! He'd been raised on the idea that magic brought nothing but death, destruction and chaos.

But then he looked at Rapunzel's concerned green eyes and that fear morphed into fear for the girls. "We need to go back to the tower."

"No, we had a deal!" Cassandra was the one to react with anger, Rapunzel just looked confused.

"I know we did but this changed things, didn't you say the outside world was scary? Well you're right!" He rubbed the back of his head. "You're very right..."

"Hah! You already tried this trick on us!" Rapunzel grinned. "Well, we're not falling for it Mr. Rider!"

Cassandra nodded.

Eugene shook his head, "No, listen girls the world doesn't welcome your kind."

The girls shared glances before Cassandra shook her head. "Well, the people in the bar were very nice. Are you sure your kind isn't the type that isn't welcome? Cynical, annoying, stuck-up!"

Usually Eugene would argue with Cassandra, but instead he looked past her at Rapunzel, his expression pleading. "You don't need to give me the crown back, but we can't go into town."

"But... the lights?" Rapunzel's eyes filled with tears.

"We're going to see them," Cassandra grabbed her little sister's hand. "With or without your help!"

-----------------

"You must be Gothel..." Eugene spoke calmly.

The woman turned on her heels fast, eyes wide. "You. You're the thief everybody is looking for!" she shouted.

Eugene stepped back, raising his hands in a sign of peace. "Wait, no, I mean, I want to help you."

"Help me?"

"I know about the girls and the..." he leaned in and whispered, "Glowing hair," he didn't dare say magic.

Gothel paled and swallowed.

"I swear I had no idea about the hair, they wanted to see the lights so I was going to take them, but when I found out I told them we needed to get back to the tower and they slipped past..." he sounded embarrassed. "Please, I want to help you get them back safely."

The woman looked to the ground then to Eugene, she looks at her hands that were ever so slightly wrinkled, she was too close to fading right now and she supposed the girls didn't stand a chance alone. Perhaps an ally would be a good idea. "Tell me everything."

[etlu-yume]

Someone get me off this Iron Seesaw

Haemochromatosis: An inherited genetic condition where the body absorbs iron at a greater rate than normal, that if left untreated results in damage of organs such as the liver, heart, and pancreas.

It’s in my genes. It’s not going anywhere.

It’s something I’ve had to monitor, like a hawk, for the last 11 years. I spent parts of my uni degree diving into information and going to conferences to try and piece together what was going on, in a format that was easy for people (me) to consume. I’m not afraid to look up what the effects of iron on the brain are (oh what a mindfield that is), or to investigate what chelators are and who uses them (tl;dr: keep those things away from me).

At first it all seemed easy. Go to the blood bank once a month, have 500ml of blood taken. Get the iron down. As the iron comes down, reduce the frequency of visits. Easy.

Banned from the Blood Bank

One too many “Vasovagal syncope” episodes (fainting. Even though I never actually fainted, but that’s what’s gone down on my file) got me banned from the blood bank.

And it was terrifying. I was moving back home to the country, away from the city. Technically moving interstate, too, which I was reminded about the hard way when I needed to add a third medical professional into the mix because the hospital wouldn’t accept referrals from my city-based specialist in the other state. Even though technically, the hospital system is run by that state.

Yeah. You can see it coming too, right? That oncoming shitshow? Buckle up.

A Country Practice

As it stands, I’m an anomaly in terms of Haemochromatosis. The usual suspects are middle aged or elderly men. Not a young women barely out of their teens. You typically see people track diagnoses down a family tree, not up it. It’s still sometimes referred to as a “men’s disease” because somehow apparently menstruating magically protects people from absorbing too much iron. (My ferritin of 618 at 18 years old would like to disagree with that assumption, so much)

So luckily, by the time I head back to the country - with our wonky as all getout “your rules don’t apply to us” border bubble health system - we’ve actually got it under control. The treatment phase, to reduce the iron, has been completed. We just need to work out what the best regime for maintenance of that is. In order to get blood taken - after being banned by the blood bank, of course - we need specific paperwork from a specific set of doctors. Physicians. Not to be confused with GPs, because that would be far too easy, wouldn’t it?

So we start the rounds of Physician roulette - which sounds more fun than it is, when there’s only 5 of them in 2015 and by the time one goes on maternity leave, another retires, and a third goes on indefinite medical leave, there’s not many options left after 2 years. (This also includes the infamous-to-people-who-know-me Dr “Oh you’re self medicating”, who refused to request certain tests and denied hospital referrals because the levels were ‘fine’ and I was ‘self medicating with periods anyway’. Colour me not surprised that when I got the call to tell me my appointment was cancelled because he was going on medical leave, that it was back to square 1 with the GP instead of passing patients onto someone else for ongoing care like my previous Physician did.)

And that’s just to get the referral papers - which once they’ve been filled in, I have to hand-deliver to the hospital. Just don’t take the first left down the stairs, that’s how you find out the cafeteria is right next to the morgue. The hospital staff at Campus A were amazing though, even though they took so long because nobody is allowed to start them. They without fail would run off to find a surgeon (this was the Day Surgery unit, after all) to actually start the procedure. Once it was started they were fine, but routinely they would have to run around for 30-45 minutes just to find someone to start it.

Keep in mind this is all well before COVID. This is 2015-2018. They’re struggling to start a simple venesection procedure in 2015.

The Australian health system was royally fucked from long before SARS2 decided to go for a joy ride around the world.

Hospital Switch

It feels like I’ve been to three hospitals but it’s only two - they moved the day surgery (read: squashed) into another part of the hospital at Campus A so they could do renovations. I think I got maybe one venesection in the New Surgery (which the nurses all complained about, it looks nice but apparently was less functional), before trying to book another venesection to be told “they don’t do them at Campus A anymore”.

By this point they have finally decided that they don’t actually need a specialists’ letter for venesections - you could still get one but it would only last you 3 months, while a letter from your GP would last 12. So we can cut out the extra $120/visit costs just to get paperwork from the specialists! Fucking hurrah!

But what we save in time, we lose in having to cross the river to get to the other hospital campus. There’s a new contact number to keep on hand. They actually give you a time to come in, rather than just a day. Campus W also seems to have slightly better food options - after all, I never got offered ice cream or jelly after my venesections at Campus A! (Although I haven’t been offered it since, but I did get a muffin once!). They’re also very strict on making you stay for half an hour once you’ve finished your procedure. And the nurses have, as far as I can tell from my 5 visits, ready to start the venesection at the drop of a hat.

Ring Ring, why won't you give me a call?

Unfortunately it’s not all smooth sailing; I’ve gotten to the point where my old GP would ask me what levels we were looking for. Where I’m practically calling the shots and just getting a sign-off that I’m allowed to do it. It’s kind of cool - it’s kind of scary.

My levels have started going up again - scarily so, considering I’d had a venesection between tests. So I’m urgently trying to get myself in for another venesection. I got the new referral letter on Monday afternoon, and tried to follow up with a phone call to the Clinical Liason Officer.

Answering machine.

So I leave a message, and decide to try again later. Maybe she was just at lunch.

Tuesday comes and goes with multiple calls to the officer’s number, and nothing but answering machine.

Wednesday I try to call while at work, in case I have more chances of catching them in the office before lunch time. Nothing, nothing, nothing. In the afternoon, I decide to try my luck on something I hadn’t tried for a while. Not since the change on the letter requirements.

It was time to check in with the blood bank, one more time.

Last time I’d tried this, I sat down with one of the nurses at the blood bank in a room. We had a talk. Said that it was possible, but I should get another couple of venesections under my belt. I’ve had at least that, if not more by this point.

But I don’t even get to speak to a nurse. Reception wants to send me to my GP to get put on the high ferritin app. ”I already am” I reiterated, ”I was a therapeutic donor. I wanted to try and get the ban lifted”. The tone changed slightly - out of their control, they said. Handed me an A6 card and wrote the national number I nearly called to see if I needed to book ahead to talk to someone, and told me to speak to a medical director because they had more power than the staff at the branch.

So at this point it’s where I mention that for the last 5 years, I’ve increasingly noticed that the closer my iron gets to 100, the more irritable and tetchy I get. (There’s some kind of extra spicy fuckery going on with cycle-related emotions too. It’s like a party of angry beans when there’s high iron and pre-period hormones. Nothing is safe - not even those keys, jumping out of my bag for no reason and falling on the floor. Especially those.)

I go home, angry and frustrated and rather upset (not even the allure of a food reward for going and asking the question worked - the brain collective said a hard “No.”), and despite it being 5pm, gave the line a call. After all, I’d wasted that half hour going into town, what was another half hour on the phone?

The first person I spoke to seemed nice enough. Checked my file, tried to tell me I was a therapeutic donor (strangely enough, I knew that. It’s the special program they have for people that need blood taken at different intervals, like haemochromatosis patients). Eventually explained that I was trying to see if we could lift the ban, since it had been 8 years and I’d had plenty of venesections since then without a problem. That was beyond her powers, but she was going to transfer me to a nurse.

Of course the “episodes” were one of the first things that were mentioned.

“It says here you had 4 episodes of Vasovagal syncopes in 2014**. What’s changed?”

I don’t know if it’s just because the wording caught me off guard, or if it was the shortness of “What’s changed”. It felt very much like “you’ve had fainting episodes. Nothing’s changed that. You can’t undo those. End of conversation”.

I mentioned that it had been 8 years. That I was barely in my 20’s when that happened. That I’m no longer in the city taking public transport, which was apparently an issue at the time, and that I’m driving myself to my appointments now with no issues. That I’ve had 5 venesections I’ve successfully taken myself to and from. (As of writing, 28 in total. 16 at the blood bank, and 12 at the hospital)

“You’re still a safety risk. You could faint while driving and cause an accident.”

It kind of feels like a kick in the guts - to be told despite all the work you’ve done over the last 8 years, of trying to do your best to get through venesections without any major mishaps, building little rituals around venesection day? That it’s not good enough. That none of it is good enough. That the pat on the back you’re giving yourself for being able to drive to and from a venesection is really being a “safety risk”. That hundreds of people drive themselves to the blood bank and back, but you are the one that’s a risk because of how you reacted 8 years ago (or more).

**BTW I’m 99% sure this claim of “4 Vasovagal syncopes in 2014” is False, actually.

November 2011: First blood donation ever. People *routinely* have a bad first donation because the body is freaking out. Mine just freaked out, went green, and took 4 hours to stop feeling light headed enough that I could go home (with friend who drove me and came as support). Is that REALLY a first strike against me?

- ??? I don’t know honestly. But chances are this was a dodo moment from me, where I unfortunately aligned procedural bleeding with monthly “self medicated” bleeding.

(& 4)- 2014 sometime: I remember these because it was the same nurse both times!! Once they put the needle in and then had to keep jiggling it around to get it to go, and I’m pretty sure that set me up for a poor reaction. The other time, they put the needle in and (vocally) observed that it was bleeding around the needle.

NOTE: none of these were episodes where I actually fainted. I got light headed, and the world span a bit, but I never passed out. Even my worse at the hospital didn’t knock me out (but oh boy it came close. And I know 100% that was because the tourniquet was too tight, and the rush of blood when they took it off is why my hearing went all funny and my vision was full of dots and the world spun really badly. But I know now to make a fuss if it’s too tight, if my arm goes red or purple, and not just ‘grin and bear it’.)

But that phrase sticks in my mind. “You’re a safety risk”. It’s probably going to sit there on the mental shelf, right next to “You’re self medicating”.

So the blood bank is - yet again - a write off. Maybe I’ll try again. Maybe I’ll get mad and make a list of all the ways I’ve improved with my approach to venesections. Or maybe I’ll give them away as a joke.

It’d be easier if they weren’t a nation-wide system.

Missing in Action

With the blood bank scrapped again from the options list, it brings me back to the hospital. Campus W. Chasing down Clinical Liason Officer. Because it’s the ONLY thing I could do at the time, I scan my referral and send an email. Just in case it’ll get a response. Thursday rolls around and still no dice from calling. Even the standard hospital number in the hopes that someone might be able to actually collar the officer and get a response, only gets me transferred to the same line that results in the answering machine.

So I grab my physical copy of the letter. Stuff my other notebooks with contact details into my bag, and choof over the river. Phones and emails hadn’t worked - but surely if I walked in there, someone would know something.

And they did.

Turns out the Clinical Lliason Officer is away. By the sounds of it, they’ve been away probably the whole time I’ve been trying to get in touch. There’s nobody filling their position while they’re gone. The hospital staff don’t know when she’ll be back. They hope it’ll be “Next Week”. There’s a side comment made about “if she isn’t back we’ll find someone to fill in that position”.

One person to book and schedule people for procedures across two campuses that serve close to 70,000 people.

And they don’t know when she’ll be back.

“If it’s pressing, you can go back to your GP to find an alternative or you can go to the ED”

This is just trying to book one single venesection. Just asking someone to take 500ml of blood. Something that’s an ongoing process and requires monitoring. It’s a regional city, but it’s not /rural/. We’re supposed to be a hub for other more rural towns. But I’ve lost track of the phone calls made, the time going to ask people questions. The time lost to being pushed back when trying to look at all my options. (Not that there are many of them).

It should not be this difficult.

[donald-darf]

Imma theorize on (Make up) the lore for this cause I feel like it

Trigger Warning: Mentions suicide

First, the Knight is an occultist, or subordinate to, or an important member of a powerful faction, possibly among royalty, nobility, or the army, I assume this since he casually has a key to the royal palace and the effigy

I believe he and or faction has the goal of stopping, controlling, and or manipulating the abominations running amok, and he obviously has occult connections and or knowledge considering he knows that there are metaphysical dilemmas afoot

Him handing you the occult effigy also suggests his connection with the occult, and enough knowledge to know what the hell that thing is for, so I believe he is in fact a member of some sort of royal armed force who secretly researched heretical subjects and or worked alongside some sort of hidden heretical sect that might've been working against the royal family before or after whatever ruined the place

I'm unsure of his and the potential occultist faction's exact morality since he seems to treat you politely but he recruits you, a seemingly random civilian into aiding with the abomination clean-up effort (But to be fair, it could be just a desperation thing, considering the 7th panel shows nobody around in the city aside from you and that god corpse)

I believe his hypothetical faction (I keep mentioning a faction cause I doubt he was attempting a 1 man revolution using mystic arts alone, but I could be wrong) might have dubious morals but the knight as an individual believes he is doing a good thing, the variety of weaponry on the dead abomination suggests he has a mishmash of contacts with various combat styles, maybe a rag-tag monster clean up squad

And despite being of possible high enough status to afford full body armour, he treats you with respect every single time, and he has an obvious anti-authoritarian ideology with his desire for you murder royals and any deities you potentially run into using that effigy to help somehow

This could mean he believes he is doing the right thing by working against the royals and deities of the setting, and maybe has a slight bit of naivety since he just assumes you'll wanna work together with him to kill monsters and royals (The gods thing makes sense since if we're following his questline, we already went with his other dangerous requests), as if the idea of a commoner not agreeing with taking down the institutions of old didn't seem to come to mind at all for him

Last thing for the knight, I believe his tree transformation might've been accidentally self inflicted, trees are symbols of strength, individuality, expression, and calmness according to google

He is always sitting down relaxing, surrounded by ruins and possibly numerous abominationsd civil war, calm despite what the world has become, he opposes the current authorities of the land which he may perceive as tyrannical for one reason or another, and his rag-tag group means he possibly isn't too picky with who he works with, or he may value individuality and expression since he doesn't comment on the ridiculous outfit min-maxing

So I believe he enhanced himself with strengthening occult rituals related to mighty trees, to aide in combat against abominations and royalist forces, but as a result of maybe being in a magical sky island place at the end, overuse, or sabotage, what gave him the strength to stand up for his values consumed him

And he leaves the rest to you, who slew possibly countless horrors, faced kings, queens, heirs, and other royalists of immense strength, somehow following him to the spot where he'll probably produce some acorns in a couple years, the blade broken from a failed attempt probably take his own life before he is just tree, the bark too strong to break with a mere blade, his body now rooting itself to the ground

He leaves his dream to you, he knows you'll win, you probably don't even need the tree strength spell, but his body is probably gonna drop that when his dialogue ends and he croaks, so take it anyway

Second, the setting seems to be mostly ruined city considering the bricks the knight sits on, there are of course still some people around considering the numerous weapons riddling the corpse of a dead abomination

I believe a combination of civil war caused by the occult society (WHICH IS STILL BELIEVE THE KNIGHT WORKED WITH) and the introduction of these abominations has resulted in the ruined state of the city, those abominations probably came from the hole in the big sky egg thing, or maybe were a secondary result of something else that came from the sky egg, maybe opened by the occultists but that could be a stretch and it was some other crazy stuff

Another part of the setting seems to be other worlds, since in the background of the 5th and 6th panels you can see sky islands in the distance and a lack of them in the background of panel 7, or they're simply high above the darkened clouds

These sky islands also seem to hold structures and are of significance to the knight, and quite possibly where he got whatever he needed for the effigy

Maybe these are forgotten temples to the gods he opposed, or to other deities that used to (Or still do) live there, he maybe scraped up any remnants he could get and put it in the effigy jar

Also from the appearence of the effigy, I for some reason have a feeling of senses when looking at it, the eye with 2 pupils and the hand representing sight and touch respectively

Effigies are made to represent individuals and things, and another definition of them is something to be made then destroyed in protest, I believe the Occult Effigy is made from the remnants of gods, and in some sort of mystical way, will render the gods (or maybe just some, or 1) blind and senseless when destroyed, ready to be struck down

Third, I don't have much for the last, I just believe the giant creature in panel 7 was widely worshipped and regularly communicated with, I don't have much evidence beyond the giant elevated stone platform with seats that acts as it's final resting place, but it could've been constructed for officials, people from whatever the group that worships it is called, and the royal family to beseech it for guidance

It's commandments and policies might be some of the reasons why the knight probably wanted some gods dead, whatever those commands may be

Also, I like to think the clergy of the BIG BIRB wear those pointy nosed masks (the one the main character wears at the end) to feel closer to their god

If anyone else has their own theories (headcanons) please tell me

fromsoftware comic

[redshoes-blues]

Reading The Priory of the Orange Tree 🍊🐉🗡

Chapters 9–17

Overall

Okay. I’ve got some of my confusion over the dragons cleared up. I originally thought all dragons were the same (despite having different species or subspecies depending where they’re from), and that the West/East worldviews surrounding dragons, as well as their mythology, was the reason for why they’re viewed differently. Now it’s clear that there are some dragons that are evil, such as the dragon who attacks the tower. Makes sense!

Also so much has happened that I don’t even know what to say here lmao. This book is so good. Somehow I’m 25% through, and I’ve only been reading it for three days. That’s insane for me.

West

It’s official. The dragons have returned. I’m so intrigued by this magic system and my heart was racing when the dragon was facing off against Sabran (and then Ead). That whole scene was written so well that I could perfectly visualize it happening.

I. FUCKING. LOVE. LOTH. Oh my god. He’s so good I just love him. And Kit is giving Shakespearean himbo in the best way. I love their dynamic. Am I picking up ace or demisexual vibes from Loth? I thought for sure he and Kit were gonna have a romantic relationship at first, but Loth mentioned never have feelings for somebody, and he’s in his thirties. Which is making me think he could be some kind of asexual?

Also I love Margret and I love her friendship with Ead. She’s one of the most understanding people in the court and I love her.

Chassar is so beloved to me already I stg if anyone brings harm to this lovely man…

Ead continues to be absolutely amazing. I love how protective she is of Sabran, which I suspect is because she’s harbouring some feelings for her maybe. BUT also. The dynamic of Sabran being a descendent of Cleolind, WHO EAD WORSHIPS IN SECRET (just like how she’ll maybe love Sabran in secret). So that’s why she’s SO protective of her. More so then she was asked to be originally. Nobody is doing it like them.

The whole Priory situation is fascinating to me. Both the secretiveness of what it is, and especially the mechanics. Like, okay. Cool magic aside, eating fruit from this tree gives her power. A power viewed by some as evil. It so reminds me of a garden of eden situation. Eat the fruit and you gain something forbidden by some. At least, that’s how it seems so far. Such a unique magic system, and really unlike anything I’ve read before. Did I mention I love this book?

Sabran has 100% been putting off marriage for lesbian reason, combined with her horrifying dreams, and I feel so sad for her :( she’s in such a difficult and impossible situation, having to sacrifice her happiness and desires for the sake of the world’s survival. God.

The final part I left off on. Sabran is having horrifying visions and thinks witchcraft may be involved. First of all, the image of her giving birth was so awful and as someone who gets very vivid, disturbing intrusive thoughts, I honestly appreciate how this scene was handled. I know it’s not exactly intrusive thoughts and seems to be something related to magic. But still. The way Ead talks to Sabran about this darkness was beautiful and made me teary eyed.

East

Tané my girl, slaying the competition, as she should. I loved the descriptions of she and her childhood friend. Very sweet. And the dragons of the East have so much personality I just love them—that dragon that was smiling at her and almost seemed proud of her was so!!

Technically some of this info comes from the West chapters, but we’re learning a lot about Niclays, and it makes me feel even sadder for the guy. He lost the man he loved and turned to alcohol to cope and he seemed to genuinely want to help Sabran. But then everything goes to shit and he’s exiled and now he wants revenge on her. Which…Niclays, you silly goose. I understand, but also how about no?

This section has been very West-heavy, with Niclays captured and Tané undergoing her training, so I don’t have any more to say here.

[iviarellereads]

The Eye of the World, Chapter 44 - The Dark Along the Ways

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Leaf and vine icon)(1) In which we must stay quite literally in the light.

Rand and the party sneak out to the stables, where horses are ready and waiting for them: their own and some replacements for those already lost, plus one that looks like it might fit Loial. Moiraine advises Gill to write to Sheriam, at the White Tower, if he fears any trouble from their stay. He says it's fine, she's already given him the only inn in Caemlyn with no rats, he can double his custom on that alone. The stablemen lead them out of a hidden second exit from the stable, into an alley that lets out far from the two main streets the inn connects to. There's nobody watching this way.

Loial leads the way, since he can feel the Waygate somehow, though he can’t explain it. Eventually he points to a shop, and says it's under there. Moiraine finds a cellar door in the alley,(2) and uses a touch of magic to open the rusty lock quietly. The cellar hasn't been used in years, and Mat asks who would build a Gate here. Loial says there used to be a grove here, with all the trees Ogier could coax to grow in the climate, some a hundred spans high. And all that was murdered for shops.(3)

The Gate has been incorporated into part of the brick wall, by builders who acknowledged that it was well built and sturdy, you might as well use it to support something. It still looks like a fancy carved landscape. Moiraine moves one of the leaves carved into the wall, it comes away with no trouble and fits into another spot, and the wall changes somehow and becomes partly a mirror, reflecting them. Moiraine urges them through, and so they go into a place so dark, their lanterns don't seem to light as far around them as they should.

Rand looks back through, and everyone seems to be moving in slow motion on the other side of the gate, which now shows the cellar as if through smoky glass. Loial says time passes quicker inside the Ways. The rest of them follow through, and when the gate is closed, their world becomes limited by darkness to just where their lanterns reach.

The road beneath them is pitted stone, like some kind of acid has eaten into it, and there's a white line broken in some places by the hollows. Loial says the lines lead them to the nearest guidepost. Sometimes they see bits of construction, as if this was once part of a great city or highway, and Rand thinks it looks familiar somehow,(4) but surely that's just his imagination searching for anything to cling to in such a strange place.

A series of bridges between stone islands ensues, with no difference between them except the degree of damage they've sustained. Eventually Rand adjusts to the strangeness, a little, and thinks that this isn't nearly as bad as Loial made it out to be. They're almost boring.(5) Then Loial makes a startled noise, and when Rand looks to see what the trouble is, the bridge they must follow next ends in a jagged gap.

=====

(1) Because this is the Avendesora leaf, and that's also the symbol of the key to the Ways. (2)"There must be a cellar door" must there? Or are you depending on the ta'veren effect of plot convenience? (3) Hey RJ, your environmentalism's showing. I know it's not always the case, but I think if you have to draw from Tolkien for the first instalment of your magnum opus as much as RJ did to please his publisher and the readers of his time, if you don't include some of the environmentalism you're doing it capital-w Wrong. (4) The main interesting note here is that Rand feels the architecture of the Ways is familiar. We know the Ways were constructed by male Aes Sedai soon after or during the Breaking. We also know or can guess by now that Rand is Lews Therin reincarnated, the Dragon reborn, and Lews Therin was the male leader of the Aes Sedai (one of his fancy titles up in the prologue given by Elan Morin, "you wore the Ring of Tamyrlin, and sat in the High Seat", sounds like the Amyrlin Seat of the era of the rest of the book). So, safe to assume that the other male Aes Sedai built the Ways to match familiar architecture to them, which would also feel familiar to Lews Therin. This kind of hearkens back to a conversation earlier in the book, when Mat yells that old tongue battle cry. Afterward, they joke that he's some fancy warrior reborn, that's why he had access to the memory. In his case we can't be entirely sure but the authority figures dismiss it. But if that's a thing that can happen, and we know from the context of the story, it's not a stretch to say Rand is Lews Therin reborn, and he does seem to be accessing bits and pieces of his past life's memories, he's just still WAY in denial. The big question is, does Moiraine know, is that why she came to Emond's Field. She did say she was looking for "just one" person important to the Pattern when she found three… (5) Even without the missing route at the end of the chapter, that feels a little Too Ominous that things are about to get worse.

[cindythinking]

Feeding Star Eater was done by witches and wizards all over the land. The decision as to whom would do what became a bigger issue as years went by. Eventually it was decided that one person would be elected as to not confuse Star Eater with all the different, mixed energies it was getting.

It was then decided that Queen of Stones would be in charge. The Queen of Stones was a loving, caring Queen. She was the Queen of the land of Stones, a land blessed with trees, fruits and vegetables throughout the year. She was mostly known and praised for her spell jars. The Queen of Stones and Star Eater developed a deep connection. She fed him sweet love spells, salty prosperity and bitter protection spells (Star Eater's last favorite).

However, revenge spells were Star Eater's favorite. The Queen prepared and collected revenge spells from all over the land. Star Eater marvelled in the cold, sweet taste of revenge jars. The magnificent coffee and cinnamon flavors. It couldn't get enough of the dense texture and sweet sensations it left with afterwards. There were times where the spells were tangy orange, lemon and lime flavored. Star Eater loved them all.

Things went well for a while but one day, while the land of stones was sleeping, the ground started to tremble. It started slow but became stronger by the minute until a huge earthquake was threatening all the habitats of the land. The King of Cups was called for help. The King of Cups was loving and considerate. He had the ability of sensing energy miles away and could identify the root cause of all problems. His kingdom was north of the land of Stones and was known for its eternal spring.

The page of scrolls, the only one in the kingdom with teleportation powers, was sent to convince him to help the land of stones.

The King of Cups refused at first, he had been dealing with his own problems and was dealing with a heavy depression for the last months.

"The earthquake has been lasting for days. If you don't come soon, we will all die!"

The Page of scrolls was a young boy with black hair and blue eyes which were filled with tears as he was making his pledge. It reminded the King of Cups of someone from his past. "Have you tried reaching out to the Emperor of the West? I've heard he had great powers."

"Everybody has tried but since nobody knows the cause of the trembling, they can't come up with the right solution."

The King of Cups thought about it. It wouldn't hurt to make himself useful again, he thought.

The King of Cups appeared at the land of stones to find complete chaos. Somehow they managed to reach the place at the center of Star Eater.

"It is full with anger and resentment!"

The King of Cups took his magic cup from his robe. He closed his eyes and conjured all the love he felt for his lost family until the cup filled with a metallic pink liquid. The steam coming from the liquid engulfed both of them and spread through the air all around town. Slowly but surely the trembling subdued and moments later it stopped completely.

Curious people of town gathered around the King of Cups and the Page of Scrolls in awe. Moments later the queen arrived. She was quick in realizing what had happened, she had spoiled Star Eater.

"For many years, I was able to keep the peace of the land. As time went on I gave more and more revenge spells putting the balance in danger without realizing it. I am deeply sorry."

Page of Scrolls hugged her and comforted her. She was a queen but a human after all.

From then on, Star gazer was fed with many spells. His favorite were kept as dessert and only served once a year.

A Star Eater must eat magic or else they’ll die, so the best course of action was to taunt witches all around the land into hexing him with curses. Spiteful magic tastes great after all.

[randomitemdrop]

If you're still bored, how about d100 rumors?

Table of Rumors

So, what are the villagers whispering around the pub? (Adapt as needed to your setting, and remember that rumors aren’t always true)

An infamous item-shop owner is actually a fraud and has no idea what he’s doing

One of the party members is secretly in service to the Dark Lord

One of the party members is secretly in service to the Merchants’ Guild, ensuring that the party keeps having to buy more stuff

The Dark Lord is secretly in service to the Merchants’ Guild and their entire evil plan is a hoax to stimulate the economy

Mimics in service to the Dark Lord have infiltrated the village

The Dark Lord’s secret weakness is Essence of (consult Table of Flavors & Scents)

The Dark Lord’s secret weakness is getting stabbed with a cheap tin dagger

The Dark Lord’s secret weakness is catgirls

The local forest has been infested with Cascadian Tree-Krakens

The local counting-house has been infested with Modrons

The local fishing-hole has been infested with Dire Crawdads

The local lake is secretly home to a Fey woman that gives out swords proclaiming the wielder to be the true king of the land

The local spring is actually a portal to the Plane of Water, but only when activated correctly

A nearby swamp is home to a wish-granting hag

A nearby swamp is home to a reclusive retired bard, once famous across the land

A nearby swamp is home to Shrek

A nearby swamp is actually a bog

Deep in the forest there grows a patch of herbs that will cure any illness or wound

Deep in the forest there grows a patch of herbs that make anything taste good

Deep in the forest there grows a patch of herbs that double your strength for four hours

Deep in the forest there grows a patch of herbs that will kill anything mortal

Deep in the forest there grows a patch of herbs that will get you zonked off your gourd

At the top of a nearby mountain there is a shrine to a forgotten deity from beyond the stars

At the top of a nearby mountain there is a shrine to a long-dead celebrity musician where Bards can learn special spells

A nearby cave is haunted by the ghosts of a massacred army

A nearby cave is haunted by the ghosts of cavemen

Long ago, fleeing royals hid a magic sword up the chimney of one of the local homes

One of the local merchants/tradespeople is actually a psychic vampire that nourishes itself by providing the worst possible customer service

A local farm has a chicken that will grant wishes if you pet it without letting the owner know

The local pub owner was once a bandit and buried treasure under the floorboards

The town drunk knows where a treasure is hidden but will only explain when sober

The town Prohibition Society president knows where a treasure is hidden but will only explain when drunk

The weird old man that lives outside town dresses up as a monster to frighten people off his property

The weird old man that lives outside town dresses up as a monster and has won awards at furry conventions for his monster suits

The local blacksmith’s hammer is enchanted so that he can strengthen armor just by hitting it

The local butcher will buy exotic meats, no questions asked

The local baker’s buns are enchanted so that it is addictive

The local candlestick-maker uses dwarf-tallow

The local cooper is the Queen’s paramour, which is how he's kept his license despite his barrels being absolute rubbish

The local cobbler is assisted by Elves. Nobody seems to know if that means traditional tiny magical spirits or, like, a band of Drow warriors bound to his service

The local nightsoilman is the true Crown Prince, having switched places with a lookalike after getting the idea from an episode of “Wishbone” and/or “Garfield: a Tail of Two Kitties” and/or any of the three different Barbie CGI adventures based around the idea

The local grave-digger kills people when business is slow

The local pie-maker kills people when business is slow

The local oyster-seller is secretly rich off pearls

The local arkwright (maker of chests) is actually a breeder of Mimics

The local carpetmaker is actually a breeder of Trappers

The local schrimpshonger will pay dearly for strange and exotic teeth, the bigger the better

The local relic-keeper is a fake

The local phrenologist is legit, somehow

The local cheesemonger can tell your fortune from the bite patterns you leave in a rind

The local pardoner has a direct line to the Celestial Bureaucracy

The local doctor is a vampire

The local tobacconist has some primo shit in the back that he only brings out if he knows you’re cool

The local town guard used to be an adventurer like you, then he took an arrow in the knee

The local town’s rival tater-hurling team has magic on their side, so the locals are looking for an edge

The local mayor is secretly a witch

The local mayor is secretly an avatar of the Dark Lord

The local mayor is secretly two Halflings with one sitting on the other’s shoulders, having achieved office through a cavalcade of hilarious hijinks and desperate to maintain the ruse

The Royal Palace’s knights are actually just empty suits of armor animated by dark magic

The Royal Palace’s knights are actually just empty suits of armor filled with bees

The Royal Palace’s knights are actually illusions and the building is actually defenseless

Eating raw pork increases your strength, the tainteder the better

Man door hook hand carriage door

Putting out all the lights and speaking a wizard’s name into a mirror five times will open a portal to wherever they are

Living near windmills causes cancer

Electrical shocks cure rheumatism

Goblin saliva cures acne

The smell of Bonnacon dung cures respiratory illness

Giant blood replenishes vitality and cures hangovers

Powdered Tiefling horns are an aphrodisiac

Dwarves lay golden eggs when enraged

Pulling Elves’ ears is good luck

Stealing an adventurer’s helmet is good luck

It’s good luck to ignore Aasimar, pretending they aren’t there

People with even a little bit of Dragon blood in their veins are incapable of lying

Feeding a Halfling is bad luck

Druids are aggressive assholes that try to convince everyone else to become Druids

Orcs are disguised humans

Mind-flayers can actually survive on totally normal food and drink, and they’re just flaying minds to be jerks

People with red hair are werewolves

Kicking a Cleric of a deity besides the one you follow in the butt cures curses

Flossing with the hair from a wizard’s beard cures toothache and gum disease

Church wine can be used to remove any stain

The Chosen One has arisen and can be recognized by (insert trait held by party member)

The Chosen One has arisen and can be recognized by being invulnerable to blades

The Chosen One has arisen and a cutting from their hair is proof against the Plague

Many adventurers are actually thought-constructs without free will, controlled by the whims of giant deities living on a higher plane rolling dice

The Royal Palace is trying to hide from the populace that the world is actually round/flat/cylindrical/toroidal/&c.

The Plague vaccines being provided by the Royal Palace secretly contain Potion of Enfeeble Mind to allow them to control the populace more securely

The local ruins were constructed by Extraplanars (note: if this is already true in your setting, instead the rumor is that the Extraplanars are a hoax by the Royal Palace)

Certain unusual clouds are the product of the Alchemists’ Guild trying to control the weather

The gladiator matches are fixed

A famous bard died years ago and was replaced by a look-alike

A famous bard is hypnotizing people with their music

Zalgo is coming

The world is going to end next year

A major chain of food stalls actually uses bio-alchemically-engineered Oozes instead of real meat

The Holy Books have hidden messages that can be decoded by those that know the secret method

The town charter is secretly a treasure map

https://www.snopes.com/random/