#but apparently i passed at least the minimum points requirements cause i got to the interview aaaaa

[the-kipsabian]

hi its four in the afternoon im still in bed and i do feel like shit about it, but

1. my preorder of tears of the kingdom shipped, so it should be here friday after all

2. i found a job listing i could actually apply for that feels really promising

and 3. i got an email inviting me to an interview for school which means i passed the earlier assignments and im actually one step closer to getting in to a dream school aaaaaaa

that is all i gotta try to consume some coffee im just vibrating rn holy shit

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, goddess47!

For @goddess47 <3

*****

Stiles would like to say, very clearly, that it really wasn’t his fault this time. He had just been running through the preserve, minding his own business, when suddenly he was passing through a mirage spell into a very tense negotiation between some hunters and the Seelie court. To say he was surprised was an understatement. To say he was prepared for the unexpected would be true, but this was even more unexpected than he was used to. And he had been thrust into the supernatural world at sixteen with a bat and a prayer. Regardless, he hadn’t meant to become a mediator to a truce negotiation. He especially hadn’t meant to look over the contract, find a few problems on both sides, re-negotiate the contract for the better of both groups, identify a rouge hunter, and save the Seelie queen all before dinner. The fact that the negotiations closed with the fairy queen promising him that his thank you gift would only begin to pay him the debt he was owed, convinced Stiles of two things. The first was that the supernatural were entirely too dramatic, the second was that Derek was never going to let him run by himself again.

Stiles figured that some mild avoidance, and extensive procrastination, could perhaps keep the inevitable lecture to a minimum, if the whole thing was revealed in a calm manner and the thank you gift promised was reasonable, small and easily hidden. This whole plan went immediately out the window the second Stiles emerged from his shower to find a very shiny, very new, very small child sitting on the couch of his apartment. Stiles was pretty sure that the Seelie queen had gotten him a very real little girl as a thank you gift. She was definitely not small, easily hidden nor reasonable.

Stiles also wasn’t sure how the Seelie queen had gotten past his wards, but he hoped that no one had poked around while he was in the shower, there were some very dangerous magical objects in the office space that Stiles did not want to have to track down again. Nonetheless, the appearance of a child meant that Stiles needed backup, and he was pretty sure he shouldn’t leave the child alone in the apartment. So, keeping one keen eye on the kid, who simply waved at him, Stiles pulled his phone out and called Derek.

As phone conversations go, this one was relatively short. It started with Stiles saying hello, claiming that absolutely everything was fine, but that a stranger was sitting in his apartment and suddenly Stiles was hearing a knock on his door. The benefits of your pack alpha owning the building and living directly below you was exceedingly convenient. It does sometimes, however, lead to these types of overreactions. Stiles was pretty sure the child wasn’t a danger to him, or Derek.

Derek immediately placed himself between the child and Stiles, which only caused Stiles to roll his eyes. Magically appearing or not, the girl couldn’t have been older than three and was currently sucking her thumb. In response to Derek flashing his eyes, she grinned and flashed her own, so Stiles at least had that narrowed down. At least the local wolf pack was the appropriate channels for a randomly appearing werewolf child. Though now that he thought about it, he probably should call his Dad, in case there was a missing child report. In all of his musings, Stiles had apparently missed Derek introducing himself because Derek was now picking up a small child and having her nuzzle into his chest. Stiles thinks he heard her murmur “Alpha” in a near sub-vocal purr and Stiles was pretty sure that Derek had just adopted a small child literally in front of his eyes.

And, quite frankly, he didn’t have enough sleep for this.

By the time the Sheriff had arrived, without any news of any missing children, Stiles was making a child friendly lunch while Derek entertained, and interrogated, the magic child. So far, they had gotten that her name was Rieka, she was three and she didn’t know where she was from. It hadn’t been a very successful interrogation. The rest of the pack was coming over soon and they would figure out where she came from, reunite her to some very worried parents and all would be well. Stiles was sure of it. He appreciated that the Seelie queen wanted to thank him, but he wasn’t entirely sure that stealing a child was a good present. He really hoped that he didn’t get arrested for kidnapping.

It had been three days and they hadn’t found anything else about Rieka. She spoke, but slowly and only with a lot of coaxing. Deaton was no help, which wasn’t very unusual, and Stiles’ own contacts were no help, which was, actually, very unusual. No one had ever dealt with the Seelie queen before, she was notoriously difficult to find, and no one had heard of a little werewolf cub going missing. Derek, had, in fact, lectured him for getting involved with the Seelie court, but his stern lecture was significantly less intimidating as he was being used as a climbing tree by a very energetic little girl.

By the end of the first week, Stiles knew he was in trouble. He and Derek had fallen into a pretty quick co-parenting routine. With Stiles’ consulting business and Derek’s real estate business, they were both very capable of working from home, and had become quite domestic co-parents. Derek’s guest room was converted into a little girls room, that even in a few short days had become littered with stuffed animals and glitter in ways that Stiles was never going to be able to un-see. Stiles was starting to get worried about what they were going to do if they never found her parents, because co-parenting a little girl with your crush of seven years was not easy. Especially because Derek was so good with her. So unbelievably, entirely understandably, patient with her. Her reticent speech spoke to Derek’s soul and Stiles found himself watching the pair with fondness more often than not. Which may or may not have required him to restart at least one potion.

He found himself falling more and more in love with the Derek who was willing to play dress up and roll around on the carpet with a little girl. It was another facet of himself that Derek was always trying to hide, worried that any vulnerability would be turned against him, any weak spot exploited for someone else’s gain. Even years of therapy hadn’t quite gotten Derek to let that fear go. But here, in this little apartment with Rieka demanding that he play the pretty princess so that she can be the dragon, Stiles got a snippet of what his life could be like, what their life could be like, and it hurt. Because he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t ever going to get to keep this. And yet even as he thought that Derek met his eyes across the room. Plastic crown barely clinging to his hair, little girl climbing to his shoulders and Stiles decided to let himself pretend, even for a moment. He could mope when Rieka was gone, but for now he would enjoy this window into a life he never knew he so desperately wanted.

Three weeks in Stiles started talking to his dad about fostering and adoption papers. He worried about how a long-term co-parenting situation would worsen his crush, but also figured that he was in full blown “I will always love you” mode anyway.

Stiles and Derek talked about turning their two apartments into a single apartment after two months. They argued about where the bedrooms would be, with Stiles desperate to maintain a lockable room for his magical supplies. But even with converting Stiles’ living room into a bedroom, three bedrooms and a magic room simple wouldn’t fit on the second floor. The fight escalated to the point in which they decided that an architect would have to make the final call.

Three months in everything came crashing down for Stiles. He felt like he was watching a train crash in slow motion, all the careful pieces of his future with Derek falling around him. An old contact had found a way to contact the Seelie queen, and Stiles felt the horror flash across his face, felt himself close off and watched Derek mirror him, even as he didn’t know why. Somewhere, far in the recess of his mind, Stiles knew that returning Rieka was the right thing to do, but at that moment he was gutted. He had really let himself believe that he could keep this little girl, keep his little make-believe family together.

The Seelie queen came quickly. Very quickly, in fact. No sooner had Stiles burned his note then she was standing there in the middle of his apartment. Derek was clinging to Rieka as if she would disappear, and Stiles’ heart broke a little more. Because the queen could do that, she could take their little girl away from them.

By the end of the conversation Stiles was exhausted, the Seelie queen saw past, present and future simultaneously which made having a conversation very difficult. Add in assumptions made on both sides, and the whole thing was a mess. On the bright side, apparently, they will become very good friends? Stiles wasn’t entirely sure exactly what had happened, but he did know this. The conversation started with a few stuttering sentences from Stiles that led the Seelie queen to think Stiles wanted to return his gift. She was very offended and offered to change the gift. She was entirely sure she had explained everything upfront, Stiles was very sure she had not. It took questions from both Derek and Stiles to understand exactly what happened, but eventually it all came out. She saw what Stiles wanted most and did her best to give it to him. She had simply spliced together parts of Stiles and Derek and created the life in a whimsical form, certain the rest would follow. Despite the nonchalance of the delivery, the complex magic was not at all insignificant. Stiles reassured her several times that they adored the gift and had simply been worried that they couldn’t keep her. Which led them down a whole path of conversation about fairies’ gifts, the Seelie vs Unseelie court and quite frankly Stiles wasn’t even sure what was happening. Two batches of cookies later some guards came to fetch their queen and suddenly everyone was gone. Stiles had a passing thought that his wards were obviously not strong enough before the reality of the situation sunk in.

Stiles was pretty sure that this story should have a twist someplace, some changeling magic, some fairy trick, but, overall, he thinks about how lucky he is. Rieka was theirs. Made of magic and wishes into a real life person, just for them, for as long as they wanted. Derek seemed to have come to the same conclusion at the same time, if the sigh of relief that swung through their apartment was anything to go by. And even though it was only seven o’clock, they both bundled Rieka to bed, overrode her protests with a bedtime story and collapsed on the couch.

Stiles was exhausted. He couldn’t deal with anymore revelations for the day. And as he turned to tell Derek this, to tell Derek that he wasn’t expecting anything from him. That his love was unconditional, and they could keep co-parenting without having to acknowledge how much Stiles loved him. Loved him so much it became true flesh and blood sleeping a few feet away. But as he opened his mouth, ready to spill the lies, he found soft hands framing his face. Stiles is pretty sure he stopped breathing. He had to have died, there was no way that Derek was doing exactly what it seemed like he was doing. And yet, lips found his, and Stiles decided he could, actually, deal with one more revelation, as long as Derek kept doing that. And when he decided to tell Derek this, there was a soft smile and another kiss. And then another one. And one more, just for good luck.

[himetsuri]

Observer

[Takechi Yuusuke's story from the second novel. He’s the detective who appears in chapter 87, after Ageha and the others return from the future after rescuing #07 from Usui, questioning Ageha about his and Oboro’s disappearance.]

It was three years after the war, that is, one year later after Kabuto Kirisaki came to this land. Since it's pretty close to the equator, this land doesn't have winter. But it definitely had the war going on and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued a warning against travel there. One side was claiming for "Peace" and the other was claiming for "Freedom."

"You're Kirisaki Kabuto, aren't you?"

Kabuto, having finished work, was at his usual place at the counter of a worn-down bar named “Breakdown” by the locals, due to the large hole in the wall on the outskirts of the slums that allowed view of the main street. He was about to down his usual cup of sake, good for nothing but its low price, really, when that man called out to him. "Japanese?" That was the first thing to come to his mind. It had been three years since that battle–––and almost a year since Kirisaki Kabuto had come to this place. This country, which was close to the equator and had no winter, was currently caught in a crossfire between two sides: one side pushed for “peace,” while the other brandished support for “freedom.” As a result, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had issued a travel advisory. Kirisaki Kabuto had come to this land to be a war photographer and had earned the nickname of “Miracle Man” for all the times he’d returned from dangerous battlefields without so much as a scratch, due to his ability of "Menace" that allowed him to sense death several seconds beforehand. In this bar that was in the city closest to the frontline, even Kabuto himself didn't speak Japanese much. "Uhh…who are you? And aren't you hot?" "I've regretted not changing into something more appropriate since I touched down at the airport…" This country was in the tropics, making the temperature and humidity far higher than in Japan. The black suit the man was wearing must've been like a torture device. “Figured as much…so, who are you? Someone from the government? The Ministry of Foreign Affairs…the embassy?" There wasn’t a soul who would come to this country unless it was work-related. And there wasn’t anything of value here whatsoever, unless you were someone from the government. "Yeah…temporarily working for the government…I'm with the police." "Haah? Again, really…I’m not a part of some worldwide crime ring or anything, alright?" "Be at ease…I haven't come to arrest you. I just have a few things I'd like to ask…quite frankly, this doesn't even have to do with my job." For a moment, a sudden self-mocking smile arose on the man's face. "Things you wanna ask…? Also, it seems you already know my name, so maybe you could find it in you to tell me yours…otherwise, it just seems like a regular old interrogation, y'know?“ "Haha…that is true. My name is Takechi Yuusuke, a detective from Aichi's Shirataki police station."

July 2008–––actor Mochizuki Oboro had somehow managed to vanish into thin air in broad daylight. Contrary to the mass media’s frenzied uproar, Takechi, who had been put in charge of the incident, kept his composure. Mochizuki Oboro had last been seen on surveillance camera in the airport's parking lot. With him was a fifteen year old boy, who had also gone missing–––Yoshina Ageha, who apparently was reasonably well-known around his neighborhood as a delinquent. Though it was mostly for getting into fights, not for theft or reckless rampages. Takechi merely assumed that the eccentric TV star had gotten into some “mischief” with his poorly-behaved friend and wound up kidnapped and locked away somewhere, or something along those lines. Yoshina Ageha returned home several days later, so he immediately went over to investigate. All he had to do was raise his voice, grab him by his lapels, and shout at him; he would get his answers, even to questions he hadn't asked, and there would be his neat and tidy case closed–––or so he thought. The boy named Yoshina Ageha was not, by any means, what one would call "normal." In Takechi's experience, anyone would start to grow weary after a ten-hour long interrogation, no matter how tough they acted or how much of a professional they were. But that boy simply yawned, as if this wasn’t even worth his time––– "Me and Amamiya eloped. We split up with Oboro at the airport, I dunno what he did after." –––and tried to end things off with such a blatant lie. He said this right to a full-fledged detective’s face, with eyes that practically ordered, “We’re gonna leave it at that, got it?" If this had been anyone else, he would’ve wasted no time in yelling at them, "Don't play dumb!" or "You're lying!" But he couldn't. Instead, he let the cigarette between his lips fall and let Ageha go back home. The reason behind this was truly quite simple. It was because "he had been afraid." He–––a full-fledged detective who knew both judo and kendo, who knew how to safely apprehend a target, and who had experience capturing culprits in possession of deadly weapons–––felt "he would be killed" by a fifteen year old boy. There were those who'd laugh at Takechi upon hearing that. But the feeling he had gotten from being before Yoshina Ageha was strong enough to silence those voices. This wasn’t comparable to the “kill or be killed” life that an average hoodlum or delinquent would speak of. Yoshina Ageha had an air that only one who'd truly survived a battlefield, one in which death was certain unless one killed first, possessed. And, if he so felt like it, he had the power to make killing Takechi mere child's play. Even if Takechi were to confront him with a readied handgun, he wouldn't be able to win. He truly believed that. Takechi had no idea if this was what one would call a detective's intuition or not. At this point, no thoughts about "Mochizuki Oboro's disappearance" were left in his head. His objective had now changed to ripping off this boy's mask.

"I started by thoroughly reexamining Yoshina Ageha and those connected to him…many interesting things came to light as a result…first was the fact that Asaga Hiryuu also went missing on that same day. Additionally, Asaga Hiryuu's friend, Mana Tatsuo, had also been missing for an extended period of time.” "Uwaa…you sure did your homework, huh…" "Hmph. A detective requires a sense of duty and a sense of justice; however, what he requires most, above all else…is an unyielding persistence." Takechi gave a snort and downed some cheap sake full of impurities. He wanted to wet his lips before spinning more of his tale.

There was definitely something more lurking behind all this––––– At the very least, it wasn't just some cut-and-dried case of high schoolers eloping and an intentional disappearance, as Yoshina Ageha had asserted. There was something deeper to it, he thought, but right when he was about press further with his investigation, he received abrupt orders to call off the whole thing. It hadn't been from a chief or prefectural manager. It had been from much farther up. But that wasn't nearly enough the extinguish the flame of Takechi's persistence. After receiving the orders to cease, he'd requested a paid vacation, something he’d been painstakingly building up and hadn't even taken for his daughter's birthday–––if he couldn’t continue this investigation officially, Takechi would do it himself. And so the investigation continued, slow and steady, until at last it led him to one key word that would become the crux of the matter. It was what Mochizuki Oboro had attempted to talk about on a live show before collapsing, unconscious, halfway through; what Tenjuin Elmore, who was currently sheltering Yoshina Ageha from the mass media's inflamed reach, had even gone so far as to place a monetary reward of five hundred million yen on for anyone who could pinpoint its truth. That word was "PSYREN"––– For the past several years, or at the bare minimum the past two years, a large number of those involved with it had gone missing. Semitani Kouji, Sugita Nozomi…the list went on. Far too many to attribute to mere coincidence. According to a worker who routinely visited Elmore's mansion, there was no longer any trace of Yoshina Ageha on the grounds. "Maybe he's been 'erased' once again–––" By now, Takechi had begun to feel a strange sense of kinship with this boy. Perhaps there was a reason he couldn't say anything to his parents or to the police, a reason such as he was being held hostage or something had been done to him. Among those who had passed away after involvement with PSYREN, there were many for whom the cause of death was still unknown.

"However, I've been forced to suspend my investigation here…" "Why's that? Vacation days run out?" "…Well, there's that. Though there's more to it." Here, Takechi took a quick turn from chatty to tight-lipped. “Now that I think of it…Kirisaki? It appears you also went missing for a year or so around the same time Yoshina Ageha did…where'd you go off to?" "Uh, well…funny story, that~…I kinda went away from Japan for a bit, see…" Takechi, seeing how Kabuto had started speaking vaguely, shot him a slightly pointed look before continuing on as if to say, "Well, whatever." "Then…you weren't directly involved in W.I.S.E's all-out acts of destruction in 2009…"

It was the first time in human history there'd been an organized string of destruction caused by those with supernatural powers. Just one of them wielded power equivalent to that of an entire army; when tried-and-true strategies and maneuvers failed, the military resorted to human wave attacks and unbridled assaults–––to attempting retaliation with brute force and sheer numbers. It was a showdown between no more than ten Psychicers with tremendous powers and a military of over ten million lacking in strength. Strangely enough, it depicted the current state of the world where antagonism ran rampant between those with power and those without. As a result, it was the military, and not W.I.S.E, who caused more damage during urban warfare and a proportionate amount of human injuries and casualties. But that wasn’t the end of it. There were those with abnormal powers among the humans––– Those who saw those supernatural abilities with their own eyes grew incredibly agitated and fell into a panic. What if their own neighbor was a monster? The ones enslaved to their fear and paranoia began carrying out what could be called modern-day witch hunts. You could have different colored hair, eyes, or skin. You could be aggressive by nature, you could try to avoid interactions with others as much as possible–––if there was anything at all that set you apart from “those who were normal,” you would be labeled as “abnormal,” condemned, and sentenced to trial by the masses. Any attempts to deny being one with power would invite demands for the “devil’s proof”–––“Well then, show us proof that we’re wrong!”–––and incite many acts of violence without any opportunities to put in any words otherwise. This tendency was especially strong in urban areas, where mobs formed and houses were burned down. ‘This world is teeming with piles of refuse that feign sainthood. It is a world brimming with prejudice towards those who are different.’ The words of W.I.S.E's leader, Amagi Miroku, had proven to be true in the most ironic form.

For the sake of maintaining peace, the police were forced to work overtime for far more than 24 hours; miraculously enough, Takechi was assigned to Tenjuin Elmore’s mansion, the very same place he’d been looking into himself. It would’ve been out of his jurisdiction under normal circumstances, but apparently it was impossible to assign anyone from the local police in Shizuoka due to a fear of leaking information. Takechi was not informed of how dangerous those inside the mansion actually were. However, every so often it would be children, not much older than his own daughter, who would come peek over the wall. They had been called from out of jurisdiction to create such a tight watch, set up some of the military’s fully automatic rocket launchers a few kilometers in front, all due to these children. If anything happened, they were to bring an end to both the humans they were keeping watch over and the mansion. “Must seem laughable…a bunch of full-grown adults, quivering in their boots because of an old woman and her five kids…kukuku.” It was around midnight, several days into the watch, when a strange man tasked with monitoring the mansion grounds called out to Takechi. The police, as mentioned previously, were assigned to the outside of the mansion; there was a separate group of men assigned to the inside. Takechi had no clue who they were. He wasn’t permitted to try and find out. The one assumed to be directing them, a man with an eyepatch and an almost reptilian–––snake-like air to him, continued by asking, “Do you, perhaps, have a light?” “My apologies. My subordinates are all non-smokers…” “Well, I know you yourself are quite the smoker…” Takechi’s first impression of the man: truly disconcerting. “Oh, you just had that smell about you…my nose is quite sharp, you see. …Fufu, please don’t think so poorly of me.” The man had the most unsettling smile creep its way onto his face as he spoke, with eyes that seemed to see deep into one’s innermost thoughts. “Are you…aware of who exactly it is…that resides within this mansion?” “Tenjuin Elmore…right? She’s a famous fortune-teller, I believe, who also has some connections in both politics and business…” “You sure are well-informed…but, you are only partially correct. Elmore is hardly a simple ‘fortune-teller.’ She’s one who possesses supernatural powers…a Psychicer.” “Wh…!?” Psychicer…that was what those living in this country, after seeing the destruction brought about by W.I.S.E with their very own eyes, had labeled the ones carrying out such evil deeds. “Ah, now don’t get the wrong idea. Elmore is not a part of W.I.S.E. That old woman holds the power of ‘future vision,’ and she knew these current events would, someday, happen. As such, it appears she had set out on gathering children yet untainted by Amagi Miroku’s poison in order to form a resistance…quite honestly, they are Psychicers who fight on the side of you humans.” The way he said this gave off the subtle implication that he did not count himself on the “side of humans.” “Then…why are they…why are those children being treated like this!? Are they not our allies?” Takechi’s words only made the man more amused, and he laughed mockingly. “Why? Why, you ask, Takechi-kun? Surely you must understand… Those without power fear those with it…that is a simple fact of life. Say there is a lion before you, able to tear a human to pieces, its mouth open wide and fangs bared. Even should you know ‘it will not bite me, ever,’ you would not offer your neck to it…the same applies here.” “…So the government doesn’t believe them…doesn’t trust them?” And, most likely, truly wanted to just “put an end” to them already. Elmore’s connections made that impossible, but above all was probably a more twisted logic holding them back: should worst come to worst, they would still have one means of retaliation to utilize against W.I.S.E. “Is it not foolish, Takechi-kun…so foolish, in fact, it becomes laughable…though, if I do say myself, that old woman is quite laughable in her own right, knowing this would happen yet struggling to change it all the same…” After saying so much, the cigarette held between the man’s fingertips was more than half gone. “Everything has been preordained…it is impossible to change. Everything…is proceeding according to PSYREN’s wishes…” “–––!?” “PSYREN.” The word that had been avoiding Takechi for half a year now fell suddenly from this man’s mouth. He started and looked up, but the man had already tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath his heel, and was walking off towards the mansion courtyard where Takechi and the other members of the police force were prohibited from entering. “Wait! Just who in the world are–––!?” “Takechi-kun? You are a very splendid officer…should you survive the coming several years, pay a visit to Shimabara…it’s a wonderful place…a very, very wonderful place, beaming with sunlight.” Leaving those words behind, the man departed without ever turning back to Takechi again.

“I don’t give a damn about that man’s identity. What matters is that PSYREN was even somehow involved with all that devastation W.I.S.E caused!” Takechi, thoroughly worked up, slammed his fist down onto the counter with a thud. The glass resting there nearly toppled over as a result, which caused Kabuto to scramble to keep it upright. When the other customers took notice, he shot them a stiff smile and explained, in local tongue, “Sorry for the ruckus. Nothing’s wrong, so don’t worry.” “After that…October 2009. Amagi Miroku and the rest of W.I.S.E had perished after a fierce onslaught by the military, they declared…peace had finally returned to us…and then, as if on cue, Yoshina Ageha also made his return. Along with Mochizuki Oboro, Asaga Hiryuu…and you. Isn’t that right, Kirisaki?” “…” “But right as I was going to begin my investigation anew again, the unthinkable happened!” Takechi pulled out a stack of pure white paper from his suit’s inner pocket. It looked like regular copy paper, but there wasn’t a single sentence or character or anything at all on it. It was just a stack of white paper, held together by an ordinary clip on the lefthand side. Nothing more, nothing less. “What’s…that?” Kabuto was clearly confused, and Takechi answered him bitterly. “My investigation report. I wrote everything I uncovered about PSYREN in it.” “You wrote…but there’s nothing here…oh, it’s in invisible ink!” “No!”

It was about half a year since November of 2009, when the government had lifted the state of emergency–––Takechi had felt it was finally time to start up his investigation once more when something unbelievably strange occurred. Every single bit of data he had gathered up until that point had vanished. But it wasn’t that someone had deleted it. It extended even to the backups he’d created on other devices in order to stay on the safe side. It had all just vanished, like it never existed in the first place. And it went even further. Even the data he’d printed out on paper had turned back into blank sheets. The attached photos, too, had been whited out. At first he thought someone had done this to impede the investigation…and for a moment, that man he’d met at Elmore’s mansion rose up in his thoughts. But he quickly concluded that couldn’t have been the case. If someone truly wanted to obstruct his investigation, they would’ve just destroyed everything. There was no reason to instead go through such convoluted means. Additionally––– From what Takechi remembered, something strange happened among those involved with PSYREN. Those who had gone missing, or supposedly died, had slotted back into their normal lives. Neither they nor those close to them had any recollection of them disappearing, and there were no records of it occurring either. It was as if an entire portion of the world had been rewritten: that whole event had simply “never happened.” “What the hell is going on?” Takechi went so far as to wonder if he was losing it. But there was one piece of undeniable truth that tethered him. “Mochizuki Oboro’s disappearance” and his subsequent “interrogation of Yoshina Ageha” were both events that still verifiably happened, indisputably. Yoshina Ageha and the others had reappeared after October 2009. He’d wanted to go and ask them about the truth of the matter as soon as possible, but once again the upper management brought its foot down and forbade any and all involvement or contact with the matter. But Takechi couldn’t give up on his investigation. Though he was looking into “something that no longer existed”–––on a wild goose chase, one might say–––he persisted, going over his findings over and over again. In doing so, he found, from the day when Mochizuki Oboro had disappeared, security footage from a service area that featured Asaga Hiryuu and Amamiya Sakurako. And it was here that he discovered Kirisaki Kabuto, riding with them in the rental car.

~~~~~~ [Notes: *While the service area (or SA in Japan) Amamiya and co visit is probably nothing too extravagant, some of them can be far more than a simple ‘drive in, drive out’ area. The part where they go to this service area is actually depicted in the manga, in chapter 59.]

| Part 2 →

[phantoms-lair]

Mirror’s Gaze part 17

Didn’t think this would happen? Honestly me neither. But I wanted to get it done for the 50th Anniversary of Scooby Doo tonight, so victory!

Previously on Mirror’s Gaze

They met again in the diner and Arthur wondered if there was an end to Shaggy’s appetite. He wished, perhaps selfishly, that he had Lewis’s cooking to fill the bottomless pit. No, definitely selfish, since Lewis already had to cook for Vivi when he couldn’t even eat himself.  As it was, the accumulated food costs had been adding up to a horrifying number. He tried to keep it to a minimum to keep costs down, but it seemed like he’d never be full again. Still it was getting harder not to not to start crying when he saw the total rising.

He had tried to get away with just a glass of water, by Velma had shot him Vivi’s ‘you’re not taking care of yourself’ look (And why did anyone but Vivi even have that?) so he’d ordered a large plate of fries. Maybe he should start looking for all you can eat buffets. Normally they were more expensive, but it might currently be the more cost-effective option.

The afternoon had been productive at least. The list of ex-Fezness employees had been huge, but the number of employees who could both build an animatronic robot and program in behavior was much smaller. In fact only five names came up. Louise Clayton, Marcella Garrett, Bertrum Reynolds, Frank Lambert, and Matthew Luna.

Velma was devouring the hidden file, apparently craving the knowledge it contained like this body craved food (once she was sure Arthur was actually eating). “This is fascinating. I can’t believe Professor Mansfield, his assistant, and student created this.”

“That’s not the only thing, look at this.” Fred pointed out one of the names on Arthur and Velma’s list, then at the front of the file.

“Jeepers, do you think there’s a connection?” Daphne asked.

“Very likely.”

Arthur craned his neck to look at the front of the document. Ah. “So time to call the police?” It was far from open and shut, but it was a reasonable connection.

Fred and Daphne looked at him oddly, though Velma was still engrossed with the document. “We haven’t caught the culprit yet,” Fred pointed out. “But don’t worry, I’ve got the first workings of a plan.”

“Why would we catch the culprit?” Arthur asked, confused. “I mean, yeah, citizen arrests are a thing, but this is literally what the police are for. We’ve found the clues, put them together in a reasonable fashion, now we turn over the evidence to the authorities who can legally make the arrest and build a case so they can be prosecuted.” 

Why were they looking at him like he’d grown an extra head?

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Velma hadn’t looked up from the document. “It’s not like it’s a real evil AI. There’s a human controlling it.”

“Of course there’s a human controlling it.” Arthur was baffled. “And do you know what humans can have? Guns. Especially humans with a lack of respect for law and order. Not to mention none of what we found is admissible in court since it was obtained without a warrant.” He gestured to the document. “Or through illegal breaking and entering.”

Fred frowned. “It wasn’t like we were trying to rob the place, Arthur. We were looking for clues.”

“Which to do legally you need either permission or be a member of law enforcement with a judge-issued warrant. Evidence obtained otherwise is non-admissible and can compromise the integrity of a case, sometimes even causing it to be thrown out.” This was his job, at least one of them.

“Arthur may have a point,” Velma conceded. “Most of the clues we find wouldn’t fly in a trial. However, it’s almost moot in a case where the culprit is caught red handed and confesses, so as long as we catch him, it’ll work out.” 

That seemed overly optimistic “Okay, but can we get back to my other concern. Mainly, what if he has a gun?!” 

 “You worry too much,” Daphne patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Arthur groaned, resting his head on the table. Even Vivi at her most enthusiastic didn’t completely discount risk. Misjudged, maybe, but never discount. His first impulse was to bow out now. Go to the police on his own, present his case, and hope they followed up. The problem was, he couldn’t rule out the kids doing something foolish in the meantime. He sighed. The best thing he could do to keep them safe was to stay and hope to mitigate. “Okay, what do you have so far? We can build on that.”

“Sure,” Fred felt a bit thrown off his game. Usually he just made the plan and everyone else went along with it. “We need to lure the robot out again. We can assure the creator wants this.” He tapped the file in Velma’s hands. “We just need someone else to announce they have a copy, maybe that it’s being patented in memory of Dr. Mansfield. The robot should come for that.”

“While basic behaviors could be programmed in, being able to react quickly enough to capture a person would require real time input from someone who was watching what was happening. So the culprit would have to be on site.” Velma deduced.

“Still might not be easily noticeable, if the commands are being given via a smart phone it’ll blend in with everyone trying to record it.” Arthur pointed out. “We could probably make a signal blocker without too much difficulty, especially if we can assume it uses similar systems to Fezness. But that won’t catch our culprit red-handed,”

“A blind?” Daphne suggested. “The robot is going to cause a lot of chaos, but judging by it’s fingers I bet it would have some trouble picking the actual folder up without losing pages.”

“And we catch our culprit when he goes for the file.” Fred grinned. Sure, it didn’t involved building a trap, but he had to admit coming up with the plan together was fun. “He won’t come close if there’s a lot of people there, so we have one person hiding in the podium ready to catch him the the act while everyone is distracted.”

Which would be the most dangerous location, being alone with the criminal while he was at his most desperate. “And who would the one in that position?” Honestly, he was expecting it to be Fred. He was the leader, after all. If it was their team, he knew Vivi would have insisted she be the one of the front line, at least before Lewis became a ghost and thus immune to conventional weapons. (She’d still try, but it would be possible to talk her out of it.)

So it was to Arthur’s surprise that everyone turned to look at him. And it was too automatic to be because he was older and more experienced. They expected Shaggy to be the one to get close.

“And why exactly do you think me, the one least wanting to do this, should be in the most dangerous position?” Of course, he was planning to anyway to keep the kids safe, but wanted to hear what they said.

“Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?” The question was automatic, Fred asked it without really thinking.

The fork fell from Arthur’s hand and clanged loudly against the plate holding his mostly eaten eggs. “Excuse me, I must have misheard. Did you just try to get me to do something dangerous by bribing me with dog treats?” His voice seemed to freeze the air around him. They’d never heard this scathing tone from Arthur and certainly never from Shaggy.

Fred, Daphne, and Velma froze, trying to switch tracks to the suddenly hostility radiating from Arthur.

“Raggy roves rhem!” Scooby barked back. “Re’d reat rhem rogether rall rhe rime. Ri...ri riss Raggy.” The great dane broke down into quiet sobs.

The cold fury seemed to wash away from Arthur, leaving an awkward atmosphere.

“We’re getting him back, Scooby.” Daphne promised. “It’s not going to be too long now.”

Scooby let out a low whine and rested his head on the table. He’d never been away from Shaggy for so long in his life. And phone calls were better than nothing, but nowhere near the same.

Arthur tentatively patted Scooby on the head, as if afraid him being a facsimile of his friend would just make it worse. “Just another couple of days. No more stops, okay.”

“Rop ror rood?” Scooby asked, a small smile showing he was joking.

“Yeah, don’t think either of us would do well if we didn’t stop for food.” Arthur agreed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down the rest of the way. “Look, I’m going to check on the Fezness patents so we can build our signal jammer better. Let me know if anything comes up.” Arthur headed to the counter to pay his bill and then left.

The Gang watched him go, still in mild surprise. Velma took over petting Scooby.

“Well yeah, it sounds bad if you put it that way,” Fred said uncomfortably.

“True, but how else could you put it? We have been bribing Shaggy with dog treats.” Velma pointed out, subdued.

“Because he likes them. But right now that’s not making me feel better.” Daphne sighed. 

~

Arthur had hoped leaving would help him cool his head. Instead it was the opposite, as his mind replayed the conversation he’d just had, he felt himself get more and more worked up. As the patent information blurred together, Arthur realized he’d never be able to focus like this. He pulled Shaggy’s phone and dialed his own number.

It rang a few times before he heard his own voice answer. “Like, Shaggy here. What’s up Arthur?”

Arthur took a deep breath. He hadn’t exactly thought this through. “Um, so, the thing with the Scooby Snacks?” “Besides that they’re delicious?” Shaggy chuckled.

“Seriously?” Well, at least that confirmed what Scooby had said about Shaggy liking them.

“Yeah, like, you should try them.” Shaggy suggested.

Technically he currently had Shaggy’s taste buds, so if Shaggy liked them, right now he should too. But the thought of eating dog biscuits turned his stomach. “I’ll pass. This was more about them being used as a bribe to get you to do dangerous things.”

To Arthur’s surprise, Shaggy laughed. “That part of the mystery already?”

“That part...how often does this happen?” Arthur asked, shocked.

“It’s cool man. Like, I’d really rather we didn’t run into mysteries.  But to tell the truth, this part; I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. Between track and gymnastics I’m the fastest and the best at escaping. Me and Scoob are the most likely to get out okay. The snacks are just, well, free snacks.”

 Arthur felt most of the tension leave him. “You don’t feel you're being taken for granted here?”

He could almost see Shaggy shrug. “Like, probably a bit. But then again, I probably take them for granted a bit too. Part of being human, man.”

“Shaggy, are you ready? We need to get back on the road!” Arthur heard Vivi’s voice calling out.

“Be right there!” Shaggy called back. “Sorry, got to go.”

“Vivi stops for no man,” Arthur agreed. “Scooby misses you.”

“I miss him too. Like don’t get me wrong, Mystery’s groovy but no one can replace Scoob.” There was such a profound sadness in his voice.

“Soon,” Arthur promised. “We’ll get you two back together soon.”

The call ended and Arthur admitted he did feel better about things.This was just part of a group dynamic he hadn’t expected. He turned his attention back to the signal jammer and almost didn’t notice when Fred entered the computer lab.

“I talked to Dr. Gardner. She agreed to help with our plan.” Fred said quietly. “And...I’ll hide under the podium.”

“Fred, my problem was never being the one under the podium. It was the knee-jerk reaction of going straight for a bribe when it looked like I was refusing.” And the dog treat thing, though that was apparently a non-issue. “No is a complete sentence.”

Fred looked like he’d been caught kicking a puppy. Arthur sighed. “I don’t like it, but I did talk to Shaggy and he’s okay with it, which is the important thing. Just respect it if he doesn’t want to do something, okay?”

“Okay. And that goes for you too. You and Velma can focus on the robot while I catch our culprit.”

“It’s fine. I can do this. This is the most dangerous part and Shaggy would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“And what if you got hurt?” Fred countered.

“I think Shaggy would rather lose his original body than his friend.” Arthur could have kicked himself the moment the words left his mouth. Hurt didn’t mean death.

“No one’s going to die,” Fred said, as if he could make it so through sheer stubbornness. “I don’t know why you think this is so dangerous. We’ve done this a hundred times before. But if it makes you feel better, what about this—"

Arthur smiled as he heard Fred’s newest addendum to the plan. This he liked a lot better.

~ “Thanks for coming everyone.” Dr. Gardner stood alone on the podium in the middle of the outdoor stage. “Professor Mansfield planned to unveil this today as the capstone of the Robotics Festival. Since he can’t be here, I’ll be unveiling it in his stead. This was a joint project between Floyd and myself, along with one of our most promising students, Tabitha Reynolds. May I present -”

F̥̰͎͊͊͛ͩ̎̌̚o͖̬̱͔̯ǒ̙̮͈͕̹̰̙̆ͫͤ͛l̰̰̠̭͎̔ͩ̚iș̩̹ͥ̐̐h̘͕̖̜̑ͥ̋ͪ̐̀ ̣̠̯̮̂ͅH̥̼̳͍̥͇̹͐̽̂u̾m̟ͥ̿ͨ͛ȃ̹̝̥͗ͫ͂n̙̯͙ͮ̈͂͋ Yͯ̐͑̅ͥo̤͈͔͍͖̹u̹̪̗̣͇̺̬̎ͬ͒ͥ̓̓̚ ͒̓̄d̤ͫ̎̌̐̚o̲͔̻̭̜͍̺ͮ̎͐ ͇̤̩͊ͯͪ͐̓̊̇n̍ͤo͈͕̻̞͂̎̇͐ͫͮ̚t̉̃ͦ ̳̣̰̜͐̉̇ͯc͎̽͐͗ͨͤͮͣo̙n͚͇̗ṭ͖͇͓̻͇̼̅r̖̦̝̖͔̹͛͑̍͌ͧ͆o̞̱͛̈̎͑͋l̹̝̰̠̝̥ͩ ͓̟̖̤̤̣̈́ͬͣ̏̇̈́t͇̖̻̰̙̳̲͌͊h͑͛ͬͣ̄e̜̩̰̱̜ͩ̅ͬ̑͗̚ ̼͎̻̊͌̇͗mͪ̓̋ã̮̳̫̖̲͌c͎̻̞͖͉ͨ̆̈̉̃h̰̝̜̫͖̒̓ͨi͖͓̻͗̎n͒e̯̲̙͉̓̎̅͒͐ͩs̥̰͕̿̑ͯ͗͐̚ͅͅ,͔̰̒̍ͥ̌̑͐ͭ ͍w̞̦͇̥͚̲̋̂͑̇̍͋ͩe̟̼̙͆͑̅̓ͮ ͍̞̺̝̘͉̑͊ͅc̟̟̮̬̰̥̉ͬ̈́ͮó̱͇nͩ́̈͒̊̂t̤͕̭̟̯ͥͤ̃̈́̔ͩ͋ȑ̤͍̟̲̖̾̊ǒ͔͙͇͓̳̺l̺̖͎̣̎̈̆ͯ̍̉͐ ͚̝̮͖y̅̐ͪ̐ŏ̰̦̭͔̿̇̓̈͌͗uͧ̔

The robot who’d taken Professor. Mansfield appeared again, floating in the air. It swooped down on stage, causing Dr. Gardner to dive to the side to avoid it.

“Anything?” Velma asked over her phone. “Not yet.” Daphne was watching the stage through a pair of binoculars. “No one’s heading for the file. They’re all running away from the robot.”

“Roger.” They wanted the culprit to feel safe enough to get the file in the first place, so wouldn't be using the signal jammer until he’d made his move. Daphne was the look out, keeping a close eye on the file from a distance. Velma was ready with the signal jammer she and Arthur had put together, waiting for the signal from Daphne. Fred was also waiting for said signal to spring his trap. Arthur had been in the front of the crowd and was now by Dr. Gardner’s side, ready to help her escape. Scooby was likewise guarding Tabitha.

Somewhat thankfully, the robot was ignoring the student for now and focusing all its attention on the doctor. Shaggy had been right, though. His body was built for speed and it was easy to keep up with Dr. Gardner and help pull her away. If he'd had a better idea of how strong he was, he would have just picked her up and bolted. As it were, there was plenty of destruction happening from stampeding crowds when the robot swooped down to try and grab Dr. Gardner. One near miss resulted in Arthur pulling her out of the way just in time, causing the robot to barrel into a scale model of Stranshaw.

“Someone’s going for the file!” Daphne reported. “He’s close. Closer….closer....He shoved it under his jacket and he’s in position, NOW.”

Fred hit a switch, causing the door on the bottom of the podium to burst open as the net launcher fired out, trapping the man where he stood. At the same time, Velma hit her switch. The robot, without any new input, crashed into the ground and stopped working.

“We did it!” Velma cheered as Arthur helped steady Dr. Gardner. 

“Let me go!” the man on the stage snarled.

Tabitha gasped. “Uncle Bert?”

“Sorry Tabitha, but your Uncle was behind the Rampaging robot and the kidnapping of Professor Mansfield.” Velma explained.

“But why? You knew what this school and project meant to me!” Tabitha asked, distraught.

“It’s because of the project,” Velma explained. “Because your Uncle is working on his own version of the same thing. Sub-Atmosphereal Three-Dimensional Locomotion via Podiatric-based Apparatuses, or in other words, jet boots. The apparent propulsion system on the back of the robot was just for show. What really made it fly was his prototype jet boots. But they’re not ready. My guess would be the power supply is too bulky to be practical. Then he found out Professor Mansfield was working on the same thing, and was just about ready to publish and patent. He needed to keep Mansfield out of the way until his were done. That said, we knew he’d jump at the chance to see Mansfield’s notes, that how we knew he’d come for the file if he knew where it was.”

“But where is Professor Mansfield?” Dr. Gardner asked.

A stubborn expression set Bertrum’s jaw, but Arthur just grinned. “No worries. He’s going to tell us. Enlightened self-interest if nothing else.” Their culprit cocked an eyebrow. “Please enlighten me on how giving up my trump card is in my interest.”

“Because you’re not motivated by spite.” Arthur said easily. “If you were, the robot would have been given a test run against the executives at Fezness that cost you your old job. But you’re not out for revenge, just profit. And the fact that you’d backstab your own niece means you wouldn’t trust anyone else. So Mansfield is kept in a secret location where you’re taking care of him, since you don’t really want him harmed, just out of the way till your own patent goes through. Right now you could be charged with kidnapping, corporate espionage, and reckless endangerment. You’d go to jail, probably medium to low security, and while admittedly getting a job after you get out will be hard, it’s not impossible. Telling us upfront shows you never intended Mansfield harm and may get you a lesser sentence.”

Then Arthur’s eyes hardened. “Now if you were to turn this into a hostage situation, that would all change. Mansfield is restrained somewhere without access to food or water. That can easily turn lethal, especially since he’s not a young man. You’ve put him in a situation where he could die if your demands are not met. Now the main charge is attempted murder. There’ll be no lesser sentence for cooperation. You’ll be in a higher security prison with more violent tending inmates. And you can kiss any prospects when you get out goodbye.”

“And if Mansfield actually dies? Premeditated murder. You’ll never see the outside of a cell again. I’m not too familiar with the laws of this state, so I don’t know if it’s to the end of your natural life, or if the state shortens it for you. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. At the end of the day, you’ll do what’s in your own best interest. And right now, that’s telling us where Mansfield is.”

Bertrum held Arthur’s cool gaze for a second. “He’s in a storage shed on the outskirts of town. Unit 24.”

“Good work,” Arthur almost jumped. He hadn’t noticed the police getting there. 

“Of course, Betrum Reynolds wasn’t the only one engaging in some Corporate Espionage.” Fred declared. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Jorkin?"

“What are you talking about?” The gruff man folding his arms and tried to look intimidating.

“He’s talking about you being a spy for Crawford Loan Agency, and their sister company CLA Limited.” Velma grinned. “When Professor Mansfield was starting out he needed money for his work, money he got from the Crawford Loan Agency. In order to pay them back, he gave them a percentage on his patents. The problem was he’d gotten to a point where he didn’t need the loans anymore, he’d had enough money to fund a college. Jorkin was placed here to look for an opportunity to get him back under their thumb. Initially it was a planned meeting to attempt to get him to take out another loan. After he was kidnapped, though, Jorkin helped the agent from CLA break into Mansfield's office to steal his research. Needless to say, I don’t think the college will be keeping you. And considering the fact that your misogynistic views cost CLA an in with Dr. Gardner, I don’t know how interested they’d be in keeping you either.”

“You worthless bitch.” Jorkin’s meaty palm went straight for Velma’s throat. It never got there though, as Daphne grabbed said arm and Judo-tossed him onto the podium, smashing it under him.

“Don’t you dare touch my friends!” Daphne snarled.  Scooby growled menacingly and he, Fred and Arthur closed ranks around Velma.

“Attempted Aggravated Assault on a Minor!” Arthur called out to the police, who were already in the process of cuffing Jorkin as Reynolds was being escorted to a squad car.

“We’re aware of the laws, son.” said the cop cuffing Jorkin. “Incidentally, using Mansfield location as a bargaining chip would have been False Imprisonment, not attempted murder.”

“Oh I know,” Arthur said easily. “But I was banking on the fact that Reynold’s didn’t.”

Velma snorted and soon the whole gang was laughing. It was the kind of laughter that was a release of nerves, but laughter nonetheless. Though Arthur was a bit confused when Jorkin grumbled about meddling kids and everyone else just laughed harder.

~

“I can’t thank you enough. If you’re ever looking for a higher education, Strenshaw Technical Institute would be happy to have you.” Professor Mansfield was having a recommended stay in the hospital to make sure he was alright, so Dr. Gardner was seeing them off. 

“We’ll keep it in mind.” Fred shook Dr. Gardner’s hand.

“Hey Mister, Hey Mister!” The young boy they’d seen the day they arrived, Tommy, ran up to them. “It works great!”

He held up his dog, Saddie, for them to see. Only instead of a missing hind leg she now had a mechanical one made of plastic. Very familiar pieces of plastic.

 “That’s what you’ve been working on all this time?” Velma asked.

“Well, yeah.” Arthur shrugged. “I could help, why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not a bad design at all.” Dr Gardner said, examining it. “Who knows, you may be the next Arthur Kingsmen.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as the Gang turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Kingsmen currently has the patent for the most advanced prosthetic arm around, as well as a few animal prosthetics. There’s a few more elitist members of the engineering and robotics community who aren’t very happy at being outdone by a car mechanic, but talent is talent.”

“The arm isn’t perfect, though. There’s still the nervous feedback issue, not to mention waterproofing.” Arthur looked a little sheepish.

“You’re familiar with it?” Dr. Gardner looked surprised.

“Yeah, I know the guy, just didn’t know he was famous.” Arthur admitted. He hadn’t known anyone outside Tempo knew about his arm.

“Well next time you see him, let him know Professor Mansfield would welcome him at SIT too.” 

“See, he’s perfect,” Daphne whispered to Velma.

Velma sighed. “It’s not happening, Daph.”

“Sure it can, you just need to think positively. We have at least another week to-”

“Daph, it’s not going to work because he’s not a pedophile.”

Velma’s response caused Daphne to stop short. “What?”

“Arthur’s 26, remember? Much too old to even be thinking about dating someone our age.” Velma said sadly.

Daphne looked like she’d bitten a lemon. “I completely forgot. And here I was just making things worse by getting your hopes up. I am so sorry Velma.”

Velma just shook her head. “Don’t be, I always knew this was going to happen.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “You knew?”

“Well, not the body switching, obviously. But I always figured my first crush would be an older guy. A teacher or professor or something.” She’d always pictured a good looking posh man, maybe in tweed. Arthur was exactly nothing like her imagined first crush. He was down to earth and smart without any academic airs. And yet somehow he was so much better than anything she’d imagined.

“That’s just how is goes, though. Mind you, if you and your crush getting together wouldn’t be a felony, maybe it’s worth actually asking him?” Velma nudged Daphne in the ribs gently.

Daphne turned beet red as Fred called out to them, “Coming girls? We need to check out so we can get back to the road.” They probably could have stayed and finished up the last day of the festival, but after seeing how lost Scooby looked without Shaggy, none of them had wanted to waste any more time. 

Thankfully they were all mostly packed and most of it was transferring the luggage to the Mystery Machine. Fred and Daphne had gone to settle the bill while Arthur and Scooby went to get some snacks for the road. Velma did the last sweep of their shared rooms, making sure nothing was left behind.

Satisfied there was nothing left but her laptop, she flipped it open to wait for the others to get back. She had been looking up the Mystery Skulls themselves and seeing what kind of cases they had solved. There were several kidnappings and returning stolen items. She scrolled through them until one headline caught her eye. She had to read it a few times just to make sure she’d read it correctly

‘Lewis Pepper, Local Private Investigator, Dead After Accident During Cave Investigation’

She read the article and cross referenced it with an obituary from The Tempo Times. It seemed legit. 

“But if Lewis Pepper is dead, who have we been talking to on the phone?” She narrowed her eyes. “Arthur, what are you and your friends hiding?”

~~~~

Zalgo text: Foolish Human You do not control the machines we control you

This case probably could have been done better, but at this point I’m just glad to be done with it.

Notes: Signal jammers are normally illegal, they slid by on this because it wasn’t effecting normal service, just the particular signal affecting the robot

[benichi]

Money Jar and Illusion of Choice

aka Story Jar by NTT Solmare and Love Choice by Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.) Since I haven’t been around much the last few weeks and because I got an ask about it I decided to look at these new ways to “enjoy” Otome games. I already vented about Money-... I mean Love Jar yesterday, and while Voltage isn’t quite as hardcode (yet) it still should be talked about.

I’ll start with Masquerade Kiss, Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.)’s new game which introduces Love Choice as a way to read Main Stories. Apparently the only way for future releases. Though it doesn’t matter much where I start since both of these new “systems” have a lot in common. This is how the Love 365 app greets you currently.

FOR FREE OMG. However as you know nothing in life is free, if you look closely you’ll see “Use hearts to read without wait times ♪”. So literally in the same breath they tell you that this new system is shit. We’ll take a more in-depth look at those wait times later because they play a big role for this entire new system, including the situation in Story Jar. To put the second part into words that aren’t sugar coated “Use money to deepen your affection! If you want to see CG’s and get a satisfactory ending you had better open that wallet of yours cause those are behind a paywall♪“. Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.) is trying to be charming about this but the bottom line is: without money you get the short end of the stick. Which isn’t all bad or uncommon. They are a company so obviously they have to make money. But they’ve come up with quite a cunning way to do just that.

CELEBRATION! NOW OR NEVER! READ THE WHOLE STORY WITHOUT WAITING!!! WHAT A NEW AND REVOLUTIONARY CONCEPT?! HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED BEFORE? Yes. That’s the old system we’ve had until now. Where you pay 4€ once and own the entire thing to read at your own pace and revisit as often as you’d like. I honestly couldn’t help but scoff when this screen showed up as I was playing. 

Which brought me to my first question. Why don’t they simply let us consumers choose between buying the entire thing and this “f2p” version? It’s the same simple answer for all questions related to this topic:  💰 💰 💰

The elaborate explanation is that obviously no one would touch this “f2p” version unless they’re forced to. As stated above stories used to be 4€. However Love Choice is much more expensive.

This part made me especially sick. They know exactly that for a lot of us Otoge is something we use to treat ourselves. These sugar coated words “special” “exciting outcomes” “spicy ending” aim exactly for that. You’re already here, surely you don’t want to miss this super special spicy scintillating sexy breathtaking ending.

However that’s not even the worst part yet. One choice costs 5 hearts which is not too bad right? Too good to be true almost, which is exactly what’s happening here. As you progress the amount of hearts needed steadily increases. The biggest amount one choice costs is 26 hearts.

That singular choice plus CG costs almost as much as an entire route with all CG’s etc. used to cost (400 Coins).

Granted as you can see above you “only” need 12 points to get the super special spicy scintillating sexy breathtaking ending. Which means you don’t always have to select the ~special choice~. However the amount of points you get per special choice is different each time (ranging from 1pt to 3pts), there’s no other way to earn them. So unless you use a Walkthrough you’re grasping at straws. Like here, you’ll get a CG sure but only 1pt. In theory a choice with 3pts is more lucrative but who knows when one of those might show up.

Ultimately guessing whether the money you’ve invested so far will be enough to get you that desired ending might be more thrilling than Eisuke 2.0 trying to shove his tongue into your mouth.

Let’s get back to our numbers though. In order to get all the CG’s + that super special ending you’ll need at least 85 hearts. Which basically translates to 900 Coins.

11€. Only possible if you play it smart by using a Walkthrough, which means someone else took the plunge and paid the whooping 22€ instead. Because that’s what you’ll have to pay if you go for every single special choice. Granted you don’t have to spend the entire 2000 Coins, there are 300 left over because Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.) simply never offers the exact amount of 1700 Coins you’d need. But what do these leftover 300 coins even do for you? Nothing much anymore as we’ve seen.

Plus there’s the wait times we haven’t experienced yet. I mean how much does it cost if I don’t want to wait for 5 hours? Will those “leftover” 300 coins even cover that? A part of me honestly doesn’t even want to know.

Moving on to the illusion of having a choice. As stated above the only way to raise points is by using money. Only these paid choices change the Love Meter. Every other ~choice~ might as well not be there because it doesn’t make a difference. Let’s look at this one scene in particular. For context my dude Kazuomi Shido wants to get rid of a woman because she “knows too much”.

As stated before you could skip this special choice and still get that ~Super Happy Ending~. I mean ppffft what’s she to me amirite? Random Woman Nr.1 is definitely not worth my 50 coins.

But how is this enjoyable? How am I supposed to be pleased knowing that the only way to get a different ending is paying up. That my choices don’t matter except for the ones where I make it rain money for Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.). They might as well just remove the “choices” and sell the entire story for 11€ or 22€ if they’re feeling bold. 

But again, if the amount you spend was displayed in such a blunt way no one would ever go near these stories. I mean just look at Wand of Fortune (Story Jar). A single route consists of 27 Chapters (the 1st one being free). One Chapter costs 20 diamonds. So to read everything you’ll need 520 diamonds, which translates to 44€. How is this real life? Who thought this was a good idea?

Which brought me to my next question: What’s up with this sudden increase we see for the amount of Chapters? Could we be... getting more for our money? Again, no. It’s still all about them getting more  💰 💰 💰

Because each Chapter is incredibly short. And while the Chapters in Masquerade Kiss at least make sense despite their shortness the same can’t even be said for Wand of Fortune.

I think this sudden rise serves a few different purposes. Obviously more Chapters means more money. In WoF you just straight up have to pay and in Love Choice it gives them the option to put in even more “””special choices”””. Plus when there’s no CELEBRATION NOW OR NEVER PLAY WITHOUT WAIT TIMES event that’s another point where you could possibly pay to progress more quickly. I mean 5 hours wait time means you’ll only get to play 4 Chapters per day. If that’s even an option for you. I certainly can’t whip out my phone at work to get raunchy with Eisuke 2.0 simply because 5 hours have passed. But that’s an entirely different matter.

But what else is happening here? Honestly these Chapter splits are nothing but sneaky practices to pick the money right out of our pockets. By splitting the costs into different Chapters people will be less aware of how much they’re actually paying. If they straight up tried to sell one story for 44€ or 22€ who in their right mind would buy that? Unless you sit down and do the math first you’ll just kind of pay slowly as you progress the story. Plus on Love Choice you don’t even necessarily have the option to figure out how much it’ll cost in the end unless you go through the thing for yourself once or find someone that wrote everything down. At this point we can’t even say if the requirements for Kazuomi’s route are the norm. Are 85 hearts always the minimum requirement? 169 the most? There’s no telling at this point.

What I do know at this point however is that these companies are taking advantage of us. It’s true, we are currently in a dire situation. Our niche market is slowly running cold with the Vita being officially dead and no announcements for the Switch overseas. Currently mobile games are the only thing that’s going strong in the Otome Market here. But this? This can’t be it!

I won’t pay for a game that’s so completely butchered from it’s original release that it's barely functional and makes no sense. With core mechanics and voice acting removed. I won’t pay to be stripped from the right to make my own choices in a visual novel and to be played like a fiddle with all these sugar coated words that hide shrewed tricks.

Only if you give him 13 hearts first though. I gotta admit the image of Kazuomi standing there with his palm stretched out like 

“I could stick my tongue into your mouth BUT that’ll be 2,29€ first. We don’t take checks, by the way” is a little funny but ultimately too expensive for my taste.

I honestly understand that these are not easy times to be a fan of Otome Games. However, if we let these companies play us like this then we’ve already lost. Why would Aksys or any other company bother translating major titles that take so much more effort to localize if mobile Otoge with considerably less work can be sold for almost the same amount? I mean if someone pays 44€ per route that’s 264 € for the entire “game”. You could probably buy half of the Vita games Aksys has released so far with that amount. Maybe all of them if you wait for sales, this is insanity.

And 22€ is in no way better either. Just think of all the things you can buy for that amount of money, I mean not even games. Plus Otome Romance (former Voltage Inc.) is becoming worse and worse as time goes on. I’ve defended them for a long time because in a way I’m grateful. I still remember when Pirates in Love was practically the only thing we had. But I’ve reached my limit. Love Choice is just as bad as Story Jar. 

This post has become long enough, but I’ll add this later or make a seperate post of how f2p can work. I don’t want to be misunderstood, I know some people prefer f2p instead of just buying the entire stories which is perfectly fine. But these two companies have missed the mark completely and we have to be vocal about it.

PS: If you want to experience good f2p games please check out Cybird games, they’re our only hope in these unholy times.

[wordsturnintostories]

show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. word count: 1.8k note: so, this is kind of a prologue. please know that I will try my best, but i may update very slowly cause long fics like this take much effort and I wanna do it well. this is my birthday gift to you guys. ✨ warnings: none

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

[ prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven ]

The suitcases and bags collide with the carpeted hotel floor in a collective groan. Leather and textile rub against each other and are abandoned as the seven members of Bangtan Sonyeondan rush towards their bedrooms and the en-suite bathrooms, aching for some calm minutes, aching for their beds, aching for just a break.

It’s the second last event of their world tour that they’ve just put behind them. Now, there’s only one more fansign, one more concert, three more days and then, home. Their schedules look like someone’s cut through them with a knife, full full full and then - nothing. It’s gonna be heaven, promises the fine print. Just a few more days, they tell each other and their tattered bodies. We’ll make it through. Fighting.

At least their last concert is already kind of home. Management had been proud to create a framework, have the Love Yourself Tour start in Seoul and conclude in Seoul. To make it feel like they’ve actually rounded the planet. And honestly, that is an aesthetically pleasing thought but of course, there’s a flip-side to this. They have to stay in a hotel in Seoul rather than going home this close to the end. To keep up the concentration and stress level, the tour energy. From a psychological view, it’s probably a legitimate thing, but to the members, it just adds to the desperation. But then again, you can take it this or that way and Bangtan decides to treat it like a 100m sprint athlete who imagines the bathroom to run faster - as an accelerator. They don’t complain, trying their hardest to stick to a positive mindset, grateful they are able to travel and go on tour like this in the first place.

Every single one of the boys follows their personal skincare routine, some (Jungkook) going through it a little more sloppily than others (Seokjin). By now, they can dress, undress, remove makeup and apply their skincare in the dark. Months of touring do that to you. Thanks to the tiredness crawling through their bones and minds, there’s not much talking. Everyone just wants to finally lay their heads down and shut off. However, there’s the occasional cough, sigh or groan, hidden but truthful answers to the question, “are you okay?”

At this point, they aren’t. Calendar pages of exhaustion accumulate and leave the boys shaking, no matter how well they eat or sleep or prepare. Jimin’s got it the worst this time around, apparently, because he keeps getting dizzy spells, keeps throwing up and waking up sweaty and feverish and still insists on pulling through their performances as if nothing ever happened to him. They all know (ARMY doesn’t) and they’ve all talked about this already in an emotional exchange of feelings and facts.

Everyone does this, but Namjoon especially makes sure to check on the suffering younger, always with an open ear and ready hands. Just like he suspected, old issues and insecurities bubble up under the immense pressure of camera flashes and microphones.

Tonight is no different. Namjoon spends probably an hour with Jimin, sending his dongsaeng off to bed with comforting words, a long, rocking hug and painkillers, taking the younger’s temperature and as required, going through the medical sheet that he’ll have to hand over to their personal physical tomorrow.

Jimin still groans in pain when Namjoon leaves, but at least his heart is lighter and he manages a genuine smile before the light turns off.

Namjoon himself doesn’t feel particularly well either, even as his heart fills with gratitude and warmth as he stops by every room to say goodnight to the members. As he feared, his mind is loud and chaotic tonight, brain cells thrumming with excess energy (he can’t say where it’s coming from all of the sudden), running as fast as the engines of the airplane they were on a couple of hours ago. Normally, five tosses are his maximum before he glides off to dreamland. Normally, his head hits the pillow and he’s gone.

But that normally doesn’t happen tonight. An hour passes, a second one almost follows and Namjoon feels overwhelmed by the noise that is intent on cracking his skull open in this silent room. It’s too quiet here when all he’s had in the last months were stadiums full of screaming fans.

At one point, Namjoon’s had enough of this uncomfortable situation. He wanders around a little, pays a visit to the bathroom, googles a few methods to calm down (he already knows all of them, it’s time for humanity to come up with something new already), tiptoes down the hallway to press his ear to the member’s doors, finds the kitchen’s water supply and his own throat treatment package.

He’s swallowing some obligatory supplements when something moves in his vague periphery and in the semi-dark hallway behind the open door. Namjoon freezes, almost drops the glass in his hand. What was that? He catches the glass, thanks God and his reflexes (where have you been all my life?), aware that a shattering glass would have disturbed everyone else.

When he looks back to the hallway, there’s nothing there. Even as he walks over to the door, the entire hallway visible in both directions, there’s nothing unusual. He frowns.

Namjoon’s mind tells him what he saw was a small something, like a small animal, a puppy or a cat maybe. His mind also tells him it can’t be any of their pets because Micky and Tannie and Rapmon and Holly aren’t here (and Rapmon is definitely bigger than that). Thirdly, his mind suggests that they might be in one of those hotels with pets that accompany guests for comfort and stress relief. Maybe management wanted to do something nice for them but forgot to tell them. But then, that’s a strange idea too because in the three hours they’ve been in here, they haven’t seen any animals and they haven’t opened the door to let any in. So where did it come from?

Of course, pet hotel is one hell of an assumption but Namjoon knows he’s definitely seen something. On the other hand, Namjoon’s mind keeps talking, tells him that he should go back to bed, that he is actually a sleep-deprived human being that will break down tomorrow if he doesn’t get rest tonight.

Maybe I just imagined it, Namjoon thinks and wipes his face. I should really get to bed.

But it bugs him, even as he’s under his blanket, so much so that he sees the little shadow over and over again behind his closed eyes. Groaning at himself, he decides to check it out a second time. What if it’s a wild animal from the outside, maybe a misdirected bird? Or a stray cat? With his phone’s flashlight, he lights through the kitchen, through the living room even if he doesn’t really expect the animal to be there. There are only two rooms down the side of the hallway that he thinks the animal might have walked to, and those rooms are Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s. Not wanting to disturb his hyungs, Namjoon tries to keep the light beam to a minimum and quickly closes their doors again.

A muffled, “‘Night, Namjoon” reaches him from Yoongi’s room and he sends the wish back. He huffs. There’s nothing out of the ordinary in either room (it is out of the ordinary to catch Yoongi awake in bed, but he doesn’t mean that) and starts wondering whether he imagined the animal.

I must be really tired, Namjoon concludes. For the third time this night, he slips into his sheets and closes his eyes. Finally calming down, he drifts off.

---

Jimin wakes up in Yoongi’s arms and isn’t quite sure how he got here but he’s incredibly grateful for the prolonged skinship with his hyung. For not being alone. For being taken care of. For the fact that Yoongi accepted him into his bed. Usually, this hyung sleeps alone. The bed is his holy space. No one disturbs him at night.

There is no way to fight off the smile on Jimin’s face. He likes sleeping with Yoongi. It’s peaceful. And Jimin feels refreshed. Which is not a given for Jimin. He looks to the side, where Yoongi’s face is smushed against his pillow, mouth half open and eyes relaxed. Maybe Yoongi has perfected the art of sleeping to the degree that his sleep even energizes the people touching him.

When Yoongi wakes up gradually, the elder seems a little confused at first but sends Jimin a bright smile. His voice is oddly raspy and Jimin thinks it’s still as cute as the first time he’s heard his hyung’s morning voice.

“I dreamt there was a kitten in my bed.” “Really?” “Yeah. A baby cat. But I see now that it was you.” “What does it mean, hyung?” Jimin looks excited, with his eyes becoming bigger and his teeth showing. He cuddles back into Yoongi’s shoulder. “Does it have to mean anything?” “Of course. Taehyung’s halmoni used to say that all dreams mean something.” Yoongi musters Jimin with one open eye. “Is that so?” “Yeah. So, what do you think it means?” “I don’t know,” Yoongi mumbles, “that I should get a cat?” “That’s lame, hyung. Holly would hate to share you. What do you usually dream about?” Yoongi looks at the ceiling, blushing a little. That piques Jimin’s curiosity. He giggles. “Hyung, tell me! You’re so red!” “Shut up,” Yoongi groans and hides his face under the comforter. Jimin crawls under to put his face on his hyung’s chest. “Tell me, hyung. I won’t tell anyone, promise.” Yoongi’s eyes crinkle. “You’re so cute, Jiminie, I swear. It’s not good for my health.” “So, what do you dream of?” “My bed,” Yoongi mumbles, “it’s soft and pretty and warm and never rejects me and-“ Jimin has the urge to laugh but doesn’t want to embarrass his hyung further. “Daydream, daydream,” the younger sing-songs. “No, at night. During the day, I usually dream of Holly or tteokbokki.” “I’m surprised you even find time to daydream, hyung. Sometimes I even wonder if I have time to breathe.” “What do you usually dream of, Jiminie?” “It’s stupid.” Yoongi frowns but his eyes are soft when he pulls a couple of blonde strands of hair out of Jimin’s face. “I’m sure it’s not. Unless you have nightmares. Nightmares are stupid.” Jimin breathes. The warmth of his hyung gives him confidence. “I do get nightmares. But the other nights, I dream of all the things I want to do with Taehyung and Jungkook and all of you guys. Travel cities, visit places, play games, all that.” “That’s beautiful,” Yoongi rasps. There’s adoration in his eyes when he slings an arm around Jimin’s waist to pull him closer. “Let’s doze off until Namjoon drags us out of here.”

Later, during breakfast, Jimin receives compliments on how well-rested he looks. He surprises everyone with a good appetite, food that stays in his stomach, and a relaxed mind that lets him tend to the others. He smiles.

“I do feel better.”

Maybe he should sleep with Yoongi more often.

[ prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven ]

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

[iturbide]

Daamnn you really hate Naga! I like her considering how much she’s done for humanity, but her parenting is AWFUL. My own headcanon is that she would slowly fix her relationship with Tiki but some heroes don’t want her to even get near their smoll british dragon. (Also wouldn’t Duma be afraid of Naga knowing how she beat the shit out of him and his sister?)

---

So there seems to be a bit of confusion about my feelings concerning Naga. 

I don’t hate Naga.  

I think that she is a fascinating, deeply flawed character, who the world perceives as a glorious and kindly goddess but whose actual track record reflects something substantially different.  I enjoy analyzing that from different angles and pushing those limits in different ways.  And yes, this means that I am often critical of her.  But I don’t hate her: if I did, she wouldn’t get anywhere near as much screen time unless I was venting rage and/or pulling receipts. 

I can and do freely admit that yes, Naga has done some good for humanity, and her intervention has been instrumental in solving several crises.  I still think it bears mentioning that several of her interventions had far-reaching consequences, and that Naga hasn’t exactly been attentive to the fallout of her own actions.  Case in point: degeneration.  Fertility rates began to drop rapidly among dragonkind, and soon after individuals began to lose their senses and become little more than feral beasts beyond reason or reach.  The Divine Dragon tribe discovered that, by sealing their powers within special stones and adopting a more human guise, they could slow or halt the process; however, when Naga took this information before the rest of the tribes, she was met with derision and disbelief -- not because the other tribes didn’t believe it would work, but because they refused to give up their powers and become like the humans they so disdained.  Their pride was the source of the catastrophe that followed, and in the ensuing Dragon Wars, Naga and her tribe effectively wiped out the entirety of the Earth Dragon Tribe -- with two notable exceptions: Medeus and Loptyr. 

Medeus was the prince of the Earth Dragons, and the only one who willingly took on a manakete form.  Following the end of the Dragon War and the sealing of the Earth Dragons, Naga charged Medeus with guarding their resting place, and then left him.  Alone.  To watch as the remnants of dragonkind who had sealed their powers were persecuted by humanity.  This, coupled with his isolation, allowed his rage and hatred to fester and swell into a desire to bring humanity to heel, which led to the creation of the Dolhr Empire of manaketes and the War of Liberation against the Holy Kingdom of Archanea, wherein Medeus actually managed to win and take over the whole continent before his eventual defeat in Cartas’ Rebellion at Anri’s hands. 

For all of Naga’s love of humanity, she didn’t bother to intervene there.  Nor did she intervene in Marth’s first battle against Medeus (Nagi’s appearance is technically non-canon, since it requires Tiki’s death and Falchion’s loss, and Tiki is very much alive in the sequel).  It was only in the second battle that she chose to step in, after three separate horrific conflicts had overwhelmed the land.  

And then there’s Loptyr.  I don’t know if it’s ever stated what Loptyr’s place in the Earth Dragon tribe was, but considering the course of events, I’m willing to say that he was probably chief of the tribe in much the same way that Naga was chief of the Divine Dragons.  As the war raged and the Earth Dragons continued their catastrophic degeneration, Loptyr happened upon a human named Galle who sought to acquire the power of a dragon; despite loathing mankind himself, Loptyr saw an opportunity -- not just to survive the war his tribe was losing, but to gain dominion over the humans he so despised.  So he entered into a blood pact with Galle and gave up his form, sealing his powers and his will into the Loptous Tome.  As soon as Galle took hold of it, Loptyr possessed him via the blood pact they had forged, and after that went on to found first the Loptyrian Cult (which worshipped Loptyr as a god -- not so differently from how the rest of mankind worshipped Naga as the same) and then the Loptyrian Empire with the possessed Galle at its head.  Loptyr’s empire was frankly horrific, with humans oppressed and brutalized and child sacrifices made in Loptyr’s name -- and each time the ruler died, the tome was passed to their successor, who was also possessed through the Major Loptyr blood inherited from Galle. 

This went on for seventeen generations before Naga did anything.  At an absolute minimum, 100,000 people died in Loptyr’s conquest of Jugdral, and 10,000 died in a single event at the Massacre of Edda.  And when she did decide to act, all she did was instill a portion of her own power and will into a tome in the same way Loptyr did.  And then she left humans to fight instead of offering any further aid.  The war continued for FIFTEEN YEARS after that before Loptyr was finally defeated (and even that was only temporary, since the tome remained intact, which led to the events of Genealogy where she once again made no visible effort to help).  And to top it all off, when the victorious crusaders turned right around and started oppressing the people of the former Loptyrian Empire -- many of whom were innocent people who had just been trying to survive in the first place -- Naga once again did nothing to help. 

So yeah, arguably she has done good things and helped mankind.  But she’s also made a lot of problems for them with those actions, and hasn’t done more than cursory damage control.

(This doesn’t even get into the parenting thing which I’m happy we agree is awful.  ‘Fun’ Fact: where Anri got the Falchion he needed to defeat Medeus is the same place that Tiki is sealed in Marth’s time.  Naga literally left a dragon-slaying blade in her daughter’s resting place, which chillingly implies that Gotoh was supposed to murder her if she started to show signs of degeneration.)

I’m really happy that people have nice headcanons for Naga!  It would be really nice if Naga were able to fix her relationship with Tiki, I agree.  But for me personally, the onus is entirely on her to make amends: given everything Tiki has gone through (including at least a thousand years of sleep and no apparent contact at all with her absent mother), coupled with the kind and affectionate support that I headcanon her receiving from other dragons in the Order of Heroes (many of whom Naga would consider her enemies), I don’t think Tiki would necessarily be comfortable with Naga at the outset.  Naga would have to do a lot of work to forge a better relationship with the daughter she abandoned, because Tiki has no reason to simply forgive her because she’s here now.  And for me personally, I question whether Naga will ever be able to fully make amends, given her continued obsession with humanity and the lack of any references to her daughter in her Heroes dialogues.  So yeah, while there are several dragons who would be wary of Naga getting close to Tiki, they wouldn’t necessarily bar interactions if it’s what Tiki wants, because after what Naga has put that child through she has no right to get a way in whether they interact or not (though they would monitor the situation because they care about Tiki).  It would be Naga herself who either makes (or further breaks) the relationship she may or may not want to forge. 

And as for Duma, he is a being who understands strength -- not just physical strength, but strength in all its forms.  Did he suffer a defeat at Naga’s hands previously?  Yes.  Does that mean he’s going to back down if it looks like another conflict is brewing?  No.  Fear is not the enemy to him.  He has mastery over himself: whether he fears Naga or not will not stop him from giving her another good fight if she threatens something he holds dear, because he is never going to back down from a worthy cause, no matter how bad his odds of success are.  Courage is not the absence of fear, after all, but the triumph over it.

[babycakesdaydreams]

“Our wagon will be loaded by noon,” Zithsa said. He sat across the table from Kern, passing the egg from his plate onto hers. When he finished, she slipped the beans from her own plate onto his.

“Do we need a wagon?” Kern asked.

“I’m sure that little old dog you’ve got following you will appreciate it,” Zithsa replied with a grin. Kern nodded.

“I keep forgetting how old she’s gotten,” she admitted. The ride from the valley to the little town Zithsa lived in had been less than two days; if they hadn’t had hounds following them on foot, Fandix was certain they could have made it in one.

“A wagon will be nearly as slow,” she mumbled. The nonchalant, easy pace that Kern and the others seemed to be taking this in was beginning to grate her nerves. Waiting for the full moon had been enough of a delay; now they would be waiting half of a day just to get back on the road again.

“If we put J on a horse after the night he had, he’d fall off of it.” Kern poked at her extra eggs with a fork, looking tired.

“Why did you let him drink so much, then?” Fandix grumbled.

“Ah,” Zithsa sighed, “we all deal with the cycle differently.”

“What does that mean?” Fandix asked. She still wasn’t entirely certain what they meant when they said ‘cycle’, though she knew it was directly related to the war brewing back home.

“I’m going to check on J. And the horses.” Kern put the last bite of her breakfast in her mouth before standing. Without a word, Zithsa took her plate and put it under his own.

“Well, I guess they didn’t really tell you anything?” Zithsa asked, eying Fandix from his place across the table. She scooted over, taking the seat Kern had been in.

“They said I had to wait for a full moon,” she growled, “but only after I asked what was taking so long. Then, they told me the gods might not even answer. And when the gods did answer, all Jyonto said was that he was the Healer in the prophecy, and Kern is the General. Sure, I can believe he might be a healer, but Kern? I’ve never met a general who refused to use proper titles like that woman does. And she never explains anything! Shouldn’t a general be willing to explain what’s going on?”

“Are you sure she doesn’t explain anything?” Zithsa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Kern told me last night you’re a good learner. You picked up how to build a fire by yourself after just one lesson from her, right?”

“Wh-that’s not the same thing!”

“Listen, the thing about Kern is that she…assumes. She’s big on assumptions. If you don’t tell her you’re confused, or she doesn’t see you messing something up, she just assumes you’re able to do it. And if you do mess up, she doesn’t mind. ‘Till you mess up after she gave you a lesson, of course. She’s got no patience for that sort of thing.”

“So, just because I didn’t ask what the cycle is, or why the gods might not answer, or why it only took three people in a six person ceremony… She thinks I just know?”

“Either you know, or you don’t care to know. She’s a woman of few words.”

“And Jyonto?”

“Oh, he’s talkative enough. And friendlier than anyone you’ll meet. He’s just a little distracted at the moment.”

“By the coming cycle?”

“Exactly! See, you’re catching on.”

“Except that I don’t know what the fuck a cycle is!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll start there, then. You really should be getting all this from Kern, but I’ve got nothing else to do anyway.”

“Thanks,” Fandix said sarcastically. Someone finally willing to explain things to her, and he was only doing it out of boredom.

“Once upon a time, a long-ass time ago, the gods fucked up.”

“That’s really how you’re going to start this? With blasphemy?”

“Not blasphemy. Truth. Listen, I’m a blunt kind of guy. You’ll get used to it.”

“Whatever. But if you get struck down for speaking ill of the gods, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I like your humor.”

“Just get on with it.”

“The universe - and this world - has a purpose. No idea what that purpose is, but it doesn’t matter. That purpose was knocked off-course when the gods made a mistake. I don’t know the details of the mistake, either, but again it isn’t important.”

“How is it not important?”

“It isn’t directly relevant to us. The mistake caused the universe to get caught in a kind of loop. Until that purpose is set back on the right path or whatever, it just keeps resetting itself. That’s happening all over the universe, apparently, but we don’t care about everyone else, do we?”

“Maybe we should?”

“Nah, we don’t. Let’s not turn it into a debate.”

“…Okay.”

“So, the cycle starts when someone shows up in the valley, asking the gods for help in their coming war.”

“Then it started when I showed up?”

“Yes. Though Kern and Jyonto couldn’t be certain it wasn’t just a false start, until whichever god answered your call in that cave.”

“Why did we only need three people?”

“Oh, I don’t pretend to understand dragonkin magic. Kern told me once that the number of people involved in a ritual is what determines the power level of the results. So, I guess, three is the minimum power requirement for reaching the gods on a full moon, in a sacred cave, within a sacred mountain.”

“Fascinating.”

“Eh. Maybe to you. If you want to know more about dragonkin magic, ask Kern. She’s the expert, not me.”

“So, I started the cycle.”

“Yes. And you may or may not make it to the end of that cycle. See, the same general events take place every cycle, with people filling the same general roles. A certain battle, won by a specific decision… A specific missive gets lost on its way to its destination, and so on.

“What changes every time, is whether or not some specific people make it through each cycle. Kern was the first to survive a cycle. There’s a specific event, somewhere in the war, that she survived. Once she survived it, she stopped aging, and basically became unkillable. The only thing that can kill her now is that event, when it happens again this cycle.”

“You expect me to believe she’s unkillable.”

“You can believe whatever you want.”

“If I walked up to her right now, and stuck her with my knife right in the heart, she would survive.”

“No, you wouldn’t be able to stick her with the knife.”

“It isn’t that hard to miss, you know.”

“I’m not saying you’re incompetent - I’m saying that something would stop you. The waitress would trip into her and knock her out of the way of the knife. Your knife would get caught in its scabbard and she would walk out of the room before you figured out what’s wrong. Most likely, she would knock the knife out of your hand and ask you what the fuck your problem is.”

“Divine intervention, then?”

“If that term is what helps you sleep at night.”

“Okay, sure. Let’s pretend I believe you.”

“I don’t really care if you believe me.

“The next person to survive was Jyonto. Kern hasn’t told us how many times she completed the cycle before she helped J survive his special event. But we all know what his event is, so we still know more about J than we do K.”

“He’s centuries old?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, sure. Why not? I’ll believe you.”

“I was next in line. I won’t tell you how many times I went through the cycle before we rescued Calystra, the next person to survive. Last is Gerrod, who survived his event just last cycle.”

“So, you guys relive what is essentially the same war, every few hundred years?”

“Eh, it’s more like every generation or so. This one came on a bit early, but I don’t mind. It’ll speed things up if some of the older people in your army already know us.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it, too.”

“You and your skepticism. You’ll get over it.”

“How many people have to survive their events for the cycles to end?”

“No idea. My running theory is six, since that’s how many people fill up that magic circle you were talking about. Six is the magical number, or whatever.”

“Who’s the sixth?”

“Not a clue. And if Kern knows, she won’t tell us.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

“Well, I think she did one time. Back on my… second round. She pointed out the Calystra of that cycle - she had a different name, but it started with a C too - and we did everything we could to save her.” Zithsa’s eyes darkened, and he looked away for a moment.

“It didn’t work?”

“Not even a little bit. J took it extremely badly. I didn’t take it so well myself, that failure, but at least I didn’t disappear for three weeks. Kern hasn’t pointed out who we needed to save since.”

“To protect you?”

“I guess. More like, to protect J. He’s a good man, our J, but he gets a little bit closer to people than K and I do. Failures hit him just a little bit harder.”

“And that’s why he got so drunk last night?”

“Yup. And it’s why we let him. I only see J drink like that at the beginning and end of each cycle. Otherwise, he keeps his nose clean. Good man, that. He’ll be back to his normal self by tomorrow morning, so don’t worry about him.”

“You all cope differently, you said.”

“Yup.”

“Jyonto copes by getting disgustingly drunk-”

“Drinking himself to sleep, specifically.”

“And how does Kern cope?”

“Not a clue. She’s secretive, but it’s usually for a good reason. We try not to prod, you know?”

“Sure. And how do you cope?”

“I find the nearest rapists and pedophiles, and I string them up by their intestines.”

“What?”

“Scaring Fandix already, Zithsa?” Kern had approached from the entry, Jyonto just behind her. Jyonto looked much the worse for wear; his eyes were puffy, his face fuzzy, and his clothes wrinkled. Even his hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles.

“What?” Zithsa asked, eyes wide with innocence. Fandix grimaced. If he was going to lie to her about something like that, then who was to say that anything he’d said was true?

“What’d he say?” Jyonto asked, mumbling. “That he burns rapists alive?”

“Strings them up by their innards,” Fandix said, shuddering at the idea.

“You saying they don’t deserve it?” Zithsa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m saying that they should be seen to by the law, properly. Not hunted by random strangers and tortured.”

“That’s a debate we can have another day,” Kern said firmly. “For now, I need to get some supplies. If you’re going to provide a wagon, I might as well get those supplies now.”

“Supplies? Like clothes that befit a general in the army? The latest fashions so you don’t look like a grandmother who found a de-aging spell?”

“Weapons and armor,” Kern said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, that’s taken care of. I sent a request to Gerrod months ago.”

“You knew the cycle was coming months ago?” Kern asked, looking faintly surprised.

“I knew a war was brewing,” Zithsa said with a shrug. “I just assumed it would be one of our wars. And if it weren’t, Gerrod could always sell the weapons and armor to this war.”

“Huh. Well, I do need more modern clothes. And the hounds will need cages, so they don’t always have to run.”

“Of course, of course.” Zithsa stood, turning to Fandix. “Duchess, would you be kind enough to keep an eye on our healer Jyonto, here? He might miss his mouth if he tries to eat.”

Jyonto glared at Zithsa, throwing up a rude gesture that made the other man burst out laughing.

[coffee-for-himchan]

scary love | jongup

Word count: 3.4 k+

Genre/warnings: fluff, university AU, post-university AU, shy!reader

Summary: Developing a crush and falling in love for the first time was scary af, but he knew you weren’t scared of him. More of the possibility of screwing your chanced with him up

(A/N) This is not entirely, but somewhat partially inspired by The Neighbourhood's song "Scary Love", as I'm slowly starting to psych myself up for attending their concert this week and this is one of my favorites off of their most recent album.

Everything seemed so, so scary in the beginning.

First, it was the sudden realization that your eyes trailed over to where he sat at in the very back of the room way too often. Way too often for it to be considered an accident or an unintentional amount of looks, at least. Each time, he wouldn't notice anything to be off, would just occasionally turn his head when talking to a coursemate or when in need for peaking at somebody else's notes. Completely unaware of somebody watching him subtly.

At those rare moments when his head somehow shot into your direction, your eyes would go wide and you'd look elsewhere. Sometimes it resulted in brief eye contact before you'd frantically turn your head, but you assured yourself that it was fine, he wouldn't think anything of it. He didn't know you. He probably wouldn't think that anybody he didn't properly know would notice him in first place.

And that would scare you. The fact that he might notice that you'd noticed him in this absurd mass of people.

Then there was the fact that everything about him seemed to spark some sort of interest in you recently. There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy about him, or at least it seemed like there shouldn't be, since he was rather quiet, not too quiet but not a loud conversationalist either, often passive when it came to social interactions or activities, without any noteworthy study achievements under his belt, without much intention to shine among his fellow coursemates. His face, though not lacking defined lines and magnificently sharp bone structure, according to beauty standard, wasn't the one of a model's, and his slightly shortish frame seemed to always disappear in the masses.

Still, he was noticeable. He may not be everyone's cup of tea, but he certainly had a charm to him that others did not possess, even when he was showing up to lectures in stretched out sweatpants, oversized tent-like shirts and a bedhead. He was your cup of tea. It was hard to tear your eyes away from the sight.

And that's what truly scared you. The fact that one second you were trying to get by with your life, trying not to drown, trying to make yourself believe that everything was alright even though you knew it certainly wasn't, and the next thing you know you're daydreaming about him. About him coming up to you, smiling a little. Sheepishly sliding his fingers in between yours as the fingertips of his other hand tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear before caressing your cheek. Him, after seeing you curled pouty lip and tired eyes, just cradling the back of your head with a large, warm hand, and pulling you into his chest, or, well, shoulder - you always tended to imagine him a little taller than he actually was, but only by accident, and re-imagined everything the second you spotted your mistake. And from then on the daydream sort of evaporated. One moment he was there, holding you tightly and calmly like an island in the middle of an upcoming storm, and the next moment you were back in class, alone.

You never dared to imagine more than that. For various reasons.

Thing is, you felt like you were obligated to not need anybody's comfort. You'd lived for so long without it that you felt it was only logical to go on that way. It was stupid, really, the way most humans were made to long for attention even when they could live without it just fine. You fell into that little tiny part of society that longed for something they had restrained themselves away from. That was your everyday.

But the warm feeling that spreads across your cheeks when you're walking through the hallway right behind him or the thumping of your heart when he was near, your mind telling you not to look despite knowing you wouldn't listen anyways - it was all there. The only signs that were required for you to realize.

It was scary, developing feelings for somebody. Especially when it was your first time doing so, and when that somebody was as far away from you as Pluto was from the Sun. Light years away, light years ahead. Ethereal and unreachable and just an object to admire.

Sadly, admiring him from afar was a bit more challenging than first anticipated. What did you expect from somebody with zero high school sweetheart experience, not even a clue how it was to a find interest in somebody? A few unaware stares and shy remarks later, word started to spread around campus that (Y/N) had a crush on Jongup.

But it wasn't supposed to be this way. No one should've known about it. It was your secret. You weren't right for him anyways, what was there so special about you that he could possibly take interest in? Deep down in your heart, you wanted to believe it was nonsense. Partially at least. You didn't want anything to do with him. He stressed you out more than anything, and you were alright with just admiring him from afar. You didn't even want to imagine him hearing about the rumors in first place.

He did. And he shrugged them off. And it broke your heart.

One would think he'd have to react somehow, but he didn't. The naive little part of you was devastated not to see him glancing, not to see him approaching, but what did you expect? There was no obligation for him to do so if he wasn’t interested. He still acted like you didn't exist. He only knew your name. He didn't seem like he needed to know more than that. Although maybe he just didn't believe everything he heard.

Days went on. So did weeks, which turned into months, which ended up being another whole semester. Admiring from afar had become your specialty. Even far away at home and parted from everything and everyone while on break, he remained in your head for the whole time, somewhere at the back of your mind, the image of his strong arms wrapped around your waist being too addictive to be left alone and forgotten on nights when you couldn’t fall asleep. The longing you felt the second you saw him on the first day of the new hellish semester almost seemed desperate. It was desperate. You wanted him to notice you so bad.

And it was silly, how easily things sometimes came to be, but he did. Unpurposefully.

"Can I sit here?"

His voice, coming from nowhere, startled you enough to jump at it a little. Your eyes eventually found his, and with a pause that had started heading into the awkward direction, you finally nodded, realizing what he wanted.

(Y/N), talk, goddamnit.

"Yeah, s-sure."

Nice one. Two words, one stutter. Why can't you ever keep it together?

The little tingle in your voice came by him unnoticed, or at least he didn't throw you a glance or rethink his decisions of his today's location. With less grace than imagined, he plopped down into the chair next to yours, rummaging through his bag. In the corners of your eyes, you scanned the area where his usual seat was at. Some other bloke had comfortably nested in there, and by the arms carelessly thrown behind his head and the loud conversations he lead with nearby sitting people, it didn't look like he'd leave anytime soon.

"Crap..."

Before more curses could fall from Jongup's lips, the professor asked for everybody's attention, and he stopped fiddling around. With a tossed open notebook lying in front of him, he narrowed his eyes into the distance, his head resting on his arm. His lip having curled into a little unintentional pout and his cheek a little puffy.

Ten minutes in you realized he didn't bring anything to write with. Was it so hard to ask?

You slid a pen over to him without saying anything. Sort of hoping he wouldn't notice first, and eventually would just look down to the object neatly sitting in front of him, pretend that it had been there all along. Would take it and not say a word.

His eyes did register the movement across the table though. The look he gave you was grateful. A bit of that.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Well done. No stutter this time around.

Fifteen minutes more into the lecture you felt like he was watching you. And not just at moments, but all the time. It made you uneasy and before you knew it, you’d visibly stiffened up. Jongup raised a brow.

"I'm blind like a bat," he explained without much more to it, sheepishly poking at your fingers that were laid across some more words he wanted to copy into his notebook, "And forgetful of my glasses. I hope you don't mind."

He’s just copying your notes, take it easy. Just the notes.

Forgetful of his glasses.. Amongst other things. He was such a mess, but still caused all these feelings inside your chest, so you simply nodded and shoved your notebook a little closer to his side. Another quiet thank you escaped his lips, but you didn't want to respond.

It was scary. How nervous he got you by just sitting next to you. How nervous you felt to even open your mouth around him.

This became a daily thing. He would come, say a quiet hello. Sometimes he'd forget stationery and you'd pass it to him silently and generously. His glasses were more of a myth than an everyday occurrence, but the few times you'd actually seen them on his nose, they'd looked gloriously comfortable, suiting him well. The nervousness you felt around him didn't substitute or cease.

He'd stated your handwriting was better than the one of his previous desk buddy. once he'd even said he felt like he could concentrate here better than there, since you were completely silent and didn't constantly bug him. That’s why he’d apparently come to sit here. Fair point. Conversation really was kept at a minimum for various reasons, and for the better, you thought.

He seemed to hold similar beliefs. Until one day.

The note had appeared on your notebook randomly. As you glanced down at it in question, you were certain it hadn't been there just a moment ago, and threw the girl to your right a questioning look. A forced caught from the left made you jump a little. It seemed as if he wanted to tell you something with it. Cautiously, your fingers trailed over the folded piece of paper and opened it up, not looking over to him.

Jongup's scribbly handwriting was messily covering the page.

"Is that assignment due to next Tuesday? Did I hear correctly?"

Wasn't it easier to just ask you, not scribble a note? Raising your brow at him, you didn’t get a reply. He was looking right ahead, pretending to pay attention... Pretending, because the corners of his mouth were lifted in a little cheeky smirk, and you knew he was silently waiting for your reaction. 

You inked your reply right underneath his question before passing it back to him. The next string of text was passed to you less than two minutes later.

And that's how it started.

Scribbly back-and-forth talk was comfortable for both of you. It didn’t really bother you to study, kept you entertained every free minute, but more than that, you could finally talk to him without constantly feeling too nervous to tie two words together. 

Pages and notes started becoming too complicated. One day he showed up with an extra notebook, just for the talks. That notebook seemed to be the only thing consistent with him - he could forget everything, just not this. Because, for an odd reason, that would mean that your conversation would be cut short. And it had become a comfortable part of everyday life neither of you wanted to miss out on.

And it was scary, to start talking to him. But his method of doing it eased the situation. 

It was a regular Friday afternoon. Last lecture before another weekend would roll around the corner. Your eyes registered Jongup’s movements, his pen once again inking words on a page of your conversation notebook. You let him finish his business, waited for him to sit back against the chair. As the professor’s monologue ceased and he started rummaging for some papers he was in need of in order to explain the final part of the topic, you let your eyes wander across the page.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me?”

It was so straightforward it made your heart race again. Jongup rarely asked anything. You looked over to him, wanting to open your mouth, wanting to get out some sort of sound. It didn’t happen. You lowered your eyes again, gulping down a knot that hat built in your throat. It felt different when you were talking to him through the notebook. The lined pages provided some sort of comfort and safety than an actual conversation didn’t. It was less open, less vulnerable. 

You simply tapped at the page, to which he briefly looked into your eyes before leaning back up front. It was so quick, you didn’t anticipate the motion in the least. The moment you realized how close he was now, you instinctively pulled away a little.

“No, I mean as in actually talking. Why don’t you?”

He looked up to you again, seeming closer than before. Had he moved? Had he leaned in more? You felt too afraid to look away, too nervous to keep staring. He felt the anxiety coursing through your veins from a mile away. Practically heard your heart thumping against your chest. Yet he didn’t let up.

“Is it because you’re too shy?”

He didn’t look up, just paused after every written line. You remained quiet.

“Is it because you stutter every time you say something to me?”

You closed your eyes briefly, wanting to curse. He did notice. All this time, he had noticed and knew it. Why did he pretend he didn’t?

“Is it because you think I’m not alright with it?”

Would he be alright though? Wouldn’t it be annoying?

“Are you nervous around me?”

Nearby students started chatting quietly. Briefly glancing at the clock, you figured it was near end of the lecture. He was right. He always got you feeling nervous.

“Scared of me?”

Conversation from all around became louder. The professor was saying his final words for the day, about to dismiss everybody and wish them a hardworking and productive weekend. But you couldn’t possibly listen. Not now, in this situation.

“Do you like me?”

It honestly felt like your heart was about to stop. It was too much.

Before you noticed it, you were shoving your things away into your messenger bag. It was too much. He wasn’t supposed to know, but he knew. He wasn’t supposed to bring it up, because you’d grown used to just admiring him from afar. This Jongup that had cornered you today demanding for answers and the one you usually talked to through the notebook were two different people.

“Wait.”

His hand landed on your upper arm the very moment you rose from your chair and were literally about to run, his voice lingering in the little space above your heads for longer. Most people had left the room by now. You felt the palms of your hands covering in a thin layer of sweat as you slowly sat back in your chair, folded your arms over your lap and watched him grabbing his pen again.

He was writing for quite a while, during which you simply anxiously sat and waited with your eyes glued to your lap. And then, he closed the notebook. Looked back at you. Shoved it in front of you and stood up, leaving you with it. His fingers brushing down your arm gently before pulling away as he left you sitting there completely alone.

For the whole day you tried to forget about the notebook, but couldn’t. Curiosity was gnawing at you, and you finally caved in the moment you walked through your dormitory’s door, propping down on the couch and anxiously flipping through the pages.

There was so much conversation. With your heart beating immensely fast, you found the page he’d scribbled on today.

“Are you nervous around me?”

“Scared of me?”

“Do you like me?”

You stared at the bottom of the page, afraid to flip it over. It was scary, how much you feared he might write you off. How much you feared he might not sit next to you next Monday. How much you wanted him to.

Take a deep breath. Flip it over.

“Because I like you. A lot. I could write about it but I’d most definitely run out of pages, and we’d have to sit here for long. Until sunrise. And then some more, because I have a lot to say.”

It was so scary, to meet him the very next evening after you’d read this over and over again for several times, trying to reassure yourself that it wasn’t a bad joke or a blunt lie. But with a deep breath, you showed up at his dorm room’s door. In two hours time you were walking down nameless nightly streets hand in hand. In another hour conversation was a fluent thing that seemed to never have been missing in first place. In two more hours you were kissing right under the stars.

And it was scary too, but his soft lips moved against yours with such ease and grace that it felt like gravity had given up on the two of you, and you were floating somewhere mid-air in time and space, not belonging to a certain time frame or surroundings. Just his arms. The same arms you’d been wrapped up in all of your daydreams. Same arms that had locked you up safely in them because he knew. He knew you were afraid, but not of him. Just genuinely afraid of doing something wrong, because you wanted this so much, but just didn’t know how to do it.

He never took it for granted and always made it his priority to make you feel safe in your actions. And that’s how the fears started to cease.

Now, more than just a few years down the line, you looked back at that time with the fond smile of all playing across your lips. The photographs you’d finally finished sorting were now sitting in a fresh, new photo book, and you rose from your comfortable position on the bed, heading towards the commode to store it away in a safe place.

The front door creaked open and closed with a loud thud. Your smile didn’t fade as you instinctively headed for the bedroom door, and then to the hallway, running a hand through your messy hair.

Memories kept flooding you. Of all those times when he said it was alright, of all those times when he mended your worries and calmed your nerves. All those times he took your shaky fingers in between his and told you that you couldn’t do wrong, all those times you were uncertain he said that he’d lead, and all you had to do was follow. All your past and your present, everything that would follow.

“Hey,” he instinctively smiled a little as he saw you appearing in the hallway, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacked before he turned back to you, his eyes softly gazing you up and down. Your fingertips ghosted over his cheek before wrapping around the nape of his neck, almost getting tangled up in the collar of his shirt. It was the ring’s fault, you thought.

You’d told him that the engagement ring was way too big already dozens of times, but he said that no other ring he’d ever seen was worthy of being put on your finger. You remember the way you cried when he put in on that same finger for the first time, remembered how your hands kept trembling until he took them in his own warm ones and held them tightly. How you choked up and he hugged you, chuckling at your outburst of emotions. There was nothing to cry about, he reassured. You could continue being happy from then on.

That was two years ago.

Your lips locked with his gently, like they did back then. Like they always did. His hand trailed down your arm, down your shoulder before finally hooking around your waist. You still felt the cold trail his wedding ring left across your skin, and smiled at that as well.

The wedding was teary too, and despite all that, you remember how you couldn’t stop smiling. It was the happiest day of your life. With all your friends, all your relatives, a beautiful beach, a blown-off into the water veil, a cake-faced Jongup sharing his toothy and slightly crooked smiles with you, a night of laughing and opening presents and cuddling into the sunrise. Breakfast in bed. You calling him hubby for the first time and him making a grimace. Those things started back then and haven’t ceased yet.

That was a year ago.

“How are you feeling?”

You chucked a little over his never-fading worry. But he wasn’t the only one who was worried, through for the first time in your life, you felt like you were less worried about something than him. Even if it probably should be the other way around.

“You keep asking the same question all over again.. I’m fine, Uppie, not any different from normal and usual. You worry too much.”

His large, warm hand gently rested against your middle, his eyes immediately obtaining a certain spark as his forehead pressed against yours and he looked down. You hadn’t announced it to anyone yet, not your friends or relatives or anyone, because you were still in the stage of trying to believe it yourselves. The gentle, still barely-there curve that was slowly forming where his palm laid now was real, and it was of most importance. It was so small still, so unnoticeable, sometimes he asked himself if it was maybe just a figment of his imagination. But there was proof, and more important than that, he could feel it. A new life starting to blossom right there, one he was responsible for. One he wanted to take care of.

“I have all the rights to worry,” he answered quietly, smiling as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “It’s a new experience for me too, I have all the rights to be worried about you and our little bean.”

Memories. Memories of the ever-so-brave Jongup and the always slightly scared you arose and didn’t leave. You felt a certain warmth spreading across your chest as you looked back at him, back at the man who had given his all to you. His youth and his time, his efforts and his resources, his love, for god’s sake. His back to hide behind, his chest to bury your nose in, his hand in marriage, and so much more than that.

“Does it scare you? The uncertainty of the future? The changes we’re about to experience?”

You’d expected him to catch onto the reference, to laugh at it a little perhaps. But instead, he simply bit his lips and nodded, staying untypically serious.

Yes, he was somewhat scared of the future. But more than that, he was absolutely thrilled for it.

“But I don’t mind being scared, because I’m with you. And you constantly give me all the courage I’ll ever need.”

[tisfan]

For the Halloween prompts, I was hoping you'd be willing to dip into your Sandbridge verse for 31 - "What a way to spend Halloween" for Winteriron, or any other of those pairings? Thanks!

A/N: Sandbridge story, post Mother of Tides (if you haven’t read that, Billie is Bucky’s niece, age 12, that they’ve adopted and Livvy, age almost 4, is Tony’s daughter, by surrogate Darcy Lewis

No Place Like Home

Livvy looked at the picture that her sister was pointing at withas much disgust as a not-quite-four year old could manage. “No! Yion!”

“Livvyyyyyy,” Billie whined, “but Dorothy has to have Toto! Andyou’d be so cute!”

“No,” Livvy said, crossing her arms and imitating Billie’s besthuffy attitude, including the cocked head and stubbornly thrust out chin. “Nopuppies! Puppy was yast year.” Which was true, she had been a puppy lastyear (and, Tony would admit, the year before that, too. Livvy had anunreasonable obsession with puppies, right up until she didn’t anymore.) “Yion!Raor!” She pounced on an imaginary hapless prey animal -- represented by one ofher stuffed pokemon’s and shook her head.

“That’s needlessly gruesome,” Bucky said, watching Livvy pretendto maul the animal. “Why are we slaughtering bulbasoars in the living room?”

“We’re discussing Halloween options,” Tony explained. “Billiewants to do a themed costume, with her as Dorothy and Livvy as Toto. Liv wouldrather be the Cowardly Lion, apparently.”

“Yion,” Livvy said. “Yion’s got crown! Toto is dumb!”

Tony made a you see? gesture at Bucky. “What if Liv is thelion,” he suggested, “and we find you a stuffed animal to serve as Toto?” heoffered Billie.

“Well, that’s dumb,” Billie said. “Like, Tin Man’s Dorothy’s bestfriend, we’ll look stupid, Dorothy an’ the Lion an’ a toy.”

“Hmmm, can we tone it down with the dumb and stupid around here?Those aren’t nice words,” Bucky remarked.

Billie’s rolled eyes and dubious expression made it clear thatthey’d now moved into adults are stupid territory. “This is my lastyear,” she complained, voice spiraling up. “Liv’s got years an’ years to dresslike she wants, it’s not fair.”

“No one’s saying you can’t dress up however you want,” Tonypointed out. “We’re just saying that you don’t necessarily get to choose what Livvydresses up as. At least she’s staying with the Oz theme.”

“And it’s not your last year,” Bucky said, reasonably. “Youjust can’t go trick-or-treating next year. You can dress up for parties, andjus’ cause you want to for as long as you want.” That was a stupid law, as faras Tony thought, that kids over the age of 13 couldn’t go -- hell, half thekids in their neighborhood were taking younger siblings and cousins anyway. Notthat Tony had ever gone; Howard didn’t approve, and Mom hadn’t wantedhim alone on the streets. The kind of seeing it in moviestrick-or-treating was as close as he’d ever gotten until that first year thatBillie had been with them, and Bucky had dumped the whole thing into Tony’slap, since Dockside got a lot of local kids and parents in after thetrick-or-treating was done.

Tony had thrown himself into it, decorating and creating a small“graveyard” in a corner of the parking lot (it was never close to full in theoff-season anyway) and helping Billie create the most outlandish costume shecould imagine. He was pretty sure he’d had at least as much fun as she had.

“Yeah, we’re not giving up on costumes just because you can’ttrick-or-treat,” he assured Billie. “We’ll figure something out. But now, forthis year, tell me how we can compromise on this, because Liv seems pretty seton this whole lion thing.”

“Rawr!” There went the feral four year old again, and this timeshe was mauling Bucky’s ankle.

“Ow… gently,” Bucky said. He glanced at Tony with a wry,and slightly pained, grin. “I thought ankle-biter was supposed to be a joke.”

Tony stretched up and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “I’ll kiss it better,”he promised. He turned back to Billie. “Come on, what’s... What’s the minimumthat Dorothy needs to be seen in public, hm?”

“If she’s gonna be the lion--” Billie jerked her chin, trying tooutstubborn her sister, although Tony thought it was probably a lost cause, “--then I need a stuffed Toto, the Tin Man, and Scarecrow.”

“Wicked Witch!” Livvy piped up. “Bee’s a wicked witch!”

Billie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No! I want ruby slippers!”

Tony considered it. “Alternate universe dystopia where the WickedWitch got to the slippers before Dorothy?” he offered. “You could be a witch andhave ruby slippers, and we could give you a basket with blue gingham lining orsomething to keep all the things you’ve stolen from the good guys.”

“I’ll get you, my pretty!” Billie cackled. “AND your little dog,Toto, too.”

Livvy sat there, smug. “Bee’s a witch.”

Bucky had gone very minimalist with his costume -- he still hadtables to wait and customer disputes to settle -- but that hadn’t kept peoplefrom yanking on the tail all night. The events room was cordoned off, only costumedkids and parents allowed, with a special menu; Steve had enjoyed putting thattogether, and they were serving mummy dogs and eyeball tacos and FlyingSpaghetti Monsters on a plate, as well as some adult beverages for tiredparents.

“How did you talk me into this again?” Bucky wondered, hooking thetail over his arm again. The vest and hat were blue, with orange zigzag, andthe wings had been easy to pick up in the local costume shop. The tail,however, was hand made, sewn into the back of Bucky’s grey jeans, and eitherhis pants were going to come off, or the tail was, depending on who was doingthe pulling.

“Because you’re a sucker for Billie’s big sad eyes?” Tonysuggested. “You want to trade costumes? I absolutely will.” Tony’s costume wasanything but minimalist; he’d practically built himself a suit of armorout of tin sheeting, and was clanking around awkwardly. Which was why he wasmostly on cash register duty; it didn’t require as much movement as most of theother jobs. He lifted his “oil can” and took a sip from the long spout. Buckywas beginning to wonder if he had something in there in addition to Coke.

“You look great, but I’ll pass,” Bucky said. At least Tony haddiscovered there was no way to put armor over his butt and still be able to sitdown, which meant the rear view was still fantastic. “Steve can take a pictureof all of us, it’ll be awesome.”

Steve had, point blank, refused to dress up at all. Wheneversomeone nagged him about it, he pulled his apron up to cover his face and intonedthat they should pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Whereas Nat’s tips were through the roof, her sexy scarecrowoutfit getting even more attention than last year’s Catwoman latex bodysuit.

“Buck up,” Tony said, rattling a little as he patted Bucky on theshoulder. “Only another half hour until the party is done and all thesugared-up monsters go home.”

“Well, at least at the end of the night, there’s still no placelike home,” Bucky said, being cheesy and knowing he was being cheesy.

“Ug,” Tony complained, laughing. “Just for that, you have to helpme clean off all this face paint.”

There really wasn’t anyplace on Tony’s face thatwasn’t covered in glittery silver makeup, but if Bucky’s flying monkey costumehad silver lipstick, he wasn’t sure anyone would notice. He leaned in and stolea quick kiss. “I can do that. What a way to spend Halloween, right? Checking myhusband for glittery paint… all over.”

[apogrcpha-blog]

move it [ k. seokjin ]

words // 2.6K

pairings // Kim Seokjin x reader

warnings // none

summary // Seokjin seeks out the new choreographer, Y/N, because he just can’t get the dance right.

When Seokjin had heard the news that there was a new choreographer coming to join their team he was definitely curious to say the least, though he had definitely gotten better at dancing over the past few years and he had slowly started to enjoy it, it was still something he needed to pour all of himself in to get it right and a new addition to their list of choreographers could lead to quite a few outcomes. It had happened before that there was a new choreographer and Seokjin ended up not understanding the slightest of what they wanted him to do or their moves, it always meant a lot more hours in the practice room with everyone else trying to clear it up for him and that didn’t even always work out well, so he was curious, but a little anxious too.

In the end it had been the far better outcome and Seokjin had left with a smile on his face. Their new choreographer was called Y/N and he was an excellent dancer, he was an amazing dancer and had left Seokjin a little in awe the first time he saw him. The way he moved his body was fully fluid as though he was water, able to be turned into any shape he wanted to yet he still stood solid and everything looked very well connected and in general it looked very elegant. It was a bit daunting as they were shown the choreography for their next comeback title track and Seokjin was definitely struggling the first few times but Y/N had been patient and did the steps again as many times as Seokjin had requested so he would be able to get them perfectly.

Y/N was very nice, Seokjin had concluded, not just from him repeating the same steps tens of times just for Seokjin because he couldn’t get them right but while Y/N was strict when they needed to focus on practice, he was strict in just the right way. He was strict and kept their attention on what was important but he wasn’t strict to the point where it became ridiculous and he didn’t allow them a second to think or to revise what they were just doing but he did definitely keep them focused on the dancing. When they were given breaks though he was a lot looser, reminding them to keep drinking water because the weather was so hot the aircondition couldn’t even really cool it and they really couldn’t have a single one of them pass out due to dehydration or alike. Seokjin knew that they didn’t need the reminder, this wasn’t their first comeback nor their first experience with extreme heat but the reminder seemed genuinely kind and it was a good thing, in general Y/N was a good guy and Seokjin liked him, the rest had to.

So it felt a bit strange as Seokjin asked where Y/N was and he was told he was still in the dance studio and he headed there. It wasn’t like Seokjin, he usually asked the members if he didn’t get something because their choreographer had already done the task of making their entire choreography, he knew it was their job but Seokjin thought of it as an amazing feat nonetheless, Once he had stepped into the practice room he saw Y/N before the wide mirror wall, move around and play a bit, he was doing nothing special, just moving around a bit but Seokjin thought it looked really good.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah? Seokjin-hyung, I didn’t expect to see you again today.” Y/N said with a smile, he had been very formal but in a way it always sounded wrong so Seokjin had told him to just drop most of the formalities, they were just two years apart in age.

“I didn’t expect to be here either,” He admitted, he laughed. “I just.. I know you’ve literally done some parts ten times just for me but I was wondering if you could help me with the chorus, I just… My legs can’t do it or something.” It felt a little embarrassing to admit because the rest of them were pretty good at it already. It hadn’t gone effortlessly of course but none of them had needed the help Seokjin required and it felt strange.

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got enough time for you to get it right. Do you know what specifically you can’t do? Like, a specific part of the chorus or do you end up messing up in different places?”

“It differs, everywhere basically.” Y/N nodded and there was no kind of judgement inside of his eyes as he started to go over all the steps again very slowly and patiently, Seokjin followed him.

It took a while and Seokjin knew that Y/N his patience was slowly starting to run thin, he would’ve felt the same, still that didn’t show through very clearly or noticeable as they went through the same few steps and same progression again and again and again until Seokjin was able to do it in his sleep, it took both of them quite a few hours and by the time that Y/N locked the dance studio behind them the sun had already set and a pitch black sky was outside.

“I’m sorry that took so long.” Seokjin said apologetically. He hadn’t intended for it to take that long but the choreography was a lot harder than he had thought it was when he needed to do it, Y/N merely shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, you all need to look the best you can so if that takes a few hours more of my time than I’m cool with it, really you don’t have to worry about it. I know you’re trying your hardest so then it’s fine with me, at least you’re putting in the effort and trying.” Y/N had become quite irritable as time passed and though it was clear in some of his comments, he remained just as patient with Seokjin as he had been when they first started, it was extraordinary really, Seokjin felt quite charmed if he was being honest. Y/N was an amazing choreographer, an amazing dancer and absolutely one of the best teachers Seokjin had ever had.

-8-

One night of some extra practiced turned into something very close to a ritual, something that had become part of both Seokjin and Y/N their routines. Once the day would’ve ended Seokjin would always seek out Y/N to practice some more dancing, the time they spend varied wildly but generally the minimum was always an hour. Most of the time they were focused on the newer choreographies as Seokjin had never done those before and needed to perfect them in the little time that they had but sometimes they also went over older choreographies they would be performing at shows, Seokjin knew them fully and some he’d be able to do in his sleep but it were the little things, smaller gestures during dancing that often escaped him as he was focused on getting everything right.

Y/N helped him with that, he helped him a lot. They went over all of the choreographies together and immediately Seokjin noticed a difference between them, Y/N had a lot more experience but there were very small things that he added between steps that made everything all the more smooth and it looked a lot more appealing, it looked like a proper performance.

To Y/N the key was always to focus on the performance, focus on it as a whole instead of just the dancing. He told Seokjin to trust himself, he knew the choreography and he was able to do it perfectly, he just needed to trust himself and let go of focusing so much on setting his foot at just the right angle, once he let go of that the whole picture would come back and those small things would become almost like instinct because they felt like the right thing to do.

It took Seokjin a very long time to move from the utter focus on his choreography to taking a step back and focusing on the performing, it was kind of strange that he had managed to get so fixated onto just the dancing, nothing that included the performance itself as a whole, it was strange that he had managed to get so caught up in just one aspect of their entire performance and he understood how important it was for him to take a step back and look at things from just a bigger frame, to see more and to focus less on details.

“Right, you need to take a break now.” Y/N said, It had been around three hours since they started and they were finishing up about now but Seokjin just wanted to finish it up right, he wanted to do it perfectly right but there was something off.

“I can’t get it right, I don’t know what it is.” Seokjin groaned in frustration whilst Y/N forced him to drink some water.

“Just take a second now, okay, take a break,” Y/N said. “If you focus too hard it might not work out.”

Seokjin took a break for a few minutes until he got so restless that he just needed to do something, needed to get back into it. Seokjin did the same steps again and again and at one point Y/N stepped in.

“Right, I think I see what’s wrong,” His voice was calm and steady. “Here, you’re too tense.” Y/N placed a firm hand on Seokjin’s stomach and one at his side, Seokjin tensed a little, it had surprised him, and it felt surprisingly good.

“Just relax your muscles a bit, don’t think too much about it. You’re focusing too much and it’s causing your body to become extremely tense. You should let go of all that tension because it’s putting strain on your body.” Seokjin tried to do as he was told despite that his heart was racing and he was pretty sure it was beating out of his chest right now, still he did his best to relax his muscles a bit more and to let go of all that tension that had apparently been in his muscles, as he did his best to focus on it, Seokjin did feel a bit better though there was probably still a lot of tension left.

“See, that’s better already. That’s probably another note for your performances, don’t tense up, don’t try and force yourself to do anything since all that will happen is that your muscles will tense up and it won’t be any good, it’ll make you look a lot more rigid and awkward.” Seokjin nodded. They ended the practice soon after that and Seokjin headed home with a strange tingling in his chest.

-8-

To say that Y/N got a little touchy after that one time was quite mild, Seokjin didn’t mind it at all though. He was a lot more hands on, literally, as he corrected Seokjin’s posture a lot more and even gave him some small massages after their practice to make sure his muscles would recover well. Seokjin enjoyed every second of it and the two of them very quickly moved from very small suggestive comments to full on flirting with the two of them, Seokjin had to admit that Y/N was a challenge, if there was one thing he didn’t do, it was blush. Not a single slight tinge of pink had ever even come on his cheek in the time they spend together and Seokjin was definitely trying his hardest.

Today was, in a way, the tipping point. Their comeback was starting soon which meant their tour was starting soon. He knew that Y/N wasn’t coming along, they had different people and staff who were going to come along and there were a lot of people who would know the dances but in general the idea was that there wasn’t any need for assistance anymore. Seokjin wouldn’t see Y/N for a few months at least and it was weird, he didn’t like it, he felt a little anxious even when he thought about not seeing Y/N for some time. It had just become part of his routine, he saw Y/N every single day inside the company and he sought him out every day, to suddenly stop that, it made him unsure and anxious.

“Hmm, anything specific you wanted to go over?” Y/N asked. “You guys are leaving tomorrow right? So, I was thinking we could just run down the title track and that should be enough, I can imagine all the stress you’re going to go through in the next few hours.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s good.” Seokjin felt like he was caught up inside of his own head as he spoke, he was far too focused on not seeing Y/N for a while that focusing on his dancing just disappeared somewhere in his mind. It was something that definitely hadn’t gone unnoticed to Y/N who had a slight frown on his face as Seokjin did his dances, it was clear that he wasn’t paying attention, everything he did looked slightly off and it was clear his head wasn’t where it needed to be and Y/N cut him off in the middle of the third song.

“What’s going on with you because if you keep going like this we’d be a lot more effective if we just don’t do anything.” Y/N was always straight forward and blunt, Seokjin had always liked that too. He didn’t allow Seokjin much room to mess around, if he wasn’t putting his all in he’d get called out on his bullshit.

“I.. I’m sorry.” Seokjin didn’t feel a lack of confidence but the radiance he normally felt wasn’t there either, in a way he could say he was a little depressed as the inevitable grew closer, it was now or never. It wasn’t literally now or never, Y/N would still be there when he returned from tour but that would take longer than he wanted which is why it felt like a very strong now or never.

“Just, is there anything going on that I can help with? I get that you’re all stressed about the tour and everything, we- you don’t have to practice today. You’ve worked harder than all of them combined the past months with just dancing, that isn’t even taking into account everything else you do, you deserve a break sometimes hyung.”

Seokjin nodded but it was clear to Y/N that he still wasn’t really present.

“I wanted to say something to you,” Seokjin started. He had a small smile as he spoke. “I really like you Y/N.”

“Okay.”

“As in I’m more than sure that I love you and I’m also a little hurt that you seem resistant to my flirting.”

Y/N laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to say that.”

“So I just confessed my undying love that millions would die for and I get a snarky comment, I’m still older than you.” Seokjin bit back, Y/N rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I love you too and if it helps, I’ve got reservations for two in a restaurant just a block away.”

“You knew this?! I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Some staff said you’d been kind of out of it already the entire day and with all the flirting we’ve done, if this didn’t happen I would’ve just gone with my best friend.” Y/N said simply with a grin on his face.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Love you too.”

[fuck-customers]

Few Months worth of BS

So a mix of be hardly getting on tumblr anymore and submissions being closed whenever I am on has caused a pileup of BS stories from both jobs, enjoy. 

Note- Job 1 is gas station cashier, job 2 is Tiny SeaTzars

1. Job 1- it’s like 9am, i’m barely awake and this dude who looks old enough to be my dad comes in. He’s nice enough, pleasant guy, buys his stuff and leaves. Comes back in like 5 seconds later to ask if i’m married. I was 17 at the time so I said “Sir, i’m 17.” and he immediately backpedaled thank the heavens. Creepy enough, yeah? Nope! His first thought was to say “I’m so sorry, it’s just my wife recently passed and I’ve been looking.” To which my manager (my mom) pops around the corner and says “Well you’re looking in the wrong places sugar.” In a lovely tone that screamed “You’re 3 seconds from joining your wife”. He left redder than a tomato and that incident has become a running joke with everyone. 

2. Job 1- Slow day so far, mostly just pissers. (peeps who use the bathroom and don’t buy anything) Dude comes in looking like hell. Fills his own cup up from our fountain and gets pissy when it rings up a whopping $2, says it’s a refill. I tell him we don’t have refill prices. So he goes and switches it out to one of our cups. Then he wants to pay with a card, gets even more pissy when I tell him there’s a $5 minimum on cards, says “that’s bullshit, since when?” Well ever since the card fees aren’t worth it on under $5 purchases, so always. Best part of that is we have LARGE signs on both sides of the door and ON THE FRONT of the fountain machine that say “Due to fees, there is a five dollar minimum purchase requirement on all cards, thank you for your cooperation!” He gets pissed beyond words, my manager tries getting him to calm down, he says “Not right now, you really don’t know the kind of day i’m having.” Things escalated quick and next thing I know he throws his full cup of soda on the floor and stormed out cussing up a storm. I ran after him and got his plate number as my manager called the cops but they couldn’t get anything from it so he’s never been found and ugh. Prick. Prick is all I can say.

3. Job 2- Someone actually called Tiny SeaTzars to ask for the hours of the CFK (backwards) next door. Just… really?

4. Job 2- We have a new dude, on like his second week. If a pizza is expired (been in the box for over an hour) we workers can eat it. Boy he was happy about that. Thing is, he’s almost always eating. Wasn’t working Friday but got told Saturday. It’s about 6pm, y'know, near peak rush hour when we can easily make a $2k hour, and he’s in the back leisurely eating pizza. Everyone else is busting their ass and he’s eating. Makeline dude had to leave his post to get sauce (because SOMEONE wasn’t at his post where he could be asked to get it for him so makeline doesn’t have to LEAVE THEIR POST IN THE MIDDLE OF A RUSH) and found him and chews him out, and thankfully he got a writeup for it. But just??? Bruh what level of stupidity/obliviousness do you gotta be on to see everyone rushing and running around you and think “Oh, time to eat some pizza.” ????

4. Job 1- Lady I don’t know comes up to the pump and sets of the bell that says someone’s trying to get gas. We have some regulars that we just release it and they’re trusted to come in and pay after, otherwise we’re prepay. However, I have never seen this chick before since I’ve worked here so not doing that. I tap her pump on my screen to shut it up and wait for her to come in. She does, all smiles, and says hi. I ask what I could help her with, she gets a confused look on her face and says “I need gas.” and I tell her we’re prepay. Bitch mode starts to wind up and she asks in a pissy voice “Really? Since when?” and I tell her “Since the station opened.” and then she says “Hmph, okay, I’ll talk to Sean (store owner) about that.” and leaves. Like, okay? We’re prepay, you’re not gonna change that by talking to the boss, who will tell you we are prepay. I don’t get people who think they can namedrop my boss to scare me??? Like “I know Sean.” Yeah, he runs a mechanic shop, half the county knows him, your point?? Best part is when they mispronounce his name or get it entirely wrong. “Yeah, me and Shane have been friends since we were kids.” Well good for you and Shane, but that ain’t helping you with SEAN.

5. Job 2- Lady calls in a 10 pizza order to be picked up the next day at 10am. We don’t open until 10:30. I try telling her and she get’s angry but tried meeting in the middle for 10:15. Talked to my managers and they said no way before 10:30. Tell her and she gets so pissed. “For such a big order you can’t get there 15 minutes early to open?” Okay first of all, do you really believe that we get here at 10:30 and open up? What the fuck are we going to sell?? We need to count down the registers, prep the toppings, make sheetouts and stock the hotboxes. We’re here at 6am or better just so we CAN open up at 10:30. We can’t just open the doors at 10:15 because if there’s more customers waiting around we’ll have to serve them when we’re NOT ready because we let you in, and then it snowballs into “well you were open this early yesterday/last week/blahblah” and then we get in trouble. In the end she cancelled her order and asked for corporates number. 

6. Job 2- Sunday after-church rush. Coworker calls in to ask for when he works next. Manager flat out tells him to get up and come check for himself because we can’t stop and look for him right now and hangs up. Seriously dude, literally EVERYONE knows to take a picture of the schedule when it’s posted. You hang around for half an hour before you leave every day anyway so wtf is stopping you from being an adult and taking a picture of your hours?? He called back like three times over the next few hours and we finally slowed down and told him but my god how stubborn and lazy do you have to be.

7. Job 1- Dude and his friend come in, one goes the the bathroom, the other gets some candy (which is RIGHT on the other side of my counter) and then goes looking around the shelves for other stuff. Buddy comes back to pay for gas and other guy leaves. I tell bathroom boy to hold on and I do a quick survey of the shelves find nothing, then go out to their car and see candy snatcher reclined in the seat eating the Reese’s he just took. I tapped on the window and the dude about jumped a foot in the air. I said “So, do you wanna pay for that or should I just go on and call the cops on you for shoplifting?” and luckily the dude doesn’t try fighting it and comes back in and tells his friend to pay for it. Friend is notably pissed and just glares at him. Tells me to just put whatever change is left after the candy in gas and heads out. Sincerely hope his friend at least thunked him in the back of the head for trying, and failing, at being a petty candy thief. 

8. Job 2- Ever since I’ve gotten glasses my eyes have been bloodshot almost a constant 24/7. Eyedrops clear it up for maybe an hour or two. The first few days the “are you high” question and jokes were kinda funny and amusing, but it’s been two months and it’s still going on. I would just stop wearing my glasses but I need them to legally drive (astigmatism in both eyes) so ugh.

9. Job 1- Once again, the station is prepay. It’s written on every pump in very large letters above every handle. Please tell me why these 5 asian guys (I think relevant? They didn’t seem to understand me well so maybe language block?) could not get it through their heads that they have to pay before they get their gas. They come in saying the pump isn’t working, I say we’re prepay, you have to pay before you get it. One of them goes to hand me his card and I ask how much in gas he’d like. Confusion. Ended up having to explain what prepay was (felt like a tool because of it) and they ended up leaving saying “Okay, we go to station down the street.” And I just.. Okay? Every station in the county is prepay but okay, you do you. Honestly this is more of a “I hope I didn’t offend them” than a fuck them thing. Felt bad I couldn’t help them.

10. Job 2- We ran out of green peppers, so one of our supremes is off the menu unless they’re fine with no peppers. Dude calls and wants the pepper supreme. I tell him we’re out of green pepper and he goes into upset toddler mode. 

Him: “Out of peppers, are you kidding me? How does that even happen?!”

Me: “Well, it’s kinda a supply and demand thing, Sir. If it’s a popular topping we’ll run out of it quick.”

H: “How can you run out of peppers it’s a pizza store you’d think you’d be able to tell when to order more of a topping!!”

And we don’t order it ourselves? We take count and tell our District Manager that we need things and he’s supposed to order them for us? (Dumb system I know but it’s what’s in place) 

In the end he asked for a manager and just hung up when he said the same thing. Found out he left a review on google about us. “Horribly unprepaired for the simplest of orders.” okay buddy, take the one star review and shove it up your ass.

11. Job 2- This one girl I go to school with got hired on. She seemed nice enough, we never talked before but apparently she knew me. She’s a decent worker (few nit-picky things, nothing bad) but… She makes me want to hit her sometimes. I get it, you’re trying to be funny/bubbly/joking/whatever, but I don’t know you well enough for you to be making jokes off of my appearance? I’m aware I that have a slightly larger than average head, I don’t like attention being drawn to it, especially randomly? We’re stretching dough and she just randomly says “You got a big ass head you know that? A big ass head.” and laughs. Like… Thanks, it’s not like that was a point of ridicule in the past or anything. And then while we’re washing dishes she gets mad and threatens to beat me for, wait for it, splashing her with water.

At the sink.

While doing dishes.

And she’s too extra with her reactions. Little extra is funny, I admit, but she is over the top. I was washing deep dish pans and a flake of bread flew off and hit her with some water. She spat and did that little “pthptpthpthtpht” thing  for almost an entire minute, then went on to say “We gonna throw hands if you do that again” I just… Kindly shut the fuck up and let me to dishes by myself if you’re gonna be such an extra [word that almost got this post deleted] like that okay? Just kindly fuck off.

I have plenty more but I feel like this post is too long as is. Enjoy my suffering and expect more to come.

[ediblenapkin-moved]

That's the Thing About Dreams- Chapter 5

A/N: CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2-

So hey! I’m back, and it’s time for cHAPTER MOTHERFIPPITY 2-

Anyways. This is gonna be either fun, or a complete and utter pain in the neck to write (my bet’s on the latter…). Who knows, though? (Future me. that’s who. future me what’s your status) (future iteration 1- i am not doing well. i am having small difficulties. oh my i did not spell that right what is wrong with me what time is it) (translation: it is 10:26 PM, i am covered in mosquito bites and this story is a pain.) (future iteration 2- i took a break. it’s a whole new day… and I’m ending the chapter. why? because me, that’s why. chapter 2’s gonna be in at least 3 separate pieces… and chapter 3???? hahahaha yeah that’s gonna be in at least 3 too. at least. i’m not even gonna try for ch4. not yet.)

Edit: I thought this chapter was gone today. So far, I’ve been writing all these little shits offline, google docs, you know? Well, today I got online- and when it went to sync my offline changes… three of eight documents I’d created/edited offline had vanished. Ofc, this scared me to no end- these things weren’t fun to figure out, in terms of all the little pieces and bits- and I was flipping out. I thought I was going to have to rewrite at least three different stories.

Thankfully, I waited a little bit and they reappeared. Which is good. But that was terrifying…

But now I'm on mobile. I just gotta mess with the formatting every damn time I go to post... I don't know if it's better or worse this way.

Enjoy.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

The first thing Joey was aware of was that his head was pounding.

“What hit me…?” He groaned, slowly pushing himself up. Once he was standing, he put a hand to his head. The throbbing was going away, but not fast enough.

He shut his eyes, waiting for it to go away. It didn’t, but it became manageable.

He finally reopened his eyes, looking around the small room- and quickly stepping out of the pentagram. It hurt to look at for some reason- the pulse in his head got worse even thinking about it.

He found himself picking up the axe, which, oddly enough, was now leaning against one of the coffins… and he knew he hadn’t left it there as he’d passed out. Which meant someone had been here and they moved his axe… but was that all they did?

Joey sighed. It wasn’t helping anyone to ask all these questions that- at the moment at least- had no answers. With that in mind, he looked towards the closed door in front of him.

Guess I’ve got no choice now… I’ve got to keep moving. Keep moving forward…

He chopped the boards off the next door and started walking.

Another stairwell. This one proudly displayed a little sign that read UTILITY SHAFT 9. As he walked down, a board collapsed and fell from the ceiling- nearly causing Joey to slip and fall down the stairs. Thankfully, he caught himself.

As soon as he reached the bottom step, he looked up- and another line greeted him- HE WILL SET US FREE- scrawled next to a smaller version of the cutouts that were everywhere. The little shelf was filled with candles, and cans of bacon soup, some closed, some open and poured in bowls. A banjo was leaning next to the shelf, slightly dusty.

He walked further in, noting that most of the shelves were in a similar state to the first- except one had another cassette tape. He clicked play.

“He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray that you hear me. Those old songs, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”

The tape clicked off, and Joey frowned. He made to step back-

“I said, can I get an amen?”

He spun around- and stopped.

Sammy Lawrence- his voice- it had just been here, right behind him. Joey was sure of it- he was here. Somewhere.

After a minute of silence, Joey took a deep breath and kept going. He’d never in his life heard the songwriter like that- and it was genuinely creepy. It was wrong, it was too calm, it was too… off.

By nature, he tended to be loud, impatient, and was easily distracted at times. He was also an amazing composer- the studio’s only composer. With him around, there was no need for another. Sammy worked best alone, but made an exception for the lyricist- who, at first, he’d shown no mercy to. But eventually something had happened- and they were able to be in the same room and actually talk to each other.

Joey reached the next hallway- and stopped. It was flooded with ink. Knee high at least, and it looked positively repulsive. After taking a moment to sigh- his shoes and socks had finally been dry when he’d woken up- he stepped in and began wading to the other side.

And then, halfway down the hall, he heard muttering. Whispering- and then a dark figure clad in white overalls appeared, walking past the doorway- carrying a Bendy cutout under its arm.

The voice, while quiet- was unmistakable.

“Lawrence? Lawrence! What the hell-” He pulled himself through the rest of the hall as fast as he could, nearly jumping out of the ink to turn the corner the songwriter had vanished around-

Only to see a dead end… and the Bendy cutout sitting in front of a pentagram scratched on the wall.

Joey looked around, noting the trail of ink- but where the hell had he gone?

The voice in his head whispered, It’s got something to do with this ink. It’s everywhere, and that’s unnatural… ‘Who needs that much ink anyways?’ Something is really off with all this.

It’s not right…

He turned around, noticing a closed metal gate- much like the ones that had penned him in upstairs- and a panel next to it, featuring three blinking lights.

Seems like the gate needed power.

He found himself searching for the three different switches- two of them were back down the flooded hall, and after coming back through it for the third time he sat down, took off his shoes, then wrung out his socks. It was a pointless move- there was ink everywhere, and it was more than likely he was gonna be covered in it at some point, and more than just knee high or waist high- probably neck high or above head.

He slipped his slightly less soaked socks back on, then his shoes. He stood and walked over to the switchboard- all three lights were on. He threw the switch.

With a rumble and a lot of groaning, the metal gate slowly lifted- and just as it clicked into place, a low moan sounded- followed by the sound of a light flicking on.

Joey walked closer to the boarded up doorway- seriously, what was up with all these boarded up areas- and listened, but there was nothing else. Quickly, he hacked his way through the wood, and walked in.

The music department kind of looked like shit at the moment.

Ink puddles scattered everywhere, only a few candles- god it was dark- and most of the lights were off. Looking around, Joey sighed before noticing the tape next to the sign- in the dark, it was hard to see, but this tape was labelled- Lawrence. He turned it on.

“So first this Ink Machine is installed over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month we couldn’t even get out of our department because the ink kept flooding the stairwell. The solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out all day. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know.”

Now that sounded like Sammy…. the stairwell, right. Turning around, Joey walked to the stairs- and what do you know? It was flooded. The main power switch sat on the wall to the right, though- thankfully. He threw the switch, hearing the clicking of lights turning on- then wincing as the room suddenly filled with harsh light.

And then, the sound of ink dripping filled the room.

He turned, and walked back into the main room-

And a glob of ink dropped from the ceiling, forming into a humanoid shape.

Almost instantly, it swiped at Joey, who raised the axe and swung back.

Only one of them made their mark.

The body- he assumed- melted, and returned to a regular puddle of ink.

And then there were more.

Before he got time to think, he was fighting the inky creatures as best he could- he wasn’t a perfect aim with the axe- but eventually the last one took a hit and vanished, leaving Joey, panting, alone in the room as music began to play- and as a metal gate began to open.

And, finally, he got a chance to think, and a chill ran down his back.

Those things… weren’t right.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

A/N: jesus fuckin shit this is gonna be hard

i just rewatched someone play through it… fuck. I THOUGHT I WAS DONE SHORTCUTTING CRAP-

Nope. Apparently not. Sorry, suckers, but we’re shortcutting the hell out of this chapter… and Chapter 3. Saying it now so you don’t wonder, because no way in hell am I writing out that entire fucking annoying ass errand list. The Angel can go suck a lemon.

(Am I reading too many fics these days…? I’m actually not swearing as much as I usually do. wow. thanks for the influence, fics.)

I can already tell this fic, if it gets finished porplery, (porperly????? pfft), will be about 8 chapters minimum. so yeah. probably around 12 or 14…. excluding bullshit…

Is it crazy that I’m already looking forward to transcribing Chapter 3? Yes? No? Maybe, so? (hahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaahahah sorry)

next up: cutouts. why.

[autolovecraft]

There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb.

Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought! The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height.

He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you got what you deserved. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. Davis. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. He could not walk, it appeared, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks.

The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the right grave.

He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought! He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever.

Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was not far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste.

Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been encouraging and to others may have been mocking.

When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. The tower at length finished, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. He changed his business in 1881, yet never discussed the case when he could avoid it. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. It may have been mocking. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.

It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought!

The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced.

Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. Why did you do it, Birch? The tower at length finished, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. God, what a rage!

Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you got what you deserved. An eye for an eye!

His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry.

God, what a rage! Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked.

In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity.

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Chapt. 10

Start from the beginning here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799/chapters/27477684

When Sarah finally responded to Cosima's question about rescheduling, Delphine was driving them all to Sarah's house, though Cosima still thought of it as Siobhan's. Gene sat in the front passenger seat, chatting with Delphine about kelp forests off the coast of California, and Sally and Cosima were in the back, zoning in and out. It was 12:20 pm, putting Charlotte's parent-teacher conference less than two and a half hours away.

I've rescheduled four times already, Sarah texted. Two of those because I forgot. Can't do it again.

We're almost at your house, Cosima typed, needing some more time to think about this before committing. Can we talk about it then?

K

Cosima had never impersonated Sarah, only Alison, and that had gone south fast as soon as she needed to actually talk to people, rather than just be Alison-shaped. Sarah was the family chameleon, after all, but from what she heard, Alison could do a passable Sarah Manning, as well.

Have you asked Alison to do it?

Yeah. She's busy, and she's says it's my responsibility.

That sounded like Alison. Cosima slid her phone back into her pocket and chewed on her thumbnail.

Sarah greeted them at the door when they arrived at the house, and behind her they saw Helena trying to feed the boys in the kitchen. A squeal erupted from one of them just as Cosima and Delphine stepped over the threshold, Dr. and Dr. Niehaus behind them.

“Yeah,” Sarah said, “We're trying to convince them that throwing food's not a good idea. So far they're not convinced.”

Sally patted Cosima's back as Sarah offered to take their coats. “Oh, Cosima used to throw her food, too, you know. For a couple of years, in fact.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Cosima shed her coat and wanted to complain, but Delphine looked so utterly charmed by the image that she kept her mouth shut.

Gene nodded. “Yeah, we kind of had to feed her in a bubble and wrap ourselves in plastic. But she got better eventually.”

Once her parents were busy cooing over the babies in the kitchen, Cosima maneuvered Sarah into the opposite side of the living room, where Delphine settled onto the couch with a glass of water.

“Sarah, do you seriously want me to go to Charlotte's teacher conference as you?” Cosima hissed.

Sarah sighed and leaned against the wall. “I know, I know. It's... terrible parenting or.... sistering, or whatever. I've already gotten the earful from Alison. But, listen, it shouldn't be that hard.”

“Not that hard? Sarah, you're the guardian, not me.”

“Right, but this teacher's never met me. Just say you're me, and no one's gonna know.”

“No one except Charlotte,” Delphine said.

Sarah pushed her palms against her forehead and sighed. “Look, Charlotte knows what's up. She's a smart kid; we can explain it to her later, if we even have to. She'll probably figure out for herself why it's you there instead of me.”

Sarah wasn't wrong, but Cosima's heart ached for her little sister, expected to deal with clone swaps as a matter of course at the age of eleven. “I mean, yeah, she'll figure it out. That's not really what I'm worried about. Can't you try rescheduling your exam? Take it tomorrow in the professor's office or something?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. He's made it very clear, all semester, that we need emergency documentation in order to do that, and he gave us a list of acceptable documents. He also made it clear that child care and previous appointments do not count as emergencies.”

“Shit.” Cosima couldn't remember any professor having that policy in any of her classes, but maybe they just hadn't needed to. She looked at the clock. It was 12:55. “How far away is the school?”

“About a mile away. Charlotte takes the bus, though, `cause, you know.” Sarah gestured to her own leg. “So I never got a parking pass for the lot, and it's super expensive to park close by. Which means you'll have to walk or get Delphine to drop you off.”

Getting to the school was the least of Cosima's concerns. A mile meant she could walk there in about twenty minutes at a relaxed pace, and she had missed walking since they'd gotten back. “You said the teacher hasn't met you before, but haven't the office staff met you?”

“Only the first day, when I registered her.”

“So they probably noticed you have a British accent, and they'll notice that I don't.”

Sarah squirmed. “Yeah, maybe, but that was in August, and now it's December. That's four months for everyone to forget what I sound like.”

“A sibling guardian with a British accent isn't going to be that hard to forget, Sarah! That's two things that make you stand out from all the other adults who've registered their kids there this year. Plus, with Charlotte's leg brace, and the fact that she's in a traditional school for the first time ever, she's a memorable kid in general. Someone will remember you, and they will notice that I am different from you!”

While Sarah leaned back and rubbed her face, Sally came in, bouncing Arthur on her hip. “What's all the fuss in here, girls?”

“Nothing,” both Cosima and Sarah said.

* * *

An hour later, Sarah drove off to her final exam at the community college, and Cosima sat in Sarah's bedroom, formerly Siobhan's bedroom, papers scattered around and her laptop on her legs. Her parents were wrapped up with the babies downstairs, telling stories about baby Cosima to whatever adult would listen, while Cosima read the documents Sarah gave her regarding Charlotte's life in Toronto. She had fifteen minutes to familiarize herself before getting ready to leave.

“What the hell am I doing?” she muttered, and reminded herself that she was doing this for her sisters.

Charlotte had a social insurance card, magically created birth certificate, and all other relevant documentation in a manila envelope with her name on it. She was up to date on her vaccinations and yearly physicals, though her doctor recommended physical therapy for her leg, which Charlotte, apparently, was not interested in. There was also a note in one of her medical forms mentioning the possibility of surgery, but warning about complications in a growing girl. Cosima made a mental note to follow up on that later.

She already knew about Charlotte's grades, but she still looked over Charlotte's report cards and the notes and emails from her teachers. The most recent email, forwarded to Cosima by Sarah, expressed “ongoing concern” about Charlotte's interactions with her classmates. It came from a Mrs. Christina Moore, Charlotte's homeroom teacher, the same women requesting the conference.

“She'll be happy to see you, I think.”

Cosima turned to see Delphine come in, which meant her mother was bending Helena's ear now. “Maybe. Or maybe she'll think Sarah's just passing her off onto someone else. Which, okay, yeah, she actually is.” She tossed the most recent report card onto the pile of papers and wondered what the hell she was going to tell Mrs. Moore.

Delphine perched on the edge of the bed. “Yes, she is. But I don't think she means to.”

“No, I know she doesn't. She just... she forgets things all the time, or things don't always occur to her that should.”

“That sounds like you, sometimes.”

“I've never forgotten to take care of a kid.”

“You've never had a kid to forget to take care of.”

Cosima wanted to argue that that was not the point, that of course she would do a better job than Sarah was doing now, but Delphine was giving her that “You know I'm right” look, and at any rate it was 2:12 now, and she needed to get ready to go. She closed the laptop and gathered up the papers into the manilla envelope. “Maybe not. I just feel bad for Charlotte, that's all. She's eleven, for fuck's sake. She didn't ask for any of this.”

“No. Neither did Sarah. And neither did you.”

She leaned back against the headboard and met her gaze, then stretched out one foot to poke Delphine's knee. “I guess not. But you did. You sure you want to marry into this clone madness?”

Delphine grabbed her foot with both hands and pretended to trap it. “Positive. As long as no one pretends to be you again without giving me a heads up first. Now go. Make Charlotte proud.”

* * *

The school was a pleasant walk away, with the sidewalks all clear of snow and ice, through a neighborhood decorated with Christmas figures and the occasional menorah. Still unused to the cold after so many months down south, Cosima bundled herself in her red wool coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. At the school's entrance, a security guard directed her to the office, where she signed in and showed them Sarah's driver's license. Sarah had taken Cosima's, just in case she got pulled over for anything, which Cosima desperately hoped wouldn't happen. The woman behind the desk blinked up at her dreadlocks for a moment, then wrote Sara Maning on a visitor's pass for Cosima to stick to her chest.

“Christina Moore's in room 224. That's upstairs.” Before Cosima could even thank her, she turned her attention to the man next in line, so Cosima saw herself out of the office.

“That was easy,” she muttered.

Across the hall from the office, in a large room that looked like it served dual duty as cafeteria and auditorium, at least fifty children hung out, ran around, or looked at their phones, none of them batting an eye when Cosima entered. Three faculty members stood together in a corner, doing the bare minimum required to claim that the children were being supervised. On the opposite side of the room, on a grey folding chair, Cosima saw Charlotte, alone, her nose buried in a book. Cosima walked over.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Charlotte looked up at Cosima's voice and blinked several times, then saw the name tag. “Oh.”

“Is it okay that I'm here? She has an exam she can't really miss. But, if you want, I'll go. I don't have to be the one to talk to your teacher.”

Charlotte shrugged. “It's okay with me. I don't really know what she wants to talk about.”

“Sarah hasn't told you?”

Another shrug. “Kind of.”

“Okay, well, are you ready?”

Charlotte did not move. “For what? The conference is for Sarah – I mean, you, I guess – and the teacher.”

“The conference is about you, though. Don't you want to be there?”

Charlotte picked at a spot on her nose until Cosima gently took her hand away and crouched down in front of her. “Hey. I don't want to talk to someone about you without involving you in the conversation. You're the most important person in this whole... ordeal. If you don't want to be involved, that's totally cool, I get that, but you need to know that you have the choice. And if you don't want me to go in there and pretend that I'm the one who's in charge of you, or whatever, that's your choice, too. We can wait until Sarah has an open day in her schedule, and she can come in then. No problem.”

Tears threatened in Charlotte's eyes, but she shook her head. “It's okay. We can do it today.”

“You're okay with me talking to your teacher?”

“Yes. It's okay.”

“A'right. I'm gonna need your help, though, because as much as you've told me about school and everything, I haven't exactly been around the whole time you've been going here. Not like Sarah has. So I might need you to fill in some gaps for me.”

“Is that the real reason you want me to come with you?”

“I... no. No! I meant everything I said just now. If you want to stay down here, I'll do just fine. It would just be extra nice to have you there.”

Charlotte's head was turned and she looked at Cosima with a tiny smile. “Okay.”

“Okay, let's go meet Mrs. Moore, then.”

Charlotte stood and tucked her book away, but not before Cosima got a look at the title: The Chronicles of Pern. She didn't get to see which book in the series it was, but she pointed at it and said, “I used to love those books. My grandma always said I shouldn't read them, though.”

“Why?”

“Oh, probably `cause there's sex in them. That was my dad's mom, though; my mom's mom is way more open-minded.”

She thought she saw a hint of pink in Charlotte's cheeks, but in a moment Charlotte had hoisted her massive backpack onto her shoulders and led the way down a hallway towards a wide stairwell lined with inspirational posters. Cosima followed behind as Charlotte pulled herself up each step, her braced leg unable to help her up.

At the landing, Charlotte paused to readjust her backpack near a poster with multicolored words reading, “You never fail until you stop trying.” Cosima agreed with the general sentiment, but in this context it made her want to commit a minor act of vandalism.

“Does the school not have an elevator?” she asked.

“It does,” Charlotte said, “but it's all the way on the other side of the building, and it shakes a lot. Plus, it's really slow, and there's always a guard making sure that only the disabled kids use it.”

You are disabled, Cosima wanted to point out, but she held back. It wasn't her place to tell Charlotte how to identify, after all, and she remembered how she, herself, had hated being “accommodated” when she was sick. She still balked at the fact that Delphine had once pushed her in a wheelchair, and that was a long time ago.

In a few minutes they arrived at room 224. The door was open, but Cosima knocked anyway. Mrs. Moore turned out to be much younger than Cosima'd expected, possibly a little younger than Cosima herself. She was slender, in a conservative grey dress and white cardigan, and she reminded Cosima of a flute player she used to know in college. The room was spacious, and used mostly as a geography room, based on the maps and pictures of multi-ethnic people decorating the walls. The desks were small tables with two chairs each and baskets for student materials underneath.

Mrs. Moore rose to greet them, but paused when she saw Charlotte a step behind Cosima. “Oh,” she said with a smile, “normally, for parent-teacher conferences, the student stays downstairs in the cafeteria.”

Cosima smiled back to show goodwill, but said, “I know, but I thought it would be helpful for Charlotte to be present for this one. I want to make sure she has an active role in all of this.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Moore could roll with that. She gestured for them to sit together at a student desk while she took the one next to it. She had a folder labelled “Charlotte Bowles-Duncan,” and Cosima did not miss Charlotte's physical reaction to seeing her name there. She put her hand on Charlotte's back and gave her a smile.

“So,” Mrs. Moore began, “just to make sure I have everything right here, you're Charlotte's sister, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And she's been living with you for... four months?”

“Five,” Charlotte said.

“Five months, okay.” Mrs. Moore made a note of that and went on. “And there's one other child living in the home, your daughter Kira?”

For a second, Cosima forgot she wasn't Sarah and almost corrected her, but remembered just in time. “Um, yeah, yeah, just her. And us.”

“Okay. And Kira is how old?”

“She's nine.”

“Okay. Great, thanks. I know it seems unimportant, but knowing what's going on at home can really help when we work with students, especially for any behavioral or psychological issues that come up. And she was homeschooled before this year, right?”

Cosima was getting uncomfortable talking about Charlotte as though she weren't there, but Charlotte spoke up to answer that one. “No. I told you before, I took online classes. I wasn't homeschooled.”

“Right. Okay.” Mrs. Moore put both hands on top of her folder and looked from Cosima to Charlotte and back again. “Well, Ms. Manning, as I've told you before via email, Charlotte's acadmic work has been very good, but she seems to be having some problems with other kids here.”

Cosima nodded. She'd heard plenty from Charlotte about two girls in particular, Amy and Sophie, who made fun of her a lot. “Yeah, that's what Charlotte's told me, too.”

“Okay, good. I'm glad she's talked to you about it some.” Mrs. Moore looked encouraged, and nodded. “What has she told you?”

Looking at Charlotte for permission first, Cosima said, “She says she call her names and make faces at her, and sometimes they take things from her desk when she's not looking.”

Mrs. Moore nodded more cautiously this time, and Cosima saw another side of the story lurking around the conversational corner. Before it came, though, Charlotte spoke up.

“Sophie called me an uptight bitch this afternoon.”

Cosima could think of a few people she'd called that, privately, herself, but Charlotte didn't really fit that description. Did she?

“That's right,” Mrs. Moore said. “And what happened before that?”

“Emma Dewey was talking over everybody about whatever stupid boy on the internet she has a crush on. She was sitting in my desk!”

Cosima had a sinking feeling about where this was going, but she let Mrs. Moore ask the follow-up, “And then what did you do?”

“I told her she was stupid and he was ugly and I wanted my desk back.”

Oh boy. Cosima turned to face Charlotte, blocking out the teacher for a few moments. “You told her she was stupid?”

“She is.”

Cosima shook her head. “Charlotte.... no one is stupid. Okay? Even if you don't like them, it's never okay to call someone stupid. Especially not for, what, liking a boy on the internet? I know, these girls are a year older than you, so they might be more comfortable talking about boys than you are, but, listen, lots of girls talk about cute boys.” Cosima rambled on, feeling like she was not getting across the point she'd wanted to get across.

Charlotte tightened her lips and looked into the space between Cosima and Mrs. Moore. “You don't.”

She'd hoped that no part of the conference would swing in that direction, even if she knew Sarah sometimes dated girls, too. “That doesn't matter. I've done a lot of other things that people find ridiculous. I mean, look, it's okay to be upset that she was in your desk, right? But if that's what you were upset about, that's what you should have said. Did she ask you what you thought about the boy?”

“No one asks me my opinion, ever.”

Mrs. Moore coughed. “Actually, Charlotte, sometimes they do.”

Charlotte had no response to that. She picked at her chin until Cosima took her hand away again, and then she picked at the skin around her fingernails, like Cosima had seen Sarah doing a few times. Since Charlotte was quiet, she turned to Mrs. Moore. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“Well, Charlotte's a very bright girl, and the other students know that. They know she had some more advanced courses before, so sometimes they ask her to check their homework or what she thinks might be an easy topic for a project. They haven't asked you in a while, though, have they, Charlotte?”

Oh, boy, Cosima thought again.

“That's not asking for my opinion. That's asking me to do their work for them. They're just lazy.”

“And, I remember Simon asking you once if you wanted to play a game with him and his friends a few months ago, but you told him his game was stupid. Do you remember that?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know.”

Cosima sighed and leaned her face against one hand before she addressed that topic. Uptight bitch, indeed, she thought. “I mean, I get not wanting to do someone else's work for them, but...” How could she phrase this? She already knew, from hours of talking to Charlotte on Skype, that Charlotte felt worlds behind the kids in her class, and even from the sixth graders who were her age. Was this just Charlotte's way of compensating for that?

“Can I just -?” Charlotte cut the question off short and fell back against her chair.

“Just what?” Cosima asked.

“Never mind. I'll ask you later.”

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Moore checked the time. “I'm afraid we need to wrap up for today, Ms. Manning. I would like to continue this conversation, though, after the break. I'll send you an email with some dates to consider, okay?”

Cosima nodded, wondering how differently this conference might have gone if Sarah had been able to attend. Sarah would be able to impersonate Cosima well enough for the next conference, too, thankfully.

As they made their way back down the stairs, a girl in a Canadian-flag patterned hijab bounced down the stairs beside them and gave Charlotte a wave and a smile. The girl was thin and about four feet tall, and she skipped away down the hallway as Charlotte thumped down one step at a time.

“She seems nice,” Cosima said. “Have you told me about her?”

“I dunno.”

Cosima wondered if she'd ever been this obstinate as a child. She'd have to ask her parents when they got back to the house. “Can you tell me her name, at least?”

“Her name's Latifa. She's from Syria.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yeah, but people say nasty things about her, too. They say her parents are terrorists, or that she shouldn't be here. Noah Watley pulls on her hijab on the bus. Most kids don't even know that it's called a hijab. They just call it her 'head thing' or whatever. And they make fun of the way she talks, but she's only been speaking English for a year, and most of them don't even speak another language!”

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs and Cosima looked down the hallway where Latifa had vanished. “That's awful,” she said.

“I keep telling you, kids here are stupid. And I know you just told me not to call people that, but they are! They're stupid and they're mean.”

It wasn't the time to argue with her, as Charlotte's eyes filled with tears, and Cosima remembered the other little girl in a hijab that Charlotte had befriended at Revival. She pulled Charlotte close and wrapped her arms around her little sister. “You can be upset,” she said into the top of Charlotte's head. “I'll never tell you you can't be upset, especially when people are mean like that.”

Charlotte did not cry, but held onto Cosima for several minutes, even as faculty and staff members wandered by and gave them curious looks. “Why can't I just live with you?” she asked, her voice muffled by Cosima's scarf.

“Come on, Charlotte, you know the answer to that.”

“Tell me again.”

She sighed and loosened her arms, but Charlotte still held on tight, making Cosima wonder how many hugs Charlotte got. How many she had ever gotten.

“You can't live with us because we're moving all the time, and sometimes we have to pick up and go to another country with, like, an hour's notice. And sometimes we're in places that would really hard for you to get around in with your leg, and there wouldn't always be much for you to do, and...”

“I can always find things to do. I'm good at that. And I can get along just fine with my leg; you've seen me!”

Cosima pulled back and gave her sister a measured look. “I've seen you walk, but you have a hard time, whether you like admitting it or not.”

Charlotte stepped back now, too, and wiggled in a little kid way, but she was smiling. “But don't you remember on the island? I walked with you for, like, an hour, through the woods, in the dark!”

“Yes, because the village was on fire! We didn't have much of a choice, and that was one time. That wasn't every day, a couple times a day.”

A group of boys walked by, looking at Charlotte but not saying anything, and she returned their silence. To Cosima, they did not seem malicious, simply curious about why the new girl with the leg brace was still here, talking to some woman with dreadlocks in the hallway. After they passed, she pulled out her phone to text Delphine.

“Delphine's gonna come pick us up, is that okay?”

Charlotte pouted, but said, “I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so?” Cosima had only asked the question out of habit. She had never imagined any possible answer other than “sure” or “yes.”

Charlotte punctuated her sigh with an eye roll. “I mean I guess so. I mean it's fine. Whatever. Is she on her way now?”

“Yes, but if you'd rather walk home, I can tell her to turn around.”

“I said it's fine. Come on. She'll probably be here in a few minutes.”

Cosima stood in the middle school hallway, cell phone in hand, and watched her youngest and most vulnerable sister limp away until she reached the junction with the main hall and turned back around.

“Cosima, are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way. I'll be right there.”

[starryoak]

“Hi, I’m ‘Dr.’ Fern, N.D., D.C., Ac.D, D.O*, all completely, totally legitimate medical qualifications across all zones and definitely not fake diploma’s! I’m here to give you what other Doctors won’t give you! Quasi-zonal, semi-medically sound, mildly tested to the bare minimum required by the Zonal Medicouncil, medical help the right way; with Holistic Medicine!”

Fanart for the webcomic Awful Hospital, an amazing comic by Sir Bogathan Leech, otherwise known as @bogleech/Jonathan Wojcik. It’s insane, disturbing, features quite a lot of nausea inducing visuals, but lots of humor and story, as well as some heartwarming and tearjerking moments. It’s extremely good, just…. if you don’t have the stomach for it, you may not like it. But it is very good.

SPOILERS BELOW FOR ALL OF AWFUL HOSPITAL, PRETTY MUCH. NOT SPECIFICS, JUST LOTS OF ASSUMPTIONS THAT THE READER IS COMPLETELY CAUGHT UP WITH THE COMIC.

Anyway, this is a drawing of Fern, the protagonist of Awful Hospital.... A Fern, at least. I worked hard to make this look like something that would fit in canon, meaning I went way out of my style, but it works, I hope?... My lines are thicker, but I'm hoping to improve.

Essentially, the beginning of this was when I got to thinking; what if FERN was a Doctor at The Hospital? I know it wouldn't ever happen..at least  I think... But I still wondered; what would she look like? What would she do? What core concept of medicine would it make sense for her to fulfill? All the concepts seemed to be covered. But then I got to thinking even more, and since most (if not all) the Doctors at The Hospital are puns on something, I thought of something. The Doctor is missing a quack homeopath!...

Ok, so yes, homeopathy isn't medicine, but it IS something that (unfortunately) is accredited in some countries, as well as other bullshit ‘medicinal’ treatments, and has many supporters and practitioners and diploma mills... So perhaps the core concept of homeopathy could eventually grow so big that the concept manifests in the hospital?... God, like they NEED any more quackery in that place. But Fern’s name would be a pun, so... I did it. I’m unfortunately bad at Bogleech style zonal lingo, so you’ll have to deal with boring, normal quackery rather than the bizzaro quackery that The Hospital purveys in.

Meet ‘Doctor’ Fern!

‘Doctor’ Fern is possibly the least qualified ‘medical’ professional in The Hospital! Yes, even less qualified than Phage... At least he's guaranteed to eat bacteria. ‘Doctor’ Fern is a practitioner of only the most diluted medicinal concepts, the most scientifically unsound, most expensive snake oil treatments. Her patients recover only through spontaneous remission, although she does have a low fatality rate; her treatments are often at their best, completely ineffective. She dilutes all of her concepts to homeopathic standards, so not even one nano-particle of even an inkling exists when she administers it. At worst, her treatments are poisonous and lead to worsened or even better, NEW symptoms. But she claims she's the only REAL Doctor in the whole Hospital. Nobody else treats the cause, only the SYMPTOMS of the disease. She treats the cause, not the symptom! Her low mortality rate can only be attributed to the absolute ineffectiveness at any real medicine, so she can't unintentionally administer too much homeopathic remedies and cause them to overdose, but her ward is full of patients who have been waiting so many layers to recover that it’s starting to cause a huge ruckus. But she’s certain that SOME kind of treatment will work, but as long as it’s mainstream medicine, they’ll never get better!. ‘Doctor’ Fern’s treatments are chaotic, ever changing, never standardized wrecks, basic misunderstandings of the fundamental nature of medicine and disease itself; somehow even in The Hospital, the conceptual nature of homeopathy and other ‘holistic’ medicine carries over... in other words, even though The Hospital has nonsensical, ever changing functions and cures, the fact that most of ‘Doctor’ Fern’s treatments are bullshit gets carried through, as bullshit is intrinsically woven into the very nature of her medicinal practices. Even the things she performs that qualify as medicine in some cases are usually misapplied, snapping necks when all the patient needed was a quick realignment of their core concepts with their spinal arrangement, acupuncture used for things other than relief of mild pain, trepanation for non-approved purposes, she’s a wonder at failure to medicine.

A no-nonsense nonsense provider, ‘Doctor’ Fern’s personality is similar to her canon counterpart, but warped by The Hospital, obviously assimilated into The Hospital’s jargon completely, ‘Doctor’ Fern is completely understanding of most lingo that all the Hospital Staff know... and deliberately chooses to misapply them. She’s caring, but has even less of an idea of what she’s doing than Phage does, even if The Hospital was at full running capacity, she would be utterly incompetent. As it is, she’s currently CRIMINALLY incompetent. Despite her inability to cure her patients, most of them (generally the ones with less of an idea of medicine) consider her their favorite doctor, which is likely why she’s still alive. Those who go through spontaneous remission end up thanking the good ‘Doctor’ for their recovery, and admittedly, even with her terrible abilities, she genuinely cares for each and every patient she can. 

Her design is complex and very symbolic, which I’m actually quite proud of, even if it is a bit ‘busy’, I worked hard on it! Since each Doctor (Besides our fair Doctor Ichabod Malachi Man) seems based on the very basic or very first treatments of their respective specialties, I looked up the very first herbal medicines, which was apparently using the plant Gingko Bilobo. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but I used the leaves of the tree for ‘Doctor’ Fern’s hair. (also, you always must write Doctor as ‘Doctor’ when referring to her, as her doctorates are all fake or non accredited) She has a Gingko Berry for an earring as well, one that’s a bit old and bruised. She has normal doctors scrubs, but her shirt is emblazoned with an alternative medicinal parody of the Caduceus. I gave her ears for the explicit purpose of demonstrating yet another ‘medical’ treatment; ear stapling. Apparently, according to some, surgical staples in ones ears will help one lose weight. Her teeth are borrowed from Page 711, when she imagined strangling Dr. Phage. This is strictly because it made her creepier to the eye, as it felt... right, to give her a more unsettling visage than our friendly neighborhood Fern. Her gloves are not, in fact, medical gloves or in any way sanitation related or even sanitary, but Reflexology reference mitts. the belief that pressure points on the hands line up to everywhere else on the body (and of course, everyone has a different idea of what connects to where, so ‘Doctor’ Fern changes her mind on what it does every five minutes.) Even though acupuncture can be an effective treatment for some causes, I stuck two needles in her head both for flair and due to the misapplication of acupuncture as a cure rather than relief for pain. She also has a trepanation hole in her head that constantly oozes out something conceptually similar to blood, but likely not actually blood. I don’t know what it is or if I want to KNOW what it is. Her necklace is a piece of ionized jewelry, which does.. some bullshit or something about Qi, Look, I don’t make up this stuff, someone else does. Her feet are covered in Kinoki Foot Pads instead of any proper footwear. Kinoki Foot Pads are pads that turn a dirty black overnight when you wear them, supposedly because they drain out ‘toxins’ from your feet, but really because they’re made with green tea and such that react with sweat and air, but whatever, ‘toxins’.

Anyway, that’s what I think Fern might look like as a ‘Doctor’. Or, at least, passing for a Doctor.

*(N.D is short for a Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine, D.C is short for Doctor of Chiropractic, Ac. D is short for Acupuncture Doctor, and O.D is short for Doctor of Osteopathy)