#anyway the point is this didn’t come from any like. growing renewed interest

[thatgirlonstage]

I said it at the time and having just scrolled past a post attempting to summarize the Events of Nov 5th 2020 I stand by the sentiment: it doesn’t matter how you explain it there is no way to explain the sheer visceral impact of the sentence “Destiel is canon”—and the fact that this became a true statement in 2020—to someone who was not around for at least some of the years when Supernatural was not just big but nigh inescapable. Like, I’m sorry, but if you don’t have some backlog knowledge of Supernatural’s Got A Gif For Every Post and the Mishapocalypse and Dean In Gym Shorts then I can’t help you, I can’t explain it, no human language I am aware of has yet come up with words adequate to describe the scale of surreality that occurred that night

[osakaso5]

IDOLiSH7 6th Anniversary Special Story: Full of Heart...

Chapter 1: The Greatest Show

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Mister Shimooka: The day has finally come for Rabitty-kun, beloved children's character, to celebrate its 6th anniversary with a special show!

Mister Shimooka: Welcome to Kids' Room!

Mister Shimooka: And as we look back on our own childhoods with Toi Toi Toi Company's famous mascot...

Mister Shimooka: We'll also take a peek at the childhoods of idols whose fame rivals even that of Rabitty-kun!

Audience: Kyaaaaa...!

Mister Shimooka: Here come our special guests!

Mister Shimooka: Re:vale!

Yuki: Hey there.

Momo: I hope you're excited for our baby pics!

Audience: Kyaaaaa..!

Mister Shimooka: TRIGGER!

Tenn Kujo: Thank you for having us on.

Gaku Yaotome: Thanks. Let's regain some of our childhood innocence, yeah?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I hope you're all ready!

Audience: Kyaaaaa..!

Mister Shimooka: IDOLiSH7!

Iori Izumi: I'm a bit embarrassed to show you all my picture, but I suppose I'll allow it, just this once.

Yamato Nikaido: Ichi's not the only one who's feeling embarrassed, but I think I've got a pretty good shot just for you guys.

Mitsuki Izumi: Thanks for having us!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Thanks!

Sogo Osaka: Congratulations on your 6th anniversary.

Nagi Rokuya: Only you will have the privilege of witnessing this special picture of me!

Riku Nanase: Please look forward to it!

Audience: Kyaaaaa..!

Mister Shimooka: ŹOOĻ!

Toma Inumaru: Let's make this the best anniversary ever!

Haruka Isumi: Hi.

Torao Mido: Thanks for having us.

Minami Natsume: Thank you.

Audience: Kyaaaaa..!

Tsumugi's Thoughts: Rabitty-kun's 6th anniversary special, Welcome to Kids' Room...

Tsumugi's Thoughts: For this show, our members had to find pictures from their childhood...

Tsumugi's Thoughts: And this is the story of how it all happened.

Tsumugi's Thoughts: Specifically...

Tsumugi's Thoughts: How it happened for MEZZO".

Tamaki Yotsuba: ........

Sogo Osaka: ........

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: Welcome to Kids' Room...

Sogo Osaka: A show where we reminisce about our childhoods..?

Otoharu Takanashi: Exactly. You're both familiar with Rabitty-kun, the children's toy that took the world by storm some twelve years ago, yes?

Otoharu Takanashi: It was renewed and began its second run six years ago.

Riku Nanase: I remember Rabitty-kun! It was so popular when I was little! Ooh, ooh! I'm Rabitty!

Yamato Nikaido: The talking rabbit toys? We had at least three of those.

Mitsuki Izumi: Wow, gramps. You must've been a real Rabitty-kun superfan.

Yamato Nikaido: Superfan? Seriously..?

Mitsuki Izumi: Our parents only got us the one, so we had to take turns playing with it.

Iori Izumi: Right.

Riku Nanase: What's with the cool reaction, Iori? Didn't you like Rabitty-kun?

Iori Izumi: I have a cool reaction to all manner of cutesy stuffed animals, in case you haven't already noticed.

Iori Izumi: Besides, don't the rest of you find Rabitty-kun sort of... creepy? Because of the way he talks...

Yamato Nikaido: Creepy..? Nope, not really.

Mitsuki Izumi: Maybe he seemed scary to you because you were so little back then?

Riku Nanase: Do you know him, Nagi? It's possible that Rabitty-kun didn't ever land in Northmare.

Nagi Rokuya: OH, I do know him! I had a Rabitty Boy of my own once.

Nagi Rokuya: He could both sing and dance, and he enjoyed when I fed him carrots and pet his head.

Sogo Osaka: Wow...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Seriously?

Riku Nanase: What about you, Tamaki and Sogo-san? Do you know Rabitty-kun?

Mitsuki Izumi: Ah... Right, I guess you guys might've...

Sogo Osaka: I-I do know of him. Though I never owned one myself, I definitely remember hearing his name somewhere.

Tamaki Yotsuba: S-same here! We had a ton of old toys at the orphanage, so we totally had one of those somewhere!

Tamaki Ýotsuba: Y'know, the, uh... R-Rabitty Man?

Nagi Rokuya: Rabitty Boy.

Riku Nanase: No, it's Rabitty-kun!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah, Rabitty-kun! What's he got to do with the show we're going on, anyway?

Otoharu Takanashi: Rabitty-kun's manufacturer, Toi Toi Toi Company, is the sponsor of this TV special.

Otoharu Takanashi: Tsumugi-kun, would you mind explaining the rest?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Not at all. It's for Rabitty-kun's 6th renewal anniversary...

Tsumugi Takanashi: ...For which they wanted to hold a big TV special where idol groups look back on their childhoods.

Tsumugi Takanashi: The chosen groups are IDOLiSH7, Re:vale, TRIGGER, and ŹOOĻ.

Tsumugi Takanashi: The show will feature not only Rabitty-kun, but many other children's toys and songs from the past.

Mitsuki Izumi: Wow! That sounds fun!

Yamato Nikaido: Are you sure our generational gaps won't get in the way? Take me and Tama, for example. We're a whole five years apart.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Speaking of which, you and Yuki-san are four years apart. That means he and Tamaki-san are nine years apart.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Whoa. He's basically old enough to be my dad.

Iori Izumi: Hush. Don't let him hear you say that.

Otoharu Takanashi: As part of the project, they've asked you to present your own childhood photos during the show.

Otoharu Takanashi: Do you all think  you could do that? If it's too difficult, we can ask them to pass on you during that particular segment.

Mitsuki Izumi: It's no problem for me and Iori. What about you, gramps?

Yamato Nikaido: I'm sure I'll have tons of pictures to choose from... Even ones that don't show where I lived back then. What about you, Nagi?

Nagi Rokuya: But of course. I was all over Northmare's newspapers for a few weeks after I was born.

Yamato Nikaido: Sure, but do you have pictures you could actually use for the show?

Mitsuki Izumi: They're not so overly fancy that they'll ruin it for the rest of us, are they?

Nagi Rokuya: Hm... Very well, I shall select the most wonderful shot  myself. And what of you, Riku? Will you have trouble preparing a photo?

Riku Nanase: I might have kind of a hard time. Especially if I accidentally pick a picture that's got both me and Tenn-nii in it.

Iori Izumi: Which you will not be doing, obviously.

Riku Nanase: Ugh, I can already tell that you're planning to pick a photo that matches Mitsuki's.

Iori Izumi: I'm not trying to be smug about it, you know.

Riku Nanase: I wonder which photo Tenn-nii will choose. We'll have to meet up and talk about this.

Banri Ogami: Are you sure you can all manage? Especially you, Tamaki-kun and Sogo-kun...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah, um... Yeah, probably!

Sogo Osaka: I think I'll be able to work something out, too.

Banri Ogami: Really? If it's too difficult, then you don't have to force it.

Banri Ogami: I know both your family situations are a bit complicated...

Tamaki Yotsuba: We'll be fine! I'll ask the director of the orphanage.

Sogo Osaka: I have the contact information of one of our housekeepers, so I can ask them.

Banri Ogami: Okay, then. Good luck.

Riku Nanase: I can't wait to see what we all looked like when we were little!

Mitsuki Izumi: Same. I'm curious to see how Yaotome might've looked.

Yamato Nikaido: I'm more interested in Inumaru. Do you think his eyes were always that stern?

Nagi Rokuya: Are you asking because your own eyes are the same way?

Yamato Nikaido: Shut it.  

Iori Izumi: I'll contact Kujo-san ahead of time, so we won't have any mishaps with Nanase-san.

Riku Nanase: I can do it myself!

Tamaki Yotsuba: .........

Sogo Osaka: .........

- - - - 

Sogo Osaka: Pictures from our childhood...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Pics from when we were little...

Sogo Osaka: Do you think you'll find one, Tamaki-kun?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Maybe, if they've got some at the orphanage... You?

Sogo Osaka: Maybe, if my father hasn't disposed of them... I wonder how many of them we even had...

Tamaki Yotsuba: You should've told Ban-chan that you're gonna have a hard time finding any.

Sogo Osaka: ...I could say the same to you.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Well yeah, but...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Everyone else was talking about that stuff so normally, and I wanted to seem normal too.

Sogo Osaka: Me too... Even after all this time, I'm still desperate to fit in.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Same. Even though we I know I can talk about this stuff with the guys.

Sogo Osaka: I wonder why that is.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I dunno.

Sogo Osaka: It's not a problem with any of them, or Banri-san. I guess I just don't want them to feel sorry for me...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Maybe that's it for me, too... I don't feel bad about it, but I also don't wanna get in the way of their happiness.

Sogo Osaka: Right. Maybe I'm just feeling awkward, because I didn't grow up like them. I didn't even have one of those Rabitty Dolls.

Tamaki Yotsuba: "Rabitty Dolls"?

Sogo Osaka: That's right. I was only allowed to have toys that would advance my intellectual development.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan, that's not what they're called. Nobody had a "Rabitty Doll".

Sogo Osaka: Oh. What were they called, again?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Rabitty Man. No wait. I mean Rabitty-kun.

Sogo Osaka: Rabitty-kun.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ooh, ooh!

Sogo Osaka: .....!? What's wrong? Did something get lodged in your throat?

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...No, no! Stop trying to pry my mouth open!!!

Sogo Osaka: It's because you made that groaning noise...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I was just pretending to be Rabitty-kun. Like: "Ooh, ooh! I'm Rabitty!"

Sogo Osaka: Ah, come to think of it, he did say something like that...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wonder what the "ooh ooh" part's about.

Sogo Osaka: I don't know... Isn't Rabitty-san supposed to react to sounds, lights, and touch?

Sogo Osaka: Maybe he's being overstimulated to the point of excruciating pain, without even realizing it himself...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I don't think he says it 'cause he's in pain... Maybe he just can't get his mouth open?

Sogo Osaka: You think he's been gagged?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Why would anyone gag an innocent bunny toy?

Sogo Osaka: You're the one who said he couldn't open his mouth... In any case, I'll try and get a hold of someone  who might know about my pictures.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Like that housekeeper?

Sogo Osaka: Yes... They might help me, so long as they haven't resigned yet... What will you do?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I'm gonna ask the director. Pretty sure the orphanage's got at least some pics of me. Are you gonna call them right now?

Sogo Osaka: That was my plan.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ok, I'll go call from my room then.

Sogo Osaka: Alright. Goodnight.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Mmh... But I might come back if my call doesn't work out.

Sogo Osaka: That's fine. We can figure this out together.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okay. 

- - - -

[Door opens]

Tamaki Yotsuba: ........

Sogo Osaka: You're back. How did it go?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ooh, ooh.

Sogo Osaka: Is that a groan of pain?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yep.

Sogo Osaka: My attempt didn't go too well, either. Apparently only my father has access to any of our pictures. The housekeeper had no idea what has become of them.

Tamaki Yotsuba: They had pictures of me, but I'm too old in all of them. Like, thirteen and up.

Sogo Osaka: They had pictures of you when you were thirteen?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah.

Sogo Osaka: Did they send you any?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Nope. The director doesn't know how smartphones work. Why, did you wanna see 'em?

Sogo Osaka: A little bit...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Heh. I think I looked pretty cool back then.  

Sogo Osaka: I think you were probably more cute than cool. You were only thirteen, after all. I just wanted to see a version of you that isn't taller than me.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Well I wanna see how you looked when you were little, too. Like, do you even look anything like that now?

Sogo Osaka: I should hope so, since they are pictures of me.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Heh.

Sogo Osaka: I know, it's pretty funny. In any case, I did find one good lead.

Tamaki Yotsuba: What kinda lead?

Sogo Osaka: One of my father's coworkers does photography for a hobby. He should have taken a picture of me with my uncle.

Sogo Osaka: He's someone very important, so his photos should have survived even after my father got rid of every photo of my uncle.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Your dad must really love throwing pictures away.

Sogo Osaka: I can almost sympathize with him... I wouldn't want to be reminded of such a completely and utterly ruined relationship.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So if MEZZO" disbands, you're gonna delete all your pictures with me in them?

Sogo Osaka: ........

Tamaki Yotsuba: You can't get rid of all of them, though. They're all over the world, in magazines and stuff.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So you're gonna be reminded of me no matter what. Tough luck.

Sogo Osaka: ........ ...That's true.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah, that reminds ME!!!

Sogo Osaka: W-what!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I knew an uncle who took pictures of us, too!

Sogo Osaka: An uncle who took pictures...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Mom liked the family portrait that uncle took so much, she kept it near our TV.

Tamaki Yotsuba: We put that picture in her casket when she died, but if that uncle's got the original data, then he can make another one.

Sogo Osaka: True. Do you know where this uncle lives?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Nope... But Re:vale might.

Sogo Osaka: Re:vale?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yep. What about you? Can you call that guy who works with your dad?

Sogo Osaka: I don't have the connections to just go talk to him. But I know someone who does.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Who? Ah... You mean that dude?

Sogo Osaka: Why do you look so upset? He's not that bad. Not anymore, at least.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I dunno. He still looks like an evil rich guy to me. 

To be continued...

[kiwi--witch]

Day Four: Pink - Infatuation

“...Kohaku has a crush.”

Kagura hadn’t recognized the word when the miko whispered it to her, but she assumed that it must have been something embarrassing, with the way the girl giggled and covered her mouth, as if she’d just told some great secret.

“A what?”

Kagome giggled again, a sly smile playing across her face. “You know,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand, “he likes someone.”

Kagura remained stone faced, wondering why she was even bothering to tell her a stupid little thing like that― 

Kagome groaned. “I mean he likes likes someone!”

Oh. Kagura turned her head to look over at where the boy in question, perched precariously on the roof of his sisters hut, hacking away at the old rotted thatching. Kagura shouldn’t have been surprised, the boy was growing into his own, nearly a man. These kinds of things were natural.

Still, it didn’t make her feel any less uneasy. Time had begun to pass quickly, living amongst such ephemeral beings.

“That true, brat?”

He looked up at her call, confused.

“You got someone you’re into?”

His face went red, and then he was hacking away at the rotted reeds with a renewed vigor, trying to avoid her stare. Kagome laughed beside her.

“Who is it then?

“I’m not allowed to tell,” the girl whispered conspiratorially, that sly smirk playing across her face in a way that was almost unnerving. Too evil. Maybe Kagura had been hanging around too much.

“But you know who it is?”

“I do.” Kagome moved her eyebrows in a way that looked unnatural and turned away, a skip in her step. Kagura shook her head and rolled her eyes, choosing to watch the boy grow even redder under her gaze. Or maybe it was the sweltering August heat. She couldn’t quite be sure. 

She stayed a little longer, maybe was just generous enough to bring a cooling breeze across the village, before she decided that she had far better things to do than wonder about the love life of a teenager. 

Besides, there was a cool breeze coming from the west…

She left without a glance, taking to her feather and following the winds until she spotted a speck of white and silver shimmering through the trees…

The dirt was wet under her toes as she landed, but she paid it no mind, just as the man she approached with an air that was only afforded to her and anyone that had a death wish. 

Sesshoumaru didn’t look up at her, but he did slow his walk, which was permission enough.

“Kohaku’s got a crush,” she said and the word felt awkward in her mouth.

“A crush?” Of course he repeated it effortlessly. He lifted his arm at her approach and she tucked herself into the space he’d opened for her.

“Yeah, you know, he likes someone, an infatuation.”

Sesshoumaru hummed and let the weight of his arm fall across her shoulders, Kagura dug herself deeper into his side and turned to stare out at the cherry pink sky.

“Everyone was makin’ such a big deal out of it, too, they’re shit at being subtle,” she sighed, “It ain’t like he’s gonna’ marry ‘em, but the way they’re actin’ he sure as hell ain’t.”

He hummed again and Kagura let the conversation die, figuring that the trials and tribulations of a pubescent fox were of little interest to him. Rin would probably tell him about it later anyway, there wasn’t any point in her wasting the breath on it, or even the thought, but then something occurred to her…

She sat up, so suddenly that he turned his gaze in her direction.

“Were you like that as a kid?”

He scoffed.

“Oh, come on,” she whined, “I already know you were a good for nothing brat, but you mean to tell me you never liked anyone?”

He didn’t stiffen, but she still felt the tension. The next word out of his mouth would probably be something like “preposterous” or “ridiculous” or “This Sesshoumaru would never be so foolish.” But instead he just let out a slow breath.

“It was a long time ago.”

The tone of his voice meant it was something he didn’t want to talk about, so she let the words hang in the air and didn’t comment on it.

“And you?”

Good, he changed the subject on his own. She shrugged.

“Never had a childhood, wouldn’t know.”

“I would assume it’s the same as any adult.”

“Gross,” she made a gagging sound, “could you imagine? The whole thing seemed so silly…”

“So you haven’t?”

“Nah, could you imagine, though?” she chuckled and tugged on a strand of his hair. “Either of us, miserable over someone else like that? Daydreaming and…” 

She bit her tongue and his eyes narrowed in on it like the predator he was.

“Daydreaming and…?”

“Nothing.” 

He leaned in a little, a stern look on his face. “Kagura.”

No. “What?” She would not give in to his ploy to intimidate her and glared at him. The truth was too dangerous.

Sesshoumaru stared at her a moment longer, leaving her to pout with lips sealed shut, wondering what the hell could possibly be going through his head. She almost snapped at him, but then he pulled back just a little.

“So do you have the experience,” he said, his eyes suddenly alight with mischief. “With whom?”

She wanted to scream. Lying would be pointless now.

“Irrelevant.” She was using his own words against him. “We were talking about childhoods.”

“We were talking about infatuations.”

“Yeah, as kids, it’s different.”

“A childhood you never had.” He said it so matter-of-factly she wanted to slap him.

“Don’t be rude,” she said instead, and gave his shoulder a shove.

“You have yet to tell me who.”

“Because it doesn’t matter!” she stopped herself from beating her fists against her thighs. “It was a long time ago!”

“If it doesn’t matter than what’s the harm in telling? Should I be concerned?”

She huffed. Now that he’d found a lead he wasn’t liable to leave it be. “No. It’s just―” Embarrassing.

“Kagura.”

She was sure her cheeks were a fine shade of pink. She’d vowed never to lie to him, and yet spilling this secret seemed like it might be worth it… if only.

“Fine.” She tapped her fan against her nose. “You really want to know?”

Sesshoumaru didn’t answer, but he did raise his chin.

“...it was you.”

He blinked. “Say that again?”

Kagura bristled. She would not.

He’d heard her regardless, judging by the self satisfied little smirk that threatened the corners of his lips.

“You held an affinity for me.”

Her expression soured, and her mouth puckered into a pout. “We’re married.”

“Even so,” he said, and let the corner of his mouth turn up just a little.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” 

She turned away from him with a roll of her eyes, but his smirk burned the back of her head for the rest of the night.

Also available at: FanFiction.Net // Archive of Our Own

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[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

The shifting narrative of God’s interventism and how it reflects on the narrative on John

This post will ignore the issue authorial intent entirely because I can, but it’s also about authorial intent in a way, but I also don’t like to talk about things as happening “accidentally” because a) a serialized story like Supernatural, especially one that got renewed for much longer than anyone could possibly expect or hope in their wildest ambitions, structurally relies on serendipity, because that’s how stories work when they’re work in progress, b) a television show is an extremely multi-authored text and the chance that something happens out of the intent of any of the multiple layers of creators is kind of... statistically negligible. So, yeah, that’s my stance on the topic. Anyway.

The shifting narrative about God is simultaneously something that hangs on fortunate storytelling clicks on an essentially programmed narrative. At first, we don’t know where the fuck God is. Cas starts looking for him with little success. Raphael says he’s dead, Cas doesn’t believe it. Dean relates to his struggle because he knows the feeling of not knowing where the fuck your father is and going looking for him with little success, not knowing if he’s even alive. Then the theory that gets assumed as the truth is that God has left. He fucked off who knows where, who knows why, leaving his creation to struggle alone. Also essentially how Dean had felt after John had died; in that case there was guilt for his demon deal and everything, but the most cruel weight on Dean’s shoulder was that John left him alone to struggle with his devastatingly horrific instructions he doesn’t understand. The angels are also left with horrific instructions they don’t understand. No wonder Cas does his own ‘demon deal’ in season 6, as he desperately tries to do what he assumes his father wants from him, but he doesn’t actually know what that is.

“God has left” is maddening, and everyone is angry about it, but it has its own dignity. God has left us without clear instructions, we are confused and in pain and evil runs amock but at least, we suppose, the evil of it is our own doing. We are alone and we do our best, our best is simply not enough. We wish he gave us guidance, but he won’t. He wants us to figure it out ourselves, possibly. We don’t actually know what he wants. But maybe that’s the point. It’s possible he doesn’t even know what’s happening, he just has left the building entirely.

But then Chuck reveals himself. We find out that he never actually left. He was there. “I like front row seats. You know, I figured I’d hide out in plain sight”. He simply chooses not to intervene. He chooses not to answer. He chooses to be hands-off. He presents himself as a laissez-faire parent, because, he says, it’s better for his children to have the responsibility they need to grow up. He’s absent, but in a different way than we thought! It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening or isn’t interested in knowing what’s happening. He’s here, he knows what’s happening, he just stays there and watches as you stumble and struggle and scream. It’s worse, and it pains Dean so much he isn’t even afraid to yell at God. You know we’re suffering and you just don’t give us any support, any comfort.

You’re frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being overinvolved is no longer parenting. It’s enabling.

But it didn’t get better.

Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.

Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.

I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don’t confuse me with your dad.

At that point of the show, the writing team almost certainly didn’t have the s14-15 twist in mind. So this was probably intended to be Chuck’s truth. Later it gets twisted (retconned?) into a lie, but about that later.

Here, Chuck is really good at manipulating the conversation. Dean has a perfectly valid point, because there IS a middle ground between being overinvolved and not being involved at all. There is a middle ground between enabling your children and abandoning them completely. But Chuck hits Dean where it hurts, plays the emotional card, basically tells him that he’s too emotional to understand, too emotional to think rationally about it, because he mixes his feelings about his father to the issue and thus cannot see it clearly. He basically tells him he’s too close to it to get it. You don’t understand parenting, Dean, because you’re too blinded by your emotions about your own little life and cannot see the big picture.

It doesn’t really matter here if he’s telling the truth or lying, it already says a lot about Chuck that he’s emotionally manipulating Dean, silencing him by hitting the painful spot.

But the thing is, 11.20 immediately presents Chuck as a liar. He makes Metatron read his autobiography and the very first line is a lie (“In the beginning, there was me. Boom – detail. And what a grabber. I mean, I’m hooked, and I was there.” “I’m hooked too, and yet... details. You weren’t alone in the beginning. Your sister was with you.”) and the stuff he talks about his experience as Chuck is not exactly truthful about anything (“That, you know, makes you seem like a really grounded, likable person.” “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “You are neither grounded nor a person!”). Metatron calls him out (“Okay. There are two types of memoir. One is honest... the other, not so much. Truth and fairy tale. Now, do you want to write Life by Keith Richards? Or do you want to write Wouldn’t It Be Nice by Brian Wilson?”). Chuck SAYS he chooses truth and gives Metatron a different manuscript, supposedly containing the truth, to which Metatron reacts positively. Metatron believes it, and we believe it with him.

Oh! Oh, this! This is what I was talking about. Chapter Ten “Why I Never Answer Prayers, and You Should Be Glad I Don’t”, and Chapter Eleven “The Truth About Divine Intervention and Why I Avoid It At All Costs”.

Nature? Divine. Human nature – toxic.

They do like blowing stuff up.

Yeah. And the worst part – they do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.

What about your responsibility?

I took responsibility... by leaving. At a certain point, training wheels got to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.

This is sort of what he later says to Dean, except that to Dean he talks about “beautiful creatures” “my baby”, talks about helping, none of the harsh tone he’s using here. When Metatron accuses him of hiding from Amara, he retorts “I am not hiding. I am just done watching my experiments’ failures”. What a different language, uh? Then Metatron asks him why he abandoned them, and Chuck answers “Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me”. Then, he admits he lied about “learning” to play the guitar and so on, because he just gave himself the ability, and then appears to Dean and Sam, after Metatron’s passionate speech about humanity.

So, no matter the authorial intent at the time - the truthiness of Chuck’s words was already ambiguous. He kept lying and being called out, or silencing the conversation with some good ol’ gaslighting.

The season 14 finale introduces the big twist: it was, indeed, all a lie. The whole of it. Chuck didn’t abandon shit. It was all him, minutely controlling the narrative of the universe, putting the characters through all the pain and struggles for his own amusement.

The “absent father” narrative was a lie.

What does this tell us about John? Nothing, according to the authorial intent that shines through Dabb’s Lebanon. But we don’t give a crap about Dabb’s authorial intent about John! He’s just one dude and plenty of other authors have painted a different picture. So I’m going to read the narrative the way I want, because I can, and the narrative allows me to. It’s all there.

I’m suggesting that the fact that Chuck lied when he talked about being a hands-off/absentee father parallels how Dean and Sam prefer to think of their father as an “absent father” when that’s not exactly a reflection of the truth.

You left us. Alone. ‘Cause Dad was just a shell. [...] And I-I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe.

Setting aside how “I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” sort of retcons and cleans up the Winchester family picture painted by ealier seasons, the fact that John didn’t really count as a functional father figure and Dean and Sam were essentually alone is not incorrect or anything. It is true that John would leave them to their own devices a lot, thus the long stays in motels, the hunger, the food-stealing, and all. But John wasn’t always absent, at all. He trained them as soldiers, he disciplined them, he was around enough for them to be intimately familiar with what happened when he drank. He drove them around.

It’s almost like it’s preferable to Dean and Sam to spin their own “absent father” narrative, putting the accent on the time they spent alone, painting their childhood as a time they had to grow up on their own, rather than acknowledge they grew up under the thumb of a controlling, looming figure they would regularly live in fear of, even when he was not physically present.

The “absent father” narrative is what Dean and Sam need to use to avoid confronting the reality of the father figure whose moods and whims they had to dance around. “I know things got dicey... you know, with Dad... the way he was. And I just... I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should have. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, probably looked like I took his side quite a bit.”

John shaped their lives. He shaped their identities. Even in the episodes where he abandons Dean or both children somewhere, he’s portrayed as the figure who drives the car. He symbolically drives the car, you know? John shaped Dean and Sam’s relationship with each other, both on a surface level (the conflicts) and on a deeper level (the parental dynamic).

Heck. The entire first season of the show plays on John’s disappearance as the “elephant in the room”. John is there by not being there, you know? And after he dies, his death - his absence - is again the elephant in the room for Dean, the weight on his psyche that he shatters under.

It is not wrong that Dean and Sam had to spend long periods of time without John. But John structured their lives in quite minute detail. Where they needed to be, what they needed to do, what they must not do, everything had to follow John’s instructions. A drill sergeant, the narrative called him, ordering how his sons needed to live their lives. That’s no absence, except on a level where Chuck not showing himself and pretending he’s not there can be considered absent. That’s a presence, not necessarily always physical, but semiotical and psychological.

John is an absent father as much as Chuck is a hands-off god. He even writes himself into the story around the time Cas has the “season 1” phase (let’s go look for dad/let’s go look for god), which is when John actually was alive and appeared. Then he was no longer physically there, but he was still shaping his characters’ lives, just like he’d always done.

The “absent father” narrative on John is that - a narrative. Spun by the characters themselves because it’s easier and actually kinder on John. Or, better, it allows them not to be crushed by the psychological implications of having to accept that their father was such a looming, minutely formative figure in their lives. They know, but they can wave the “absent father” idea around to avoid thinking about it.

“I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” is something easier to tell yourself. I was the one who did it all. But he wasn’t, and that’s the problem. The fact that John was their father - Dean’s and Sam’s - is the problem. But ironically, blaming himself for every failure is a better option for Dean than fully acknowledging John’s abuse. As long as he blames himself, he has control over it. The moment he acknowledges the extent of John’s influence, he loses control over the entire narrative of his own identity and the family identity, the family dynamics. That’s scarier, just like realizing that God manipulated everything is much scarier than the alternative. “God abandoned us” was indeed a better option, and “John left us alone” was a better option. But neither was true, and the characters faced the implications of the cosmic level, but never got to face the implication of the familial level, because the narrative always danced around it and then Dabb’s apologist version “won”.

But what’s been put in the show is still there. The narrative of John’s abuse is still there. Nothing can take it out of the story.

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

Ahh, your headcanons! <33 Thank you for sharing them. I was wondering (after reading that one about Zelda unexpectedly finding herself somewhat dreaming about the idea of having children with Faustus) if you have any headcanons of that actually happening? Spellwood or, with a little help of a bit of magic or something, Madam Spellman?

Thank you!

I’ve planned on writing a fic that ties into both of these sets, but for now have some headcanons! Gonna stick these under a read more & two separate categories because this got long and also make their own separate posts if people wanna save/rb just one pairing! xx

Spellwood + a baby(ies)

- Where their relationship is concerned, everything is measured out and carefully calculated — it’s just the way they are. While I’m not entirely sure how witch birth control works, I’m sure she’s extremely diligent about her medication, potions, whatever it may be — she’s not the sort of person to have any sort of accidents, especially those she can control. Zelda hides her careful planning, weighs out every pro and con before even considering bringing it up to him.

- When she does decide to bring it up to him, she has a piece of scrap paper with unintelligible scribbles all over it and the sheer look on her face, her hands trembling holding her little scrap of wobbly, folded a million times piece of paper makes Faustus chuckle. She takes it as a bad response, retreats into herself and decides to table it — he mustn’t be too interested anyways, life is good with Leticia and Judas, Ambrose and Sabrina, why would they change anything?

- Faustus knows something is bothering her, and she blatantly lies through her teeth every time he asks. It only serves to frustrate him more, and drives him to tangle with sex demons at Dorian’s Gray Room. When she catches him (because she always will), she’s absolutely devastated because she has the same crumpled paper of pros and cons in her hand, tosses it at him and storms away before she lets the tears fall. It isn’t that she feels like he’s cheating on her, it’s the fact that she feels like he couldn’t have one serious conversation with her (because she sucks at feelings and would never actively start the conversation).

- She’s hurt, and it takes her a long time to come back from that sort of hurt. It’s the kind that makes her ache for a future lost even though she never tried to actively discuss it. But she’s stubborn, and she knows that he knows and it somehow makes her feel worse. He knows the deepest maternal desire she tried to hide for centuries and she isn’t quite sure how she feels about it.

- Of course she wants kids with him, and he feels so stupid that he didn’t realize sooner. She’s always been so maternal, such a good natured person (though a bit brash and irrational at times). Faustus knows he fucked up, carries around the tattered paper with him tucked in his pocket and it feels like lead. Her scratched out writing with little doodles of hearts is enough to melt his heart, and he knows just how lucky he is that she even allowed herself a moment to fantasize about a family with him.

- Faustus seeks out Hilda for help because she is the only person (other than him) that Zelda has ever divulged anything remotely personal to. She isn’t happy with him — especially not when he recounts how she threw the paper at him, though he suspects she’s known for a while by the way she raises her eyebrow — but she does try to help him, but she’s adamant that she won’t do it for him. She reminds him of how Zelda is, how she feels things with her entire heart and soul, and that she’s probably embarrassed that she felt shut down.

- It takes Faustus a few torturous days to think of what to do to make it up to her — to bring the conversation to the table again — and every passing day feels worse. She’s not talking to him, turns the other way when he comes to bed, and he pretends he doesn’t see the mascara streaked down her face. He settles on making his own list of pros and cons — his side of cons is much shorter than hers, and he knows she’ll think it’s because he’s irrational — leaves it on her desk tied with a ribbon, a box of truffles, and a fresh bouquet of white roses.

- Zelda doesn’t acknowledge it for a few days, needs her time to go over his list in comparison to her own because she’s nothing if not careful and methodical in everything she does. She sleeps at the mortuary and it’s torture — she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since before he found her list — and she realizes that after all this time, she can’t sleep without his stupid snoring in her ear, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. What finally makes her crack is when the sun is rising and she hadn’t slept for the third night in a row, and she knows she needs him regardless of everything else.

- She slips into their bed and curls against his sleeping body and satan, it feels like everything good in the world — he feels like coming home, smells like all of her favorite scents, feels so strong and safe — and she’s suddenly sobbing into his chest without restraint. Faustus wakes enough to rub her back and let her cry it out — knows she won’t be able to speak past the knot in her throat until she lets out all of that pent up emotion, knows the tears aren’t all because of the situation — and presses gentle kisses to her hair when she’s finally out of tears and sniveling herself to sleep in his arms.

- They don’t get a chance to sit and talk until the next evening, and it’s torturous for them both. They’re both rational and mostly level-headed, and knowing there’s so much to say but no time or privacy to say it is the worst part. She works later than him, despite him being the High Priest, and he takes the opportunity to make her a nice dinner with her favorite aged bourbon and fresh flowers.

- There’s a secret smile when she sits down and picks up her glass — tells him that would be the last bottle of bourbon she drinks for a while. He’s not sure it’s an answer so much as a joke, cocks his head in confusion over the way she laughs at some joke he doesn’t entirely understand, but Zelda has always been an enigma in and of herself.

- Zelda, in true Zelda-like fashion, isn’t completely sure — even when the answer from both of them is a yes. She needs time to roll it around in her head, to decide if it’s something she truly wants. She’s afraid to bring it up again — afraid that she took too long and will be shut down — but she lets herself sink into that secret fantasy of having a true family, growing his child. She contemplates going about it irresponsibly, not taking her birth control and being a little reckless, but ultimately decides against it. She isn’t the same level of desperate as she was when she stole saved Leticia, she wouldn’t dare betray his trust again.

- When Zelda finally lets it slip that yes, she wants his child more than anything, it’s in the throes of passion and he thinks she’s joking. It’s a rare instance in which they’re making love, not fucking, and he’s whispering in her ear — crooning about how perfect she is, how perfect their life is, how he can’t wait to spend the rest of his earthly life with her. She’s sure, knows that she can’t imagine anything but this perfect life with him, and tells him to cum inside of her, to get her pregnant.

- He doesn’t believe her at first, but she’s so earnest and trusting with wide, sparkling eyes and this passion and he knows, he knows she’s sure. They spend the rest of the night making a baby in various positions. It’s a lighthearted they haven’t experienced in ages, and Zelda can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

- When she’s finally pregnant, after what felt like months and months of trying, she’s filled with some sort of renewed hope she didn’t know she needed. She has to refrain from running to him with the positive test, wants to make sure everything is okay first.

- She doubts a lot — her body, her mind, her ability to be a good mother, the fact that she’s even pregnant to begin with — but it’s easier when he knows. It brings a softer side to their relationship, not the same biting remarks and constant teasing they’re both used to. He’s good to her — sweet and everything she needs — and she almost feels guilty when she snaps because he forgot to get her a snack or a drink.

- It turns out twins run in Faustus’ family. Zelda wishes she knew before she got pregnant, though she wouldn’t change a single thing — is finally blissfully happy.

Madam Spellman + a baby

- It takes Zelda a long time to even be open to discussing getting pregnant, after everything that happened with Faustus, Leticia, baby Judas, and Sabrina’s raising. There are variables to consider, and she’s very cautious and careful about everything she does. She trusts Lilith with her entire soul and being — trusts Lilith so much it scares her — but she trusted Faustus too and that makes it even worse, knowing that at any point she could betray her the same way he did.

- Their relationship develops after Sabrina’s death, and though it’s been years by the time they’re married and ready to settle down, the wounds are still there. It’s something Lilith brings up in passing while rubbing Zelda’s feet on the lounge while drinking and enjoying the rare free time they got, and Zelda finds herself more and more open to the idea of a child — especially with Lilith.

- Lilith is good and sweet and kind and everything Zelda wants to spend the rest of her life with — Satan, she married her after she swore to never marry again — but the idea of children together is quite honestly terrifying. This is still the same Lilith who killed baby Adam, though it was for good reason, and she’s still the same Zelda who stole saved baby Leticia only to pass her along to Dezmelda.

- The wounds from Sabrina’s passing are too raw for them to consider it seriously for years, but Lilith likes to remind Zelda that they have time. Still, it’s like things never get truly better. Zelda grieves her daughter, and Lilith grieves just the same for that maternal relationship she developed with Sabrina. She loved her so much it hurt, despite every single horrible thing she had done and regrets so deeply that it keeps her up at night

- In true Sabrina fashion, she is the catalyst for almost everything in Lilith and Zelda’s relationship, and a child is no different.

- They had tried to summon her several times over the years, to call on her in any way they could — witching board, seance, trying to reach into that in between and pull her out — but nothing ever seemed to work. They never gave up hope, and when she does come to them it’s with her blessing to move on, to move past their hang ups relating to her, to be happy and start the family they’ve both always wanted.

- It’s easier said than done, and there’s still so much hesitation. Would the universe truly give them happiness after everything they had been through? It takes lots of long conversations and tears — so many tears for everything they had sacrificed, everyone they had lost, and everyone they had loved — before they come to the decision that they would try for a baby, they’d allow themselves the shred of happiness they had always wanted.

- There’s still so much to consider for Zelda and Lilith just doesn’t understand why. She feels everything with her whole heart and she’s impulsive, falls in love with ideas and follows through before thinking of the practicality behind it. It’s how she ends up in so many tricky situations — rash ideas and passionate thoughts fueled by love or self preservation— but Zelda is rational and collected even with the most passionate subjects, she needs to think of every possible outcome.

- Zelda is the one with hard limits and ultimatums, especially because of Sabrina. She blames the entirety of Sabrina’s death on the fact that she was a gift from Lucifer Morningstar combined with her being half mortal. It makes choosing a donor for their baby so difficult, and it makes choosing who would carry even more difficult. It causes arguments that end with both of them in tears because Zelda is so scared and Lilith doesn’t want to think of every single bad thing that could potentially not even happen.

- When they finally come to some semblance of a decision, they settle on the fact that Zelda would carry for a multitude of reasons. She had never carried her own child, she wasn’t of divine origin, it was the safest bet.

- Deciding on a donor was even harder. Zelda originally wanted to use Dr. Cee, because she was comfortable with him and could have some fun out of it, but he was ordinarily mortal (given the gift of immortality by Lilith, because she knew how much he meant to Hilda) and they were terrified of having a half mortal, half witch child. Faustus was another option presented by Lilith, but she didn’t want the first thing to do with him, nor a child of his origin. Several handsome demons from hell were also mentioned, though Zelda was adamantly against those as well. Lilith thinks she’s being purposely combative, it stirs up a lot of feelings in them that are hard to push past. They flip through the people that they’d feel comfortable with using and no one seems quite right. It puts them at an impasse for several months. No one is good enough, and they won’t compromise in either direction — it leads them to spend ages looking over ancient textbooks for an answer that would seemingly never come.

- There was one option they hadn’t considered — Melvin — and when Lilith suggests it, Zelda balks at her. But it’s a viable option, albeit uncomfortable, and they decide that he would be a suitable donor for their baby. Their coven is mostly females, and he’s one of the only sane options.

- Zelda is adamant on legally binding contracts signed by all before anything can be put into motion, because having a sense of solution and finality on the situation is scary for her, and Lilith is — again — unsure as to why it even matters. That’s the hard thing about being married to Zelda, she can’t believe the good in Lilith even though she’s proven time and time again that her anxieties are rooted in a past with someone who was much worse than her. It’s another point of conflict, and it stirs up a lot of passionate tears. Zelda cries because Faustus loved her and he still ripped everything away from her — the children she loved, the home they shared — because she was suddenly unworthy and Lilith cries because she thinks Zelda doesn’t trust her.

- In the end, Lilith decides that it’s only fair to agree to the contracts Zelda is so adamant about. It makes sense when she thinks about it, but she loathes to admit it. Melvin can’t have any rights — nor does Zelda want to think about him as the father, but it’s better than not knowing who it is — Zelda and Lilith have equal rights. The thought makes Zelda smile this sad, watery twitch of her lips that breaks Lilith’s heart, and she realizes that every child Zelda had ever dared let herself love was brutally ripped from her. After Zelda falls asleep that night, once the contracts were signed by all, Lilith excuses herself to the porch and cries openly and unabashedly — she cries for Zelda’s losses, for her own losses, for the pain and anguish and unbearable pasts they both had — and she finds Zelda sitting at the kitchen table with a tear streaked face when she finally gathers herself enough to go inside.

- They’re both fucking terrified from the moment their daughter is conceived until the day she’s born. Hell is no place for a newborn, and Lilith is afraid of having to step away and relinquish control, even if only for a few weeks. Zelda is scared of childbirth, of their daughter dying, of Lilith leaving her, of the issues they’d face raising their child. Lilith assures her everything would be okay, and she’s cautious to believe it.

- Pregnancy sucks and Zelda vows that she’ll never do it again as long as she lives. She hates not drinking, not smoking, gaining the weight, the fact that she can’t eat sweets whenever she wants. Lilith is doting and sweet and perfect, massages Zelda’s feet and makes her non-alcoholic drinks and watches trash television with her to pass the time. She takes up knitting for their baby — even when on her throne in Hell — and it’s so damn sweet that Zelda tears up every time she brings home a new blanket.

[galesh]

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

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

- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 10 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9)

 Nixon - April 1944

There was a fresh energy about Emily, a lightness in her step that had never been there before. Nixon first noticed it that Monday morning when she trotted into the intelligence room with a box of what looked like handicraft materials.

“Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. Her smile seemed brighter against her red lips.

“‘Morning,” Nixon responded. Emily looked particularly nice that day, Nixon noted. Her hair seemed bouncier, shinier, and her legs looked as nice as ever in those black heels and nylons. This was all objectively speaking of course. She was a new woman and her renewed energy showed magnetically. Nixon wasn’t the only one to notice either; he didn’t miss the creeping eyes of other staff members doing their best to sneak a glance at Emily.

“Nix,” the voice of Dick Winters interrupted his train of thought. Nixon dropped the report he was meant to be reading and looked up at his lean, copper haired friend.

“What?”

“We’re both needed in Colonel Sink’s office.”

“Right,” Nixon stood up from his desk, his chair shifting loudly behind him.

The remainder of the day passed in monotonous agony as Nixon was pulled from one meeting to another to trainings and back again with only quick trips back to the intelligence office to grab a file or notes. At each brief return, Nixon found Emily poised at her desk, dead focused on the slowly growing stack of aerial photos on her desk. Curiosity lined with envy poked at him. She seemed so invested in what she was doing surely it was more interesting than what he had been doing all day. He felt like a carrier pigeon bringing information and requests back and forth between intelligence staff, officers, and the war department. Where was the challenge in that?

By the time evening came all Nixon wanted was to drop into bed with a drink. He had promised Welsh that he would meet him for a drink, a promise he now regretted making. The man was quartered at a house in town and it was far too easy for him to slip away to the pub, and since Nixon had privileges that the enlisted men didn’t (and because Winters didn’t drink), Welsh often invited Nixon to be his casual drinking buddy. Nixon didn’t have the same energy for the pub crowds as Welsh did. On more than one occasion he stood his friend up, and this evening was looking like it was about to be one of those times.

Nixon slumped down onto the twin bed in his tight box room and that was it, he wasn’t getting up. He lay there, head barely propped up on the pillow, lacking the energy to even pull his boots off. This wasn’t the same exhaustion he had felt during his training at Toccoa. His body was strong, in fact it felt over-rested, restless. He found himself wishing for that physical fatigue he had once known. Things had grown stale for him at Aldbourne. Generally speaking, he enjoyed the work and he did it well. But recently Nixon felt under stimulated.

Things in his personal life had also become stagnant. His letters home were predictable and polite. He wasn’t lacking in fraternity camaraderie thanks to his friendships with Winters and Welsh and now Emily. He fully considered her a friend, and one he was grateful to know. Yet, Nixon felt himself wanting since the drama of their strained association had ended.

With combat on the horizon, he was conscious of not jinxing the relative peace he was experiencing. But a part of him, deep down, feared his own potential recklessness. He knew himself well enough to suspect that he may just do something that his rational self would regret later if this boredom continued.

Perhaps he should go out for that drink with Welsh, at least for the opportunity to burn off some frustrated energy. Barely lifting his head from the pillow, Nixon tipped a bit of liquor from his flask down his throat as he debated with himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the gentlest knock at his door. Nixon lifted his head in surprise, he wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Lew? You in there?” A voice murmured through the wooden door.

“Yeah,” Nixon whispered louder back, “come in,” he said as an afterthought.

Slowly, the door was eased open and Emily slipped quickly inside. She was dressed in slacks and a dark blouse tied up loosely around her waist. Although it was late evening and her face looked clean of makeup she still sported her bold red lipstick. She grinned naughtily, obviously feeling rebellious for being in his room at such an hour.

“Emily?” Nixon couldn’t say he wasn’t a little surprised, “what’re you doing here?”

From behind her back Emily produced an open bottle of red wine and a deck of playing cards.

“What do you say?” she smiled charmingly, “up for a little gin?”


Nixon raised an eyebrow, “I hope you mean the game and not that you have gin in that stoppered bottle of yours.”



“Don’t be silly! Do you mind?” Emily flopped down on the foot of his bed without waiting for permission. “I’m afraid the wine won’t be up to your usual standard. If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t very expensive.”

“You always assume me a snob.” Nixon took the bottle from her to check out the label.

“Well, you are kind of a snob. Vat 69 exclusively?”



“I drink beer.”

“As a supporting act,” Emily said.

Nixon chuckled and handed the bottle back to her, “you don’t know much about whiskey do you?”

“See! That’s something a snob would say!”

“I could be worse.”

“True,” Emily conceded, “you’re a snob but at least you’re not condescending. I’ve met a few guys like that.”

“Notre Dame men?”

“Harvard, I’ve recently met them.”

“Good thing I went to Yale.”

“Oh yes, good thing!” Emily teased.

“Anyways,” Nixon continued, “you may be surprised to know that Vat 69 isn’t the smoothest of whiskeys. Just happens to be my personal preference.” 


Emily eyed him, he could see that she wanted to say something but was holding back.



“What?” he pried.

“Nothing!” Her voice clearly revealed she didn’t actually mean nothing.

“Tell me.”

Emily chewed on her lip then smiled hesitantly, “do all alcoholics have preferences?”



Nixon rolled his eyes, “I’m only an alcoholic if it becomes a problem.”

“If?” Emily wrestled the cork from her wine bottle.


“Has my work performance been slipping, Miss Rooney? Do you have some feedback you would like to offer?”

Emily took a swig from the bottle. Nixon could see the tint of ox blood red blossom between her cherry lips before she swallowed. “Not at all Captain.” 



Nixon’s mouth twisted in distaste and he gestured for her to pass the bottle. She took another drink before handing it over, “actually,” she said smacking her lips, “I did have a question - or actually something I wanted to share - from when I was looking over a few of those surveillance pictures. I noticed that there was this hedge, or like fence, or something in a place that isn’t showing up on the topographers’ maps. I think that may change or impact whatever’s in the works.”

Nixon nodded thoughtfully, “okay, good to know. We can go over it in more detail tomorrow or next time we’re both in the office. But enough shop talk, why are you here again?”



Emily held up the deck of cards triumphantly, “gin! Want to play? Or am I interrupting plans?” she asked suddenly timid.

Nixon thought about Welsh at the pub. Eh, he probably made some new buddies to drink with, Nixon wasn’t worried. He still felt tired but looking at Emily perched on the end of his bed, he wasn’t about to kick her out. It’s not like he would be sleeping if she left anyways. The most tragic irony of his current state was that his restless exhaustion had made an insomniac out of him.

“Not at all, let’s play.”


Light seemed to radiate off of her smile in the dimmed room. She tucked her legs under her and dealt the cards. Nixon took another drink of wine, feeling his frustration abate, at least for the night.

Nixon’s workload continued to increase over the next couple of days. He was run ragged by a laundry list of tasks. Although the tasks felt menial, there was the sensation that things were coming to a head. He had known that something big was in the works for a while now. Since he handed those first photos over to Emily he was prepared for what was most likely their invasion of the continent. Finally, it seemed as if it was going to happen.

The intelligence office had been instructed to begin constructing sand tables; miniature, but lifelike maps of the terrain where the allies intended to invade. In a meeting with the higher-ups, Nixon had been instructed not to divulge the location for the impending invasion to anyone. The point of invasion was on a need-to-know basis. The sand tables could be constructed based off of the provided information without having to reveal the actual location. According to Colonel Sink, Emily and other S-2s were to simply be artists for the time being.

Nixon had barely found the time to relay construction instructions to Emily before he was whisked off to another meeting. Ergo, he hadn’t found the time to review the issue she had brought up to him the other night; an inconsistency with the aerial photos and topographical maps.

“Sir,” Emily stood up from her desk when he ducked in to visit his desk one day, “I need to talk to you.”


Nixon ignored her, focused on his task. He was only there to collect some reports.

“Nixon, sir,” Emily skittered over to his desk. “Sir, I need to show you these photos I pieced together. Remember? I mentioned the other night-,”

“Not now Emily,” Nixon grumbled as he rifled through his papers.


“Nixon, please it’s important. I think you should know before you proceed any further with whatever is being planned.”

“You can show me later.”

“I could, yes sir, but I think you should know that the topographical maps may not be completely accurate. They’ll need to be altered which means any strategic planning may need changing which I would hate for everyone to have to revise. It would be better to start with the correct information-,”

“Emily! Please!” Nixon finally found the reports he was after. He exited the room quickly with Emily on his heels, her black pumps tip-tapping irritatingly across the wood and carpets of the manor.

“Lewis, I wanted to show you days ago, take a look at these, really quick,” she stuffed the photos under his chin. Nixon snatched them out of her hand exasperatedly, “what?” he demanded.

She was struggling slightly to keep pace with him but managed to point out a row of hedges, thick and wide, that bordered the far right of one photo and the far left of another. Side by side, the photos formed a clear picture. If Emily hadn’t pointed out the hedge, Nixon may have assumed that the dense shrubbery was blurred photo ink.

“Where is this?”


“It appears to be a large hedgerow right near Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. In fact, it appears to be one of the largest in the area. Sir, it’s not on the topographers’ maps and in my opinion a hedgerow of this size should be included on those maps. It could offer strategic cover for almost the whole battalion. Even possibly an opportune place to set up a rendezvous point? Assuming the Germans aren’t encroaching on that position.” Emily’s voice didn’t waver. She was confident in her work.

“How do you know this is Sainte-Marie-du-Mont?” Nixon kept his voice neutral. Of course he knew that Operation Overlord intended to drop the Airborne into Normandy, but Emily shouldn’t have been the wiser.

Emily returned his suspicious gaze with an emotionless one. There was no hint as to how she discovered the intended invasion point. “I know my maps, sir,” she said.

Nixon couldn’t help the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Thanks for sharing this with me, Miss Rooney. Nice work. I’ll be sure to pass the information along.”

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 33 -Don't Mole On My Parade

"Beware evil doers, for I, the mighty Minimax, doth roam the streets with my trusted partner Fred, along with his newest protégé Varian, and together we plan to buy a DVD!"

Varian watched the small robot jump upon a mailbox to proclaim this lofty goal. The little automaton looked just like his namesake, a mini Baymax, but his behavior was far different from the robotic nurse. Hiro had built him to be a sidekick for Fred and so the robot acted just as if he came out of a silver age comic.

"Hey Fred?" Varian asked.

"Yeah?"

"What happened to 'keeping a superhero's identity secret is rule number one in the hallows of superherodom'?"

His friend looked back at him confused, "It is. Why?"

"Because your robot pal isn't exactly what I would call ' inconspicuous'. Aren't you worried someone might recognize him and, you know, put two and two together?"

Fred looked surprised, as if he had never considered this possibility. After a moment's thought he called after his robotic companion.

"You know, your right. Hey Minimax,

come here, you need a disguise."

The little android dutifully ran up to the teen and Fred pulled out a pair of sunglasses and placed them upon its head.

"There! How does that look?"

"Like a small white robot wearing sunglasses."

"Exactly! Usually he wears a cape when he's superheroing."

"You seriously don't expect people to be fooled by a pair of glasses do you?"

"Why not? It worked for Henry Reeve. He played Captain Fancy in the tv show."

"Yeah but I doubt the guy was a two foot tall robot."

"As far as we know…." Fred said stone faced as he looked Varian dead in the eye; the way he often did when spouting some crazy theory that no one else believed.

Varian decided to cut his losses. There was no getting through to Fred once he latched onto an idea; regardless of how ill advised and detached from reality it was.

"So where are we going again?" Varian asked instead.

"We're going to the comic book store to buy a copy of the Professor What DVD that just came out."

"I thought you already owned every episode though?"

"I do. Of every aired episode that is. This is the "lost serial". It was recorded but never broadcast due to a production strike during the 70s and the only way to see it was through bootlegs. But now the EBC has released it in full on dvd, plus extras, like special interviews with the cast and such."

"Ok, that's cool, I guess."

"Mega cool! I can't wait to see it in all it's high definition glory!" Fred joyously squealed only to sober up as they neared the comic shop. "There's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"Richardson Mole" Fred growled.

"Mole?" Varian echoed, confused.

"My arch nemesis, remember? His is the only comic store in town that currently has any copies. The rest won't get theirs till next week!"

"Then why not wait until next week to get it then?" Varian very sensibly asked.

Fred looked at him aghast, "And let Mole gloat over getting to see it a whole week early!? Un-uh! No way! Buuuuut he won't sell me a copy; so that's why you're here."

Fred wrapped an arm around Varian's shoulder and pointed at the other teen's chest as he recounted his plan.

"You see, Minimax and I will cause a distraction drawing Mole outside. While he's gone, you quickly grab a dvd from the display stand and mix it up with a bunch of other stuff you're going to purchase and dump it all on the counter. Hopefully he'll be so annoyed by what me and Minimax have planned, that he won't notice that he sold you a copy along with all the other things you grabbed. It's the perfect plan!" Fred rubbed his hands together devilishly.

"Uh...hun….Ooor I could just walk in there and buy a copy outright instead of paying for a bunch of stuff I don't want." Varian countered.

"You know... that's so crazy…it just might work. Minimax; new plan!" Fred yelled after his robot.

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

The comic shop was not much different from the store inside the mall that Fred had taken Varian to on his first day in San Fansokyo. The main difference was it was a freestanding building and the cashier was a short child perhaps only a few years younger then Varian himself.

"Hello, welcome to my sho--oh it's you, Fred." The kid interrupted his enthusiastic greeting towards Varian the moment Fred walked in behind him.

"Why hello, Mole, unpleasant as ever I see." Fred retorted back with equal disdain.

Mole only sighed and rolled his eyes. "What do you want Fred?"

"Oh contraire, it's not what I want but what my friend here wants." Fred gently but firmly nudged Varian up to the counter as he said this. "Tell him Varian."

"Uhhh...I'd like the newest Professor What DVD...the lost episode one?... P-please." Varian wasn't sure what he had expected when Fred first asked him to come along on this quest for a DVD, but being glared at by a very irritated 12 year old from across the counter wasn't it. Moreover he hated being put on the spot like this. He really had no context for this apparent feud Fred had with this kid.

"Really?" Mole raised an eyebrow. "And there's no chance that my rival Fred here didn't put you up to the task of buying the dvd for him?"

"Uh...d-does it matter?" Varian shrugged, now completely bewildered. He had assumed Fred was only exaggerating about Mole, same as he exaggerated about just everything, but no, turns out that the pre-teen really was that petty.

"Uh, of course it matters." The kid replied as if Varian had missed something obvious. "I have the only copies in town and in limited quantities. I'll only sell them to true fans of the series, otherwise someone might just buy from me and then sell it at a mark up price online or something. Now why should I give someone else that advantage when I can corner the market?"  

Varian raised an eyebrow at this explanation but Fred stepped in before he could say anything.

"Hey, Varian's a fan. We've been marathoning the series. Tell him, buddy." Fred gave Varian another nudge.

"Oh really? Well then, Varian, who is your favorite Professor?" Mole's voice dripped with incredulity.

"Y-you mean there's more than one?" Varian began to ask in confusion but Fred jumped him, covering Varian's ears with his hands. Though it did little good as Varian could still hear Fred shushing Mole.

"Shhh...Careful with the spoilers Mole!"

"I knew it! I knew It!" Mole yelled back. "You just dragged your friend over here to buy the special edition dvd for you!"

"I did not!" Fred snapped back.

Minimax jumped up onto the counter and pointed a finger at Mole. "No one accuses my Fred of trickery, foul villain. For even though that is indeed the plan and you must have only deduced that with your nefarious cunning."

"Minimaaaax!" Fred whined.

Varian was losing his patience. He shoved Fred off him. "Look, yes, I came here to buy the DVD so Fred and I could watch it in our marathon. But so far we've only watched the first season and more copies are arriving in a week, so what does it matter!?"

"Wait? You've only seen season one, as in the original series first season from 1963?" Mole asked.

"Uh..Yeah?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Mole." Fred interrupted again. "He's going into the series completely blind. He doesn't know about… r-e-n-e-w-a-l yet."

"Renewal?" Varian echoed now even more confused. Fred had tried to drop his voice to a whisper but Varian heard anyway.

Mole's entire demeanor magically changed. Gone was his standoffish and combative nature and in its place was a look of genuine excitement.

"Ooooh, how I envy you my friend! Imagine being able to experience the whole series fresh! Oh..oh, then what's your favorite story so far?"

"Ummm...I liked the one we just finished… it's the one where they're stuck in the middle of the French Revolution."

"Interesting choice." Mole said intrigued. "So who's your favorite assistant?"

"Well I don't if she counts as an 'assistant' but my favorite character so far is the Professor's granddaughter, Sue."

"Yeees!" Mole exclaimed suddenly, taking Varian a back. "Finally, someone who sees sense! Sue is so underappreciated. You know what?" Mole continued as he reached behind the counter to pull a dvd box off the shelf. "Just to show my support in your endeavor to embark on such a daunting quest as to view the entirety of Professor What, here is the dvd to complete the collection, free of charge."

"Really?" Varian asked bewildered as Mole handed him the coveted copy.

"Yup, just come back and let me know how you enjoyed the later seasons, or stop by and maybe check out some of the other Professor What merch I got for sell."

Mole cheerily waved goodbye as Varian, Fred, and Minimax walked out of the shop.

"What just happened?" Fred asked.

Varian opened the thin box to see the disc inside. "Well, apparently your mortal enemy just gave me a free dvd."

"I don't trust it." Fred said darkly. "Mole is up to something."

"Do you want me to return it?"

"No!" Fred quickly exclaimed and reached out to grab the case. But Varian snatched it back out of his reach.

"Now, now, he did give it to me, you know." Varian said as if reprimanding a small child and a sly grin slowly formed on his face.

"Oooh, but.. But I waited years to see it… pleeesee."

Fred was practically crawling over him to get to the dvd but Varian fended him off while trying unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter.

"I'll tell you what… I'll let you have it…but for a price."

"Name it."

Varian thought for a moment. "I wanna drive the limo."

"Oh… but Heathcliff…" Fred stopped mid sentence as Varian waved the dvd in his face, his crooked smile growing wider.

"Ok. Fine." Fred relented. "But on one condition. Heathcliff has to teach you how to drive it."

"Deal."

They shook hands and Varian handed over the movie.

"Huhzzah!" Minimax proclaimed. "And once again the heroes have concluded their quest and now return home victorious!"

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

"Hey Mole," Fred shouted as he sauntered into the comic shop. "Do you got any replacement parts for a limited addition Space Hike laser gun? I kind of broke mine dur---"

Fred's voice trailed off when he noticed that the little store was empty. A week had passed since he and Varian had procured the Professor What DVD and Fred hadn't seen nor heard from his nemesis in that time. Fred didn't think that was too odd, it wasn't like he and Mole talked daily or anything, but it was suspicious for his rival to leave the store unattended without closing shop first.

Fred's senses went on alert and he instinctively went into stealth mode: dropping to the ground and crouching on tiptoe as he looked for booby traps on the shelves, behind the doors, and under the displays.

He didn't find any.

Though as he ransacked the counter during his search, he did hear the distant sound of laughter and music coming from the "staff only room." Which wasn't a room really. It was an elevator that went into the basement. Mole had a private arcade down there and must have been playing video games and had simply forgotten to lock up.

Satisfied that there was no danger of a prank literally blowing up in his face and covering him in some sort of slime or soap bubbles or something else that was similarly messy (Fred never forgot that time when Mole dumped dumped a bucket of chocolate fudge on his head five years ago) he decided to go down stairs to ask Mole about the previously mentioned parts.

What he found was far worse than a bucket of chocolate syrup.

In the basement Varian and Mole were both playing a video game. It was an old stand up arcade machine and on it was a retro beat 'em up. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves and called good natured taunts as they furiously pressed buttons trying to one up the other.

Neither had noticed Fred enter.

"Oh you're going down now!" Mole cheered.

"In your dreams!" Varian laughed.

He pressed the block button and his little pixelated character averted a punch from Mole's pixelated avatar and then grabbed said character into a hold and bodied slammed him to the ground.

"K.O.!" A distorted voice from the machine announced and Varian threw up his hands in victory.

"Ah��. Man!" Mole bemoaned. "You got lucky. I had you on the rocks."

"Yeah, I did." Varian admitted with a snicker.

"Best two out of three then?" Mole asked.

"Naw.. I got an essay I need to finish bef-" Varian paused mid-sentence as he turned around and finally saw Fred. Who just stood there with his mouth agape.

"Uh...hi, Fred."

Fred just pointed his finger at them and made an unintelligible sound like a cross between a gasp and a squeal.

"How the heck did you get in here Frederickson?" Mole said irritably.

This seemed to awaken Fred from his stupor.

"Betrayal!" He shouted, still pointing his finger accusingly at them both.

"Now Fred, don't overreact." Mole chided. "My friend Varian and I were just playing a friendly little game of Street Combat."

"Friend? Friend ?! My bestest buddy and protégé playing video games with my arch nemesis and mortal rival! This just like when Captain Fancy found the Fearless Ferret robbing banks with the Toymaker in Earth's Greatest #20!"

"Fred…" Varian started to reason with a weary sigh but Fred interrupted him.

"No. I don't want to hear it!" And with that he turned around on his heel and marched back into the elevator. "But mark my words Varian, Mole can't be trusted." And with this warning he pressed the first floor button and the elevator doors closed.

Varain rolled his eyes and followed after his friend. "Sorry Mole, I gotta go smooth things over with Fred. I'll see ya later."

"Okay, oh I almost forgot" the Professor What convention is next month. You want to go?" Mole replied as Varian hurried over to the elevator.

"Yeah sure, sounds like fun."  Varian answered back distractedly. "I'll see ya then." He waved bye to Mole as the door to the elevator closed.

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

When the elevator opened back up Varian saw Fred stomping away down the sidewalk outside and raced after him.

"Fred! Fred, wait up!"

"Why? So that you can stab me in the back again?" Fred called after.

"Fred...you're being ridiculous."

He stopped, incensed, and fumed at Varian, "Ridiculous?! Oh, I'm being ridiculous now am I?"

"Yeah, you are." Varain stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I see how it is. Crazy Fred is just being paranoid again. It can't possibly be that Mole has been trying to ruin my life since he was in dippers. Seriously, when I first met him he was a week old and I had to be the one to change him. It was all downhill from there."

Varian crossed his arms and gave Fred a reproachful look.

"Oh you don't believe hun?" Fred defended, "Well did he tell you about the time he cut the power to my house so he could win the online auction for Captain Fancy 133? Or the time he spilled hot fudge on me at his 7th birthday party? How about the time he stole my prized Captain Fancy pants? Oh, or how he bought out the mech wrestling league just so I couldn't own it? And he doesn't even like wrestling!!"

Varian didn't answer and kept up his disapproving glare.

"I tell you Mole is just using you to get to me. Don't you see? It'd be the ultimate revenge if he stole my protégé away--."

"Ok, first off, I'm not your "protégé" or "apprentice" or whatever, and second off, Mole never mentioned you the entire time we've hung out. Couldn't it just be possible that he wants to be friends with me and that you're making a big deal out of nothing?"

"Oh really? Then how would you feel if I started hanging out with that princess you hate so much? Rapunzel! Yeah, wouldn't you be hurt if I became pals with your mortal enemy."

A shadow fell across Varian's face and his mildly annoyed glare transformed into cold steely gaze.

"Fred."

"Y-yeah."

"Rapunzel left me, my father, and my entire village to die. Your 'mortal enemy' just buys the same stuff that you want."

Fred looked like a man who had just had a glass of ice water splashed in his face.

"Ooookay...I-I'm beginning to see the difference…"

Now it was Varian's turn to storm off in a huff leaving Fred to stand there bewildered.

"Wait! … She did that ?!" He turned and ran after Varian. "I thought fairy tale princesses were supposed to be nice?"

"Well, they're not, and my life is not a fairy tale Fred."

Fred pouted as he tagged long after Varian, unsure of what to say now.

Varian stopped at the bus stop to wait on his ride home and Fred sheepishly stared at his shoes. After a few awkward minutes he spoke up.

"H-hey, Varian.."

"What."

"I'm sorry….maybe I overreacted a little?"

"A little?" Varian raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, a lot. But I just don't understand why you want to even hang out with Mole."

Varian heaved a heavy sigh and relented. "Look...I just, don't have many friends ok? And before I came here I didn't have any friends. So if someone invites me to hang out with them then I wanna go. Cause that doesn't happen often, and I don't like being alone, and....and Mole doesn't know who I am or about my past. Same as Carol, or Karmi… It's just nice to feel normal for once."

"Annnd you can't feel normal around me cause I know you're magic, right?"

"For the last time Fred, I'm not magic." He growled through his teeth and then in a gentler voice said. "Also, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, you're not normal."

"Fair. Though, if we're talking 'normal' I don't think Mole counts either."

"Maybe not, but I don't think he has a lot of friends either. I guess in that way we have something in common."

Fred looked thoughtfully at that. It was true, Mole really didn't have any friends; a combination of homeschooling and being a huge nerd had left the kid pretty isolated. Fred understood that. He'd been there too, but then again he wasn't a huge jerk to people.

"I still don't get it…. Buuutt if you want to hang out with Mole I'm not going to try and stop you."

"And you're not going to pitch a fit, or sulk, or argue with me if I do?"

Fred heaved a sigh. "No. I'll be very mature about it….also very confused…but I'll be cool, promise."

"So we're still friends?" Varian asked with some slight trepidation.

"Well of course we're still friends! That was never in question. Friends have fights sometimes, ya know, but they always stick together in the end."

He gave Varian a playful nudge on the shoulder and Varian smiled back.

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

Big Hero Six walked away from the college campus and headed towards the parking lot where Wasabi had parked his car. The gang of teenagers laughed and conversed until the squeal of tires on pavement sounded off in the distance and the sound of motor revving became louder and louder.

Soon a fire red sports car came barreling down the drive towards them. They jumped back as the car skidded to a halt next to them, making black marks on the pavement.

The little group stared in shock at the close call and a window rolled down to reveal the driver.

"Hey guys!" Varian cheerfully called out, oblivious to the fright he had caused them.

"Varian, what are you doing!?" Wasabi yelled.

"Oh, Heathcliff is giving me driving lessons."

The Frederickson's faithful butler tilted his head to give the other teens a better look at him. He was dressed in his usual work attire but save for the pair of sunglasses he wore. He said nothing but his stoic face broke into a sly grin and he gave a thumbs up.  He was clearly enjoying being chauffeured around for a change.  

"Yeah, Fred let me borrow his car to practice with." Varian continued and then turned to the man sitting beside him. "You were right Heathcliff, this is cooler than the limo."

At this Gogo punched Fred in the right arm.

"Oww, what was that for?" He rubbed his arm ruefully.

"You never let me borrow the race car!" She said deeply offended.

Hiro also gave Fred's left arm a much lighter smack just to get his attention. "Yeah, and I got a learners permit; same as Varian."

"Yeah but I'll get my actual license before you so I need the practice more." Varian smugly replied.

Heathcliff interrupted this friendly spat with his usual soft spoken British accent, "Master Varian, how about we learn how to pass other cars safely on the road next; and see how fast this bad boy can really go."

"Heck yeah!" Varian laughed. He moved the gear out of 'park', yelled "See ya!", and slammed on the gas. The car took off like a shot; burning rubber as it went.

"Oh what fresh horror have you unleashed?" Wasabi asked Fred as everyone stared dumbstruck after the boisterous teen and renegade butler.

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Hey I’ve recently lost my job and am currently hunting for work so story updates will be slow. 

If you would like to help out you can all way support me on ko-fi 

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[goodlucktai]

it’s a better place since you came along

the adventure zone taako & angus mcdonald 7k words

read on ao3

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

***

In which Taako answers a general “help wanted” ad that actually changes his entire stupid life.

x

There’s a baby crying somewhere.

Taako, left waiting in the foyer by a harried maid, has nothing else to do but tap a foot, twist one of the rings on one of his fingers, and count the long seconds that the plaintive wail continues to echo through the cavernous house.

Listen, he may not be a very good dude, just in general, and for a healthy plethora of reasons—but there’s a prickling sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, as one minute passes into two, and the sounds of distress go unheeded.

What in the fresh fuck, he thinks, when another member of the house staff drifts through the room without any sense of urgency. If he knew shit about magic beyond a few travel-handy tricks and the occasional intuitive transmutation, he’d assume this was some sort of elaborate illusion. Maybe a sort of test played on unsuspecting hopefuls who came to answer the help-wanted ad.

Unfortunately for Taako, he remembers all-too well what it feels like to be an unwanted child, outcast and always alone. As it turns out, he has a very particular Achilles’ heel and he’s not overly thrilled to discover it.

“Well, I didn’t need the job that bad,” he tells himself, as he gets up to single-mindedly fail this stupid test. And nevermind that he kind of really did.

‘Confidence is key’ and ‘fake it till you make it’ are two mantras that Taako could live and die by, so it’s with long, unchecked strides that he crosses the grand foyer and chases the miserable cries up some stairs, down a long corridor, and finally into an out-of-the-way bedchamber at what must have been the back of the house.

The cries stutter when the door clicks open, and Taako gets a glimpse of a tiny round face peering at him through the bars of an ancient-looking crib. The sudden appearance of this strange elf in his nursery seems to have surprised the little human, but not for long. After about two seconds, he screws his face up and screams with renewed vindication.

Taako winces, his sensitive ears twitching back at the onslaught. This is way above his paygrade, but he used to babysit younger kids in the caravans while their parents were busy or drunk, in exchange for a hot meal or a few coins. He’s not totally out of his depth here.

“Hey, little man,” he says by way of hello. “Trying to bring the roof down, huh? No, I dig that. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but this house of yours is ugly as hell.”

Taako doesn’t raise his voice, because what the hell would be the point? There’s no way he’s winning that contest of wills, and nobody wants some lunatic shouting at them when they’re this fucking distraught, anyway. He just crosses his arms on the side of the crib and leans down to get a good look at the kid.

The baby’s face is tacky and snotty, dusky skin flushed darker with exertion, curly hair a tangled mop. But he’s a cute little guy despite himself, probably a year old or thereabouts, not that Taako is in any way a decent judge of that sort of thing. As Taako talks to him in a conversational tone, his awful, heaving sobs peter out.

The tearful gulps are better. The way he lifts pudgy arms up to be held, not so much.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taako says, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I’m not even supposed to be in here. You have no idea how culturally insensitive people are when it comes to elves and babies. Your mama walks in and sees me holding you, and then she’s calling the guard, and I’m getting hauled off for attempting to spirit her little heir away, and we both perpetuate an archaic myth that all elves are equally capable of and greedy for voluntary childcare. Let me just say—from personal experience—that is not the fuckin' case.”

But he reaches a hand into the crib and lets the little human clutch at it. Tiny, clumsy fingers wrap around Taako’s much bigger ones and hold tight. The baby’s eyes are wide and curious now, soaking up Taako’s every word without a damn clue what any of them mean.

Taako almost forgot he knew how to do this. It’s been months since Glamour Springs, since Sazed ditched him on the road. Taako’s been living a half-life, made up of odd jobs and never staying for too long in any one place, and for all that it’s absurdly one-sided, this is the longest conversation he’s had since then, too.

“One of us is pretty fucking pathetic,” he confides. “And it’s not the screamy baby.”

“Ah, this is where you’ve gone,” a voice from the doorway says.

Taako jumps in alarm, and looks around in time to watch a man step into the nursery. He bears a striking resemblance to the baby in the crib, though he’s graying at the temples and his face is lined with too much age for him to be an immediate parent. Grandparent, probably. Distinguished, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than the entire cumulative worth of everything Taako currently owns, leaning heavily on a walking cane.

He doesn’t look as though he’s about to ring the alarm, but Taako is still a little keyed up. Given the way he’s been living, the feeling of getting caught, even for a moment, activates his fight or flight response.

“Sorry,” Taako says lamely. “I heard him crying.”

“I don’t doubt it. His parents, my daughter and her husband, died recently. An accident on the road,” the man says. There’s some sorrow there, but it’s pushed back and away. Compartmentalized. “He came to live with me, but the transition hasn’t been an easy one. It seems as though all he’s done is cry.”

Taako doesn’t melt even slightly for the poor kid, because he’s made of sterner stuff than that. But he does let him hold onto his hand for a little while longer. It’s not hurting anything.

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

It wasn’t a nanny ad. It was just a ‘general help wanted in exchange for room and board’ type of deal. He wouldn’t have shown up to take the job in the first place if it had specified providing 1) cooking, 2) companionship, or 3) childcare, and that’s for damn sure. He believes in playing to his strengths, and while vapid charm is certainly one of them, being personable and likable for any extended period of time is not.

And Taako absolutely doesn’t know what to think of this old rich guy who seems to be operating under the illusion that thirty seconds is plenty of time to get enough of a read on some rando to then trust your child to them. For real, and from the bottom of Taako's heart, what the fuck?

He’s only been acquainted with this particular child for about five minutes, but his ears go back and his hackles go up at the idea of someone just walking in off the street to take charge of him.

Maybe there’s some crucial insanity element to parenthood that Taako just isn’t fucking picking up. Maybe total and complete willingness to just ditch your kid at a moment’s notice is part of the package. Sure would explain a few things about Taako’s childhood.

But… this old manor house is clearly in the middle of nowhere. Two hours from the nearest settlement, where the job posting was hiding beneath other flyers on the board in the square. Taako wandered the woods all afternoon and almost gave up finding the place before the chimney smoke tipped him off.

It’s remote. Safe. And, at a glance, more comfortable than any of the inns and caravans Taako has lived out of since his auntie died.

He’s not qualified for this position, but since when has that ever stopped him? It’s not like he went to culinary school, either, and for awhile he was one of the most famous chefs on the continent. A baby can't be that much work.

Fake it till you make it, he thinks, and then faces the old man with a smile.

“Hell, I’m already here. Might as well start now.”

#

Aside from Taako, there are three other members of staff on the books, and none of them are full-time. The maids come in every other day to do the cleaning and the laundry and bring in groceries, that sort of thing. The groundskeeper only works the weekends.

They like Mr McDonald well enough, the girls confide in Taako over tea on his first night there, and the pay isn’t bad, but he’s forgetful. Doesn’t think to eat until he feels hunger pains, that sort of thing. Don’t be surprised if you get paid twice some weeks, or not at all others.

“He’s just not interested in running a household, I think,” the older of the two imparts, ancient at seventeen for all the weariness in her eyes. “I’m glad he finally found someone to take care of the baby. I felt bad about him crying all the time.”

Baby Angus had seemed to surprise both teens by being agreeable and downright adorable, perfectly content to be tucked into the crook of Taako’s arm and soothed to sleep by the rumble of his voice.

Did any of you try, like, holding him? Taako wants to ask acidly. Seems a little fucked up that Taako, of all people, is more on top of this than anyone else. But the maids are little more than kids themselves, and it seems as though grandpa isn’t completely with it.

About a month after Taako first wandered in, grandpa proves it.

“It was before Angus was born,” Mr McDonald says, digging through the many drawers in his study, looking for some expensive rich person thing he’d acquired at auction four years ago. There’s an empty crystal tumbler sitting on the liquor cabinet, next to a half-empty decanter of whiskey. “We went to Goldcliff for a charity fundraiser. Marquis proposed to my daughter that night. You remember, Taako?”

Taako, halfheartedly poking through stuff on the desk while Angus chews on the end of his braid, replies, “Sure do, homie. Hell of a party.”

He finds a photo in a stack of letters and pauses. Two humans are pictured with their arms around each other, handsome smiles on their faces for the camera, a baby cradled tenderly between them.

At the bottom, in looping handwriting, someone wrote ‘Marquis, Angela, and Angus.’ There’s a little heart drawn under the names with such care that it, in itself, is something of a revelation.

Angus’ parents wouldn’t have let him cry himself sick in a faraway room. They wouldn’t have let some stranger be holding him now. They abandoned him, but not on purpose. Not the same way Taako’s family did.

This kid was loved. He’s due love. And all he has is an absent grandpa and a shitty elf looking after him.

“Check it out, Ango,” Taako says quietly, holding the photo up so the baby can see, carefully out of reach of those sticky fingers. “Your genes are killer. You’re gonna outshine the whole damn world.”

He pockets the photo with a sleight of hand he perfected at ten years old, and then guts some ugly painting in the service hallway in the name of repurposing the frame, and then he and Angus stage a tactical retreat.

The nursery was too depressing, just in general, so one of Taako’s first acts as nanny was to move all the baby stuff in with his. He had his pick of any of the second floor bedchambers, and he chose one overlooking the overgrown gardens, with a pretty bay window that it only took like two hours and a handful of stubborn Prestidigitations to scrub clean.

He enlarges the photo, slides it into the frame, transmutes it to look like a more professional job, and then sets it in place of pride on one of the empty shelves.

“Gang’s all here,” he says. He bounces Angus a few times, eliciting a toothy smile from the kid.

Lordy, Taako thinks, she’d be laughing her ass off if she could see me right now.

The thought comes out of absolutely nowhere and disappears just as quickly, sliding right out of his mind like water through a sieve. Then Angus makes a sudden dive to grab one of the charms hanging off the brim of Taako’s hat, and he has more immediate things to worry about.  

#

Living in a house is weird. Having the run of the place is even weirder.

Taako is certainly not the type to sign up for extra responsibility, and he’d be the first to say as much to literally anyone who asked. Keeping himself alive has always been trouble enough, and now he has a whole ass extra person he’s in charge of, too.

But as time drags on, he realizes he’s been pretty solidly assimilated.

When McDonald forgets to give Catherine the grocery allowance before he fucks off on one of his bi-monthly business trips to Neverwinter, Taako forks over his own gold without feeling the sting of it too badly. He practically writes his own checks around here, anyway. He can make up the difference whenever.

When crotchety old Boniface came in from the gardens looking for an answer about the freshly broken fountain, he bypasses McDonald’s closed office door entirely to demand guidance out of Taako instead. Taako is in the library, laying on his stomach to supervise Angus’ painstaking and artistic destruction of a probably priceless but unfortunately racist oral history Taako found on one of the shelves, and gives Boniface the go-ahead to gut the old eyesore.

“If it dies, it dies,” Taako says plainly, passing Angus a new red crayon. Boniface, pleased that he’s allowed to demolish something, makes it a point to ask Taako about these things first from then on.

When Ezra shows up in Taako’s suite one morning with tearful eyes and an ugly burn from the temperamental furnace in the basement, neither of them stop to question why she ran all the way up here. They’re both reasonably intelligent people, after all, and Taako is quick to cast a nonverbal Helping Hand. He doesn’t need to overthink it. The burned skin on Ezra’s arm is shiny and red, but repaired.

The girl surges forward to hug him, visibly rethinks it, and then changes course and scoops Angus up for a hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek instead. Angus shrieks in bald delight, and Taako finds himself smiling.

So, yeah. It’s weird, the whole thing is weird, but he wouldn’t say it’s bad.

McDonald is a kind but largely absent presence in their lives. When he’s home, he’s shut up in his study. Angus hardly seems to recognize the man anymore, only watching him with solemn brown eyes from the comforting circle of Taako’s arms. It doesn’t really sit well with Taako—he didn’t take this job to upstage any relatives or be a replacement parent—but he’s already nanny to a precocious two-year-old, he can’t also be nanny to a seventy-something-year-old retired scholar. If McDonald wants to be a part of Angus’ life, that’s on him. It can’t possibly fall on Taako’s shoulders.

“And even if it did, I have a bad back,” Taako informs Angus. “You’ll have to do the heavy-lifting for me, sweetpea. How’s that sound?”

“Okay, Taako,” Angus says gravely. If there’s a tiny part of Taako that’s fucking delighted every time this tiny miracle says his name, he squashes it down good and hard and no one is the wiser.

It feels a little bit like nothing exists outside this spacious manor house. The extensive grounds might as well be a magic barrier between Taako and the rest of the world. It won’t last—nothing good ever does—but for now he allows himself to pretend that it will.

#

Taako and his little shadow swing into the kitchen around noon one day to find Catherine in tears.

This is so far from the norm that Taako actually draws up short in the doorway. Angus toddles right into the back of his leg, loses his balance, and plops down hard on his padded bottom.

“What’s this all about, darling?” Taako asks warily.

Catherine is sharp in all the places Ezra is soft, and while it makes her much easier to understand—a girl after Taako’s own black, shriveled heart—it also makes her approximately one million times more difficult to comfort, as likely to bite at a helping hand as accept one.

At the first sign of her vicious temper, he’s gonna grab his kid and bail. There’s fruit and bread in the larder that’ll see them through to dinner, and if not, he's not above bribing Ezra to run interference.

But Catherine just lifts her head out of her hands and says, “I burnt the stupid soup!”

Taako blinks. He stands still so Angus can use one of his legs as leverage to pull himself back upright, and cups the back of the boy's head in silent praise when he manages it on his own.

“Okay,” Taako says slowly. He can piece this shit together. “The soup is burnt. And you’re cheesed about it because…you feel really strongly about soup.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps, but it’s without any real heat. “I just. I can’t get anything right today.”

Ah. Okay. So it’s one of those.

He hesitates for a moment, and then leans down to scoop Angus up and balances him on a hip. Angus knows not to toddle into the kitchen unsupervised, and rarely gets to toddle in at all when there’s cookery going on.

Taako himself rarely goes in. It feels too much like tempting fate. But his feet carry him forward, and he leans over the pot of thick and creamy chicken and dumplings, and right away he can smell the problem. It caught on the bottom of the pot and scorched.

He’s never worked in this kitchen—and he never will—but he remembers the steps. It’s mise en place. He reaches into the spice cabinet and withdraws a small tin shaker.

“Cinnamon,” he says at length, offering the tin to Catherine.

She stares at him, losing some of her steel for a moment. “Really?”

“Really,” Taako says, and firmly steps back. The six-second exchange has left him feeling tense and sick, his appetite fully and completely fucking out of the picture.

Angus is a perceptive little monster, and settles more heavily into Taako’s arms. He heaves a very pointed sigh, something he started doing to communicate that he’s feeling particularly safe and content. It makes Taako’s chest hurt in a much different way than impending panic attacks tend to, and he presses a kiss to the kid’s curly head.

“Thanks, angel,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Holy shit, Taako,” Catherine says, looking up from the soup with awe in her eyes. As he watches, she tries another spoonful, and then she actually laughs out loud. “It worked!”

He finds himself searching her face for—sickness. Shortness of breath. Something.

It’s stupid. The people he killed in Glamour Springs didn’t show signs of death for days.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Catherine goes on. “Could you teach me?”

“I don’t,” Taako blurts. It comes out sharper than he meant for it to, sudden and a little bit too loud. Catherine’s smile tapers. Angus lifts his head off Taako’s shoulder. Breathe, idiot, Taako tells himself. Be a fucking person for two seconds. “Cook, I mean. I don’t cook. Or, uh, teach. I’m kind of useless. Pretty, though.”

He flips his hair. It makes Angus giggle, but Catherine isn’t an easily-amused toddler, and she’s not buying it.

Her eyes are sharp, and seem to peel through layers of Taako’s bullshit like a knife. And then she scoffs, and mimics his hair flip with her wrist even though her hair is only about two inches long, and the tension drains out of the room like someone pulled a plug in the floor.

“You’ve been teaching Mango to read,” she says dryly. “And Elvish. And magic. But okay, Mr I Don’t Teach.”

“He’s my fucking protege. That shit’s different!”

“Shit!” Angus agrees cheerfully.

“Whatever. Now that I know you’re secretly a fountain of knowledge, I’m dragging you in here the next time I fuck up a recipe.” She studies him for a moment, and adds, “You don’t have to cook, Teach. If it bothers you. I just…I need help sometimes.

Taako feels himself relenting. This house is turning him into a fucking pushover.

“I know, Cat,” he sighs. “Try to find one person who doesn’t.”

#

“Alright, little man,” Taako says, tugging Angus’ collar straight. “What are the rules?”

“Hold your hand, don’t talk to strangers, aim for the eyes if I can reach them, knees if I can’t,” his boy recites gravely.

Next to him, Ezra stifles a snort of laughter. Boniface, waiting by the loaded carriage, looks reluctantly amused. Catherine says, “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give you a kid?”

“Uh, your boss,” Taako says without looking at her. He stands up from his crouch as the front door closes, and they all turn as McDonald comes down the steps to join them in the crumbly courtyard.

“Are we ready, boys?” he asks with a smile. “Neverwinter is waiting.”

Honestly, Taako has been sick with dread over this trip for the past two weeks, but he wouldn’t know how to go about explaining that. And he sure as hell isn’t sending Angus off alone with his absent-minded grandfather. The kid probably wouldn’t make it home.

It’s not as though Taako has been sequestered in the manor house for the last five years. He’s ambled into the settlement with the girls now and then, has gone farther up the road to buy from caravans for Candlenights gifts, has let himself be bullied, cajoled, blackmailed and bribed into helping Boniface lug imported plants home from the train station.

But this is fucking Neverwinter. The Jewel of the North.

“Taako? You okay?” Angus says from somewhere near his elbow.

“Just dreading three hours on the road playing I, Spy with you, boychik,” he lies smoothly. “Go pet the horses so we can get that out of the way.”

Angus looks mulish for a moment, but he does insist on petting the carthorses before they take the carriage literally anywhere, so he lifts his head and crosses the courtyard with great dignity. Taako watches sharply until Boniface rolls his eyes so hard Taako can practically hear it and hefts Agnus up in one huge arm to better reach the giant creatures without running the risk of getting fucking trampled.

“I’m making the salmon at home tonight,” Catherine says abruptly, a non-sequitur that takes Taako by surprise. “If I don’t fuck it up, I’m gonna cook it here, too. So don’t be late, Teach.”

“I’ll a hundred percent eat your share if you’re late,” Ezra adds. Her smile looks a little strained.

Taako has not been subtle. He’s been freaking out right out loud where anybody could see it. Get it together, asshole, he coaches himself helpfully.

“Cat,” he says earnestly, “your salmon is literally the only thing I have to live for.”

She groans and pushes him away from her. Angus has finished with the horses and returns to Taako at a run, even though they’re all going to be walking back across the courtyard to the carriage in like one minute anyway. 

McDonald is handing out a few last minute instructions. They’re mostly things that have already been taken care of, errands that have already been run, the ushe. The girls nod along politely, but there’s a level of uncertainty lingering above them like a cloud. They look as nervous about Taako leaving as Taako feels.

Now, Taako is many things—an elf, a failed chef, a murderer, a dime-store wizard, and one lucky nanny—but he is not some mercurial fairy tale creature. He’s not going to vanish from their lives the second they lose sight of him. He could if he wanted to, and he will if he has to, but he doesn’t want to. For now, he doesn’t have to.

So he lifts a hand and says, “Back soon.”

But for some reason, it fucking hurts.

#

The trip is about everything he expected it would be: long and boring. Angus gets bored with I, Spy within about ten minutes, the interior of the carriage is a little too tight to practice his cantrips, and Boniface seems to be aiming for the roughest parts of the road on purpose. Taako tries reading aloud from one of the Caleb Cleveland books, but McDonald keeps interrupting every time they get to the good, mysterious parts, so Angus and Taako trade a loaded glance and wordlessly agree to save it for later.

Still, it’s not awful. Angus at six years old is bright-eyed and relentlessly clever. He wants to be a detective like Caleb, and has taken to solving little mysteries around the manor house, like who left the jam out on the counter (Taako, and what are you going to do about it, pumpkin?) and who tracked the mud inside the undercroft (Boniface, obviously, that’s where all the booze is, and he literally works in mud all day. You didn’t have to put on your detective cap for that one).

Needless to say, Taako would burn the whole world down for this kid.  

With no choice but to spend time in his grandson’s company, Taako can see Angus’ innate charm going to work on McDonald. There’s something wistful in the old man’s eyes, affectionate and more than a little bittersweet. He stops interrupting as Angus starts to describe his latest case in great detail—the mystery of the missing tarts!

The tarts are wrapped up and waiting in Taako’s bag for when they inevitably get snacky during the trip, but he's not going to tell. He kinda wants to see how far the kid takes this one.

By the time they board the train, Angus is tuckered out. The excitement of a trip so far from home is wearing off after hours in a carriage, and Taako ends up carrying him into their sleeper car and putting him to bed in one of the bunks.

McDonald takes a seat at the small table and watches without commentary as Taako extracts the boy’s hat and glasses and wand without waking him, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. And then, out of habit more than anything else, he murmurs the only Elven blessing he remembers, quite literally ‘sweet dreams.’ He remembers Auntie saying it to him, and…someone else, maybe? He remembers that it always made him feel loved to hear it.

“Hiring you was the best thing I could have done for him,” McDonald says suddenly.

Taako turns with a trademark smile on his face, only as charming as it needs to be. “Hiring me was the best thing you ever did, period.”

His boss smiles back, but there’s an edge to it that Taako can’t translate. This is the most present and aware he’s looked in the last five years. Taako isn’t sure he’s ever had this much of McDonald’s attention.

“There’s another reason I wanted to take the two of you with me this week,” he says. 

It’s ominous as fuck, and as the train lurches into motion, pulling away from the station, Taako realizes that he’s effectively trapped here, in a way he never was at the manor house. Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because McDonald’s smile warms a bit, and he gestures at the other chair. 

“It’s a good thing, son. No need to be nervous.”

Taako sits in an irreverent collapsing of limbs to prove that he isn’t nervous, actually. McDonald pulls a bunch of papers out of his briefcase and sets them on the table. They look official as fuck. McDonald’s signature at the bottom draws Taako’s eye—huh, so that’s his first name. After this long, it would have felt a little awkward to ask. Beneath that is the signature and seal of a notary.

“What am I looking at here, Charlie?”

McDonald’s lips twitch. He probably cottoned onto the name thing. 

“Well, this isn’t an easy conversation to have, and I probably could have picked a better time for it, but.” He glances over Taako’s shoulder at where Angus is sleeping. “It’s probably better if the boy doesn’t overhear until it’s sorted.”

“I hear ya. That little bugbear is all up in everyone’s business all the time,” Taako says proudly. “Just the worst.”

“He’s amazing,” McDonald says. That sorrow swims into his eyes now, an ancient, ruinous thing. “He reminds me of my daughter every time I look at him.” Oh. “It’s been…hard to look at him sometimes.” Oh.

Taako carefully reevaluates his opinion of Angus’ absent grandfather. Not too much, because the dude still should have been around, but, you know. Some.

Taako tries to imagine losing somebody, how much it must hurt. He tries to imagine looking like somebody, a family resemblance, a belonging at face-value. He’s never experienced either, but there’s still a bitter pit in his throat, a feeling like if he swallows too hard he’ll start to cry. So he sits very still instead.

“But still, he’s my only grandson, and I want him to be taken care of when I’m gone,” the man goes on. “I’m getting on in years, and I probably don’t have much longer left—oh, Taako. It’s alright.”

Taako is certain he didn’t move. He’s still doing the sitting-very-still thing. Then he realizes his ears betrayed him, pressed back flat against his head. Goddamn things.

“No, it’s uh. Taako’s good, don’t. Just.”

It’s the human age thing. He doesn’t want to think about it. He waves McDonald on, a tight rolling gesture. They really need to power through the rest of this conversation while Taako still has enough self-control left to not do something really embarrassing in front of his boss, like have a whole emotion.

McDonald takes pity. Thank fuck.

“It’s normal to want to get your ducks in a row,” he says. “I’m not planning on kicking the bucket any time soon.”

“Alright, let’s organize these ducks,” Taako says with unwarranted enthusiasm. He’s trying to trick himself into it. “Fucking ducks, am I right?”

“Angus is my heir. When he’s of age, he’ll get the estate and everything that goes with it, as well as his parents’ properties,” McDonald says, once again reminding Taako that he’s a rich old fuck. Istus. “But that’s still more than a decade away. If something should happen to me, I don’t want him to end up a ward of the state.”

Taako blinks. In the back of his mind, he realizes that he has become one of those elves that would one-thousand-percent kidnap a human baby if it came down to it. Leave Agnes in an orphanage? His Agnes? It would literally have never occurred to him.

“Custody cases can be so long-winded. The easiest way to circumvent the whole mess would be to adopt you into the family,” McDonald says, super nonchalant about flipping the world upside down. “That way Angus has an immediate next of kin that no one would question.”

He looks up when Taako doesn’t say anything and frowns at whatever Taako’s face must look like.

“You don’t have to use the surname if you don’t want to. It’s mostly just for the sake of paperwork.”

“I can’t,” Taako blurts.

“Of course. I wouldn’t insist that you change your family name if it’s important to you—”

“Not—not that, who gives a fuck about my family name,” Taako says too loudly. Angus shifts around for a second, like he might wake up, and Taako snaps his mouth closed so hard it hurts his teeth. In a whisper, because it’s all he can manage without giving into the urge to scream, Taako forces out, “I—I’m—I can’t.”

In the nightmare scenarios that still sometimes plague him in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep and he’s alone with the voice in his brain that fucking hates him, the choices always boiled down to either leaving Angus behind or taking him on the run. Both choices were fucking awful for a myriad of different reasons, and left Taako pacing his room tirelessly trying to think his way out of an unsolvable problem.

The idea that he could become a legal part of Angus’ family as simply as signing a piece of paper is so far-fetched and ridiculous that he can’t wrap his mind around it.

But bringing all his shit into Angus’ life? Signing up for this only to get snatched away the second the paperwork goes through and the militia finally finds him? Leaving his dirty laundry all over the front yard like the worst fucking house guest imaginable, and then peacing out to spend the rest of his long-ass fucking elf life in jail, while Angus was left to just…deal with that?

He couldn’t. He can’t. Every single option is bad. He shouldn’t have stayed. He should have known he would fall in love with that baby on day one. It’s really fucking stupid that he stayed.

“—aako. Taako.”

Taako jerks his head up. His ears are twitching and his hands are shaking and McDonald has probably been saying his name for awhile.

The man’s eyes are bright and steely. They look exactly like Angus’ do sometimes, when he wakes Taako up from a miserable meditation, when it’s just the two of them in a huge house surrounded by a crumbling garden.

“Tell me,” the man says sternly.

At a fucking complete loss, Taako just…does.

When he’s finished, McDonald looks at him really hard for what feels like a long time. Then he pulls a pair of reading glasses out of an inner pocket of his coat, poises the business end of a fountain pen against a fresh sheet of paper, and starts asking questions.

It’s a business-like, no-nonsense exchange. Taako is wiped out, emotionally he is the equivalent of a damp rag wrung out to dry, and he has no wherewithal left to lie or deny or deflect.

When they’re done, McDonald has filled three notebook pages of blocky handwriting, and Taako is swaying in his seat. He watches somewhat vacantly as McDonald nods to himself and rummages in his briefcase for a stone of farspeech.

“We won’t reach Neverwinter until morning. Get some sleep,” he says, and his voice is kindly again, the way it was before. Taako stares at him. “And don’t tell me elves don’t need it, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, and you nap twice as much as my grandson ever did.”

Well, it would be nice to get one last unnecessary snooze in as a free man, Taako supposes, and he doesn’t hesitate to climb into Angus’ bunk. It’s a familiar ritual. The kid squirms to accommodate him without fully waking. Taako tucks an arm around him and buries his nose in that riot of curly hair.

He hears McDonald say, “You’re not much more than a kid yourself, are you?” but that might have just been part of a dream.

He hears someone else say, “That can’t be broken or lost or taken away, it’s always going to be so important,” but Taako thinks that, whoever that was, they were very clearly wrong.

#

Taako wakes up to a six-year-old’s warm brown eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners in an urchin sort of way, and it’s the only tell Taako needs. His kid has been up to some mischief.  

“Grandpa said you were tired and I should let you sleep,” Angus reports cheerfully. “He also said that there was a nice lady selling flowers a few cars down, and I ought to go buy a few!”

Ah. Taako glances down at the ruin of his hair. It looks like about a hundred snowberry blossoms were worked into the thick flaxen braid. It’s going to be an absolute pain to brush out later. He’ll probably find bits of plant in his hair for days. He loves it.

He risks a glance in McDonald’s direction.

The man looks amused by their whole general existence, which is fair. He also doesn't look like he's about to summon the guard to have Taako hauled into the brig, which is a fucking relief and a half.

“The world changed while you were asleep,” he says significantly. “Would you like to sign the papers now or with your pardon?”

Angus says, all in one breath, “You should sign the papers first! Grandpa says then you’ll be my family! I mean, you already are, so I’m not sure what the point is, but it must be important. Look at how official they are!”

Taako feels about four cups of coffee behind this conversation. He scoots off the bed, spilling into one of the chairs at the table, and folds his hands.

“Charlie. Buddy.”

“I stepped out for two minutes,” McDonald says defensively, “and I thought he was asleep!”

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Taako mutters. His heart is doing something really complicated and largely unnecessary, fucking backflipping in his chest, at Angus’ thoughtless ‘you already are.’ Like it was a given. What the fuck. “Can you go back to, uh—the world changing? A pardon? What’s up with that?”  

“An old friend of mine is a cleric,” he says pushing a steaming cup in Taako’s direction. “Level nine, or thereabouts. She owed me a favor from when we were in school together, when I—well, that’s not important. What is important is that she was happy to cast Discern Location to find your old stage manager.”

Taako fumbles the cup, almost drops it. He sets it down hard.

“What the fuck? No, hold that thought. Angus, I love you. Get lost.”

He’s really banking on the kid being more stir-crazy than curious, and sure enough, Angus hops right off the bunk and sprints for the door.

“Okay, I’ll be in the dining car! You’re not s’posed to take food back with you, but I’m gonna see how many pastries I can fit in my pockets so you won’t be hungry when you sign the papers that make you my family! Love you, bye!”

“A three-hour carriage ride followed by six hours on a train was the worst fucking idea,” Taako says severely. “He’s gonna be on eleven when we roll up to Neverwinter. They might not let us in.”

“He’s just excited,” the old man says, with the tranquility of someone who isn’t going to have to child-wrangle all day long. “I told him I had good news for you.”

Taako is fidgeting, turning the cup of coffee around and around in his hands. It’s leaving a ring of condensation on the table.

“You found Sazed?” he asks, and hates how small his voice sounds.

“We did.”

“He probably hates me,” Taako mutters. “I ruined his life.”

McDonald takes the cup from him and sets it down on the other side of the table with a firm clunk. 

“Pardon my language, but you didn’t ruin crud.” Taako mouths ‘crud’ in bewilderment, but McDonald isn’t finished. “I was suspicious of your story when you described the way those people died. Those aren’t the typical symptoms of deadly nightshade, and I’d never heard of a transmutation spell failing in that way before. So I looked into it. Or, I should say, I had a few friends look into it.”

“Are you in a cult?” Taako asks. He can’t help it. He’s one part genuinely curious and two parts hardwired to deflect any time someone tricks him into having a serious conversation. “We frown on cults in this family. Mysterious shadow organizations are never a good thing, no matter what greater-good shit they’re peddling.”

“I’m very rich and belong to very elite social circles,” McDonald says dryly. He’s unmoved by Taako’s general everything. “This whole thing took about three calls. I wish you would have told me about this five years ago, but I do understand why you didn’t.”

Taako doesn’t have a cup to fuck around with anymore. He stopped wearing jewelry when Angus was a baby and literally everything smaller than an apple was a choking hazard, and he never really got into the habit of it again, so he doesn’t have rings to twist around his fingers, either. He wrings his hands instead.

“If it wasn’t the elderberries,” he chokes out, and doesn’t make it any farther.

“It was arsenic,” McDonald says. His voice is kind again, but not so much so that it’s painful to hear. “Sazed was questioned within a Zone of Truth. He admitted to—okay,” he cuts himself off, putting a hand on Taako’s shoulder. “We’re done talking about it for now. Just take it easy.”

Taako doesn’t uncurl from his chair until the door rattles open and Angus’ voice fills the room. He’s found a dozen things to talk about in the ten minutes he’s been gone, and is very proud of himself for all the contraband pastries he managed to make off with. There’s a cheese danish wrapped very carefully in a napkin, only slightly squished, that he presents to Taako with a showy flourish that he really only could have picked up from too much time around one particular idiot.

Taako accepts the danish, and then hauls Angus up onto his lap, and then says, “Charlie, baby. Pass me that fancy pen.”

#

For the first time in almost eight years, Taako is cooking for an audience again. His hands are shaking, but as long as everyone else is politely pretending like they don’t notice, he can do himself the same favor.

I fed those people their death, but it wasn’t on me, he recites inwardly for the seven millionth time, a nervous mantra. My magic was good. My cooking was good. I was good. It wasn’t on me.

He looks up from the counter where all his tools are laid out and his ingredients are arranged. Ezra is bouncing in her seat, Boniface is lingering in the doorway like he doesn’t care but he also isn’t leaving, and Catherine’s eyes are wide and moonlike and younger than Taako has ever seen them. Angus has place of pride, a seat on the counter by the sink with the best view in the house.

“Okay,” he says. “What are the rules, pumpkin?”

“No swiping ingredients, no magic in the kitchen, and no taste-testing until you say it’s okay,” Angus rattles off promptly. “Autographs at the end of the show are three gold apiece, photos are ten, and the overall experience is absolutely priceless.”

Over the sweet sound of the rest of his audience groaning at him, Taako goes on blithely, “And what are we cooking today?”

“Macarons!”

“And who’s your dude?” Taako asks, pointing a whisk at him. Angus giggles, and Taako’s hands aren’t shaking anymore.

In a month, Angus is going off to a summer camp out past Rockport. It’s Caleb Cleveland-themed, and the whole thing sounds extremely nerdy and book-cluby, and Angus is desperately excited. He’s also desperately nervous about being away from his family for three whole weeks but he’s trying to keep that on the down-low. He’s very grown up at nearly ten years old.

Taako can respect that. He also bought the kid a stone of farspeech, because actually fuck that.

And while Angus is off having his first away-from-home adventure—since the girls think that Taako’s just going to be useless and mopey the whole time, and Boniface already threatened to bury him in a flowerbed the first time he whines about literally anything—Taako is going to go do something cool, too. There’s always some interesting jobs posted on Craig's List up in Neverwinter. He’ll be able to find something to occupy his time.  

But for now, he’s gonna make some goddamn desserts.

“Come on, Ango,” Taako wheedles, “who’s your dude?”

“You, papa.”

I’m good, Taako reminds himself. He looks at his kid, who only deserves the best this piece of shit world has to offer, and thinks, I can be good.

[sciralta]

Rising Tides: (Probably) A Surface Level Understanding

I was gonna start this off by saying considering it’s only the first few chapters, I’m going to give Pixelberry the benefit of doubt when it comes to speculation on what this book’s going to be like. Having said that, knowing that apparently one of the MTFL writers was a part of this and the fact that this is Pixelberry, I am absolutely not going to give them that benefit.

I have the sneaking suspicion that Rising Tides is going to do that thing that companies love where you continually act like it’s the average joe’s fault for climate change because he drives to work, instead of addressing the global pressure made by the fossil fuels industry to have total reliance on them. Or like how a lot of politicians like Australia’s PM, Scott Morrison, pretty much refuses to invest in renewable energy because he’s basically bought and paid for by fossil fuels and acknowledging that his party’s donors are killing our planet might make their dying businesses sad :(. Remember, it’s those least responsible for climate change that are the most affected by it.

Pictured above; Australia’s coal-fondler-in-chief

But that’s just me ranting about my dipshit Prime Minister; let’s talk about writing!

So Rising Tides was part of a game jam and was written in like, a month, and baby does it show! This is the most clunky, forced writing I have ever seen in a Choices story—and fucken hell is that an achievement. Generally in other stories from PB if the story is bad the actual writing is more or less ‘fine’. Such is not the case with RT. This story reads less like a smooth ski down a snowy mountain and more like you fell off the top of that mountain and crashed against every boulder on the whole way down. We are immediately faced with this:

...which feels less like an organic thing a character would say and more like the writers spent 10 minutes googling vehicle emission data and were damn sure they were gonna make you know that they did. If you follow the advice of this post, you will actually die of liver failure. Happy drinking.

Our inciting incident is an ecological disaster—a mass die-off of marine life in the waters surrounding the town. Mass fish die-offs are usually caused by oxygen depletion in the water. The hypoxic event can be caused by things like drought, algal blooms, high temperatures and thermal pollution. We haven’t heard anything about drought or high temperatures, and it doesn’t appear to be an algal bloom; so everyone should immediately start looking at any factories in the area. Oh, what do you know! We’ve got a national corporation that started right here in the town by the name of Monteverde! Their CEO or whatever talks at the meeting a lot about how resilient the town is, and how proud his company would be to help the people through this disaster. Forget the die-off, Monteverde is officially the fishiest thing in this town!

Just before the town meeting, we are introduced to the caricature of villainy that is Principal Strickler—a name which demonstrates about as much nuance as you can expect from Pixelberry at this point, and probably the rest of this book. You see, he hates us because.... reasons? idk Pixelberry just needed an antagonistic force in the story just go with it. It honestly feels like a lot of the dialogue so far in this book was put in as a placeholder and the writers said “we’ll clean it up once we start editing, just move on!” and they just... never did.

We also meet Mel, a character who seems to be taking on the role of that one delicious daddy from Big Sky Country of being way too into conspiracy theories. Don’t touch her zucchinis. We’ve seen her sprite many a time before this series, but I still maintain that her sprite needs more chunky jewellery like in that one Adam Ellis comic.

In other news:

Both of our parents are alive and we’re not adopted, which is a shock because it is as dangerous to be a birth parent to a Choices MC as it is to be a birth parent to a D&D player character.

Hot Person #1 comes to our rescue from Strickler, because we really need to prove just how great of a person they are.

Town hall happens and no one will listen to our sister.

We have a best friend! Unfortunately they work for Monteverde; so unless they’re cool with exposing company crimes, they’re probably not gonna be our friend for much longer.

The clean up is pretty shoddily organised, and it’s clear that Monteverde is really in it for publicity (wow never saw that coming)

We almost drown but then we’re saved by Hot Person #2; and that’s pretty much anything of note.

To PB’s credit, the book does appear to look at the way young activists are totally disregarded by adults, but the writing is just so yikes that you can’t help but roll your eyes. They seem to maybe be featuring the climate grief that is rapidly growing amongst younger people, but we’ll have to wait and see if Pixelberry will actually explicitly show this.

Anyway, my guess is we’ll probably later find out that the ecological disaster in RT was caused directly by Monteverde—to the shock of absolutely no one—and that’s why they’re doing the whole publicity run with the fish clean up. If you spent a shit ton of diamonds there’ll probably be an opportunity to make the company see justice, but if you didn’t? Tough luck sweatie, because even in a scenario that could literally be about corporate greed PB would never drop their pay-to-win attitude.

So there’s my thoughts, thots. Look, I wasn’t expecting this to be a modern classic, but come on bro, was there even a first draft when you wrote the book? Very interested to see if the writers of Rising Tides will show a deeper understanding of the cause and effects behind climate change and the ecological impacts of human activity, or if it’s all surface-level.

(I wouldn’t hold my breath.)

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 5: “Take Me Instead”

Cömmenté? Validátion? Please?

Summary: The triplets get kidnapped by evil scientists. It’s about as bad as it sounds.

Trigger Warnings: broken bones, torture, kidnapping, human experimentation  

1560 words

There were three cells.

Three glass cages, all spaced out evenly. But only one was in use. The triplets had been shoved in there by some faceless people in lab coats hours ago.

For a long time, nothing happened. The triplets were left alone, and while that should have been a comfort, it only served to put them on edge. They had no idea what these people wanted with them.

They didn’t like the look of the lab coats.

A door opened, and a few of the people filed in, their focus primarily on clipboards and tablets that they were holding.

As they approached their cage, Huey put himself in front of his brothers definitively. If they wanted to get to them, they’d have to go through him first. And he would not let them get to Dewey or Louie.

But they didn’t actually do anything. They stood at various points, all a few feet from the cage, just looking at them. Looking at them and writing things on their tablets and clipboards. They weren’t even trying to get closer.

Huey clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get rid of the gross sensation of vulnerability that was quickly descending upon him. They were so exposed like this. It was creepy.

Occasionally the people would change position slightly, moving around the cage and observing the boys all the while. What were they doing? 

It dragged on for a while. The room wasn’t silent, per se, but the lack of noise was still driving him mad. On occasion, the people would talk to each other, but it was always so quiet that they couldn’t hear them through the glass.

They were being observed like a 4th grade science project, and Huey didn’t like it.

Just as these thoughts surfaced, something finally changed.

A few of the people set aside their things, and then, with the press of a few buttons, the door to their cell opened.

Dewey took a tiny step forward, but Huey put his arm in front of him, effectively stopping him from continuing.

Dewey didn’t argue.

The three of them watched warily as the people approached the cage swiftly.

The thing was big enough that these obviously-adults could step in no problem, even if it was a little cramped. But they didn’t stay for long. 

They grabbed Louie, ignoring his startled yelp, and began to drag him out.

“Wait, stop!” Huey demanded, trying to free his brother from the people’s grip. “Where are you taking him?”

They just bat him away like he was an insignificant fly. Huey was right back at Louie’s side in an instant, clawing at them. Dewey was on the other side of Louie, throwing hits and doing his best to help.

But these people were so much bigger than them, and they were outnumbered, too. Huey and Dewey were nothing but a minor inconvenience to them, and before long, they’d successfully dragged Louie from the cage, the other two still locked inside.

“What are you doing?” Huey asked, growing desperate. 

“Hey, we can talk this out, can’t we?” Louie attempted, grunting as he was practically manhandled. “Stop dragging me!”

His struggling hardly deterred them, and he was forced over to an area of the room filled with weird machinery. There were computers, what looked like a hospital bed, and, most notably, this giant machine that had two very thick metal plates, sitting vertically from each other.

It took two of the people to hold Louie down once they’d all but thrown him on the gurney-type-thing. 

“Come on, I’m sure you have better things to do than — hey!” Louie cried, helpless as his arms were strapped down.

The machine from before, the big one, was brought to life, and Huey’s stomach began twisting in knots. 

“What are you doing?” he asked again, pushing against the glass like it would suddenly give way if he just didn’t stop trying. 

The other people were still just taking notes like they had nothing better to be doing.

Louie’s leg, his left one, was forcefully placed between the two metal plates, and just when Huey understood and a cold horror settled over him, the gap between the plates began to close.

“Oh my god!” Dewey shouted at the same time as Louie gave a pained cry, the plates meeting on either side of his leg.

Louie grit his teeth, grimacing in pain.

“Increasing pressure,” someone mumbled, and though it didn’t look like the plates had moved, Louie’s panic made it clear what was happening.

Dewey and Huey threw themselves against the glass with a renewed vigor, banging against it. “Stop it!” Dewey said, bashing his body against the wall.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the scientists asked.

“Excuse me?”

“In your leg,” she clarified.

“I — no? My brother is the one you’re hurting, and if you don’t stop it right now, you’ll regret it!” Huey shouted, slamming against the glass yet again.

“Increase pressure,” the woman instructed.

At Louie’s pained scream, the other two grew frantic. “Take me instead!” Dewey insisted. “Just stop hurting him! Take me! Please!”

The otherwise unoccupied people were furiously scribbling down notes like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh god,” Louie was saying, repeating it over and over again like a prayer. Maybe it was. “If — if you stop, and let us go, we can get you money. I’m talking thousands — millions! Whatever you want, okay? Just — gah! Please!” he begged, voice strained with cries he was struggling to hold back.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the others repeated. 

“Let him go!” Dewey demanded.

One of the men let out an angry, throaty sort of sound something akin to a growl. “Increasing pressure,” he said, and though the boys couldn’t see his face, they knew he was glaring. It was easy to hear, with a tone like that.

Louie screamed so loud it made Huey’s ears ring, followed by a noise that was somehow even louder. Somehow even worse. A horrible crack resonated through the air, and as a screeched sob tore itself from Louie’s throat, Dewey and Huey were right back to screaming, too.

They were yelling so much that even Huey was having trouble differentiating between himself and Dewey’s words, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was what they’d done to Louie. All that mattered was that somehow, they needed to get them to stop.

Wordlessly, the scientists began resetting the machine so that Louie’s leg was released, and he was unstrapped from the gurney.

Something that might have been hope blossomed in Huey’s chest. When they put Louie back in, he could get out. And he would make them regret everything they’d just done.

But they didn’t bring him back to the cage. Instead, they released him, watching as he collapsed to the floor.

“Get up.”

“I can’t,” Louie sobbed.

They roughly dragged him to his feet. “Walk.”

“W-walk?” he sniffled, confused.

“Walk back and forth along this area.”

Louie whimpered, taking a shaky step forward. He wailed at the pain, but took another step anyway, dragging his broken leg behind him in a limp.

Back and forth. They wouldn’t let him stop no matter how much any of them cried or begged. Louie mostly just cried. Like he didn’t think it was worth it to argue.

They asked Huey and Dewey if they felt anything again. Huey, despite the faint gross feeling in his own leg, just glared at them. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but everyone felt wrong and twisted when watching other people get injured. Especially when it was his brother, who he was supposed to protect. He wasn’t supposed to let anything bad happen to him, and yet… 

“Fuck you!” Dewey spat, and for once, Huey wasn’t about to lecture him about language.

Louie finally collapsed with a broken cry, gripping his leg. “I can’t,” he said through tears, “It hurts, I can’t…”

Huey had never seen Louie so… openly distraught. Then again, he’d also never seen Louie tortured by evil scientists, so.

One of the scientists approached Louie calmly, patting him on the head in a way that seemed like it was meant to be fond. Louie flinched away.

They pulled a lollipop from the pocket of their lab coat, pressing it into Louie’s hand. “For good behavior,” they said. Huey shuddered in disgust.

Two more of the scientists came over and finally, finally all but dragged him back into the cage. The second he was released, he collapsed on the floor, Huey and Dewey by his side in an instant.

The door closed before Huey could lunge at them.

“It hurts,” Louie admitted, curling against his brothers weakly. “It hurts so much.”

“I know,” Huey said, running his hands through Louie’s hair helplessly. “We’re… we’re gonna be okay. Uncle Donald will come for us. And Uncle Scrooge, and mom, too. I bet they’ll be here within an hour.”

Louie screwed his eyes shut tight, nodding. Huey and Dewey shared a nervous look. It had already been hours. Where was their family? Shouldn’t they have been saved by now? What was taking them so long?

“Test #1 was a failure,” one of the scientists was saying. “However, Subject 3 was much more cooperative than expected. Test #2 will commence tomorrow.”

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 9: NO

Before doing anything else, I built a lottery house in the castle. The logistics of there being stores and gambling houses within my personal castle, that my soldiers work at, that don’t just give me whatever I want is kinda weird. The lottery gave me a radish I fed to Lilith.

Support: Hana/Subaki

C: Hana confronts Subaki about his tendency to refer to himself as perfect. He brushes it off, because he thinks that he genuinely is completely without fault. This angers Hana, who brings up a time Subaki fell off his horse and challenges him to a duel.

B: The duo begin their competition. Subaki, despite not actually having any sword skills, manages to defeat Hana by studying her fighting style over several months and messing with her head.

A: Hana takes the second round, beating Subaki in a horse race. Hana reveals that she doesn’t actually care about beating Subaki, just about serving Sakura, and the two decide to suspend their competition.

S: Subaki states that he hates when Hana brings up the time he fell off his horse because he embarrassed himself in front of Hana. Also the duo apparently love each other now.

Review: Decent set up, lackluster execution. I do like Hana’s feelings of inferiority in comparison to Subaki, and Subaki is wonderfully arrogant during this line, but the resolution comes from a revelation Hana had off screen and feels anti-climactic. I felt nothing during the marriage conversation.

Support: Hana/Sakura

C: Hana and Sakura discuss their childhood friendship and the fact that Hana has been protecting Sakura since even before she was a retainer. Sakura states that Hana’s stubbornness pairs nicely with her own introversion.

B: Hana reveals that Sakura’s kindness gave her a reason to dedicate herself to becoming a master samurai. Sakura reveals that she chose Hana as her retainer, in spite of her age and objections from others, because of...a reason explained in the next conversation. Gotta love cliffhangers.

A: Sakura chose Hana as her retainer because of all the times she protected her as a kid, so many times that Hana is covered in scars. Sakura feels guilty over Hana’s scars, but Hana brushes it off, stating that her scars are a badge of honor because they were earned protecting Sakura. Small character design note: Hana does not have any visible scars in this game. She does consistently have a scar in her arm in Heroes, and inconsistently has a scar on her left thigh, but neither of those scars are visible in game. Maybe the scars are hidden below her headband?

Review: First off, these two deserve an S-Rank conversation. They have more chemistry than most of the couples in this game. Setting that aside, I enjoy Hana and Sakura inspiring each other to be better. I love the idea of Hana protecting Sakura from feral dogs and Sakura repaying her by making her a retainer, going against royal officials to do so.

Support: Sakura/Subaki

C: Subaki yawns in front of Sakura then pretends it didn’t happen, because he is too perfect to get fatigued.

B: Subaki makes a tiny slip-up when filling out a form and has a complete meltdown, launching into a self-depreciating rant. Hana brings up that she’s seen him make mistakes before, which only makes things worse.

A: Sakura comforts Subaki and he reveals that his obsession with perfection stems from his childhood; his parents hammered in the idea that he must be perfect at all times as to not embarrass himself in front of royalty. He brings up the time he fell off his horse in front of Sakura right before she chose him as a retainer and reveals that he’s thought for years she chose him out of pity. Sakura comforts him, saying that he’s amazing and his slip-ups only make him more charming.

S: Subaki renews his vows as a retainer, promising to always fight for Sakura even if he cannot achieve total perfection. Sakura accepts, on the condition that Subaki marries her.

Review: I actually really enjoyed this one. The main gag with Subaki is that he’s arrogant and thinks of himself as perfect. This line deconstructs that, showing him fall apart at the idea that he isn’t good enough. It didn’t go fully into it, but this line suggests that Subaki may have some real mental health issues, possibly stemming from an abusive childhood. The romance isn’t perfect, but I do like the idea of Subaki ending up with Sakura because she helps him learn to accept himself. Also for all of Sakura’s supports I’m going to pretend that she isn’t like fourteen, because otherwise they’re all super creepy.

Support: Corrin/Sakura

C: Corrin asks if Sakura dislikes her and Sakura, who has never once visited any Fire Emblem or Smash Brothers forum, states that no one could ever dislike Corrin. Apparently, Sakura is awkward and shy around Corrin because she sucks at talking to people. Corrin offers to help her practice talking.

B: Corrin asks Sakura some basic questions and Sakura freezes up from anxiety and can’t answer anyone. Corrin theorizes that Sakura is easily intimidated by other people.

A: Sakura reveals that she’s always so anxious because she heard a rumor that Nohr actually wanted to kidnap her, not Nohr. This rumor was evidently false, because it makes absolutely no sense from a lore perspective. Also, I question the idea that this is the source of all of Sakura’s anxiety. Her anxiety around Corrin, maybe, but it’s odd that guilt over her sister’s kidnapping that she’s known for years wasn’t her fault would make her anxious around other people. I mean, it’s more pronounced around Corrin, but only in this support line. Whatever. Corrin swears to protect Sakura and I guess that means her anxiety is cured.

Review: This conversation is mediocre. Sakura getting anxiety because of something a maid said once is stupid, but Corrin trying to help her get over it is okay.

You’ll notice that I stopped this at the A rank. Well, you see, Corrin and Sakura only have three, conversations instead of four because, despite Corrin having a variable gender, Corrin and Sakura are siblings and Intelligent Systems would never include incest in a Fire Emblem game. They’d never do that because that would be terrible.

Wait. What’s that? Why does it say on the wiki that they have an S-Conversation? Surely this isn’t real.

Oh god it’s real.

No.

No no no.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

What the fuck, Intelligent Systems? Why did you include incestuous pedophilic marriage in your role-playing game? Seriously, what the actual fuck?

And, looking at Corrin’s support list, it’s not just Sakura. Every single Nohr and Hoshidan royal can date Corrin. I don’t know what’s worse, Corrin having sex with her stranger blood siblings or having sex with the people she thought were her blood siblings for years. Fine. Let’s just do the stupid conversation.

S: Sakura reveals that she’s been dreaming about the sibling she never knew for years, imagining what Corrin would grow up to be like. It’s actually a decent idea, albeit one hidden in the evil cursed S-Support that I hate. Corrin asks if they live up to expectations and Sakura states that they exceed them. Then Sakura says that she loves Corrin. Romantically. Corrin, being the sane person, objects, pointing out that they’re half-siblings. I don’t know where this half-sibling thing came from, as far as Corrin knows both of them are the children of Mikoto and Sumeragi. I mean, it is stated in Revelations that Mikoto isn’t actually the mother of anyone but Corrin, but Corrin doesn’t know that yet. Whatever. Sakura pulls out a letter from Mikoto that she only read a few minutes ago that says, psych! Corrin and Sakura aren’t actually related. At all. So it’s cool to bang. Corrin instantly gets over the whole “Don’t fuck your little sister” thing immediately and proposes to Sakura. What the actual fuck.

Review Continued: If ninety percent of the S-Rank conversation is convincing the audience that, no, this isn’t incest, you know it’s bad. And sure, it isn’t technically incest anymore, but who cares? Corrin and Sakura didn’t know that until ten seconds before they screwed each other. This is an incestuous marriage and it’s fucking gross. The writers clearly know it was gross, but they included it anyway.

And here’s the big problem with the Hoshidan sibling marriages: Birthright is built on the premise that this is Corrin’s real family, that Hoshido is her real home. It’s literally called Birthright. But if Corrin isn’t actually related to the Hoshidan Royals, all of that falls apart. They’re just strangers. The whole concept of the game doesn’t apply anymore. Because Intelligent Systems couldn’t release a game where the player insert doesn’t fuck literally every character. And, until we get to the point in Revelations where that is properly revealed, I’m going to pretend I don’t know it.

We got some new characters at the end of the last chapter, so let’s talk about them.

Silas

Silas is a cavalier who went turncloak for Corrin at the end of the last chapter because of a childhood friendship Corrin doesn’t remember. His personal skill makes him fight better when Corrin is injured. I’m starting to notice just how many of these skills specifically relate to Corrin, which makes sense but is still kinda weird. His design is fine, nothing objectionable there. I do think Silas’s forgotten childhood friend backstory is a bit odd, though. And I’m getting sick of characters who are obsessed with Corrin.

Saizo

Saizo is Kaze’s twin brother who looks like twenty years older than him. He’s the slower but tougher of the duo, judging from their stats. His personal skill Pyrotechnics is basically just him blowing shit up, which as far as I’m concerned is his solution to all problems. His mask is really weird looking, but at least he’s visually interesting. Personality wise, he seems like a dick, but in a good way. Our army needs some common sense and he brings it.

Orochi

Real talk: I forgot this character existed until she joined us. Orochi is a mage...er, diviner who has the personal skill Capture, which I’ll talk about later. Her design is decent; I like the sultry hair pulling in her portrait, it gives off a lot of personality. I don’t have much to say, I forgot she existed before the end of last chapter and have no clue what her personality will be.

Birthright Chapter 8: Fierce Winds

Team Corrin travels up the Eternal Staircase, a massive subterranean tunnel that leads to the Wind Tribe Village. Kaze notices that the group is being followed and a group of faceless pop out. Kaze and Corrin slaughter them with ease. Unfortunately, after the battle, the faceless turn into Wind Tribe civilians. Iago appears and explains that he disguised civilians as monsters using magic. He learned it from his favorite movie villain, the Joker from the Dark Knight, who Iago thinks is actually the good guy.

The gang reaches the Wind Tribe village. Corrin decides to just waltz in because sneaking past would be suspicious. Wind Tribe members attack. Not sure how they know about the whole slaughter thing. Maybe one of the fake faceless got away? Whatever.

Our three princesses apologize to the tribe members and they lead us to their chief, Fuga. Then the battle immediately begins. Guess negotiations didn’t go well.

Also here for some reason is Hinoka and her two retainers, Setsuna and Azama, both of whom are absolute morons. But, like, in a good way. Setsuna falls in quicksand, doesn’t care, and Azama immediately declares her dead. The fact that Hinoka has to basically babysit her two idiot bodyguards is amusing.

Setsuna

An Archer that works as Hinoka’s bodyguard. Her personal skill, Optimistic, makes her recover more when healed by a staff. A thing they do a lot in recent Fire Emblem games is to have characters that are based around specific gags or tropes. These are hit or miss, but Setsuna’s gag of constantly endangering herself and just not giving a shit sounds funny. The faced half-covered by hair initially makes her seem cool, but when paired with the dopey face and her personality it makes her look completely distracted. I like Setsuna, from what I’ve seen.

Azama

A monk who seems to be ridiculously optimistic and laid back. His personal skill, Divine Retribution, hurts opponents who attack him when he’s unarmed, which is a really cool idea. Azama doesn’t seem to be quite as funny as Setsuna, but still seems entertaining. I have mixed feelings on his design. I can’t tell if I like the closed eyes or not. The puffballs and wild hair are dumb though.

It’s worth noting that, because we move first, Corrin’s army attacks without provocation. Remember, they can’t see the red labels on enemies.

This map takes place in a desert. We can use the Dragon Veins to make it not a desert, which is good, because Fire Emblem deserts suck. Halfway through the battle, we finally talk to Fuga. He explains that we must earn the right to explain by killing all of his men. Bit of a dick move, chief.

We beat Fuga fairly easily. This chapter was fine, but just fine. Not bad, just unremarkable. Fuga explains that he was friends with Sumeragi and knows a lot about Yato. Apparently, us killing all of his men was a test to make us stronger so we can unlock Yato’s true power. Apparently, Yato can link something called the Sealed Flames and destroy the world. Neat.

Fuga accepts our explanation of the civilian murders. Which makes sense, it was kinda dumb. Actually, wait. Why did that have to be a plot point? Couldn’t this chapter just have been Fuga testing us?

Before we leave, Corrin and Azura discuss that there may be more blades like Yato out there. They don’t ask Fuga, because reasons. Also Fuga gives us his son. Neat.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hi, I have a Diego x reader request if you’re still taking them. Reader stays over at Diego’s after a date with him and wakes up in the Morning to find a drunk Five asleep on the couch. Reader is uninitiated into the Hargreeves stuff so is supremely confused as to who this drunk child is. Awkward family introductions ensue. Thanks in advance if you write this

A/N: I probably shouldn’t be taking requests with everything else going on right now, but it will be a cold day in hell the day stress and work/school take away writing from me again. Also, Five is my newest Favorite, so I am happy to include his shenaniganary. Although it ended up not so much being drunk Five as Roastmaster Five. Still, I hope you like it. Word Count: 1404 Content Warning: swearing, reference to alcohol, references to season 2

The morning sun’s rays peeking through the only mostly-closed curtain fell gently across your face, their warmth and light stirring you from the most beautiful dream. Stretching languidly, you cracked open your eyes to discover that perhaps it had been less a dream than you thought. Curled up on his side, facing away from you, was Diego Hargreeves, snoring softly and more at peace than you had ever seen him.

It was a sight you could certainly find yourself getting used to, and you hoped you’d have the opportunity. The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, and were still getting to know each other in many ways (including the way you had spent quite a bit of the night…getting to know each other for the first time, which had led you to this very moment). So you didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could really feel yourself falling for the man just barely waking beside you.

Unfortunately, any romantic thoughts you might have had were interrupted by biological needs, and with a sigh, you rolled out of bed feet touching the cold hardwood floor as you searched for something to put on, not comfortable enough in his place to walk around completely naked. Fumbling, you shrugged on his too-large turtleneck and padded out into the rest of the apartment.

Almost immediately, your eyes fell on a peculiar sight, that definitely wasn’t there the night before.

Hey, um, Diego?” you called over your shoulder, staring openly at the child asleep on his couch. “Why is there a teenager on your couch…?” you peered a little closer, registering the nearly empty glass bottle in his arms. “And who replaced his teddy bear with Smirnoff?”

“Dammit Five,” you heard him growl as he stumbled out of the bedroom, still buttoning his jeans.

“Oh good, so you know him?” you asked, still wide-eyed and curious as you turned back to your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s my brother, Five.”

“Five? Like the number?”

“Yes like the number,” the annoyed voice startled you and you jumped, not realizing the teen in question had woken up. “Now could you two keep your imbecilic chatter down, I am trying to sleep.”

“You wanna tell me why you’re doing it on my couch?” Diego countered, glaring over your shoulder at Five, who flipped him off and slammed a pillow down over his head to muffle the sound of conversation.

“Why is your brother named after a number?” you asked, trying to keep your voice a little lower.

“We all were,” Five chimed in, voice slightly muffled by the cushion. “The others just chose to replace their numbers when our mother and monkey butler-slash-surrogate-father-figure gave them ‘real’ names when we got older. I chose not to. Because I am not ashamed of who we were.”

“Sorry what?”

“Oh did you not know you were dating Number Two?” the kid sat up, casting you a very uncomfortably judgmental look.

“I would be careful getting involved with this idiot,” he continued. “His last two girlfriends, one ended up dead and the other turned out to be evil.”

“Hey! She wasn’t totally evil, only…sort of,” Diego said, moving to stand protectively in front of you and jabbing a finger toward his brother. “And if anything, that was your fault, not mine. Which is why I was planning to keep you and our entire bullshit family away from Y/N for as long as possible.”

“Diego, I don’t understand,” you said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“That’s right, I forget that you didn’t grow up around here,” Diego commented softly. “Did you ever hear about The Umbrella Academy?”

“Sure. That was that weirdo superhero family or whatever, occasionally showed up in the news or tabloids after some stunt why?”

Diego looked glum and a little sheepish as he waited for you to put the pieces together like he knew you would.

…oh shit. You mean, you’re…?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be honest, I never really paid attention to all that stuff, it seemed sort of…fake? to me. So I still don’t totally get what’s going on, babe.”

Diego sighed, and then gave you the rundown of their family: how they had all been born at the exact same time down to the second, to different parents around the world, and then they were adopted as infants by eccentric billionaire Reginald Hargreeves. They all had superpowers and Hargreeves had raised them to be an efficient crime-fighting team, at the cost of normal childhoods.

“Five,” he continued, pointing to his brother who was now, seemingly at least, back asleep. “Had the power to teleport, and kept pushing our father to let him try time-travelling with it. When he got shut down for the last time, he tried anyway, and ended up stuck in the post-apocalypse for forty something years before he found his way back.”

“So you want me to believe that the strange drunk teenage boy is actually your 58-year-old twin brother? But you’re not 58, just he is. Because he time travelled?”

“W-we’re not twins. We were just born on the same day.”

“Right…like twins?”

“No, at the exact same time, to different parents. Us, and a lot of other kids.”

“That’s not all that strange. People are born at the same time all the time…”

“She’s not very quick on the uptake is she? Perfect for you then,” Five commented with a smug smirk, evidently giving up on sleep in favor of joining you both in the kitchen.

“Hey!” you shouted, glaring at the littler man. “I didn’t come here to be insulted, okay.”

“No, I’m sure my brother had plenty of other things on his mind than insulting you,” he said, angling his head pointedly, with a raised eyebrow at your very bare legs, which you had frankly forgotten about in all the kerfuffle.

You felt the heat of a blush creeping up around your ears.

“I’m not awake enough to deal with this. I need coffee,” you muttered.

Five perked up at the word, watching you intently as you carefully measured out the grounds and set the pot, which Diego owned despite claiming that his body was in such peak condition that he didn’t need caffeine, to brew. When you silently poured a cup for the younger Hargreeves without asking, and it actually tasted rather decent, he regarded you again with renewed interest.

“What do you see in him?”

“What do you mean?” you studied him over the rim of your mug, not even noticing that Diego had left the room.

“You’re quite pretty, and obviously aren’t in it for the ex-celebrity thing since you didn’t know. Seven billion people on the planet. So why him?”

You sat there for a while, sipping at your coffee, pondering the question. Why had you agreed to go out with Diego in the first place? It had only been a month, but it felt like a lifetime ago for all that you could remember the reasoning.

Finally you shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just something about him I liked, I guess. He’s always looking out for other people, and he’s sweet, and funny.”

“And he’s got a real nice butt,” you muttered into your coffee, smirking when Five made a disgusted face.

“Ugh!” he cried, setting his coffee down as if another sip after your observation would make him hurl.

“Hey, you asked,” you laughed.

Diego wrapped his arms around you from behind, having come back from getting fully dressed, kissing your cheek as you both watched Five pace and wave his hands around as if trying to fan away the image in his mind.

“I think you broke him,” Diego commented.

You chuckled again, turning to drape your arms over his neck and kiss him properly.

“I couldn’t resist. But I like this kid, he’s…interesting.”

“And you held your own against him impressively.”

You smiled.

“So does that mean I get to meet the rest of your siblings soon?”

“You still want to after that?”

You nodded. “Of course I do, Diego. They’re your family.”

He smiled softly down at you, eyes shining at your unspoken confession, that you wanted to share every part of his life, even the weird bits. And even more, heart feeling strangely fluttery at the fact that he found himself wanting to let you.

“I’ll make a few calls.”

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 11

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent thoughts; conspiracy to murder; actual murder

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST this is the end!︱chapter list

A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned, and some punishèd.

For never was a story more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

With its stalks of purple-blue flowers, monkshood is undeniably a beautiful plant. Jisung tends to it every day, despite his mother’s insistence that she should be the one taking care of her gift. He merely shrugs, and by Thursday evening, the monkshood is sitting on his bedroom windowsill.

It’s all part of his plan, of course; Jisung has other intentions for the plant other than making the house look pretty. When his parents are soundly sleeping, Jisung clears his desk of homework and textbooks and brings over the potted monkshood. He double-gloves his hands and begins pulling out the flower. He almost feels sorry for doing so, but it’s going towards a greater cause. Once its roots are out of the soil, he puts them down on an old cutting board he found stashed in a kitchen cabinet. He picks up the fruit knife he bought yesterday and begins dicing the root as finely as he can. His desk light is dim, and he strains to see the tiny wisps.

Jisung smiles to himself as he continues his work. The sound of the knife against the wooden board is soothing to hear, and he’s pleased by his progress. He places all the bits into the mortar and pestle he stole from the chemistry stockroom, and he begins grinding it into a powder. He’s careful to not inhale any of the dust by tucking his nose into the collar of his shirt the entire time. He regrets not putting on a face mask before starting. The grinding process produces gravelly noises, and he pauses in fear of being caught. There’s no reason to worry when both his parents are heavy sleepers, but beads of sweat form at the nape of his neck anyway.

When he’s satisfied with the results, he carefully tips the powder into a vial identical to the one used by the play. It’s more than he needs, so he puts the extras into a ziploc bag. In order to hide the extreme bitterness of the root, he spoons some sugar — from his home kitchen, not stolen — into the vial as well. He rubs the extra grinded root around the lip of the vial, making sure that all of it is covered. He then caps and shakes it until it mixes into an unassuming light brown powder. Tomorrow he’ll complete the final steps of his potion making.

He wipes down everything around him, making sure to leave no trace of any of the monkshood. The plant is effectively dead now after his work, so he disposes it into a trash bag along with his stained gloves. If his mother asks about the flowers, he’ll say it died since he overwatered it. Then, bag in his hand, he creeps out to the garbage bins set out for trash service and drops it in.

It’s 3 AM, and he needs to wake up in three hours, but he doesn’t even feel close to tired. There’s a renewed sense of energy and purpose coursing through him. He spends the rest of the very early morning lying in bed instead of sleeping. It’s likely that he’ll regret it, but the adrenaline keeps him bright-eyed until the sunrise.

He’s nearly all prepared for the final showing of Romeo and Juliet.

—

However, before the final showing can begin, Jisung needs to get through the Saturday show. He leaves his own vial in his desk drawer and puts on his crew shirt over his hoodie. He arrives before the mandated call time, and like last week, certain actors are running lines while the scarce few members of the tech crew hang around in the back of the auditorium. Felix is demonstrating some kind of fancy footwork to Minho in the wide aisles, while Chan and Jeongin are watching with interest. He supposes that Minho’s alright, despite him being friends with Hyunjin. Speaking of Hyunjin, he or you are nowhere to be seen, so Jisung assumes the two of you are cuddling together somewhere.

Why, yes, he is still a little bitter. Not as much as monkshood root though.

As the time approaches 5:30, the rest of the crew arrives, and Minho has to return to the stage to rehearse the fight scene again. Chan’s the one who stays by the lobby doors to let crew members inside this time. You and Hyunjin eventually emerge from whatever dark corner you were cozying up in. Jisung heads backstage, and he’s essentially forced to watch the two of you flirt with each other while the other actors run lines. Hyunjin intertwines his fingers in yours, touching your knuckles and teasingly bringing them up to his lips. You take your hand back at the last second, only letting a ghost of kiss brush across your skin. It ends with strawberry red cheeks and shy laughter.

It’s a good thing that he didn’t bring the monkshood and sugar mixture with him. He would have replaced the prop with it in a heartbeat. He’s over you, he says to himself. Just in a different way.

The comms in his ears are noisy, and they grow noisier when the doors open. Audience members start coming in, and the countdown begins.

Soon, the main curtain goes up. The magic of the play — if there was even any to begin with — has died for Jisung, and he doesn’t pay too much attention to it anymore. He can hardly believe that he once compared you to the sun. Hyunjin has massively improved in the balcony scene, and you gaze lovingly at him, no acting required. A mess of emotions — envy, anger, disgust, possibly love — resurface, and Jisung snaps his eyes back to the gardening forum he was reading yesterday. He concentrates on the words on the screen.

Depolarization. Immediately. Burning. Paralysis. Asphyxia. Severe.

For most of the show, he is. When the death scene occurs, he fantasizes about the revised version that will be happening tomorrow night. He feels his spirits rise, and he replays the moment in his head over and over again. He doesn’t even realize the play ends until the lights go out and the audience starts cheering. He jerks out of his daydream and mockingly claps for the cast. You hold hands with Hyunjin and bow on stage, and the room grows louder. Hyunjin smiles at you, and before you can change your mind, you stand on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. You bury your face in Hyunjin’s shoulder, while everyone goes wild. No one but Jisung has seen the two of you kiss off script before.

Jisung holds his own head in his hands, trying to stop his head from pounding. His whole body dissolves into shakes, and he’s angry at the reason why. He can’t have you, and the whole world seems to think you and Hyunjin are the perfect fit. He can’t take refuge in the restroom this time since there are bound to be people inside.

“Jisung?” Yugyeom asks. He gently touches his shoulder, and Jisung flinches. He takes his hand back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bites out. “Just got a headache.”

“Oh. You want water or something?”

“I’ll get it myself.”

He rushes out of the auditorium and to a nearby water fountain. He drinks and drinks, water dripping from his chin and onto the linoleum floor, forming small puddles. He looks and feels like a feral animal. With the back of his hand, he wipes the lower half of his face.

Then with a straighter posture and a false aura of cheeriness, he heads to the back of the auditorium as he normally would. You and Hyunjin are missing, and he can only imagine what is happening between you two now — illicit kisses and possibly more. He sinks down into the cushy seat, willing it to swallow him. All everyone wants to do is talk about the curtain call.

“Ryujin was right,” Chan says. “He really is in love with her. Did you guys see the way he looked at her?”

Jeongin pretends to swoon. “They’re actually Romeo and Juliet.”

“You are paying attention to the play, right?” Ryujin says.

As anticipated, they banter over Jeongin’s poor word choice and semantics. Jisung sinks lower into his chair until only the top of his hair is showing. Changbin, sitting beside him, nudges him and gives him a look that says, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Headache,” he lies before changing the topic back to you and your love life. “You think they’ll last?”

Ryujin and Felix nod, Seungmin and Yugyeom shrug. No one explicitly says no. Jisung is disappointed in his friends and eager to prove them wrong.

A few actors come to return their mic packs, and you’re among them. You’re out of your costume and in a familiar hoodie. Jisung looks away, doing his best to remain calm. You look like you want to talk to him, but he injects himself into Changbin and Jeongin’s conversation, leaving no point of entry for you. You eventually give up, and you’re out of his sight soon enough. Hyunjin comes down the aisle minutes later and compliments Felix for his great work.

Hyunjin is closest to Felix out of everyone in the tech crew, but Jisung can’t help it. The question, “What about the rest of us?” bitterly slips out.

Hyunjin looks taken aback, but he nervously laughs it off and assures him that everyone else was just as good. The lighthearted atmosphere fades away and is replaced by an awkward tension. Luckily, Mr. Gi saves the day by announcing that it’s time for notes. Hyunjin scurries away, grateful to be out of that situation, and everyone else, Jisung included, is relieved that they can focus on something else.

After notes, Jisung doesn’t drive home immediately. He sits in his car, which is right behind Hyunjin’s. You’ve been letting Hyunjin drive you home recently, and he expects the same thing to happen tonight. He’s holding onto a tiny thread of hope that you will break up with your new boyfriend or come to an epiphany that Hyunjin is not the right person for you. If something like that does happen, he decides, he’ll change his plan and only target Hyunjin. This is truly your final chance to change your fate.

Nothing of the sort occurs. He watches from his rearview mirror as you get into the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car. After Hyunjin himself gets in, he tugs at the collar of your — his? — hoodie and pulls you in. So, Jisung watches as your two silhouettes become one. Before he can spiral out of control, he starts his car, revving the engine as loudly as he can to try to break the two of you apart. He tears out of the parking lot before he sees what happens next.

It doesn’t matter though. It wouldn’t change anything.

—

Sunday. D-Day.

Sunlight streams in through his bedroom window, and when he checks his phone, it’s nearly 2 PM. He stayed up until four, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off. The melatonin he took before going to bed didn’t kick in until it was too late. Now he groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and stretches until he hears all the bones in his spine pop. The rest of his morning, or rather afternoon, is standard. He rotates between feeling the effects of not enough sleep and being feverish of what’s to come. His heart skips beats every time he thinks about you and Hyunjin’s final scene together. He takes out the vial of monkshood from his desk drawer and gets to work.

Again with double-gloved hands, he carefully fills the vial with water from his bathroom sink. He counted the number of drops of green food coloring Yugyeom added last week, and he drops in the exact amount with the coloring he stole from the culinary classroom. Next he adds more powder around the rim and caps it shut. He shakes it, and the mixture turns into a sickly green. He then wipes the outside of his false vial before disposing of his gloves and tucking the container in his hoodie pocket. The cast and crew shirt he wears over it is bulky, and the lumps it forms conceals the bump made by the container. On his drive to school, he touches it with his free hand to ensure it’s still there.

He’s early again, so he sits with his unsuspecting and unassuming friends in the auditorium. He wants to swap and prepare the vials already, but he doesn’t want Yugyeom to dump them out by accident. For the next ten minutes, he endures Changbin’s complaints about math and the pterodactyl screeching from some minor characters on stage.

Before the tech run through begins, Jisung heads backstage and reorganizes the props in a haphazard fashion so that when Yugyeom sees the mess, Jisung can swoop in and offer to change out the water. Yugyeom gladly lets him take care of it.

Jisung does exactly that, and no one is none the wiser. Both the poison and Juliet’s sleeping potion are laying innocently on the prop table. He smiles at his deft work and cheerfully helps Yugyeom with the rest of the reorganization process.

“Thanks, Jisung,” he says as he sets the swords to the right side. There’s still a clutter of props around. “You’re a lifesaver.”

How ironic. However, he keeps his mouth shut about it. “No problem.”

“Yeah. It was all neat last night, too,” he laments.

Jisung fake sympathetically nods, and Yugyeom continually sighs. They fortunately finish before the doors open, and there’s even time left over for Jisung to pester Felix in the comms.

You and Hyunjin arrive backstage at the same time. Jisung mindlessly replies to the remarks from Felix as he watches the two of you out of the corner of his eye. Hyunjin is being more open about his affection, and you don’t seem to mind one bit. His arms are wrapped around your shoulders, his chin rests on top of your head. You’re babbling to Ryujin about something while your hands are holding onto Hyunjin’s forearms. Jisung’s almost numb to the feeling of anger at this point, and he looks elsewhere.

The lights go out, and the main curtain goes up for the final time. There’s thundering applause before the lights turn back on to reveal the chorus members on the stage. Jisung returns to his usual schedule of following instructions from his stage manager and floor chief and scrolling through his phone. He’s diligent that night, running on and off stage with set pieces. He sees you trying to approach him while waiting, but he pretends to be engrossed in whatever silly conversation is happening in the comms. You finally catch him off guard when you’re finishing up your costume change.

He gets up to drink water — he told Changbin beforehand — and you tap him on his arm. You’re barefoot, and your new shoes are lined up neatly by your feet.

“Hi, Jisung,” you nervously greet. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I just wanted to apologize for being rude about not taking your hoodie a few nights ago,” you quietly say. You don’t even look at his face; your eyes are pinned to the wall. “You were trying to be nice, and I’m sorry for the way I acted. And…” The next part comes out in one rushed breath. “I’m sorry if I led you on. I never meant to do that. Hyunjin mentioned that he thought you were interested in me, and I just wanted to let you know that he and I are dating now.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean ‘okay?’”

“I understand,” he says, though the monotone voice he uses indicates otherwise. “You didn’t lead on at all. We’re good.”

“Oh! That’s— that’s good!” you reply. You seem relieved, and a little bit of your usual sunny personality is back. “Are you going to District 9 after the show?”

The conversations you have with him always go back to two things: food or the play. He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I am. I gotta go.”

“Oh! Sorry!” You step to the side and let him pass.

At the water fountain, Jisung drinks an excessive amount of water, more and more liquid dripping down his chin. He imagines what it will be like when Hyunjin takes the last sip of his life. Will you notice him struggling to stay alive? Will you care? Or will you let the show go on and suffer the same fate yourself?

He heads back and broods in his seat. You have already forgotten about him and are whispering to Yuna about the upcoming scene. He turns the volume of his headset up and joins in on the chatter to forget about you. Jeongin is muttering about how he’s hungry already, and Chan mentions that he can buy something to eat during intermission. Jisung offers to buy him something if he can name the lead actors of the play. Jeongin sighs with exasperation, while everyone else snickers at the joke.

During intermission, Jisung buys a bag of chips from the concessions table and waits in the lobby with Jeongin as he eats. He has nothing better to do in that time.

“This is definitely worth being yelled by Ryujin all those times,” he remarks. “Want one?”

Jisung hasn’t been able to view chips the same way since the first day of rehearsal. He keeps seeing Hyunjin tossing the bag to you and you stupidly smiling at him. He only bought chips for Jeongin since it was the cheapest item available. A bit of anger bubbles inside him, but he tamps it down. “I’m good.”

Jeongin nods. He tips the bag back and catches all the crumbs on his tongue. He then crumples it up and tosses it in the trash can. “See you after the show.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Jisung, instead of waiting by the soundboard, goes backstage and waits with the rest of the floor crew. There’s a group of people — made of actors and tech crew members — playing Word Chains together. You’re sandwiched between Friar Lawrence and Yugyeom.

“Hey, Jisung. Wanna play?” you ask. You still seem a little scared of him based on the way you shrink, but you’re trying to play nice.

Jisung plasters on a false apologetic smile over the snarl that’s threatening to form. “The show’s going to start soon.”

A wave of murmurs breaks out, and everyone scrambles to get ready. Yugyeom goes to reorganize the props again, and you ask Ryujin to retie the ribbon in your hair. Jisung is mildly pleased by the chaos he has created.

Intermission ends, and the play resumes with Juliet meeting Paris. The death scene is only one act away, and it’s suddenly starting to sink in that tonight will be the last time he’ll ever see you walking, talking, speaking, breathing again. And you don’t even know it.

Something inside him relishes the power he holds over your life and Hyunjin’s as well. His fake smile transforms into a real one. Jisung rests his hands behind his head and counts down to the awaited scene. As each scene passes, his heart thumps louder and louder in anticipation.

Yugyeom hands Hyunjin the vial for the last scene, not knowing there is true poison swirling in the water. Hyunjin puts it in his pocket and walks onto stage on cue. Jisung can barely contain his excitement in the moments leading up to Hyunjin drinking the poison.

He lovingly cradles your face with his hand before bringing his lips to yours. It’s the final show, and Jisung supposes he wants to go out with a bang since he kisses you, deep and slow. There’s a mixture of sighs and gasps from the audience. Even a few of the tech crew members are shocked at his brazenness.

Then he brings out the poison, and the audience watches with bated breath as he brings it to his mouth. A preteen girl shouts, “Don’t do it!” and Jisung experiences heart palpitations before realizing that the message is not about the real poison. Hyunjin hesitates momentarily before swallowing, most likely surprised by the sudden flavor. Then he sharply inhales and clutches his chest. He barely gasps his last line before dropping dead. He falls back with a heavy thud. No one expects it to be real.

“Wow, he’s going all out for the last show,” Jisung hears Chan comment.

A wicked grin spreads across Jisung’s face. He imagines the burning sensation in his mouth followed by numbness. The confusion he must have felt! He must have regretted not listening to the girl. Did he assume that it was just some sick prank that would be over in a few minutes, or did he realize what was to come? Did he think of you and what your fate would be?

It doesn’t matter though. Hyunjin’s own lips, tainted with the monkhood powder, will be your downfall.

Even though you’re right by him, you don’t know of his death. You recite your lines, and every word you say about Romeo could very well be about Hyunjin.

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. —

O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop

To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.

To make me die with a restorative.

You gently brush the stray locks of his hair from his forehead and lean down. It’s dead quiet, no background music or whispers from the audience. You kiss him slowly, letting the unknown poison reach you.

Thy lips are warm.

When Jisung catches a glimpse of your face, you look uncomfortable. The tingling effect from the monkshood is starting to make your lips swell, and you nervously lick them. Jisung chuckles to himself. Despite all the physical effects you’re feeling, you continue the scene like nothing’s wrong. You pick up the prop dagger and stab yourself, falling back like Hyunjin.

Though Juliet is supposed to be dead, Jisung can see your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. His own heart is racing as he watches you dying in real time. Your fingers twitch and then falter as you reach out for Hyunjin to check if he’s alright. You must have realized that something is off. However, you can’t shout for help. He knows that your tongue and mouth have gone numb and that the shining light of positivity in you is hoping that it’s all a temporary experience. There’s more shallow gasps and then you stop fighting. Your chest stops moving, and Jisung can hear the sound of a heart rate monitor flatlining in his head.

The rush of euphoria he gets sends him over the edge. Love never made him feel this good. How helpless you must have felt when you could only stare at the lights above you and pray for the sweet release of death. Did you silently beg for the pain to stop, or did you ask for forgiveness?

Jisung lets out a shaky breath and holds his head in his hands. He’s done it. You and Hyunjin will no longer torment him anymore. His grin trembles, his jaw shakes, and he wants to laugh, to celebrate. The actors on stage continue like the two of you are still alive, unaware of the corpses right by their feet.

The lights go out one last time, and the audience erupts in cheers and applause. There’s a stampede of people rushing onto the stage for the curtain call. The rumble of footsteps does not disturb you or Hyunjin from your resting place. The cheery music Chan selected plays, and Jeongin turns the lights back on, revealing a crowd of people around you and Hyunjin, still lying on the floor.

Minho rolls his eyes and kicks at his friend with his foot, saying out loud, “Romeo! It’s me, Mercutio. You’re in heaven now.”

Everyone laughs, thinking it’s an elaborate joke they planned. Even in the comms, Mr. Gi asks, “Did you guys know they were going to do this?”

There’s a resounding chorus of “No.”

“Juliet, why don’t you kiss him awake?” Minho suggests when Hyunjin doesn’t move. Jisung is impressed by his improv skills.

Neither of you even twitch. The audience is eating it up and chanting, “Kiss him! Kiss him!” A few of the actors join in with Yuna being the loudest.

Yeji sighs when it becomes apparent that you aren’t going to stop. She bends down, breaking the immersion, and shakes you. “Hey, c’mon.” When you don’t move, she shakes you harder. “Y/N!”

“You too, Hyunjin,” Minho adds. He nudges him with his foot. “It’s not funny anymore.”

There’s panic in their voices, and no one knows if it’s still part of their mini sketch or not. Jisung glances at Changbin, who is also just as confused as everyone.

“Drama kids being drama kids?” he shrugs.

“I guess,” Jisung replies, hiding the sly note in his voice.

Then comes the revelation. Yeji’s stunned whisper comes over on the speakers: “She’s not breathing.”

For a second, there’s only the cheerful curtain call song. Then there’s chaos — people leaping out of their seats to leave, people too much in a state of stupor to do anything, people screaming, people rushing on stage to double-check. On the outside, he curses with Changbin and consoles Yugyeom who’s pale and looks like he’s ready to throw up. Jisung pretends to be in shock, but on the inside, he’s shouting with glee at the reaction to his handiwork. While Mr. Gi is frantically calling an ambulance, Minho quickly drops to his friend’s side and reports the same thing as Yeji: “He’s not breathing either.”

Another wave of panic hits the auditorium. Minho starts screaming at Hyunjin, begging him to wake up. Yuna has collapsed next to you, and she and Yeji are shaking you violently, pleading for you to stop whatever it is that you’re doing. Chan has the sense to turn off all the mics, so no one has to hear amplified banshee wails from everyone. At least one person faints, and Yugyeom runs to the restroom, one hand clasped around his mouth.

Jisung thinks it’s a glorious scene.

He was right though. You and Hyunjin are — sorry, were — the perfect actors for Juliet and Romeo. Like Shakespeare said:

All the world’s a stage;

And all the men and women merely players.

~ ad.gray

Thank you all for reading! I really didn’t expect the amount of attention this story received, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I know some of you were expecting a happy ending, but here on this blog, if it’s over 5k, someone’s probably going to die :P 

Thank you to ad.gold who edited it all and made sure all the details were accurate! Sorry I forgot mic tape existed.

(Shameless self promo time) If you liked this story, you might like:

1000 Roses (ad.gray) - a theatre AU featuring stage manager Chan, lead actress Y/N, all fluff, and no murder; no connection to “In Fair Verona.”

Squirrel and Wife (ad.gold) - (to heal your heart) a fluffy royalty AU featuring princess Y/N and knight Jisung.

Magic Words (ad.gray) - (to heal your heart) if you want to see Hyunjin being resurrected; it’s fluff, I swear; no connection to “In Fair Verona.”

42nd Moon (ad.gold) - (if you’re a masochist and want to shatter your heart further) a werewolf and soulmate AU featuring Jisung and Hyunjin where there may be murder.

Apologies in Advances (ad.gray) - (if you liked getting your hopes up and being let down; the title is important) secret agent AU featuring Minho and Y/N who hate each other but are forced to go on a mission together.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Heaven

Prompt: #163 for @jinseunie​ – “Oh I didn’t realise you’re dead.”

jinseunie said:

hmmm 163. it seems like it could go many ways 👀

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: university au / friends to lovers / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1878

Groaning, you threw yourself down on Jinyoung’s bed, thumping the bed once and then you stilled completely. If you stopped breathing, you wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

No more bad grades.

No more botched confessions to Mark Tuan.

And definitely no more gaining weight when you strayed from your diet to binge on chocolate after point one and two occurred.

“And hello to you too,” Jinyoung dryly greeted, not even moving from his desk to check on you.

“I’m dead, don’t bother me,” you spoke from within his pillow, wondering if you tried hard enough if you could actually become one with the furniture.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you’re dead,” your best friend continued, closing what sounded like a book and then pushed his chair back. “The dead sure can move into my dorm room quickly. Did you even use the door or did you apparate here?”

“Not funny.”

“Nor is your interruption. What do you want?”

Scowling as you finally lifted your head out from his pillow, you were met back with a similar look from Jinyoung. You huffed indignantly. “Even my best friend can’t help me in my time of need.”

“I asked what you wanted.”

“Peace. To escape. Everything’s a mess.”

“That’s not surprising when it comes to you,” he agreed and you gaped at Jinyoung, sitting up and pointing at him.

“Don’t you have a conscious?!”

“I have a conscious desire to kick you out when I’m trying to study for my thesis,” he bit back and you flung your legs off the bed and stood up, waggling a finger in his direction.

“Never ask me for help again!”

“When have I asked you for any?” Jinyoung questioned and you opened your mouth, only to close it. You repeated this until a smug smile crossed his lips. “Because I don’t live in a dramatic world like you do.”

“Sue me for having more going for me!”

He glowered and you cringed. “Take it back or get out.”

“Okay, so fine. You’re stable, I’m not. That’s what you like about us anyway. When you feel like being reckless you can rely on me. And when I need grounding, you’re always there. So ground me. Or I might just float off to heaven right now.” Jinyoung smirked. “Are you sure you’d end up there?”

“Stop berating me and be a friend, Park Jinyoung! I need you, okay!”

“Fine.” Throwing a leg over the other, Jinyoung folded his arms across his chest and waited expectantly.

You took a deep breath and began to relay your issues.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t tried to solve them yourself first. You had asked for the extension on your assignment, given you had a family emergency, but that hadn’t been accepted. And like the evil witch she was, your lecturer hadn’t even taken into account the grievances you had faced and submitted alongside your essay.

She had left a less than stellar C- on the grading slot, the worst mark you had ever received.

Afterwards, you had misread the situation with your crush, blurting out in the cafeteria that you liked him. Mark had brushed you off politely, if rejection could ever be described as such.

When that was all said and done, you had eaten so much chocolate as you cried that you had felt sick for the entire following day.

Even if you told yourself you deserved better, you had concluded that it was in your nature to suffer like this. Another season of poor results both personally and academically.

You feared what it would be like when you left this institution and failed to get a job in the industry you wanted to, starving out on the street because you couldn’t even afford rent.

Jinyoung merely sat there when you had finished and then rolled his eyes. “As if you would starve.”

“I could!”

“You would mooch off of me.”

“Mooch?! I’m having a crisis and you play me like this?”

“You’re as dramatic as Jackson can be. Why didn’t you confess to him instead?” Jinyoung quipped and you groaned.

“You don’t take me seriously!”

“Because you don’t care to do the same for yourself, Y/N. You are acting like it’s the end of the world. You almost failed Math in high school but here you are studying in one of the best universities. Not only that, but you also received multiple acceptance letters and got to choose where you went. Not everyone is that lucky.”

“Only because of my creative writing. I’m on a scholarship, in case you’ve forgotten. A C-minus affects that!”

“So make a more rigid study program. You can recover with the next essay if you put in enough effort. You are good at working under pressure. Show that witch what you’re worth.”

“You think?”

Jinyoung sighed heavily. “As for Mark, how many times did I tell you he’s not interested in dating anyone? He merely hooks up with girls. And you let him hook up with you that one time and got it into your head you could change him.”

“Well, he was kind to me afterwards.”

“Who burns a bridge they could cross again if they need to?” Jinyoung retorted and your mouth fell ajar.

“Don’t eat so much chocolate next time. Go for a run or even a walk. Exercise will not only clear your mind but allow you to feel the same effect.”

“How does exercise comfort you?”

“One, your body won’t hate you for too much of it,” he pointed out and you nodded glumly. “And why didn’t you tell me any of this until now?”

“Because you told me not to interrupt you studying for your thesis.” Jinyoung’s eyebrow shot up with amusement as he gestured to your presence now. You laughed awkwardly. “I needed you.”

“Do you?” he asked softly, turning back for his desk. “I don’t know if you truly need me.”

“Who else is going to save me from starving on the streets?” you attempted loosely, noticing he didn’t laugh back. “Jinyoung?”

“One, I got a good grade on my last assignment but I never got excited about it like you do. Two, I’ve never confessed about how I feel for anyone because I worry they won’t like me the way I do them. Three, maybe chocolate isn’t so bad. At least you let your emotions out whilst eating it.”

“Why are you talking me up like this? I’d much rather be like you.”

Jinyoung smiled wistfully. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“You want to hook up with Mark Tuan?” you offered and Jinyoung rolled his eyes. Moving over to hug your best friend, you smiled encouragingly at him. “If you want chocolate, I’ll give you my stash. I’m on a no chocolate month.”

“You won’t last a week.”

“Give me credit, I could last two,” you corrected with a laugh, nestling your head into his chest. As his arms encased your body firmly, you sighed in content. This is what you had come here for. If there was one person on this earth that you knew could make you feel better and less erratic as he held you, it was Jinyoung.

You wouldn’t trade him in for anything this world had to offer.

Nuzzling his broad chest until you found the perfect spot for your head to rest, you smiled. “Jinyoung, you should confess when you feel strongly about people. Anyone would be grateful to have such an amazing human as their partner.”

“Even you?”

“Of course! I’m the luckiest person right now since I’m in your arms. I bet there’s a bunch of girls who would love to be in my position just waiting for their chance.”

“I don’t want them though,” he murmured. “Just you.”

“Well, here I am,” you answered, renewing your hugging position and sighing again with the comfort. However, Jinyoung stopped breathing and his chest turned rigid. You looked up at him. “What is it?”

“I want you,” he repeated, smiling softly. “I’ve never confessed because you always friend-zone me.”

“Wait, what?”

“I like you. Have for years. Who else would put up with how your mood swings from one end of the scale to the other? You’re crazy, Y/N. But you’re my crazy. Of course, I wouldn’t let you suffer because I’m always thinking about you.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going to reject me politely now?” Jinyoung edged, his dark eyes now removing the vulnerable expression that had resided there with his confession.

“Why are you always so slow when it comes to things like this?!” you complained and Jinyoung frowned. “I crushed on you so badly when I was ten. I even cried to my Mum about how handsome you were and how ugly I was!”

“You have never been ugly, Y/N.”

“And then you took Lisa to the formal instead of me in our first year at high school. Do you know how upset I was with you?! I had been hinting at you to buy a purple tie for it for three months all because my dress was purple!”

“You did?” Jinyoung started to frown.

You stomped your foot in annoyance. “And after finally getting over my crush on you since I’m now an adult and shouldn’t keep thinking of you that way, you confess?! Wow, why is my life like this.”

“I’m still trying to understand about you liking me first. That’s impossible. I know you inside and out.”

“I have loved you for years!” Letting him go, you waved your arms around excessively. “Why are you telling me this now?!”

“Will you not accept it?”

“Of course I will, but ugh, I’m just a mess! Back then I had the excuse of still growing up if you so much as liked me back. What can I give you now?!”

“Honestly?” Jinyoung breathed and shook his head, his lips spreading into a smile. Taking you back in his arms, he held you firmly. “Your heart, that’s what you can give me.”

“That’s all you want? What about an elegant partner who doesn’t disappoint you and isn’t clumsily making her way through life?”

“If I wanted all that, would I love you as much as I do?” Jinyoung teased and you thumped his arm as he chuckled into you. “Oh, I do want one other thing.”

“What?” you asked dejectedly and then blinked as Jinyoung’s hand curled around your chin so you would look up at him. You began to pout.

“Stop pouting and kiss me,” he instructed, leaning in to meet your lips. It wasn’t your first kiss; that you had given him in a game of truth or dare when you were thirteen.

But unlike that one, which had been a little more than a peck, this one continued until he had stolen your breath entirely.

Panting, Jinyoung pulled away and then rested his forehead on yours. He smiled. “Still feeling like life is hopeless and you need to give up?”

“Hm?” You blinked a few times and then smiled giddily. “You need to not let me go. I’m certain this time I will float away to heaven if you keep kissing me like that.”

“Even if you go there, I’ll be right beside you,” he confirmed, leaning in to kiss you again.

_________________

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[solletichi]

Self-Improvement

okay so i havent tortured kokichi in a long time and i had this WONDERFUL idea where basically kokichi wants to start lying less and stuff to get shuichi to like him more (bc i love oumasai) so he asks miu for help, and miu ends up making him a uniform that tickles him whenever he lies or is a brat or WHATEVER and yeah so enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~

“This is stupid.”

“Hey! Don’t call my invention stupid! It’s pure genius!”

“You made a shirt that’ll tickle me whenever I lie? What do you think I am, five?”

“Listen up shota!” Miu lifted her goggles up from her face, stepping away from her workbench. “You wanted something that’ll stop you from lying so you can impress Shuichi and this is what I came up with!”

Kokichi glanced down at the shirt he was wearing, which Miu practically shoved him into. Appearance-wise, it looked exactly like his usual shirt, as it was made from one of his spare uniforms. However, lining the inside of the shirt were dozens of feathers and even miniature claws, ready to launch into action at any time. And to make it even worse, it was programmed so that only Miu could take it off of him.

“How does this thing even work?” he asked curiously.

“The shirt is activated by this remote right here, so that the person controller it can remotely tickle you every time you misbehave!” She held up a small, grey remote with a single switch on it. “It’s a homemade masochism machine, gyahaha! It’s perfect for you!” she sneered, cackling.

“Sooo... you’ll just activate this shirt whenever you feel like it?” he questioned. “No offense, but I don’t trust a pea-brained bitchlet like you to control something like this.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not gonna be the one controlling it!” she smirked.

“Yeah, yeah... Wait, what?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door to Miu’s lab.

“Miu? Kokichi? Are you guys in there?” the voice asked. The door creaked open and in came Kaito, who grinned once he saw the other two. “There you guys are!”

Kokichi whipped his head around and glared at Miu, causing her to smirk even wider. He pulled her to the side, whispering to her.

“You did not rope him into this!”

“Relax! He’s around Poo-ichi all the time, so he’ll be there to stop you from lying in front of him!”

Kokichi sighed, rubbing his temples. Miu’s reasoning did make sense, but having Kaito be the one in control... This was going to be interesting...

“Fine!” Kokichi whispered before turning around to walk back over to Kaito, with Miu following him.

“Thanks for helping us out with this!” Miu cheered, beyond herself with excitement.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” he smirked, looking at Kokichi.

Miu tossed the remote over to Kaito while Kokichi sulked. “Here, catch!”

Kaito caught the remote and held it in his hand, observing it.

“Mind if I test it out?” he positioned his thumb over the switch, preparing to turn it on.

“Go ahead!” Miu leaned back on her desk, preparing herself for the show.

Kaito switched the remote on, activating the shirt. Immediately, Kokichi was attacked with tickles from all angles as the shirt worked its magic.

“PFT- AHAHAHAHAHA!” Kokichi doubled over with laughter, clutching his sides. Feathers wiggled under his arms and on his stomach, paying special attention to the area in and around his navel. Meanwhile, tiny claws squeezed at his hips and sides, as well as drumming into his ribs. The sensation was intense and visceral, like electric shocks coursing throughout his entire body.

“Ha! This is amazing!” Kaito spoke over Kokichi’s crazed cackles. “Who knew Kokichi was so ticklish!”

“Hell yes! It works!” Miu shouted triumphantly.

“P-PLEHEAHEAZE!” Kokichi felt his body growing weaker, and he could do little but laugh as his torment continued. “NAHAHAHAHA!”

Reluctantly, Kaito pressed the switch back on the remote, turning the shirt off for now. Kokichi just stood there panting, blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Hah... That was torture...”

“You better not be a brat or I’ll tickle ya for twice as long!” Kaito said confidently, holding the remote up. Kokichi winced.

“Well, off you go!” Miu was surprisingly quick to shove the two of them out of her lab. “Let me know if you need anything!” Shutting the door in their faces, she left Kaito and Kokichi alone to go about the rest of their day.

As soon as they had been shoved out of Miu’s lab, Kokichi immediately tried to make a run for it, but Kaito grabbed him by the arm before he could go anywhere.

“Not so fast!” Kokichi pouted in response. “What do you say we go get lunch? Shuichi and Maki Roll are waiting for me.”

“Oh great, I’d love to spend my afternoon with you and your loser friends.” Kokichi complained. “Sounds exciting.”

Kaito promptly switched the remote on, sending Kokichi into hysterics once more.

“FAHAHACK! OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAY I’M SOHOHOREEE!” Kokichi cried. Heeding his apology, Kaito switched the remote off.

“Any other smart comments you wanna make?” Kaito kept his thumb on the switch as a silent threat. Kokichi shook his head, gathering his composure.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

Kaito and Kokichi made their way to the cafeteria, mostly walking in silence. That was, until they ran into Kiibo.

“Sup, Kiibo?” Kaito greeted.

“Hello. Where are you two going?” Kiibo responded.

“We’re heading to the dining hall to grab some lunch! Wanna come?” Kaito offered.

“I would, but... I don’t have the ability to eat. Professor Idabashi didn’t equip me with that function.” Kiibo said sadly.

Kokichi scoffed, giggling a bit to himself. “Poor Kiiboy! Guess that just proves that...” He cut himself off, noticing the way that Kaito was smirking at him. Kokichi gulped.

“Hm? What was that, Kokichi?” Kiibo asked.

“Yeah, Kokichi...” Kaito teased. “What were you saying?”

Backed into a corner, Kokichi had no choice but to say something next. Given that he couldn’t lie or insult Kiibo, there were little options as to what he could say.

“Uh... I said, why don’t you come with us anyway, Kiibo? We would... love to have you with us...?” Kokichi stammered glancing at Kaito for approval.

Kiibo hesitated with his response, clearly having been expecting a robophobic comment. “I wish I could, but I’m scheduled for maintenance in Miu’s lab. Next time, perhaps.” Kiibo looked towards the small remote that Kaito was still holding. “What is that device that you’re holding?”

“Oh, this? It’s, uh...”

“It’s the detonator for a bomb I hid somewhere in the school! I gave it to Kaito so he could take the blame for the explosion!” Kokichi said excitedly, before realizing that he just doomed himself.

“What?! Now that has to be a lie, Kokichi!” Kiibo pointed accusingly at him.

“W-Wait! That’s not what I meHEHEANT!! EEYAHAHAHAHA!” Kokichi started cackling once more as Kaito flicked the switch on, but fortunately he switched it back off after only a few seconds.

“Um, Kokichi...? What’s so funny?” Kiibo asked, clearly confused.

“N-Nothing! I mean...” Kokichi pondered his options mentally before settling on the safest one. “See ya, Kiiboy!” He bolted off towards the cafeteria, with Kaito soon following after he gave Kiibo a small wave.

Kaito chuckled once he caught up with Kokichi, “Is it really that hard for you to not harass Kiibo?”

“Yes. God I wanted to insult him so bad.” Kokichi confessed, surprisingly honest.

The two of them walked a little more before arriving at the dining hall, where Shuichi and Maki were waiting. Kirumi was also there, serving them food as diligently as always.

Kaito waved to them, “Hey guys! I hope you don’t mind, but I brought Kokichi with me!”

In response to seeing Kokichi, Maki scowled, while Shuichi just laughed a bit nervously. They sat down across from Maki and Shuichi, while Kirumi placed down a plate of mini sandwiches.

“I, uh, didn’t expect you two of all people to be hanging out together...” Shuichi stammered.

“Since when are you two friends?” Maki narrowed her eyes at the two of them.

A mixture of half-assed excuses came from both boys, equally frazzled in their attempts to cover up the truth. At least Kaito hid the remote in his pocket this time, so that it wasn’t visible. At least not to the others.

Kokichi, however, could clearly see the remote, only inches away from his hand. Screw trying to lie less... if he could grab that remote, he could say all the mean things that he wants! He waited until Kaito was adequately distracted, and then...

He carefully plucked the remote out of Kaito’s pocket and closed his fist around it. Kokichi grinned to himself, having successfully completed this operation.

“...What are you smiling about?” Maki directed her question at Kokichi, who in turn smiled even wider.

“Is the killer girl worried about me? How adorable!” Kaito searched his pocket for the remote but it was nowhere to be found. Kokichi smirked. “And here I was, thinking you had no heart!”

Checking his other pocket and doing a quick scan of the area around him, it didn’t take Kaito long to realize that the remote had been stolen.

“Looking for this?” Kokichi held the remote just out of Kaito’s reach, snickering when he tried but failed to grab it.

“Kokichi! Give that back!” The two bickered, ignoring Shuichi and Maki’s confused questions of what it was that Kokichi was holding.

“No can do, spaceman!” Kokichi stood up from the table, closing the remote in his fist again. “See ya!”

Before Kokichi could sprint off, Kaito stood up and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards him. Being considerably stronger, Kaito was able to force Kokichi’s hand open and grab the remote, switching it on as soon as possible.

“AH! GAHAHAHAHA NOOO!” Kokichi yelped as the shirt got back to work, tickling him with renewed vigor. “SHIHIHIHIT NAHAHAHAHA!”

“Ha! That’s what you deserve you little shit!” Kaito said proudly, holding the remote up in the air.

“Kaito...? What is that thing?” Shuichi asked, speaking more than enough for him and Maki, both of them bewildered and confused.

“Oh! This is a remote that Miu made! When you switch it on it tickles the crap outta Kokichi!”

“And you had it because...?”

“Miu wanted me to turn it on every time Kokichi lied or was being annoying...” he glanced at Kokichi, who was clutching at his stomach, doubled over with laughter. Kaito smirked when Kokichi’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground. “I’d say it’s working pretty well.”

“GAHAHAHAHAD MAHAHAKE IHIHIT STOHOHOP!” Kokichi practically screeched. “I’M SOHOHOREEHEE!!”

“Alright, that’s enough. I guess I should- oof!” As Kaito turned around he bumped into Kirumi, who was carrying a tray of drinks. A few glasses of water spilled onto his arm and on the remote, causing it to short-circuit.

“...Uh oh.”

“My apologies. I will fetch towels for the both of us. Excuse me.”

Kaito wasn’t even thinking about the water that was spilled on him. All he could focus on was...

“BWAHAHAHAHA FUHUHUHUCK EHEEHEEHEE!” Kokichi was kicking and squirming, flailing like a madman on the ground. The others watched in awe, too shocked to figure out what to do. Eventually, the tickling abruptly stopped, leaving Kokichi in a haze of shivers and after giggles.

Panting quite heavily, he stood up on shaky legs, muttering curse words under his breath.

“Gotta... f-find Miu... get me out of this thing...” Kokichi wobbled out of the cafeteria, off to get Miu to help him out of the shirt.

Meanwhile, Kaito, Shuichi and Maki continued their lunch, trying to ignore the spectacle they had just witnessed. Eventually, Kirumi returned with towels, and the trio went on with their day, completely forgetting about the incident.