#her kids never quite grasp that because it was an unofficial thing

[lightdancer1]

One part of giving Ursa a role as a character beyond 'Ozai's wife' and 'mom to the Fire Hazards'

Is giving her a very specific role in Fire Lord Azulon's court, in particular after her arrival there. Canonically Ursa had the ability overnight to murder Azulon and conveniently create a passable forgery of a will deeding the throne to Ozai. This is the admittedly thin canonical basis on which I have Ursa in her time in the Palace becoming Azulon's *spymaster* and the equivalent of the head of the Eyes and Ears.

At the one remove she's 'merely' an actress, even of a Royal and a descendant of Roku and without formal connections (at first). This is one thing that in Azulon's eyes makes her a perfect choice because in theory she could never turn (irony of ironies given how it eventually turns out).

From her POV this is the compensation for the emotional and physical abuse Ozai puts her through, as she ends up with more power in the Fire Nation than he does (which as well as her raw power being infinitely superior to his is another of the reasons why Ozai deliberately begins to do this to keep Ursa cowed and 'loyal' to him). She can propose and a sparrow fall from a tree five islands over.

Even at her least morally ambiguous (and of course the Azula Heresy AU is the exception in this rule as in others) Ursa is still the Long Feng/Dai Li/Lavrenti Beria/Henrich Himmler/J. Edgar Hoover of the Fire Nation. She has depths and an iron ruthlessness and a willingness to resort to murder to match any Fire Nation ruler and noble.

And in the Continuation-verse rather than sparring with Mai about this openly the two use Azula's 'memory' at the time they think she's dead as a smokescreen for Mai to refuse to allow her mother-in-law to retake a position like the one she held (only to end up regretting it after the vacuum at the center leads to the very results Ursa warns it could) and is the biggest single reason why the two have a semi-stereotypical mother-in-law doesn't think her daughter is good enough for her son relationship, at least on the surface.

[satan-chillin]

in this lifetime and the next

Zhou Zishu was no better during waking hours, sparing what he could in reminiscing about what he actually recalled from his random dreams of a faceless little girl. She was dressed in hues of blue, sometimes pink with a touch of red. Effortlessly, he filled out the blanks among her vagueness: dark eyes in the shape of almonds, a button nose, pinchable cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips; altogether, they would crinkle adorably when her face lit up with a beam or when she stuck out her tongue in impertinence.

Albeit on a young girl’s image, those were exactly two of Wen Kexing’s trademark expressions.

(Or, the times Zhou Zishu gets to witness how Wen Kexing handles children and catches extra feelings. ™)

Also available in Ao3

Despite Wen Kexing’s frivolity on matters that had been outside his two-decade revenge plot, in hindsight, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was good with children.

He raised A-Xiang on his own, in a place where he could have hardly taken care of his own barely adolescent self, and, all things considered, she grew up functional and eventually found a good man who cared and loved her. Soon, she would be a mother who wouldn’t let her children experience the same tough childhood that she had.

Zhou Zishu had seen Wen Kexing take care of the younger disciples, a couple of them orphans who had found their way in the Four Seasons Manor. Some were found by Wen Kexing the same way he had found A-Xiang, and while as the Manor Lord the last say would always be Zhou Zishu’s, there was of course no question of acceptance. He wasn’t heartless to drive away children in need of home and guidance, and he definitely didn’t have the heart to turn his back on what Wen Kexing considered important.

The first time he witnessed him interact with the youngest juniors, Zhou Zishu believed he was seeing a rare sight of Wen Kexing, the one capable of nurturing and caring selflessly for the vulnerable. He took them under his wing and let them follow him like a herd of chicks to his mother hen, instilling the fundamentals of values and discipline yet at the same time wanting to give them a chance in an unfettered childhood. He hadn’t had a proper one himself, he had said in that deceptively casual tone of his when he made a request to him to give the young ones half a day to spend in leisure alone. Zhou Zishu hadn’t been a child who played often—he was an odd kid—but he was a bit hurt that Wen Kexing had to ask this of him when he knew what the answer would be.

So, because he was a little frustrated and overwhelmingly happy at the tenderness and compassion Wen Kexing had for their disciples who might as well be their children at this point, Zhou Zishu flicked his forehead in reproach for needing to ask, before embracing him and inhaling the scent of his hair. They’ve never been good with words, that much was clear, but Zhou Zishu liked to think that they were making progress on that front. He still had a lot of things to learn about Wen Kexing, after all.

And about himself too, apparently, as Zhou Zishu came to realize one evening.

He woke up alone, and after wandering around the manor found Wen Kexing by the gardens carrying their newest unofficial recruit, a boy of almost five who seemed like a toddler given how small he was. Wen Kexing cut an ethereal image with his pale white hair under the moonlight, with a boy sleeping deeply in his arms as he hummed a faint tune.

Zhou Zishu had no idea how long he was standing at a distance, mesmerized at the serenity of the sight and sound. Wen Kexing turned to him with a curve of a smile on his lips, gesturing mildly at his burden. Zhou Zishu approached him as if in a trance, led by an ache that he dared not examine. Not yet, anyway.

“A-Chen can’t get back to sleep,” Wen Kexing murmured once Zhou Zishu was close enough to admire how natural he was with a slumbering child. “Nightmare.”

Zhou Zishu was half-tempted to ask whether he was woken up by similar reasons as well but settled with silence. Any words now would be poor enough to break this moment. He glanced at the boy’s unruly hair and did not resist the urge to smooth it down gingerly. How peculiar that he hardly felt self-conscious the longer Wen Kexing watched him, watched the gesture, that soft, fond smile of his not leaving his face.

He followed as Wen Kexing wordlessly led the way to one of the juniors’ shared quarters. Gently, as if he had done it several times, he laid the boy down and tucked him in without rousing him.

It was a sedate pace, with Wen Kexing’s arm wounded around his, on their trek back. Zhou Zishu had no notion of the late hour, which, while knowing they both would have another early day ahead, he frankly didn’t care about. If he decided to pull him towards the direction of the same garden they came from, Wen Kexing would happily follow him, that he knew. Though with the full moon pleasantly out, Zhou Zishu had no idea who would be leading who, especially when he had the feeling of a man bewitched by an unearthly creature in white.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu whispered, pausing to hold Wen Kexing’s hand to his lips in reverence. “Lao Wen.”

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing whispered in return, none of his usual note of teasing. “A-Xu, let’s go to sleep.”

Gladly, Zhou Zishu let himself get lured away in the night.

...

They were quite known around town at this point; those two young masters from the local manor, as they were generally called, or the Manor Lord and the Second Master from a couple of traders who had dealt with them personally twice or thrice and knew them by their names. To the wizened elderly who lived for years in town and who did know better, they were dearly known as the xīn hūn fū fù.

Wen Kexing thrived in the odd bits of friendships he formed, from the tavern owner to the traveling peddler. He was a novelty, with his striking appearance of long white hair that contrasted against his dark eyebrows, the jut of his cheekbones, the cute button of his nose, and the fullness of his lips that Zhou Zishu had taken the time to familiarize with. A face Wen Kexing deemed once a treasure from the gods.

Zhou Zishu must have amassed a huge amount of good karma in his last life to be the blessed person to see it every day the moment he opened his eyes in the morning and when he closed them at night.

He cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn’t appear shameless to ogle at him in broad daylight among the present light traffic of people. The unhealthy amount Zhou Zishu spent on staring at Wen Kexing recently was a tad concerning, not to mention that he honestly had no idea what brought it on.

“A-Xu?” Rubbing a finger on his wrist, Wen Kexing leaned closer than was appropriate, imploring. “Is there something wrong?”

Whatever excuse Zhou Zishu might have given would fall short. To his luck, Wen Kexing looked past him, his attention abruptly captured.

There was a little girl by the post, hunched into a ball by herself and was close to unnoticeable. Wen Kexing was crouching by her side in an instant, coaxing her to speak with his kind murmurs of encouragement. Zhou Zishu felt useless standing there, not even sure what to do with his hands. In the next minute, short arms were reaching for Wen Kexing, and he obliged with lifting her to his level.

“A-Xu, this little guniang is A-Li,” he introduced. “A-Li, that’s A-Xu. You can call him da-ge instead of uncle because that makes him feel old,” he added cheerfully.

Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not the one with white hair,” he groused. A-Li, with her small fist, reached for a stray lock of Wen Kexing’s hair and held it in wonder, still sniffling. It was incredibly adorable, and as quick as a blink did the memory of that dream-like evening drifted at the forefront of his mind.

Seemingly catching himself, Zhou Zishu gestured silently at the teahouse behind them so A-Li could be seated. Wen Kexing cajoled her into speaking about what happened by cooling the steaming baozi and tea she was fed. It wasn’t long until she was talking about getting separated from her mother around the market that was merely two streets away.

A-Li had taken an immediate liking to Wen Kexing, hardly lacking in questions once her curiosity overtook her shyness. Wen Kexing listened to her patiently, finding the stories of a roughly six-year-old interesting. It helped put her mind at further ease before they went searching for her mother.

Zhou Zishu wished he could say the same, wished he could say that he wasn’t distracted instead by the way Wen Kexing smoothed A-Li’s hair, his slender fingers expertly looping on her braids and rearranging them neatly. Zhou Zishu could imagine him doing the same for A-Xiang all those years ago, perhaps not as deftly from a much younger Wen Kexing who kept tangling her hair on the comb and with A-Xiang protesting when he had pulled too hard.

Unbidden, a different image presented itself in his head—or not so different, he supposed, not when it featured Wen Kexing but this time there was a different little girl in teal whose dark hair he lovingly combed and braided. Once done, she’d smile that familiar impish smile that spelled trouble and… and…

Zhou Zishu blinked, shaken out his reverie by Wen Kexing’s voice that told him they better start looking for A-Li’s mother before sundown. A-Li refused to part from Wen Kexing, hence her tiny hand clutching his as they walked. She was an observant child than expected, however, and had mistaken Zhou Zishu’s lingering stare in their joined hands as something else. She grasped Zhou Zishu’s palm, determinedly keeping him to her opposite side despite her wariness of him.

Touched at her consideration, who was he to deny her? And how could Zhou Zishu deny himself this peculiar but pleasant sensation that wormed in his chest upon realizing that it was something he could get used to?

It would remain in his thoughts, brewing for hours since their successful return to the manor, and by then Zhou Zishu would begin to have a semblance of understanding at the particular sentiment that tended to well up at the idea of Wen Kexing and children.

Later, there would be another silent inquiry on what was preoccupying him in the form of fingers intertwining with his. Zhou Zishu would rather reach from behind Wen Kexing, making a place for himself by his shoulder, against his skin a promise of an answer soon.

...

It was the dreams that caught him off guard, disjointed as they were that Zhou Zishu initially believed they were random images in his head as he slept, until they started to create an outline of a pattern.

There was always a child in his dreams.

The first occurrence could be explained by the recent incident with A-Li, and, sure enough, she was also there, merrily playing with another girl whose back was on him. Zhou Zishu already forgot the randomness of that dream once he awoke.

The second one did not have A-Li anymore, though the unknown girl was around, running across the yard that resembled the one in Four Seasons Manor. She was strangely distant from where he found himself standing, too far for Zhou Zishu to make out her features aside from her bouncing pigtail buns atop her head for every step she took.

When a similar scenario was shown to him for the third time, Zhou Zishu was surprised at the name that was at the tip of his tongue. He did not hear himself uttering it, though it was enough for the unknown girl to run towards him, anticipation building the closer she got. He tried not to be dismayed when he woke abruptly without seeing her face.

He was no better during waking hours, sparing what he could in reminiscing about what he actually recalled from his random dreams of a faceless little girl. She was dressed in hues of blue, sometimes pink with a touch of red. Effortlessly, Zhou Zishu filled out the blanks among her vagueness: dark eyes in the shape of almonds, a button nose, pinchable cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips; altogether, they would crinkle adorably when her face lit up with a beam or when she stuck out her tongue in impertinence. Albeit on a young girl’s image, those were exactly two of Wen Kexing’s trademark expressions.

It became a pastime of a sort, contemplating how Wen Kexing’s physical characteristics would look like on a younger appearance, leading him to remember Zhen Yan with an odd vividness. Ironically though, it wasn’t a memory of Zhen Yan that started to bleed into Zhou Zishu’s sleep—oh, the boy was almost identical to Zhen Yan, alright, but the shade of his eyes and the sternness that belied them were different. Different but familiar, a fact that had Zhou Zishu barely tempering down that powerful surge of clarity.

Both the girl and the boy were the perfect images of what his subconscious thought his and Wen Kexing’s children would look like—and Zhou Zishu yearned, had been for a while. He yearned as strongly as he had yearned for his zhi ji and living a peaceful life with him. He must have been a greedy man, to want more than what was already given to him against all odds.

Zhou Zishu already had his mismatched family with Wen Kexing in the form of Chengling, A-Xiang, and by extension, Weining, and yet he couldn’t help but long for an addition that was purely theirs, impossible it might sound. Zhou Zishu wanted a daughter who would inherit Wen Kexing’s grins and a son who would be as stalwart as Zhou Zishu.

It turned into a wish buried deep down, and lest it threatened to overwhelm him, something he would only allow on the surface during the moments he was around to see Wen Kexing with Chengling, their bond turned comparable to that of a father and son than that of a master and student; or when Zhou Zishu was privy to watch Wen Kexing fuss around a heavily pregnant A-Xiang, not exactly faring better than Weining when it came to keeping A-Xiang on strict bedrest and monitoring her diet with her due date closing in, much to her utter frustration over her husband and older brother.

After A-Xiang bore triplets, Zhou Zishu’s wish stopped being a well-kept secret anymore. It would be forever burned in his mind, perhaps, the picture of Wen Kexing carrying the second of A-Xiang’s babes and lulling him to sleep, awed and adoring like he might cry in happiness.

“A-Xu,” he called for him with a notable giddiness, not even glancing up from the infant. “Look at this baobei. He’s the most well-behaved among his brothers. I think he likes my voice.”

Likely, Zhou Zishu mused. Wen Kexing did have the kind of voice that children find mellifluous. Zhou Zishu idly traced his finger on the babe’s forehead, to his wispy hair, then back to the line of his tiny nose until it was blindly grasped by small fingers.

“A-Xu, try carrying him.”

He was not given a chance to respond before the infant was passed to him. Though alarmed at the sudden transfer, he cradled the babe’s neck at the crook of his elbow with Wen Kexing’s support. Zhou Zishu froze when the baby hiccuped and sniffed, and promptly eased in relief when he did not react to him.

It was a tad difficult to scowl at Wen Kexing when he was looking at him in delight, with a wide grin and a wistful look in his eyes. Zhou Zishu grumbled half-heartedly, though there was a telltale heat creeping up his neck. Sighing, he rocked the babe slightly. He might as well practice knowing A-Xiang and Weining would require all the aid they could get in handling their three newborns.

Weining was the one who was run ragged taking care of his three sons and a recovering A-Xiang who had more complaints of getting distressed over a finicky husband than the three babes she had to feed thrice each. Weining was glad to have Chengling’s eager assistance in bathing and cleaning the three, and with his terrible job at babysitting—or generally keeping the three children entertained, really, else they would wail the house down and, consequently, their own father—the task was up to Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu. Wen Kexing could be quite creative, especially when it involved Senior Ye who had stopped by a week after the birth without knowing of it before coming. Suffice to say, Senior Ye was roped into assigned duties as well and was not able to escape them for another month.

By the end of each day, it would all be the five of them thoroughly exhausted, Chengling and Weining more often than not passed out. Zhou Zishu would also find himself fighting to keep his eyes open late at night before remembering that Sanyu was the one who would wake past midnight and would cry if not rocked in his bassinet.

Tonight, though, he was beaten to it by A-Xiang who stood by their cradles. Her previously wan complexion began to shift into a healthier one these days after several long rests. She hovered by her sons, gracing them with an affectionate smile. She might no longer be the childish young woman Zhou Zishu met years back, though traces of her youth remained, merged with the kind of maturity that was motherhood.

A-Xiang has been around with him for as long as Chengling, and Zhou Zishu couldn’t help but think that one of his children had grown up too fast in front of his eyes. Soon, it would be Chengling, and a part of him knew he would rue when that day came.

“Why are you still awake?” A-Xiang demanded once he caught him by the door. At his startled blink, she pulled him away to close the room behind her. “They’re fine. I made sure Sanyu won’t bother his brothers. And us.” She huffed. “If you say you don’t mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Okay.” Zhou Zishu cracked a smile. “And you? How are you feeling?”

“If A-Ning and gege have to tell me to sleep again, I’ll take my children and run away with them in the mountains.” She harrumphed. “They keep telling me to rest when they need it just as bad!” she exclaimed, her fondness and concern unmistakable. “Old man Ye at least is happy to see me up and about.”

“Yilian peed on Senior Ye once,” Zhou Zishu told her. “With his trauma, he’d rather pass the kid to the mother.”

A-Xiang glowed with pride before eventually bursting into fits of giggles that had him chuckling as well.

“That old man better stick around for a few more decades. I want to see his reaction first to your and gege ’s children!”

Zhou Zishu choked in his own spit, coughing harshly. A-Xiang took pity on him, patting his back somewhat roughly; smacking him, actually—and was that a triumphant smirk?

“What? You think I don’t notice you sighing longingly when gege’s holding a kid? I am very observant, Zhou-ge.” She reveled on his dumbfoundedness, beaming. “Besides, if it wasn’t for me, you two won’t be together.”

Zhou Zishu wouldn’t exactly attribute that to her, but whatever. “You noticed,” he muttered.

“You’re not being subtle anyway,” she said. “So why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Have children! Your silly boy will love brothers and sisters, you know.”

While he recognized A-Xiang as an adult, Zhou Zishu still preferred not to talk about this with her. He thanked whoever deity was out there for the dimness outdoors or he wouldn’t hear the end of it if she noticed his flush.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Is it?” A-Xiang retorted, unconvinced. “Huh. You’d think you two old men already have the babymaking down to an art—”

“A-Xiang!”

“—that it’ll come easier for you two.” In a fit of insightfulness, she asked, “Did gege tell you he doesn’t want them?”

“No. I mean, it’s not a subject we’ve discussed so I don’t know if it’s something he’d like to have or not.” There was a large possibility of Wen Kexing not wanting them, in spite of how he was with children in general. “And in case you missed it, we’re both men.”

“So far, the only problem I see is you’re not communicating with gege.” A-Xiang lifted a finger to his face before he could protest. “Now, about the obvious one, have you already searched for ways?” She must have seen how lost Zhou Zishu was feeling, given the way she stomped down her foot. “You’re telling me you have access to that armory but have not once thought of checking it for answers? Zhou-ge...”

Zhou Zishu raised his hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright, I see your point.” It was beyond seeing her point, in fact; so he was an idiot for not thinking about it before letting himself imagine various scenarios of illogical proportions, what about it? Zhou Zishu’s head was buzzing with possibilities.

A-Xiang tugged on his sleeve. “Talk to gege, okay? Don’t assume what he’ll say. You know him better, but I’ve known him longer. He’ll listen no matter what.”

...

In the end, it was Wen Kexing who sought him first, slipping next to Zhou Zishu in a late afternoon and laying his head to his shoulder. A bit of tilting and Zhou Zishu was nuzzling a head of white hair, his arm wrapping automatically around Wen Kexing’s back.

“A-Xu, do you think we’ll be good parents?”

“Chengling turned out alright, and A-Xiang isn’t so bad.”

Wen Kexing grinned lazily. “Chengling was already a sweet boy before he became our disciple first. A-Xiang… yes, she isn’t so bad.”

Zhou Zishu snorted. “I thought I’d hear a stellar compliment to the person who raised her. You did well with her, Lao Wen, now it’s her turn to do her best to her own children.”

“I did what I could for her then, but this time, if...” Wen Kexing trailed off, inching closer to Zhou Zishu that he was practically on his lap. “If I’m given a chance to raise another child, I'll give my all a thousandfold.”

There was no room in Zhou Zishu for doubt, though it warmed his heart to hear the words aloud. “We’ll have a spoiled kid, won’t we?” he asked lightly.

“That’s a given, of course. No child of ours should lack for something.”

“Ah, they’ll be a menace.”

Wen Kexing pouted. “A-Xu’s a tiger parent so he’ll handle their discipline, but you can’t stop me from pampering them with their father.”

“If they turned out to have your personality, get ready to deal with them. I have practice, but you don’t,” Zhou Zishu pointed out, tucking a lock of Wen Kexing’s hair behind his ear delicately. He paused with a thoughtful frown. “If it’s a girl and she inherits your features, I’m not looking forward to fending off suitors.”

“Who says you’ll fend them off alone? I’ll join you.” He made a grimace. “But if she turns out to be a great beauty because of you, we better prepare against a horde of—ow!”

Zhou Zishu swatted his thigh playfully, settling him comfortably on his lap. “Laying it a bit thick there, but yes. We won’t marry her off until she’s thirty.”

Wen Kexing nodded sagely. “And not until the person who wants her hand has proven their capabilities against the both of us.”

“Individually or together?”

“Both.”

“... She’ll be an old maid, Lao Wen.”

“And she’ll still be our daughter no matter what, A-Xu.” Gratified, Wen Kexing loosely wrapped his arms around Zhou Zishu’s neck. “But we can divide the responsibility equally if she has a protective brother. He’s going to be skilled in martial arts and leadership and beautiful like his father; strict when the situation calls for it but is a perfect gentleman like his other father.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize we’ll be fending off nuisances on both fronts?”

In their present proximity, Zhou Zishu could see the manic gleam in Wen Kexing’s eyes at the prospect of, well, not so much of a fight but definitely a challenge. The faint glow of the setting sun reflecting off of Wen Kexing did not help one bit with Zhou Zishu’s overflowing endearment.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing called, touching Zhou Zishu’s forehead with his and leaving a hair’s breadth. “Since I met you again you make me wish for things I used to dare not even think,” he whispered. “So ask me.”

Zhou Zishu readily complied. “Lao Wen, will you have children with me?”

He took Wen Kexing’s smile for the answer that it was and closed the rest of the space between them. Zhou Zishu learned that he was an entranced man, in this lifetime and the next.

...

He could name each flower that bloomed all year in Four Seasons Manor, though at the start of spring there was a single flower in the shade of blue that Zhou Zishu did not recognize.

Soft, fragrant petals met his skin, and the scent lingered even as he threaded his fingers through Wen Kexing’s flowing mane of white.

Later, Zhou Zishu would dream of Wen Kexing surrounded by the very same blossoms, their smell and hues of blue mingling with white, and at a distance, the breeze carried the faint sound of children’s laughter.

[just-jammin]

Wandering Revelations… or Empty Guesses?

Word Count: 1111

Summary: As Jam writes a letter to the Angst Side, she finds out something about her recently newfound set of powers.

Well, she thinks she did.

(Or: The author is very unsure about how magic in this version of Fluff/Angst War works, and is probably wrong although she is happily willing to rewrite this to fit in the canon.)

Unofficial Tag List: @wherethehellhaveyoubeen-loca​ (you beta-read this bullshit and you loved it and ily for that— /p)

To The Angst Side:

Greetings to you all!

I’m not so sure if you have noticed (although, by the time this letter is delivered, you probably did), but I have left the group to wander in the woods. But before you jump to conclusions, I’m still on your side, no worries.

I’m writing this letter now to report any happenings on the opposition. This is the reason why I left: to spy on the Fluff Side & Team Switzerland, and take notes about their conditions & changes to report to you.

First, I have some info regarding the status of the members within the teams. I noticed that both the Fluff Side & Team Switzerland have one member missing from their groups since the last time we saw them. From what I remember of who the members are, the missing members are Keynon (I think that’s what they called them) from the Fluff Side, and… I forgot the name of the one from Team Switzerland. But they do have dark wavy hair that’s swept on one side if that helps.

Speaking of missing members, I bumped into one of our allies recently. I assume you remember Adri, right? If not, she was in the war with us for some time, though recently she hasn’t been able to meet up with us. However, we didn’t interact for long, but I did give her a parting gift before that, so I, unfortunately, don’t know if she still stands with us.

Oh, I also noticed something about one of the Fluff members. So, you know the kid with the goggles? Well, I may have seen him with Team Switzerland once. He was talking with… Rowan? The goat person, basically. I even caught a glance of a chainsaw on his person, which is quite unusual, because I’ve never seen him bring that in the battles.

One more thing, please do take this report of mine with a bit of salt, because my memory’s sort of… shitty, to say the least. If you’re wondering how I’m doing now, I’m actually doing pretty okay! Sure, they are some obstacles in survival that I have, but hey, I’m still here today! (as of the time I wrote this letter, hehe)

I hope that you guys can gather more troops for the next time blood is shed. And if you need me, just write to me and leave it in the woods, maybe? I’ll find it… probably…

Till we meet again!

— Jam

>> —^— <<

Right before Jam wrote her name (and, in extension, finished writing her letter), they realized that they needed to write the sigil she used. Rummaging through their knapsack, she tried to find her trusty red pen, only to come with no luck.

Damn, they thought to themselves, must’ve left it back there…

She paused and thought for a while until an idea formed in their mind. They grasped the hilt of their sword and unsheathed it in a not-so-graceful manner, due to the fact that she’s sitting down and leaning against a tree.

After picking it up on the grass & leaves where it fell on, she took one good look at the sword. The sword, as a whole, was quite long for them, measuring about almost as long as their arm. Its double-edged blade was quite strange-looking, decorated with smaller rectangular blades of a dark and deep purple obsidian on the sides.

The leather-wrapped hilt was arguably the hardest part to understand for Jam, because its crossguard is just two rhomboid pieces stacked on top of each other, with one pink and one blue. Even at this moment, they still don’t know what that part is made of; only that it looks like a metallic material.

Jam admired the sword—her sword—for a while. They reminisced about how it was created: by a light that she somehow managed to summon. In confusion and awe, slightly fueled by their stress. It was weird not seeing fire like they usually summoned, but hey, at least she got the Bi Vibes Sword.

(It was called that when she was still staying with the Angst Side, though she mentally changed it to “The Bane of Bad Vibes”; it seemed more badass for it in their opinion.)

She shook off from their tangent and got to the point of her idea. They carefully held it by the blade, cutting a tiny slit on her thumb to make it bleed. Then she traced their thumb onto the paper to paint her sigil: the sign of Gemini, a not very recent change from her usual X symbol before.

Putting down the Bane, she finally finished her letter. She also checked and double-checked for anything they missed or got wrong, but she noticed that it was getting dark out in the woods.

So they concentrated…

…and created.

Globules of golden light of varying sizes slowly started to appear around her and the tree she’s sitting underneath. One of them started to move closer to Jam, having her notice small tongues of flame reach up and retract on the light. To them, it looks like a miniature version of a Sun, being less hotter and more… reflective?

Wait a sec…

She focused on her reflection on the globule’s surface, which made the light dimmer for a bit. They didn’t expect that… nor did she expect that her eyes were glowing. Not that it was a new thing to them, she was just surprised at the fact that they were glowing gold.

Normally, they’d be glowing red when using her powers… but gold?

This is… very baffling for them right now.

As the mini sun shined brighter and drifted far from her, she also noticed that the globules of light looked very similar to the light when the Bane was created.

And then it clicked.

Sorta.

Is it… fluff?

It can’t be…

But the guess they had made sense. Making those lights had her feeling a sense of bliss. Happiness. That’s what Fluff was made to do: to make people have warmth in their hearts.

The flames made by her Angst didn’t give that warmth as well as now, she realized.

After this revelation, she read the letter once more.

“Eh,” she said to herself, “that’ll do.”

And with that, she looked up to see what seems to be a forcefield made of the same golden flaming light formed around her area. It doesn’t look discreet, but at least that’s enough.

As night finally fell over the woods, her area stayed alight.

[thejustmaiden]

The Sesshomaru F*cks Debacle

Hey, fellow Inuyasha fans! How we feeling?? I imagine a lot of us are doing quite fabulously after the recent news we got about the sequel coming out this Fall, "Hanyou No Yashahime." So if it wasn't obvious already, I want to take the time to discuss the topic of- you guessed it- Sesshomaru. Go figure! 

***THIS IS A REPOST OF MY ORIGINAL BLOG THAT DISAPPEARED FROM THE TAGS. PICS/GIFS HAVE BEEN REMOVED TO HOPEFULLY REPAIR THAT.***

Let's be real, as much as probably (and literally lol) all of us have viewed him as "daddy material" at some point or another during our teens, Sesshomaru being physically intimate with another being, much less a human, is difficult to conjure up in our minds. And there's nothing wrong with that, per se, as sex and romance doesn't come so easily to some as it does to others. Then again, that's not to say a romantic relationship is completely impossible or unattainable for him either. 

I, for one, am not a huge fan of the idea of Sesshomaru siring children of his own. Granted, adopting/protecting children and other small companions is kinda his thing (I saw one user even describe him as a 'walking daycare' 🤣), and maybe it'll just take some getting used to, but all in all it's not entirely unfathomable to picture him having biological children. Though I'd be lying if I said I still didn't prefer he just took these two twin half-demon girls in and under his wing instead, like he did Rin. However, seeing as that's unlikely the case since the two girls resemble him in some fashion, the chances of that coming true are slim, which must mean that Sesshomaru did in fact bone some lucky lady. That's not to say I don't acknowledge that there's still a chance these kids aren't truly his but we'll see! 

Which leads me to the real reason behind this blog! I'd like to address in-depth why I and so many other Inuyasha fans consider shipping S*ssrin as wrong and why it makes a lot of us extremely uncomfortable. 

BUT FIRST BEFORE I FORGET, I want to give a little unofficial disclaimer by stating that this blog isn't intended to upset certain fans regarding my stance on the controversial ship. Thus I will not tag it under that ship name, and I suggest others who agree with me to do the same in any of their future posts. 

Because let's not forget that the most important thing is that we're all fans here. We fell in love with this story and hold its beloved characters close to our hearts for a reason. And that still counts even if you're returning to this fandom a decade later. So please, let's try and remember that and be civil towards one another. Putting people down by attacking and insulting others in real life really doesn't make us any better than them. I REPEAT, please do not engage in this post unless you plan to be kind and respectful of others who may have a differing opinion than you. There's never a need to be ugly towards another human being. That goes for all shippers and fans of Sesshomaru in general. Thank you in advance for your understanding and compliance. 😊

Again, none of these comments are aimed at being inflammatory towards those fans who have a different approach to this pairing. If any of you are reading this now, please keep that in mind before deciding to participate in any discourse with me and other antis. 

Okay, let me go ahead and list a few of the main arguments fans of this particular ship use to support them together. Then I'll give my reasons why those aren't enough to justify their relationship turning romantic:

1. Rin will be an adult before they get romantically involved

2. Sesshomaru didn't raise her and therefore isn't her father; he was never like a father to her in the first place

3. Sesshomaru hasn't been grooming her, not then and not now. Besides, it was Rin's choice first.

4. Age difference shouldn't matter when you look at other relationships in the series (InuKag, Koga x Ayame, etc.)

5. It was always going to be canon because the drama CDs exist

 These are the main points I'm seeing around. Now let's dissect them, shall we? These are my direct responses- I'll try to keep them short and concise. Fyi: Jk! I'm lying, that never happens. 😆

1. Rin may be an adult, but from our standpoint that doesn't make much of a difference. It doesn't matter because it's all about how her relationship with Sesshomaru started off and how it continued onwards. From that moment, it was basically established from the get-go that their relationship resembles that of one a young girl shares with an older man who winds up becoming her guardian. She initiated it by trying to bring him food while he was injured, and he reciprocated by deciding to bring her back to life that fateful day. 

Of course we're all happy that he did, because he's a better demon for it and a similar thing could be said about her! Therefore you must understand that fans against this pairing find it very hard to grasp the notion of a budding romance here when we look at their history. For us, it's synonymous to imagining a father eventually falling in love with his daughter or someone else who reminds him of a daughter, and vice versa. But let's just say he's not a father to her like many of you claim and more like, say a modern-day babysitter. Isn't it still bizarre to you that a young girl could fall in love with the man who looked after her and cared for her at that age, maybe even played games with? One day or on multiple occasions he even sees her naked because she had an accident and got hurt so she needed help changing or something. I admit it's more realistic that it was Jaken if anyone who'd be in charge of this, but why does it really matter who was tasked with what? Sesshomaru may have not been around all the time but that doesn't mean he's any less involved or invested in Rin's general care and well-being. So it's that thought alone that keeps many of us from even contemplating a romance forming between them. Whether he hardly interacted with her over the years or not is irrelevant, because it's clear to me that they have both formed a strong enough bond that constitutes calling them family. I highly doubt he ever even planned to keep Rin in his company as long as he did. But it happened, and whether you want to admit it or not, meeting her changed his life. Meaning Rin was never just some girl he traveled with or hardly knew. Despite his feigned indifference and stoic ways at times, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that Rin grew on him and was the first person to really influence him in a way that helped soften and open up that heart of his in a way nobody ever had before. One's significance to any given person isn't solely measured by the quantity of time spent alongside that person but by the quality of how that time was spent with said person. It's safe to say that in the case of Sesshomaru and Rin, they definitely fall under that category. 

2. Fair if you don't view Sesshomaru as Rin's father, but you must acknowledge that he did fill some father figure-like role to her at the very least. Or let's just call him her vassal if you think that's a more accurate description. Also, can I just quickly stress again that it doesn't matter how long she spent by his side or whether she spent more time in the village or not, because he still ended up playing a major part in her childhood as an adult male role model. Regardless of the title you give him, it still stands that although he may not be her official adoptive father, he is LIKE A FATHER. There really is no point in denying that, because their dynamic exudes one of a father-daughter. I guarantee you that any outsider looking in would agree that if not her father then at the very least he embodies a male relative of some kind. Honestly, the details of their relationship dynamic specific to this show (regional/period differences, human vs. demon culture, etc.), don't really matter here. Why? Because one can assume that the general consensus here is that a large percentage of fans perceive their connection as a familial one. Yes, most would unanimously agree that Rin and Sesshomaru, along with Jaken and Ah-Un, are a FAMILY. 

If she had first met him as an adult, then we'd possibly have a very different story here. The point of the matter is that he didn't, so that should be where this discussion ends. Unfortunately, for many, it's not. The bottom line is that a child he knew and cared for should never be someone he begins to view in a romantic light. I don't care how many years have passed (or that to demons years are like days or some less inconsequential length of time), and how much she's matured or how specific marriage customs were back then (if they're no longer appropriate now then why are we still condoning these backward practices?). Rin should NEVER have the desire to be sexually attracted to this father figure she's always looked to and trusted to protect her. Maybe it's vastly different from a demon's perspective (even though still unjustifiable in my opinion), but as a human, Rin's feelings towards Sesshomaru wouldn't and shouldn't suddenly change towards him and in such a drastic manner mind you. Yeah, maybe she used to have an innocent crush on him, but I'd like to think our smart and compassionate little Rin would learn that was simply because she was a child who didn't know any better. Besides, growing up with Kaede and around other humans I'd like to think she fell in love with another human sometime over the course of all those years. It only makes sense, right? Don't you think that's part of why Sesshomaru left her there in the first place? He wished for her to experience what it was like to live a normal human life, falling in love and marriage both being a key part of that. If I were Sesshomaru, I'd be deeply troubled if I started to develop feelings for a little girl I once protected and kept in my company for quite an extended period of time, which was at least a year from what I understand. (Pls correct me if I'm wrong because I gather it may have been longer.) 

3. Apparently in the manga and the Final Act, we see Sesshomaru still visits the village to check on Rin from time to time. He even brings her gifts, such as beautiful and luxurious kimonos. I recently learned from another Tumblr post that kimonos are what older men gift in order to sort of earn their favor with these young ladies, AKA they're wooing them. If that is indeed true, then that would mean he's basically grooming her and has been for however long she's lived there in the village but potentially even longer. To put it nicely, he's courting her. If this was another young lady (maybe not an adult perhaps but still of marrying age) who he DIDN'T assist in raising, then I could possibly get on board with this.

The thing is, it's far from that with them two if you consider everything they've gone through and endured together! Because he not only met her as a young girl but he got to know her first as a young girl, and she became one of his traveling companions all while she was only a young girl!!! Their bond will always be defined by that time when she was just a young girl, and nothing can or should change that he will always see her in that same light. Kinda like how our parents or other family members from older generations tell us that they'll always see us as their babies. So the fact that her time spent with Sesshomaru is constantly compared to her time spent in the village shouldn't apply here. Don't we all know this already? That we can can come across someone in our lifetime and maybe the time with them is short-lived, but that doesn't make it any less significant or those people any less special. Sesshomaru made an impact on her as much as she did on him, that much we know is true. Sure, it was years ago, but that's not something you ever forget. Sometimes when you look at loved ones you haven't seen in a while, there are just certain memories you have of them from over the years that will come rushing back to you without fail and that you will always cherish no matter what. I'd like to believe that when Rin looks at Sesshomaru and he looks at her, that they can both look back fondly on their times traveling together. This explains why I'm really struggling here to picture how anyone could sleep with someone they used to treat as their guardian/father/ward/daughter/what have you. So someday and somehow, this person just stops viewing them that way, is that it? I mean, how does this work exactly? It's not like you can just flip off a switch and forget everything from your past with this person, ya know? Unless you have your memory wiped, what I'm understanding is that S*ssrin shippers approve of the idea of these two characters KNOWING that they are or used to be like practically FAMILY to each other, yet agree that these two characters in question still have the capacity not to mention desire to pursue HAVING SEX with each other anyway. Do I got that all right? Did I miss anything?  

Originally I provided two examples of fan art I found to help put what I'm trying to say here into better perspective, but since they've been removed, just type in "Sesshomaru and Rin" on Google and you'll find plenty of examples of what I'm talking about here- and no, it's not S*ssrin images. I realize Sesshomaru has never been the touchy-feely sorta guy like it's depicted in some of the fan art, but that doesn't necessarily diminish the affection he feels and attachment he has towards Rin. He just has a different way of expressing his love is all, even if he doesn't outwardly show it. The real question here is, can you really look at sweet pictures of an adult comforting a child who's been under his care for a significant amount of time and then suddenly be like, "oh man, I can't wait till they bang!" I'm sorry, to each their own, but you gotta admit why we must find that creepy. 

4. Regarding Inuyasha and Kagome's relationship, we need to remember that he didn't age after all those years stuck to that tree. And besides, demons age differently so this is a pretty unfair comparison. This isn't the best example, but think about how a cat's lifespan works. 10 years in (indoor) cat years is like 56 in human years. So technically in demon years, Inuyasha is physically and emotionally compatible with a human around Kagome's age. Hell, even though he's over a hundred years older, Kagome is still a whole lot more mature than he probably ever will be! 😂 (Psst! We still love you, Inuyasha! 💋)

Now as for Koga and Ayame, this also isn't comparable to Sesshomaru and Rin. Koga met Ayame one night, only not to see her ever again until she was older and of age. After rescuing her on that night when she was only a girl, he gives her a piggyback ride and you can tell he just wants to cheer her up when he mentions her being his wife someday. (And boy, did that work wonders on Ayame!) Then they gaze at this stunning lunar rainbow together, which I think is quite rare judging by looks of it. This is not an attempt to defend this proposal- if we can even really call it that- but all I'm saying is that I don't think even Koga knows what overcame him in that moment. Fast forward to present-day when they cross paths again, and Ayame still remembers his so-called promise, but guess who doesn't right away? Yep, our man Koga! It takes a quite a while for it to come back to him, too. This further proves my point that something beyond Koga and his power possessed him to say all those things to a little Ayame for some reason. Maybe you can call it destiny, or maybe it was some special kind of magic caused by the lunar rainbow, Idk! All I know is that they do end up together in the Final Act and that it wasn't until they met as two consenting wolf-demons that they really grew to know each other and coincidentally- or maybe not so coincidentally- fall in love.

 5. From what I understand, it appears these drama CDs are some kind of satire which doesn't equate to canon. Perhaps Rumiko did not debunk them but she also didn't confirm they're true either. I'm hearing conflicting reports, however, and her involvement in them is questionable. Like her name is supposedly on the cover or something? But then I've also heard that she has spoken out against this ship. From the sounds of it, there is enough evidence- or lack thereof rather- to conclude that fans cannot use this as proof enough for their ship already being or soon-to-be canon. 

Finally, I'd like to end on this note where I'll be addressing ethics in entertainment. When it comes to our choice of entertainment, there's always a level of escapism implied, sometimes so much that we project ourselves onto certain characters. Delving into a fantasy world like that of Inuyasha can really help some people better cope with real life problems, but it's all about striking the right balance, as each individual has different wants and needs. The thing is there's only so much escapism one can allow in a fictional world before basic morals from our own world begin to take precedence. I can always enjoy some good fantasy, but it's not long until I start to reflect on how I personally relate what entertainment I'm currently absorbed in to real life. It's inevitable really. For example, if certain relationships portrayed on screen conflict with strong opinions I've adopted on a sensitive topic, especially those that take children into account, then I feel it's my responsibility to speak out against any media that even remotely promotes it. Yes, even if it's just fiction. Because art imitates life, right? (And yes, sometimes the other way around.) So in other words, our stories should mirror our way of life to some degree. History has seen its fair share of ugly events and traditions we are surely ashamed of but that we've hopefully learned our lessons from. Most societies nowadays seriously frown upon or condemn stuff like pedophilia, child grooming, or anything of the sort. Of course it doesn't help that we see still see these kinds of issues glossed over so much that we've become desensitized to them in many respects.

The thing is we cannot allow this way too common older-man-dotes-on-young-girl trope (or anything resembling it) to continue to be glorified or romanticized. It matters not that feudal Japan was a drastically different time to be alive and that this was the norm back then, or even that this remains a popular ship in Japan. All it comes down to is if whether we would currently tolerate such acts and behaviors were we to witness them in real life. If your answer is 'no', then it should be 'no' in every respect. If you deem it acceptable just because it's fiction, then I'm sorry to say, but you're going to have to answer to a lot of people. No surprise there, that goes for all fandoms. I guarantee you it's not just the people who personally identify as victims who have serious qualms with this ship either, because you don't necessarily need to have bad experiences of your own in order sympathize and see where a lot of these people are coming from. And no, just because I'm unhappy with the possibility of S*ssrin going canon does not mean I'm whining or that I'm attempting to spread negativity about this series before it's even out. Remember, fans have the right to be critical of whatever content it is they're watching/reading, and if they demand something in the storytelling be represented better, then of course they can challenge that. After all, none of us should feel like "canceling" the content we love is our only hope to fixing a story. That's not how it ever should be. Fans are fed up, and can you really blame them? Nah, we can strive to do better in this area, plus it's not like there isn't always room for improvement. So let's please be more vigilant about how the content we consume translates to reality, in addition to being mindful of how it can directly correlate to real life problems for ourselves as well as others around us.  

That's a wrap, y'all!! I hope you enjoyed what I had to offer on this topic, and here's hoping I actually contributed something new to this conversation! I'm aware that that's unlikely the case for us fans who've been living in this tag the past couple days (like me lol), but I'd like to believe I put my own spin on it and it was still worth your while. 😉 

P.S. Overall, I remain optimistic about the new show! So are there any friendly Inuyasha group chats on Tumblr I can join? If so, please do invite me! I need to obsess about this sequel even more than I already am, EEEK!!!

[fbdo1986]

Winter’s Chill - A Succession Fic

a/n: We meet again! Once again, here is something exploring the Roys and their sibling bonds! Admittedly, I’m digging deep into some of my own weaknesses here, but I couldn’t help but write something after discussing the concept (Connor holding onto things that his siblings grew out of) with a friend. This takes place on the timeline of Season 1, but without any of the events transpiring that cause Connor to be brought into conversations surrounding the future of Waystar Royco. 

Warnings: Brief Allusions to Death and Grief/Loss (actual loss is not present)

Word Count: 3222

On a regular January evening in New York, the soft sheen of snow leaves a film on all the windows of houses and apartments alike, and the sound of it brushing up against the panes has an almost transfixing quality. People outside brave the cold, swaddled in winter coats and scarves that are close to dragging on the ground. Crowded streets don’t have a chance to get very slick, yet the chill seems to coat everything the snow doesn’t touch. Those inside face a lingering shiver, with windows and doors locked tightly so as not to let anything in. If it weren’t so regular this time of year, it would be almost comforting. The isolated figures of the Roy siblings take refuge inside, not many miles from one another. The three go through the same motions, nearly. Funneling warm breath into chapped hands, shrugging off coats, as though they passed around the same mannerisms amongst themselves. 

The same can’t be said currently across the country, where both Connor and his girlfriend bustle about inside his home, until Willa stops in front of what catches her eye. 

“What do you have all this stuff for?” She asks, picking up a box that sits against the desk at the far corner of the living room. She sets it on the tabletop, leaving it unopened.

“What’s that?” Connor calls from the kitchen, meandering back into the living room to hear her clearer. 

“You’ve got… boxes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open them.” She traces a hand over the cardboard as he rejoins her side. “Can I open this?” She looks up at him momentarily, her dark eyes meeting his light ones.

“Sure.” He says softly. He backs up, leaving room for her. It’s been a while. Usually, Connor goes through these things alone. He’s unsure, this might hold things that he’s kept so long he almost forgets what they are. Maybe that’s for the better.

So the box is opened. And immediately as her hands retreat, recognition tinged with regret washes over him. There’s no tape saving it from inspection, and the perplexity adorning Willa’s face stings, because there’s no right way—no proper way—to explain these seemingly useless mementos. But he’s kept them in any way he can, physically or otherwise. But now it’s the only way he has a piece of them at all.

He practically hides his face, like a little kid. Caught red-handed in sentimentality that he can’t look in the eye. 

“Are these yours?” She holds them up for him to see. They’re like evidence of a crime scene. Of a better self. It feels like years and years ago. A lifetime. They’re one of various pairs of mittens: blue with a snowflake pattern. They’re the size of a child’s hand. 

Tears clog his throat. His chin quivers. 

“What’s wrong?” She looks at him with a concern that words cannot convey. She knows that his childhood—all of theirs, collectively—is a sore, tender subject maybe best kept in boxes. Her frown gets deeper with every passing second.

He wants to say that it’s nothing. But really, it shows fully how much time has passed. It's etched in the pattern, he swears. But lord, when did these get so small? How could they have grown? Even more than he remembers, much more than that. And he knows, of course he knows they have. But with the true recognition of it—years and years between them, even though it feels like yesterday—his chest tightens, releases, and then the words fall out.

“They’re Kenny’s.” He turns away. “And the red ones are Shiv’s.” He swipes a hand across his face and is unsurprised by the fact that when he draws it away it’s wet with tears. “Rome’s are at the bottom.” 

No one penetrates the silence right away. Finally, Willa speaks tentatively. “Did something happen? They’re not…?”

“No.” He interrupts before she can complete the thought. “I-I talk about them like they’re ghosts. I mourn them like they’re gone. And-and they haunt me. But they’re not.” His shoulders come to meet his ears defensively, nearly folding in on himself.

She softens. “How long has it been?” She knows a lot about Connor’s siblings, he talks about them frequently and rarely spares any details. But she’s never seen them around, and there is—if nothing else—a rift surrounding them purely due to distance. Yet what she’s sure of, something he’s spent his whole life building, is a bond that connects them further than just through their father. 

He clears his throat. “Uh, six years.” Since he’s seen them all at once. It was at Kendall’s wedding. Some big, elaborate thing. And of course, he never made the conscious choice to leave them behind. In fact, he devoted himself to quite the opposite as he left home at eighteen. By twenty-one, he had his own place which served as an unofficial second home for his siblings just as much as it did for him. So it’s difficult to articulate how or why this ever happened. But somewhere between then and now, it all slipped away. 

Now, they paint a funny picture. Kendall, ushered into the business as soon he was old enough with Roman trailing at his heels, and Shiv holding her own trying to shoulder her way into politics, all around the little epicenter that is where they grew up. And, well, he’s somewhere in New Mexico. That’s all he can say. It slipped away. 

He grasps at her hands, but stops himself short. His voice is a near whisper. “Oh, Will. I want it back so badly. I want to go back, turn time around and make it up to them. Because… I remember everything. When each of them were born. When I got home just in time to see Roman for the first time. Shiv’s first cello recital, when I taught Kenny how to swim. And his drawings. I doubt that dad ever kept them.” And then it breaks. “I was everything. Now I’m just… nothing. How do you… forgive yourself for realizing you spent as much time in someone’s life as you have out of it? How do you stop feeling sorry?” 

It hurts him. It hurts him more than the multiple unspoken understandings he’s made throughout his life, some he only fully processed years afterward. More than knowing there was a day when his father decided he just wasn’t enough. And even more than the day where Kendall broke his arm, and Connor swore his chest felt the same impact. All the air was crushed out of his lungs. All it took was one thud and then grass—green grass, streaked through with summer sun—didn’t look quite the same anymore. 

In the pause she brushes the tears from his cheek. “Sweetheart, you can’t just stop everything. You can’t forget that you have a life. You can’t be everything. You can’t.” She stands stoically, softening with the last few words. 

“It’s not about that. It’s the fact that I promised myself I would do something, be something for them. I remember it so clearly.” His face hardens as more tears gather at his chin. He pretends they aren’t there.

“But you said it yourself. They’re not gone. Why have you waited? Why not reach out, try again?”

“I’m scared. I don’t… I don’t want to face them knowing I disappointed them.” It’s as though every year the reminder cuts deeper and deeper. He’s further and further from those days spent in the park, ensuring that before every outing they were bundled up tight, scarves around their necks with their mittened hands in his own. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine it. Anything else. It’s as though anything beyond the smallness of their hands was just pretend. Even as he saw it all unfold in adulthood, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like seeing a little kid in daddy’s suit. Trying to be big, drowning in clothes. Just playing pretend. 

And then…. it wasn’t anymore. And now the rest comes rushing forward, and now that time finally caught up… it’s terrifying to admit. 

Willa shakes him out of it further. “You can’t keep them like objects, Con. They’re real people. Real people you can talk to. And if you’re even half as good of a brother as you make yourself out to be they definitely miss you. You’re not disappointing anyone.”

He sighs, absentmindedly thumbing the fabric of the small mitten he’s just taken in his hands. It’s Kendall’s. He puts it to his chest and gives it a squeeze. He isn’t quite sure of how they’d see him now, like this. He laughs with tears in his eyes. He’s always been sentimental, sure, but he doesn’t think anyone knows that he’s kept these things.

“So come on. Tell me your stories.” She chuckles, coaxing him to sit as her hands hold his forearms. “You have some, don’t you? About the mittens. Of course you do.” She presses a kiss into his forehead. “And tomorrow, you’ll make this right again. Okay? Call. Write. Start with Kendall. Start anywhere.” Warmth blooms in her features and so they settle, stopping their bustling to reminisce.

“Now, go on. Remember the sweet things." It's useless to combat her smile. So he starts, telling her about when they went out in the cold and he taught them how to make snow angels. How their eyes brightened when they realized there was no restraint here, that they could enjoy themselves with all the giddiness in the world. And so, they made a routine of it. Every chance he got, trekking out of the house just to see the sparks in their eyes. Falling and laughing in snow. Even if it took up the whole afternoon, even if it left their faces red and chapped from the wind, their glow never left.

The next day Connor gathers up the courage to take Willa’s advice, and with a deep breath he dials the phone.

A voice on the other end appears. "Hello?"

"Uh, Kendall?" He's a little frantic, since he didn't expect him to pick up, honestly.

"Con? Are you alright?" He’s unsure exactly why Kendall felt compelled to ask, but he supposes maybe asking a question off the bat isn’t expected. Or, maybe it's the waver in his voice, on the edge of breaking, or the simple fact that he’s doing this at all. 

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. I know it's a little out of the blue. Hey, uh, if you're busy I can always call back—" He backpedals. It’s too much to put onto him some random night, some odd years later.

"No." Kendall eases him, and takes a seat close to where he stands. "I'm good. We can talk."

Connor doesn’t speak right away, leaving a silence which Kendall scrambles to fill. “... Hey, um.” He exhales sharply. “Clearly you called for some reason, and if you don’t want to go through with it I’m not going to force you, but, it’d be nice. Y’know. To talk.” 

He hates how tense he feels, how abnormal this has become. "I'm sorry, Kenny." 

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Don’t lie to me." Solid concern pools into his voice. And Connor can picture him like he’s right in front of him.

He weakens. He’s always had a tendency for this, to choke up when it comes down to it. “Gd.” He pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily. “Everything. All of it, Ken. I—I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stay. That I couldn’t be your big brother anymore. The way I used to be.”

“Connie… ” Kendall says, frowning slightly.

“Come on, Ken. You can’t do that to me.” Connor says, smiling sadly as he wipes away more stray tears from his eyes. “You just can’t. You know how I get.” The nickname feels charged, almost. As though it carries the weight of all the memories they forged when it was just him and Kendall.

“But I mean. You-you’ve always done enough. You were always there. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But isn’t that all I’ve ever had, really? What else? What else have I done, or devoted myself to? As if I even did something that ever helped, that made you proud.” Connor huffs dismissively. “I’ve had my whole life to make things better, and what have I done? I retreated.” 

“No, you didn’t. You made us a home, a real one. You always had our backs, and protected us.” It’s something Kendall has held close his whole life. And although he doesn’t talk about it with them, he knows Shiv and Roman house the same sentiment.

“But I just, I’ve been gone so long. So many things have happened and all I’ve wanted to do is ask. But, but, I don’t know. I just, I have some things of yours, from when you were kids, and I dunno. If you’d want them back, I can—I can… ” His chest is heavy. It’s leaden with just wanting to let it out, that he misses him. That he misses when they grew up, when he was their outlet, the doorway to the world beyond their walls. That really, his siblings are the only fond reminders of home. He covers his face momentarily, heaving out a watery sigh.

It’s ridiculous. Trying to rewind time, trying to force Kendall to understand after such a gap of time, or hell, choking up on the telephone. There’s just no easy way to say it. No way to put how he feels into words, especially if he can’t get it out. But honestly, there’s just a piece of him that’s never quite been filled. And while feeling completely whole is out of the question, closing the gap might help. It’s the only thing he’s holding onto.

Connor’s shoulders slump forward. “Just, forgive me, I guess. For how long it’s been.” Neither can deny that.

“Oh, Con. It’s—This? Please. None of it is your fault.” It’s all so much more than that. So much bigger than any of them can fathom, more than they can ever fully come to terms with.

“Still. I could’ve been there. I used to be.” He scoffs. “I don’t even know how you are.”

“You know I can’t blame you for that. Leaving.” Kendall reassures him. “I mean that.”

“So I guess that means things are hard, then.” Connor doesn’t even mean to jump there, it just happens. Because he’s the only one who had the chance.

“It means they’re like they’ve always been. I’m okay.” Kendall laughs softly, and it eases them both.

“Okay.” A small smile flicks to Connor’s face even as he tries to fight it. It’s a touch ironic, how Connor has to be reassured by Kendall now, when the roles were reversed growing up. He was always that figure, a pair of shoulders to be leaned into for comfort, looming above the rest. 

And pretty soon, they slip into normal conversation. Trading simple anecdotes and jokes surrounding their current circumstances, time doesn’t quite rewind—but it does make it slow somehow. Laughter is easy, and somewhere they forget about the hurt that inspired the conversation in the first place.

Yet eventually, silence falls between them. Each brother tenses instinctively, fearing that the distance has been built between them again, that it’s too much to overcome. That they’ve waded deep enough that there’s nothing to fall back on; small talk can’t save them now.

“Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep the things you have. My things. Okay?” Kendall pauses. “... And I miss you.” His heart tugs with guilt and fondness in tandem. And soon he’s spilling quiet tears of his own.

“I miss you, too.” Connor says finally, with a soft droop of his shoulders. The words are an exhale.

“So, um. Come back sometime. And uh, don’t be afraid to stay.” Kendall sniffs. “I’m sure the rest would want to catch up. You still have your place in the city, right? From when we were kids?”

“Yeah, yeah. I do.” Another instance of keeping pieces of the past. He doesn’t hesitate to smile, though.

“Good. Like old times, then.” Kendall says solidly.

“Yeah.” Connor nods to himself. “Yeah.” 

“Honey? It’s snowing.” Willa calls sweetly, eyes and smile equally wide. It’s a sight that they aren’t graced with often, since they’re secluded from the depths of the mountainous ranges of the state, where snow collects on their peaks. He sneaks a glance through the windows and surely enough, light flakes dance to ground below them.

“Well, I won’t keep you.” Kendall’s voice is amused, hiding a chuckle. He’s heard Willa in the background. “But uh, can I count on you? Staying for a little while?”

“You can. I’ll let you know when, but it’ll be soon. I swear.” He’ll make it up to them, he knows he will. This time, he’s sure.

“I know. I always could.” The sentiment is enough to draw tears from them again. They’ve never tried to hide their proclivity for emotion, but it’s the rest that makes it stew in their stomachs—how attached it seems to be to when Kendall would collapse into his arms unthinkingly, with Connor already outstretched, ready for the weight—that makes it that much easier to falter. It’s not… sad, not happy either. Just the understanding that somehow they ended back up just like they used to be, with fragile arms instead of strong ones. When neither is big nor small, just something in between. Something a little too quick to break, something that toes the line between readiness and second-guessing, where both need something bigger to hold them up even when they stand heads above where they used to. 

“Well, uh. Thanks, Kenny. I mean it. ” Connor says sheepishly. “Not just for this, even.” 

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Kendall offers, like it’s a hand on the shoulder.

“I will.”

So that’s how they leave it. No intentional goodbye, yet it’s filled instead by knowing that this time, there’s a plan to return. He won’t let it slip from his hands or get shoved into boxes to become souvenirs of childhood. It’s as tangible as the phone in his hands or the snowflakes coming to rest on the landscape unexpectedly housing them.

He sidles comfortably up against Willa, and the two venture out into the cold. A shiver takes her by the shoulders and he pulls her close as they watch the snow fall gently. The mountains are far away, so the expanse of desert as it meets the sky—quickly blurring to white—seems to chase on forever. There’s nothing around to greet them, as though the world could swallow them up, and it’s not as though there isn’t an occasional wish for more beyond their windows, even when the sky is brilliantly blue. However, they’ve been granted another guest, even if it’s just fleeting snow that dissolves on their fingertips. They’ve been gone from the city for years now, and that’s a reminder on its own. But whereas the city goers let it gather on their clothes and hair without a second thought, almost with annoyance, Connor welcomes it—albeit childishly, without the thought of covering his hands—as an opening, a prospect, an occurrence that he can’t help answer with the tinge of laughter. “Huh.” He smiles, wondering if it’s snowing again in New York. 

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

Penguin Logistics and Rhine Labs were never strongly associated; the unofficial leader of RI’s RL faction, Silence, was cordial with Penguin’s actual leader, the Emperor himself, and their interactions didn’t need to go any further. For most of their time side-by-side, the two groups really had nothing to bridge them together.

Until, that is, one arctic explorer joined from Rhine Labs. Magallan, the bright-eyed cold-weather drone specialist loved by her colleagues, had already spent some time with the Emperor. She’d visited the far north many times, and being a Liberi with some penguin-like features herself, she got along quite well with the true avians there. It was only natural that she’d find the Emperor absolutely adorable. What the employees of Penguin Logistics hadn’t quite expected was for Maggie, as the Emperor called her, to become an honorary member of PL...in a sense. After all, it’s not like his girlfriend wouldn’t be involved in the company’s affairs somehow, right?

As for the logistical concerns of their relationship...that’s not our place to speculate.

A week after she first arrived at Rhodes Island, Magallan learned that the Emperor spent a substantial amount of time in a sector of RI dedicated to him and his people; essentially, he bought that portion for his people as another of his bases, but after some time working with the Doctor and his people, it made more sense to make it their main post. He was commonly found in their office, playing hip-hop or some of Sora’s music while doing paperwork, which made him easy enough to find.

“Excuse me,” Magallan called out into the lobby of Penguin Logistics, “but is Emperor around?”

“Oh, hey, Miss Maggie! He’s in his room in the back - you can’t miss it.” Exusiai directed her from the couch, where she was splayed out, a magazine in her hands.

She nodded, mentally preparing herself. It had been awhile since she’d seen him, honestly, and even knowing he wasn’t the sort to change, what she wanted to ask him today...she had good reason to be nervous. Like Exu had said, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the room that smelled like fish and liquor was his, especially with the rap tracks pouring through the crack under the door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. “Hey, Emperor? Do you have a minute?”

“Maggie?” The music turned down several notches, enough for her to hear the skittering of his feet across his room. A minute or two later, he opened his door. “As I live and breathe. When’d you get here?”

“A week ago. I was getting my workshop and everything set up, but I heard you were here, so...Gotta minute?”

Emperor swung the door wide open, gesturing around an office/bedroom in wild disarray. “Sit anywhere, move anything, don’t matter. I’d get you a throne, but Bison’s out right now.”

“Bison?” She perched herself on his bed, legs dangling over the side. “Is he new?”

“Yeah, new intern. Good kid, needs to learn to let loose. You’ll meet ‘em. Whatcha wanna talk about?”

Maggie blushed. “Right. Um...Do you want to go ice-skating some time?”

“Hell yeah! I know just the spot.” He crossed his flippers. “You alright, Maggie?”

“Oh, I’m more than alright,” she smiled.

Emperor nodded. “Good shit. When you wanna go? I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

“So we can go tonight?” Maggie hopped off the bed and walked over to where he was standing by his desk. “If that’s alright with you, I’m gonna go home and change. Call me when you’re good to go?”

“Sure thing, Magpie.” He stretched his neck up and clicked softly and happily as she ruffled his feathers in just the right way. There were a few people who could get away with something like this, but he only asked for it from Magallan. No one else knew the right spots without being told.

After a good ruffling, she kissed his forehead and went on her way. A quick shower, a can of sardines, and a rifle through her closer later, and Magallan was ready. The phone rang not long after she’d gotten dressed. “Hello?”

“Hey doll, how’s it kicking?” Emperor chuckled, a very birdlike variant of the sound. “Texas is gonna take us out there; they froze a lake out near Chernobog fighting that rabbit-girl from Reunion the Doc’s got on ice in the medbay, and it’s pretty lit.”

“Sounds good to me. Wait, we’re taking care of someone from Reunion?”

He made a noise she understood to be shared confusion. “Beats me, Magpie. We’re on the way to grab ya, if you’re good.”

“I’m ready when you are.” Maggie giggled. “Poor Texas, though.”

“Don’t worry, I worked somethin’ out for her, too.”

A voice from the front seat. “Hi, Maggie!”

“Hi, Sora!” She giggled again. “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

“Sure will. Tex, juice this puppy, we ain’t got all day!”

-

Magallan and the Emperor rode in the back of the car, the penguin sitting in Maggie’s lap, while Sora flirted with Texas in the front. As they drove at impressive speeds, propelled by the Lupo in the driver seat’s lead foot, the two of them made small talk, catching up from their time apart and falling back into their lovey-dovey rhythm. They’d always had a way of picking right back up where they’d left off, but because of their frequent absences from each other, it meant not much progress in between. And frankly? Both of them were tired of that. The Emperor didn’t just keep a bunch of cute girls (and Bison) around because they were effective; he needed distractions, and having a couple of Angels for his Charlie certainly made that easier...but Maggie wasn’t just another girl. His little Magpie was a Liberi closer to him than the vast majority, a well-blended mix of cheerful and rational who could temper his admittedly over-the-top personality if it needed to be, and she was cute as all hell, which amplified her other positives because he’d be paying attention to her regardless. To Magallan, the Emperor was simply incredible - a penguin, a penguin of all things, with enough mastery of Ancient language to become a successful rapper renowned for his skills and owner of perhaps Terra’s greatest logistics company (if not in size, then in spirit)? He was utterly fascinating to her, but it went further than that. The Emperor was a bad boy, the kind of person who took what he wanted when he wanted it, and yet he showed her nothing but patience. If he’d wanted, he could have had at any time, but something held him back. That kind of self-restraint was so hard to explain with the rest of his character, it had to mean something, didn’t it?

They arrived at the lake, and while Texas parked the car, Magallan and the Emperor headed directly for the ice. With one click of her heels, Maggie had her ice skates ready to go, and her date simply extended a flipper for her to hold as he slid on his feet.

“I’ve never seen a penguin skate,” she mused, watching him more than the lake around them. “Have you been practicing?”

“When your lady loves the ice, ya gotta stay fresh, so every now and again I come out for a skatin’ sesh.”

Maggie chuckled. “A rhyme for every occasion.”

“It’s not about memory, but flow, you see. Tell me, doll, why’d you invite me out this eve?”

“I wanted you back around once I had my feet on the ground; I never guessed I’d be so blessed to find you in the same town.”

He chirped for joy. “You’ve been practicing, too.”

“Gotta keep up with my boo.”

“I’m glad you do...damn.” He shook his head. “Missed the perfect line.”

Maggie smiled. “You make mistakes? I thought they were just fakes to trick the fools who don’t grasp the stakes?”

“When we’re the only two here to hear? No joke, though - shoulda said ‘Damn, I love you.’ Waste of a verse, might as well toss me in the hearse.”

“...Could we instead turn back on that subject and converse?”

Emperor looked up at her, bemused. “You know I love you.”

“I do...it’s just, you’ve never said it before.”

“Like you said, I make mistakes.” He shifted his weight to one foot as they rounded the lake’s steepest curve. “Not saying that more often is high on that list.”

She blushed. “Empy...”

“Oh, why you gotta be so damn cute.”

“When we get back,” Maggie asked, “do you wanna come over to my place for a nightcap?”

Expressing the cocktail of emotions the suggestion flooded him with wasn’t an easy task. “You askin’ me to come over?”

“At least for a drink...maybe more.”

“Lordy, lordy, lordy.” He set his other flipper to his head. “Ladies ask me back all the time. Never thought you’d follow the line.”

Magallan rolled her eyes. “Then stop holdin’ out on me, Empy.”

“Alright, then. Tonight’s the night.”

“Alright!” Without warning, she picked him up and began twirling. “You don’t wanna know how long I’ve been waiting, baby.”

Emperor flapped his flippers rapidly as if he could slow his spinning down this way. “Whoa, whoa, I getcha, I getcha, but I’m gonna retch if ya don’t quit twirlin’!”

“Sorry!” She straightened out as she let her radial momentum dissipate.

“It’s fine, you’re excited.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “We’ll go whenever you wanna.”

Maggie chirped happily. “We’ll let them have a little more time...and then you’re all mine for the night.”

[silverarmedassassin]

A Christmas Miracle

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (if you squint) Word Count: 1406 Warnings: Soft!Bucky, mention of sick children, but nothing graphic or anything. Summary: When the Avengers take a day off to help you decorate the children’s hospital you work for, a certain Super Solider feels a little left out. 

2019 Christmas Masterlist 

“Mr. Stark, I’m glad to see you’re putting your suit to good use,” you laugh as you walk into the hospital lobby. Hovering twenty-five feet in the air is none other than Tony Stark. He turns from the tree in which he was hanging an over-sized red, ceramic bauble and smirks. “I’m not sure why I even bothered having them bring out the ladders!”

Despite their busy schedules of saving the world one alien-invasion at a time, the Avengers had managed to pencil in a tree decorating event for the children’s hospital you work for. You’d reached out to Tony on a whim, knowing how busy he is between being the face of Stark Industries and avenging. So, when Pepper called you two days later confirming the details of the event, you were nothing less than shocked.

“Please, Y/N, how many times do I need to ask you to just call me Tony?” He makes a hasty but careful descent, gliding over to where you’re standing before touching down completely. “Nice of you to finally show your face around here.”

Over his shoulder, you see Pepper setting down a box of ornaments before making her way over. “Oh leave her alone, Tony. She’s a busy woman.” Pepper gives you a quick squeeze before tucking herself into her long-term boyfriend��s side.

You’d known Tony for almost a decade. You’d met him by chance at a career fair in high school, and he ended up offering you your first internship during your freshman year of college. You’d somehow wormed your way into both Tony and Pepper’s hearts, and they unofficially officially adopted you as part of their tech-empire family.

“Tony, aren’t you gonna introduce us to the pretty lady?” you hear someone from the group, Sam Wilson you believe, call from amongst the boxes of Christmas chaos.

Tony rolls his eyes before pulling you into his other side. “Yea, yea, shove it, Pelican Brain.” You attempt to stifle a chuckle as Sam grumbles to himself. “Team, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the team.

A chorus of “hello” and “nice to meet you” erupts from the little gang of superheroes. You’re pleased with the fact that almost every familiar face could show, along with some you knew but couldn’t quite place. The tallest, and arguably the most enthusiastic of the bunch, Captain America, is the first to break away towards you.

“Steve Rogers,” he says as he grasps your hand in a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. I think what you guys do here, for the sick kids and all...it’s really great. If treatment like this was as accessible and advanced back in the twenties - hell I might not be standing here right now!”

“We get it, big guy, you’re old. Stop hogging her,” Tony shoos Steve away. “As Pep said, she’s a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to listen to your origin story.”

“Well actually,” you chuckle. “I’ve managed to clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon, so I’ll be able to help out when some of our patients come down!”

“Patients? Like, the kids?” another voice pipes up from the tree.

You all turn to find none other than Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself, peeking around from behind the tree. There was glitter stuck in his long hair, and he had a small strand of garland draped over his shoulders. You can’t help but wonder how this man was ever one of the most feared assassins in the world.

“Uh, yes the kids,” Tony snarks, rolling his eyes. “We’re at a children’s hospital, Tinsel Man, what did you expect?”

Bucky plucks the garland from his body and tosses it into a pile of boxes. “I just...kids don’t really like me. I didn’t know they were going to be here helping us.”

You quickly jump in, in an attempt to ease his worry. “The children are excited to meet all of you. I can promise there are a few boys and girls who can relate to you on some level and will love getting to spend time with you!”

Bucky found you weren’t necessarily wrong. The children were excited to see the one and only Avengers in the flesh. There were kids dressed up in Captain America pjs, Iron Man stickers on various casts, and one little girl even had a Black Widow temporary tattoo she couldn’t wait to show off to Natasha.

And, while none of the kids necessarily avoided Bucky, they weren’t going out of their way to show off their “battle scars” as you’d come to call them. He understood why with his appearance not being the exact definition of warm and fuzzy. But he had scaled it back on the black today, and he’d made sure to pull all the crazy hair out of his face because he knew how intimidating meeting new people could be when you couldn’t get a good look at their face.

As the afternoon of decorating started coming to a close, just a few patients - ones that were either outpatient and had just shown up, or had been in treatment during the earlier part of the day - were hanging around. It had grown pretty quiet with only a few interruptions of laughter coming from a small group of kids huddled around Steve and Sam. Bucky watched on happy to see his two best friends were enjoying an afternoon off, seemingly releasing the weight of the world’s problems from their shoulders.

Since he wasn’t otherwise occupied, he decided he was going to start packing up some of the unused decorations. He’d never admit to it, but the organization helped him clear his mind sometimes.

“Mr. Barnes,” Bucky hears from behind him. He stands from where he was digging in a box of faux candy canes and turns around to find you standing with a little girl. She looks terrified, but not in the way that Bucky was used to. More shy than fear, and it made him feel good.

“Please, just call me Bucky,” he chuckles.

“Okay, Bucky,” you smile and he’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I wanted to introduce you to one of your biggest fans. This is one of our outpatient kids. She doesn’t stay here often, but we have regular appointments with her!”

Bucky bends down so that he’s eye-level with Cali. He had to admit a sweet-looking girl like her favoring him of all the Avengers was a surprise.

“Hi, Cali,” he smiled, extending his hand for a gentle shake. She looks up to you for assurance before stepping around your legs to inspect Bucky fully. “How are you?”

“She’s a bit shy, but I promise she’s excited,” you laugh. “Go on, he’s not going to bite!”

Giggles erupt from a group of children who are huddled around Steve, and it seems to break Cali’s reservations about Bucky. Instead of accepting his hand, she goes in for a full-on hug, almost knocking down the surprised super-soldier.

“I have a fake arm too,” she whispers into his neck, and his surprised laugh falters a bit.

“Wh-what?” He leans back just enough to see her face, and she nods. Holding up her left arm, she pulls the sleeve back to expose a prosthetic. Hers is less noticeable, complete with flesh-colored material so that it doesn’t stand out to the prying eye.

“She’s kind of why the hospital has such a great relationship with Mr. Stark. He was kind enough to donate funds to build her an arm similar to yours,” you gesture to the arm Bucky is now closely examining. “There’s nerve sensors and everything, so she still has sensation - can feel warmth and cold, all of that.”

“Amazing,” Bucky whispers, looking from Cali’s arm to her face. “Do you know how special this is?”

Cali grins and they’re obviously having a moment, so you decide to leave them to it. As you make your way over to one of the many lobby couches, exhausted from an afternoon of excitement, Tony makes a surprise landing.

“I guess he’s not bad all the time,” he chuckles, looking over your shoulder to the tender scene unraveling in front of him. “Might be the little Christmas miracle Inspector Gadget needed this year.”

You bite your lip in an attempt to hide the wide grin that threatened to split across your face. "I'm glad we could help."

[whumphoarder]

Them’s the Breaks

Summary: Peter is home alone and ends up breaking his ankle. Figuring his super healing will fix it overnight, he doesn’t tell anyone and tries to sleep it off, only to wake up in the middle of the night in agony. Cue Tony, saving his ass yet again.

(Alternative title: Super Healing is Not All it’s Cracked Up To Be Tibia)

Word count: 3,174

Genre: Whump, hurt/comfort, fluffy angst

A/N: Thanks to @sallyidss for beta reading!

Link to read on Ao3

Prior to being bitten by a radioactive spider, Peter had broken exactly one bone in his life.

He was eleven. Someone dared him to do a flip on a trampoline at a classmate’s birthday party. The flip itself was mediocre, but the landing was legendary. Blood streamed down Peter’s face from his now crooked, throbbing nose, ruining both his brand new stormtrooper t-shirt and the horrified birthday girl’s pink dress.

Ned—ever the sympathetic friend—had puked on the spot, which hadn’t done wonders for either of their middle school social statuses.

Peter managed to hold it together pretty well for the twenty minutes it had taken Ben to arrive, but the second the car door was shut and they pulled out of the driveway, the façade crumbled. Peter’s shoulders shook and tears ran down his cheeks, stinging his nose, because, as it turned out, broken bones just really hurt. Almost as much as Peter’s pride.

But Ben was there, and Ben always knew how to make Peter feel better. He cracked jokes about his nephew’s failing gymnastics career and tossed wadded up Burger King napkins at the kid’s messy face all the way to urgent care until Peter’s choked sobs turned to quiet giggles.

The doctor reset Peter’s nose and May fussed over him all weekend, making sure he was icing it appropriately. Three weeks later, he was back to normal.

But that was before the bite—before Peter had taken the unofficial job of crime-fighting teenage vigilante.

He’s up to eight bones now, lifetime total. Besides the nose, there were four ribs last summer (for the record, being thrown into brick walls really sucks), his collarbone back in January (missed a web and crashed onto the roof of a parking garage), and two fingers just before spring break (got stomped on by some dude gallivanting about in a rhino costume, what even is his life?). Luckily, super healing came as part of the package, so what had taken Peter’s sixth grade body weeks to repair, he now accomplishes in mere hours.

Today, however, it’s not Spider-Man who injures himself. It’s just Peter Parker, fresh off an evening patrol, wiping out in the goddamn shower.

“Oh shit!” Peter gasps sharply as his feet slide out from under him on the wet surface. His hand flies out on reflex and grasps the shower curtain, which he pulls down on top of him. As he slams onto the floor of the tub, his ankle rolls sideways underneath him. A split-second later, the metal curtain rod hits him in the face.

“...Rude…” he groans.

Water is still streaming down from the shower, splashing onto the sheet of vinyl now covering Peter’s body. He pulls the curtain off himself with another groan and gingerly pushes himself up to sitting. Half-blind from the shampoo running into his eyes, he reaches up over his head and fumbles for the shower handle. The water stops.

Peter makes to stand, but a sudden jolt of pain just above his ankle stops him. With a grunt, he lets himself fall back against the tub, teeth clenched.

Oh yeah, he’s never gonna live this one down.

It’s not his most graceful moment, but somehow Peter manages to extricate himself from the tub. Thankfully May is out of town this weekend so no one is around to hear the crashes and muffled curses issuing from the bathroom. He quickly dries off and pulls on some clean sweat pants and a t-shirt before hopping on his left leg to retrieve a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen. Once back in his bedroom, he carefully props the already-swelling ankle up on pillows and rests his makeshift ice pack on top.

It’s times like these when Peter curses his mutated spider metabolism for burning through normal painkillers so fast that Tylenol and ibuprofen are about as effective as Skittles. Tony has better drugs at the compound—the kind that actually work on him—but Peter isn’t too keen on explaining to his mentor how someone who’d stopped a runaway car with his bare hands and walked away without a scratch a few hours ago was no match for his own bathroom.

Plus, it’s really not that bad. He can deal. He’ll just sleep it off and everything will be fine by the morning.

X

Peter wakes to nauseating pain.

It takes him a moment to orient himself. He’s lying on his bed in a tangle of covers, a deep, pulsing ache radiating from his right ankle. He flaps his hand around under his pillow until he locates his phone and lifts it to his face to check the time. It’s 1:13 a.m.

God, this sucks.

When Peter pushes himself up to sitting, he can’t help but let out a muffled cry as a fresh wave of agony shoots through his leg all the way to the hip. It’s healing—he swears he can actually feel the bone knitting itself back together under his skin—but something about it feels different. Wrong.

Flipping on the bedside lamp, he pulls his covers off his aching foot and instantly gasps at the sight. It’s purple with bruises and swollen to double its usual size. On the side, right where the ache is deepest, the bone is jutting out at a weird angle and his stomach rolls at the sight. When he tries to move his foot slightly, searing pain nearly makes him lose his dinner.

This isn’t right. None of his past breaks have ever hurt this much. He can’t do this anymore—he needs help.

Fingers trembling, he types out his message: Mr. Stark? Are you awake?

It’s about thirty seconds before Peter sees the three dots indicating that Tony is typing: Haven’t slept since the 90s, kid. Why?

Peter steels himself with a deep breath as another pulse of pain stabs his ankle. He types out and backspaces a few different variations of his confession, ranging from ‘I fucked up my ankle and it’s killing me pls send help’ to ‘Nothing, just couldn’t sleep, sorry’ before finally settling on a vague version of the truth:

I might have done something dumb

Within five seconds of sending the text, Peter’s phone starts ringing, startling him. His fingers fumble to accept the call. When he speaks, his voice comes out more like a squeak than anything else. “Yeah?”

Tony cuts right to the chase. “How dumb are we talking here?” he asks briskly. “Because my lawyers generally appreciate a heads up.”

“No, it’s not that kind of dumb,” Peter manages to grit out through the pain. “It’s um… it’s just…” he trails off, not sure quite how to word this.

“It’s one in the morning. Just spit it out,” Tony prompts.

Tears are pricking at the corners of Peter’s eyes now, the ache somehow finding a way to become even deeper. “I-I got hurt,” he manages to say.

Tony’s tone instantly sobers. “Where? How bad?”

“No no, it’s not that bad,” Peter says quickly. “I just messed up my ankle or something. I thought I could just sleep it off and my healing would fix it, but it’s like”—he takes a shuddery inhale—“It just… it just really hurts, Mr. Stark.” He wants to cry; he feels absolutely pathetic.

Tony curses under his breath and Peter hears a lot of movement from the other end of the line. “Why didn’t I get any alerts from Karen on this?” he demands. “Because I put all those safety features in your suit for a reason and if I find out you coerced that Ned buddy of yours into disabling yet another layer of security, I swear to god, Pete—”

“I didn’t, I promise,” Peter interrupts. “Karen doesn’t know because it didn’t happen on patrol.”

“How did it happen then?”

“I just… kinda fell?”

“You fell?” Tony questions, confusion in his voice. “Fell where?”

Peter’s face flushes. “You know what, I-I’ll be okay,” he says. “I’m sorry to bother you, it’ll be fine in the morning, just—” Another pulse of pain shoots daggers up his right leg and his breath hitches.

“I’m already on my way,” Tony says, and Peter can hear the sound of wind rushing over the line now. “ETA, thirteen minutes.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to come out here!” Peter protests. “I just need some of those painkillers that you and Dr. Banner made. I dunno, maybe you could just send a couple over in one of your suits...?”

“Cute,” Tony remarks. “It’s adorable how you think I’m gonna let a fifteen-year-old dose out a drug strong enough to knock the Winter Soldier on his ass.”

“I’m sixteen now,” Peter argues. “Sixteen and a half, actually.”

“Equally adorable how you think stating your age in fractions helps your case,” Tony quips. “Listen, just hold tight, kid—I’ll be there soon.”

Peter sighs as the call disconnects.

X

Eleven minutes later, Tony arrives at the apartment and lets himself in with the spare key May had given him when it became apparent Peter's internship was more than just a run-of-the-mill semester-long program. He pauses in the doorway of Peter’s messy room to gaze at the miserable teenager sprawled out on the bed.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony swears quietly.

Peter gives a small wave. “Hey,” he mumbles. The nausea is back and he’s sweating slightly now. “Did you bring the drugs?”

“I did,” Tony says, his gaze narrowing as he steps closer to the bed, “but given that your ankle is currently resembling Violet Beauregarde’s, you’re not getting any until FRIDAY does her thing.”

Peter huffs, but he’s in too much pain to come up with anything witty to say. He holds still as Tony taps twice at the nanotech armor’s housing unit on his chest. A light appears and quickly scans over Peter’s body from head to toe.

After a moment, the light disappears again. “Scan complete, boss,” FRIDAY reports. “Partially healed misaligned fracture detected in the lower right tibia.”

“I broke my leg?” Peter balks. “I thought it was the ankle?”

“Your ankle is made up of three bones,” Tony explains. He pulls out his phone and starts typing something as he goes on. “Tibia, fibula…”—he pauses and glances up, frowning—“and that one that doesn’t rhyme.”

“The talus, boss,” FRIDAY supplies.

Diverting his attention back to the phone screen, Tony gives a short nod of acknowledgment. “Yeah, that one.”

“Oh.” Peter glances down awkwardly. “Um, I’m gonna take anatomy next semester.”

Tony hums absently. He finishes tapping out whatever message he’s been sending and pockets the device again. “In the meantime, I’m sure Bruce can tell you more fun bone facts when we get to Medbay.”

“Whoa, wait, what do you mean Medbay?” Peter demands, a fresh wave of panic and guilt crashing over him. “All I need is some meds so I can sleep through the worst of it and I’ll be fine,” he insists.

Tony huffs. “Your knowledge of anatomy might be lacking, but last time I checked you were getting an A in English so you should know that ‘misaligned’ isn’t a word you want connected to ‘fracture’. It’s healing wrong. You need x-rays. And a real doctor.”

With a groan, Peter drapes his arm dramatically over his face. “Great. Even my super healing is against me.”

“Not to mention you still haven’t told me how you fell,” Tony continues with a pointed look, “so if you’re trying to hide some other injury, or a vertigo thing, or—”

“I’m not,” Peter mumbles into the crook of his elbow. With a sigh, he lowers the arm from his face and looks miserably up at his mentor. “I just slipped in the stupid shower.”

To Tony’s credit, he doesn’t laugh.

(Even though his lips do twitch.)

Instead, he steps out of the bedroom and returns a moment later with a cup of water, which he hands to the kid along with two of the super strength painkillers from the orange pill bottle in his pocket. Peter downs them gratefully.

“Your aunt’s got her car here, right?” Tony checks.

Peter nods. “She took an Uber to the airport. Won’t be back until late Sunday. Conference for work.”

“Think she’d mind if we use it as a makeshift ambulance?”

Peter just shrugs.

“Alright then.” Tony presses the housing unit again and this time the armor encases his whole body. “Now I’m gonna pick you up and carry you down to the parking lot, and you’re not gonna make a big deal about it. Capisce?”

Peter suppresses a groan of embarrassment as he’s gathered carefully into Tony’s arms. Maybe next time he wipes out in the shower, he’ll get lucky and just drown.

X

The painkillers are strong and Peter ends up sleeping through most of the two-hour drive back to the compound. By the time they pull into the parking garage—May’s little dented Ford Focus looking positively ridiculous next to Tony’s array of expensive sports cars—it’s nearly four in the morning.

Bruce is waiting for them with a wheelchair, which Peter instantly balks at using.

“I don’t need that—I can totally walk,” he protests.

Bruce gives him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, that’s not a good idea. Judging by the scans FRIDAY sent ahead for me, your bone rotated as it healed—that’s why it looks so deformed right now. Walking on it is only going to cause further problems.”

“You heard the man,” Tony says, gesturing to the chair. He smirks. “Unless you'd prefer me to get the suit on again.”

With a groan, Peter transfers himself into the chair. His ankle really does feel better now. The swelling is down and the pain only flares up when he jostles it too much—he can tell the bone has mostly knit itself back together.

Once back in Medbay, they’re joined by another doctor—someone from SHIELD called Helen Cho who Peter has never met before. She does some x-rays and an MRI while Peter half-dozes, still foggy from the medication.

When the scans are complete, he’s transferred back to a hospital bed while the two doctors talk over the results with him and Tony. Peter tries to pay attention but he’s still groggy and exhausted, so the medical jargon sounds more like irritating droning than actual words. Then all of a sudden, the three of them start throwing around words like ‘rebreaking’ and ‘inserting pins’ and ‘realignment surgery’ and Peter snaps right out of his haze.

“Whoa, whoa, what do you mean surgery?” Peter demands. “It’s fine, oh my god.”

Dr. Cho gives him a half-smile. “Look here, Peter.” She holds up the x-ray and points to the bulge on the side of Peter’s ankle. “This malunion is going to significantly reduce your mobility, as well as potentially cause chronic pain. Given your”—she pauses for a moment—“unusually active lifestyle, I would highly suggest surgical correction sooner rather than later.”

And that’s how, several hours later, Peter finds himself lying on a bed in a pre-op room at SHIELD Medical, waiting for some surgeons to take a bone-saw to his freshly healed right leg.

“How you feeling, kiddo?” Tony asks, plopping himself down in an armchair beside the bed.

“Really stupid,” Peter answers honestly. He gazes down at the deformed bones in his ankle. “All this from falling in the shower.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Eh, this shit happens. One time in college, I threw my back out during a ping-pong match with Rhodey.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Tony nods. “Bodies are dumb. Even enhanced ones—did you know Steve once sneezed so hard he dislocated a rib?”

Peter gives him a skeptical look. “Now you’re joking.”

“Cross my heart,” Tony chuckles. “Then Thor clapped him on the back and popped it back in.”

Peter opens his mouth to express his disbelief at this information, but before he can do so, a nurse dressed in light blue scrubs comes in to take him to the OR. A fresh wave of anxiety comes over Peter and he shoots his mentor a pleading look.

“You’re really sure this is necessary?” Peter tries one last time.

Tony gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll be fine,” he assures. “As soon as you’re healed up, I’ll teach you some sweet ping-pong moves.”

Peter smirks. “Maybe I should get Rhodey to show me so I don’t throw out my back.”

“Nah, you don’t want him either,” Tony says, waving his hand dismissively. “I might have thrown out my back, but he ended up with a concussion.”

Peter blinks at him. “What kind of ping-pong games did you play?”

Tony locks eyes with him. “Ball is life, kid.”

X

The surgery itself goes as well as can be expected. Peter wakes up groggy and disoriented, with three new metal pins inside his ankle and a bright red cast around the outside. Bruce feeds him ice chips, and Tony video calls May from his Starkpad so she can fuss over her nephew a bit from Denver. Peter silently marvels at how this ridiculous life he leads has somehow brought him to the point where Iron Man and the Hulk are functioning as his postoperative caretakers.

Then his thoughts are derailed when he suddenly throws up bile all over the bedsheets and Tony’s tablet.

“It’s okay, Peter,” Bruce assures the thoroughly humiliated boy—who is now clutching a pink plastic basin to his chest as if his life depends on it—as he helps the nurse to strip the bed. “Nausea is a really common side effect of the anesthesia, and especially considering how much you had to be under for your metabolism, this is to be expected.”

Standing off to the side, wiping the tablet down with disposable disinfectant wipes, Tony huffs. “I mean if you knew that, Bruce, you could have warned me…”

Whether the antiemetics the doctors give Peter do their job or simply knock him out through the worst of the nausea, Peter will never know. But when he wakes again a few hours later, life is significantly better.

X

He’s released from Medical the next morning and Tony brings him back to the compound to finish recovering in his own room. The cast comes off Sunday morning and Peter’s good as new.

Late Sunday afternoon, Tony drops Peter back off at his apartment—Happy tailing along behind in a much shinier, undented, and heavily upgraded Ford Focus—and thanks May for loaning him her vehicle before asking permission to use their restroom.

Emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later, Tony ruffles Peter’s hair and tells the kid to take it easy before driving off again.

When Peter goes to take a shower later that night, he finds the floor of the tub covered in adhesive non-slip rubber duck decals.

(Yeah, Peter’s never gonna live this one down.)

X

Fic Masterlist

For more Tony helping Peter out sticky of situations, try:

 You Broke Tony 

 The Five Times Peter Denies an Illness or Injury + the One Time He Doesn’t

[evanstanhoney]

Saved(part ix)//Vamprie!Shawn *Sneak Peek*

because i haven’t posted in ages, here’s a little something from the next part of saved :) (also still mad tumblr took away the page break thing *grrrr*)

________

A break from the chaos that had become your life was exactly what you needed, Shawn as well. And maybe running away from your problems wasn’t the best idea, in fact, it could quite possibly be the worst thing to do in this situation but you if you didn’t step away you were sure to lose your mind. So you decided on going to the one place in the world where you feel the safest and thought that by bringing Shawn along with you he could find solace in the same place you did. 

 “Are you all packed?” You smile placing your own overnight bag by your door. 

 “Yeah. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” 

 “I told you, someplace special. Now come on, we have a long drive.” you chirp, taking his bag from his hand. He groans at the news of a long drive but he follows you out the door without a fight.  

 To your surprise, Shawn wasn’t his usual talkative self for most of the drive. The first half of it was spent in awkward silence while he looked out the window, brooding as the trees went whizzing by, and it made you start to question whether or not it was a good idea taking him all the way out here in the first place. You start to feel butterflies in your stomach, and anxiety you’ve only ever felt once in your life and knew you were just feeling Shawn. You peek over at him and see him fidgeting with his daylight ring, twisting it around his finger.  

 “What are you thinking about bubba?” you smile, in hopes of calming him down some.  

 “How’d you meet James?” He blurts out. 

 It was definitely not the question you’d expected and definitely not a topic you were ready to talk to Shawn about. It wasn’t exactly a memory you liked reliving, and the one you wish you could rewrite. There were a lot of things from your past that you weren’t ready to tell Shawn. At least not until you got up to where you were headed. 

 “Um… well, it definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. But we met after Clyde and I...broke up.” 

 “Oh,” he sighs slumping into his seat, “so you two were like -”  

 “God no! We were never like that. James is like my brother. Why do you ask?” 

 “I just want to know more about you, that’s all.”  He shrugged, eyes glued back to the window watching the trees go by. 

 “What else do you want to know?” You say after a moment of silence. He perked up, turning his body to you not expecting you to invite more questions. 

“Well for one ...how old are you? Really?” 

 “Don’t you know to never ask a woman her age?” you say, flashing him a smirk and he lets out a little laugh, “If you must know, officially I’m 22. Unofficially I’m 135. I turned in 1883.”

 “How’d you turn?” he asks, and you don’t say anything for a while, your grip on the steering wheel tightening, “Was it like me?” he asks quietly. 

You know what he means. Violent and accidental. 

“Something like that.” You sigh, keep your eyes on the road. 

 He leaves it at that and the rest of the drive is spent quite like it had been. This was supposed to be a getaway but already you were a ball of nerves, paranoid about where Shawn's head was. You weren’t exactly taking him to Disneyland. It was important to you but it had heavy implications and you planned on doing a lot of explaining, but the quieter he was the more scared you got and began second-guessing everything. 

 When you finally pulled up to the large cabin in the woods, all you could see Shawn’s eyes wide like a kid at Christmas, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

 “Wow, is this your place?” He asks, stepping out of the car looking up at the mansion of a cabin. 

 “Not really, it’s James's on paper. The land has been in his family for generations, he built this place in the ’80s, we just renovated it.” 

 “Why don’t you just live here?” He asks, taking the bags out of your grasp as you make your way up the driveway to the house. 

 “We don’t like the idea of being hidden away. Besides we still use it as much as we can, if we need a break or if some friends of ours are in town we’ll throw a party or something. 

 “You have friends?” 

 “Funny.” 

 “Other vampires I mean?” He laughs, bumping his shoulder into yours.  

 “Yeah. Well, they’re more James’ friends than mine.  Being around a few hundred years you acquire quite a few of them.” 

You open the door and step inside going straight to the fridge for a bottle of water. “So I figure we drop our bags off here. Go to the store a couple miles up the road, and pick up some things for dinner. What do you think?” He steps into the kitchen and sits at the counter watching you drink your bottle of water, and you can see that all too familiar look on his face. “Don’t worry we keep blood bags in the fridge too.” 

 “Good.” he sighs, smiling up at you. 

 “Come on. James isn’t here so we get a good room.” You say throwing him a wink and running up the stairs, Shawn right on your heels. 

 He stops at the bottom of the stairs looking at the pictures adorning the walls and he’s mesmerized all over again. The wall is covered in photos. Some look older than others but all of them have James in them. You're in a lot of them as well. He stops at one in particularly mouth dropping open, 

“Wait, is this really James?” He asks, pointing to one of the photos. It’s an old soldiers portrait, the frame is new, but the picture inside is frayed a bit at the edges. 

 “Yeah. I didn’t know him then,  he was in England during the first World War. They sent him to France. He was a tunneler.” You took him by the hand and dragged him up a few more stairs to another photo. “This is the other one.” 

 “He was in the second one too?” 

 “Yeah. Won medals and everything but he won’t talk about it. I was proud of him though. He saved a lot of people.” You smile looking at the photo. 

He shakes his head in disbelief looking at the mural of photos when he stops, a smile spreading on his face, “It’s you.” He beams. 

It’s a photo of you and James with a few of your other friends smiling wide, peace signs up in the air in front of the Golden Gate bridge. That was a good day. 

 “The 60s was a really good look on me don’t you think?” You smile throwing him a  wink. 

In truth, the ’60s was the worst on you, and you and James looked like the worst stereotype. If pictures had sent, you’re sure you’d be able to smell it too. You had fully embraced the hippy culture and most of the decade you spent high and happy. 

“Enough of memory lane, bub.  We’ve got to go before the store closes.”

_______

what do you think??

[theyorthemrecords]

imaginary toads in real gardens (I)

a/n: the soft college!cashton fic i’ve been promising the group chat, focusing mainly around their shared poetry class! also a little barista!ashton, if you squint. also linked below are the two poems mentioned by name, if you’re interested in reading them! (both are personal favorites of mine hehe)

tableau by countee cullen

the helmsman by hilda doolittle (h.d.)

word count: 1.7 k

warnings: a light sprinkling of cursing, but nothing else in this part! enjoy ~

Calum wasn’t quite sure how this morning could get any worse. It started with him oversleeping, causing a chain reaction of trying to brew his own coffee, spilling said coffee all over himself, changing his shirt because of the spilled coffee, and ending up in, quite literally, the ugliest outfit he had ever seen. To make it all worse, it was a Tuesday, meaning the class he was rushing to was poetry, which just so happened to be the one class he shared with the absolutely dreamy barista from the on-campus coffee shop, the Bee-Hive. 

Calum had been crushing on the guy, from afar, since his freshman year, and couldn’t believe his luck when he materialized in his spring semester poetry class two years later. Throughout the first few weeks of the semester, he had collected a few key pieces of information about the other boy, using it all to fuel his romantic daydreams, when his mind wandered. First, his name was Ashton, which technically Calum already knew, but it just felt so different to hear Ashton say it himself as opposed to simply reading it on his nametag. Second, Ashton was a junior, like himself, but unlike Calum, Ashton wasn’t an English major. He was a Philosophy major, making his enrollment in the class perplexing to Calum at first, but he pretty quickly understood why Ashton had picked the class. It was obvious that Ashton loved poetry, the art of crafting words into something larger, something new, from the first class discussion they had about Claude McKay. Calum liked to believe, especially since he was now an upperclassman in the English department, that he understood poetry, but it had rendered him speechless to hear Ashton discuss poetry. He just seemed to feel everything so deeply, to be able to grasp the author’s intent and purpose immediately, breaking the poem due to purest essence before Calum had even figured out the rhyme scheme.

Which all looped back to why Calum was hellbent on not only showing up to poetry class on time, but putting all his effort into the discussion they had, in order to desperately try and impress Ashton with his dazzling and insightful textual interpretations. Has it worked so far? Technically no, but he was too stubborn to stop trying and too chicken to actually just ask the other boy out. What if he said no? Then Calum could never go to the Bee-Hive again and his caffeine addiction would be limited to his shitty dorm room, french press brew. That was a horrific reality. Worse than that, what if Ashton wasn’t even gay? The question had perplexed Calum since the first day of class and he bounced back and forth on the answer every time they had class. The closest he had gotten to an answer was the day they discussed Countee Cullen and his poem “Tableau”. Ashton had talked so passionately about the poem and Cullen but managed to do so without actually saying whether or not the poem applied to him. Calum concluded that day that Ashton had to be gay, that there was no way a straight man would talk that emotionally and beautifully about one of the most stunning gay poems in existence. Still, he didn’t have a definite answer, and that was enough to scare Calum out of asking Ashton out.

Too lost in his train of thought, and the blasting volume of Jimmy Eat World currently pumping through his earbuds, Calum failed to notice the body in his way until it was too late and he slammed into whatever unfortunate bystander in the Quad, scattering the books in their hands all over the ground. 

“Holy shit” Snatching his earbuds out and bending down to gather the books that fell to the ground, Calum was amazed when the voice that answered him was none other than Ashton himself, seemingly materialized in front of him by how hard Calum had been daydreaming about the man.

“Hey man, no worries. You’re Calum right, from poetry?” He winced as soon as Ashton spoke, glancing up at him from where he was positioned on the ground, picking up Ashton’s books, which, upon inspection, were obviously from their assigned book list. Of course Ashton barely knew his name, when it seemed that all Calum could do was daydream about him. It had gotten so bad that his roommate, Michael, had taken to throwing pencils at Calum to get his attention, as most of the time he was zoned out in his own private Ashton fantasy. Standing up to hand Ashton his books, Calum gave him a small smile as they finally stood face to face.

“That’s me. Sorry for barreling into you like that, I was just -” Calum paused mid-sentence, too self-conscious to admit that he was rushing to class. Especially because he was rushing to class to see the person that now stood directly in front of him. Luckily, Ashton filled his silence with an easy laugh, a sound Calum found particular delight in.

“No worries, I definitely don’t want to be late for poetry either. Dr. M always bites people’s heads off if they’re not on time. Since we’re going the same way, wanna walk together?” Calum could feel himself gaping at him, scrambling to find something to say to Ashton’s offer. This was too good to be true.  

“Erm-” God, pull it together. Now or never Hood. “I’d love to.” For an English major, he felt like he should be able to say something a little more eloquent. Ashton just let him so speechless, it felt like every word he had ever learned simply departed the minute Ashton’s hazel eyes landed on him.

“Perfect! Lead the way” Falling in step, the two walked in silence for a beat as Calum gathered the courage to say something, anything, to keep a conversation flowing.

“You’re a Philosophy major, right? Why take an English class?” The walk was just long enough that Calum could get some answers to the questions he’d had all semester, and he decided this was the most neutral one to start with. Wouldn’t be very becoming to just launch out the gate with the good old “Are you a queer?” He at least had a little tact left. Again, he was met with one of Ashton’s laughs, a sound Calum quickly found himself becoming addicted to. I’m in too deep.

“You got me there. In all honesty? I’m not too sure why. I just had extra space in my semester and… I don’t know. The class just kinda grabbed me. If that makes any fucking sense.” Calum was nodding along, trying hard not to look like he was hanging off of Ashton’s every word. Fuck their poetry class, this man was a poem himself. Just grabbed by a poetry class. Could he get any dreamier?

“No, I totally get you. You picked a good one. Dr. M may be a hardass, but she’s one of the best professors in the department.” This was Calum’s fifth class with the woman and he was still shocked by how hard she made all of her exams. Still, she pushed him in a way that was unlike any other teacher he had ever had. He was happy to know her and even more grateful to have her knowledge in his life, both as a professor and his advisor. 

“Shocking to hear you say that. She eats up everything you say. On the other hand, I feel like a dumbass every time I make a comment.” Accompanied by a bashful smile and shake of his head, Ashton glanced away for a second. Calum was, once again, stunned into silence, this time for a totally different reason.

“You? Are you kidding me? Everything you say in class is amazing, you’re so insightful. I wish I could read poetry like you do… everything you say is so stunning and you just… get it. You’re great in class Ashton.” Finishing his ramble, it was Calum’s turn to be embarrassed. I can not believe I just said all of that to him. He’s going to think I’m insane, that was a crazy thing to ramble at my crush. Is it too early to consider transferring? 

“Really?” Every single bad thought Calum was having about himself halted when he looked over at Ashton when he spoke. Ashton was staring at him, with so much hope welling up in his eyes it was disarming. Calum’s mum had always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and it seemed like Ashton’s windows were flung open, displaying every emotion plainly to him. A warm summer day, gorgeous and breezy and open. “You think so?”

“I know so. And Dr. M loves you, she just has a funny way of showing it.” Calum bumped Ashton’s shoulder, half to break the trance they were in and half to remind him to start walking again. “She will, however, love us less if we show up late to this class. C’mon.”

It was silent again as the two walked side by side, but unlike before, the silence felt comfortable. Breathable. Like a shared understanding. It remained that way as they walked into the English wing of the Main Hall, finally reaching their classroom right on time. The class was small enough that there were always open seats, but everyone had settled into their unofficial assigned seats back during syllabus week. Ashton always sat closest to the door, while Calum sat across the room, right in front of the big window that faced the park on the front of campus. Ideal for gazing out of the window when he wanted to zone out and for sneaking glances at Ashton whenever he spoke. The best of both worlds. However, as they entered class today, Ashton followed him to the window and snuck into the seat on Calum’s left. When Calum stared at him in shock for half a second, still standing, Ashton laughed his adorable laugh again with another shake of his head.

“Figured it was time for a change of scenery, yea? Now sit down so we can talk about Hilda Doolittle. I’ve been dying all weekend to hear what Dr. M has to say about The Helmsman.” It’s official, Calum thought as he sat in his seat and pulled out his own book, I’m in love with this man.

[tenya]

So currently, you have Ibara and Toru moving up from General Studies into the Hero Course, through the Sports Festival (unless Ibara gets moved up by being a healer and willing to enter the field?). Have you considered having Ojiro and Reiko also in Gen Studies originally, since you have stated that, at the entry exam at least, neither of them have a full grasp on their abilities quite yet, so them failing the entry exam is certainly possible. Love your AU!

ibara probably would have started in the support course. while there, she could learn how to better utilize her flowers, as well as create devices that could properly store them. not to mention, she would be able to more easily shadow recovery girl, because she’s not being dragged away to training exercises every 5 minutes. i feel like all healers just kind of Know each other, because the quirk type is so rare, so her unofficial internship under recovery girl started right away. 

i doubt she even tried to pass the hero course entrance exam. she only transferred because she realized after the USJ event how much more immediate good she could do if she was allowed on the field, and not just waiting in the wings to deal with the aftermath.

i’m fine with ojiro and toru being general studies buddies. unlike ibara, ojiro probably did take the hero course entrance exam, but was ultimately outclassed by the other kids. i was thinking toru would be transferred into 1A immediately after the sports festival, but i don’t think this would be the case for ojiro. while he would definitely have improved since the time of the entrance exams, i doubt he would make it far enough to warrant an immediate transfer.

slow and steady is better than never though.

meanwhile, reiko… despite her deficiencies, i think she would still have been able to pass the entrance exam. i can’t remember if this is canon or not, but i know for sure that it’s a ghost thing, so i want to incorporate it into reiko’s permeation: whenever she phases through something mechanical, it goes haywire. this side effect was her ticket to victory during the entrance exam.

in conclusion: i need to move my class lists around somewhat. 

[jadekitty777]

Divine Intervention: Chapter 2

Unofficial Taiqrowweek: Day 3

This next chapter is the shortest of the four!

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,100

Ao3 Link: Chapter 2

Summary: [Afterlife AU] Qrow is a raider demon. His job is clear: Collect recently fallen souls for Hell. The more he could gather, the more power he would be granted. Easy, right?

Well, it would be, if not for a certain blond angel constantly getting in his way. Qrow was pretty sure Taiyang’s job wasn’t to keep the souls safe from him, but rather to infuriate him with his overblown righteousness and his insufferable smiles.

Eternal damnation wasn’t supposed to be this annoying.

~

There were a few places in his appointed domain that Qrow staked out. Hecate’s Lake was one such place. Though not well traveled, the little bowl-shaped lake never failed to take at least one life every year, so he made sure to frequent it often, especially during the warmer months. That day, he was going more out of habit than to find a potential lost soul – so he was surprised when he discovered he wasn’t alone.

Unfortunately, his guest was already quite dead.

“I thought angel wings were supposed to be white?” Though he did his best to sneer, his words lacked any of his usual abrasiveness.

Tai seemed unaffected either way, smile affixed into place. “We meet again it seems. And no,” He ruffled his wings, the sandy-yellow shade really standing out under the bright sunlight. “I thought you’d of realized by now? They match the person’s hair color. You’d look like quite the Qrow if you had some.”

“Hah.” Qrow mock-laughed. “And considering the only angel that apparently visits my realm is you, no, I hadn’t noticed.”

His chuckles were much more genuine. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Whatever.” He said, tail slashing at the ground. “What are you doing here? No one’s around to die.”

“Sometimes I just come down to visit. Enjoy the sights.” He gestured at the basin around them.

Seriously? “Wow, didn’t know Heaven was lacking so much in the aesthetic department that some grungy green water is more appealing.”

“Hey now!” Tai actually sounded a little offended. “No need to be rude. I have some fond memories of this lake.”

“Wait, hold up,” Qrow held up a hand. “You lived around here?” When the other gave an affirmative nod, he asked, “Why? There’s nothing here!”

“You’re a real city slicker, aren’t ya?” When that playful jab didn’t earn a response, the angel shrugged, looking across the lake. “The world’s changed a lot since I was around. This lake? All those broken-down towns and forgotten trails no one travels? These are places I remember in their heyday. Could even probably tell you the names of most of the people who ran the shops or went to church. It looks like a bunch of nothing to you, but for me this was home.”

Home, huh? He wondered what it was like, to be fond enough of a place to call it that.

Qrow crossed his arms, hunching in his wings. “Well that all sounds very nice. And since there’s nothing here for me, I guess I’ll leave you to your prance down memory lane.”

He started to head for his portal, hearing Tai’s faint, “If that’s what you’d like.” And had to fight down the urge to scoff. As if he’d prefer anything else.

As he bent his knees, preparing to dive into the black puddle, he couldn’t help but ask the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind since they’d started talking. “Hey uh. How’s the kid doing?”

The response he got wasn’t what he was expecting. “Would you like to see him?”

Qrow stood up stiffly, glaring. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No, I can show you. Right here.” Tai said, gesturing to the water.

His eyes darted between him and the lake, not bothering to hide his mistrust even as he dared to come closer. The angel only grinned, sitting down at the shore’s edge, patting the ground next to him. After a few hesitant moments, he took the offer, folding his legs underneath him. He peered down at the cloudy water, not sure what he was waiting for. “So what, is it a magic mirror or something?”

“Or something.” Tai parroted, unfolding his wings just slightly. He reached back, wincing as he plucked off a feather from one. He held it up high by the quill end, rolling it between his fingers. It took Qrow a moment to realize it was changing with every turn, the pale hues turning to a brilliant golden, as if the feather was sucking in the sunlight itself. Once it was bright enough that it appeared as if Tai was holding a star right in his hands, he let it go. It drifted on the wind, lopping lazily to and fro, as it slowly fell to the lakeside until it quietly touched down.

The resulting ripple burst upwards like an explosion as fire seared across the water. Qrow jerked back, cursing loudly, but an arm around his shoulders prevented him for going too far.

“It’s alright. Just look.” Tai whispered ardently in his ear. The flames dancing above the water reflected in his eyes, memorizing in how they appeared like sapphires speckled with gold.

Shivers wracked down his spine and Qrow squirmed from his grasp but didn’t withdraw further. Apprehension beat at his chest for believing in such a fool but curiosity spurred his action. Gingerly, he lent forward, peering within the ringlet of fire that emitted a warmth as soothing as a fireplace. Within its center, as clear as if from a television, he could see Oscar.

He was in a playroom of some sort. There were colorful posters on the equally colorful walls, with a few large windows with butterflies and bees stuck to the glass. Toy chests and small shelves full of books were pushed against the walls, with the center of the room mostly free space with only a few beanbags spread about and a table surrounded by small chairs for sitting. A few kids were sitting around at that table, but Oscar was on the other side of the room, draped over an orange beanbag as he listened to a young blond woman that was reading to him. It must have been quite the story, since his eyes were wide and attentive on her.

“He’s a pretty shy kid so he doesn’t like to play with the others much, but he really loves fantasy stories.” Taiyang told him. “Yang’s been reading to him every day since we took him in.”

He had a likely guess just based off of her looks, but asked anyways, “Your daughter?”

“Yeah. She and her wife come by when they can to help out.”

Qrow hummed noncommittedly, gaze drifting towards the table where the other occupants were. There were four – a young, white-haired girl in a dress rivaling a Disney princess. She seemed to be dictating to another pink and brown-haired girl how to properly hold her teacup, who seemed to be having trouble mostly because she wouldn’t put down the parasol she had resting against her shoulder. The third was a ginger haired boy whose bowler hat and fake cigar seemed more suited for a poker match. The last was another older woman – Yang’s wife he’d assume – who seemed to of gotten stuck with the role of ‘pet’ in this game, as she was sporting a pair of cat ears and had a bowl overflowing with goldfish crackers in front of her.

Tai noticed his stare and started to point them out in turn, “Weiss, Neo, Roman and Blake. Looks like they’re playing tea party. Everyone else is probably outside on the playground.”

Everyone else? Just how many brats was he looking after? “You running a daycare or something?”

“It’s more of a very large foster home. A lot of kids who die young either don’t know or don’t trust their extended family enough to live with them. It makes Heaven really scary for them.” Tai tapped the water, the picture rippling away and reforming into a playground where at least another half-dozen kids were playing tag. “But something about being around a lot of other kids in their same situation makes them feel more comfortable. That’s why we have these facilities.”

Qrow snorted in amusement as a pink-haired girl full-force tackled a blond boy. That kid was going to be tasting grass for a week. “How noble of you. So, where’s Mrs. Xiao Long?”

Another tap and this time they were in the kitchen. A very determined young boy with a streak of pink in his hair was rolling out cookie dough. Beside him, an older woman with soft silver eyes was cutting out shapes from the sheet and placing them on a shallow pan.

He whistled lowly. “What a beauty. She’s way too good for you.”

“Believe me, I know.” Tai chortled softly. “Probably why these days she goes by Miss Rose.”

The insult was already leaving his tongue before his brain caught up. “Well at least she wised up and – wait.” When it finally did, he glowered at him, certain he was pulling one under on him. “That doesn’t make sense. You couldn’t get divorced in the dark ages.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m from the 1860s.”

“Oh my god, you really are a cowboy.”

“SECOND of all,” Taiyang doggedly continued, too stubborn not to finish schooling him, “You’re right. But the vows have a very specific condition.” He looked back at the pool, watching his ex-wife help the little boy place the cookies in the oven. “‘Till death do us part. And oh, did it part us.” He waved a hand across the water, snuffing out the fire before settling back with a melancholy sigh.

Qrow shifted uncomfortably. He knew he wasn’t really skilled at handling tough, emotional conversations like this – but he was good at diverting attention from them. “Well hey, look at the bright side. Now you got all the time in the world to wrangle up a pretty little saloon girl.”

“Do I even have to wonder if you’re insinuating something?” He stifled a laugh when Qrow just wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  

Good. He’d take his dumb smile over that miserable look any day.

“You’re so crass.” Tai decided.

“If you ask me, it’s one of my better qualities.” He assured.

He quirked one eyebrow. “If you trust me even a little bit, you’ll believe me when I tell you that’s not true.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t then. You’re a terrible judge of character.”

“How do you figure?”

He pointed to himself. “Hanging out with me, for starters.”

“As I recall, it was your decision to stick around.” Tai reminded, looking just a little too smug.

Damn him. “Yeah well, you… you bribed me!” Qrow said, running a hand over his neck as he averted his gaze back to the lake and the vision that had once been there to entice him in the first place.

As he stared down at it though, he couldn’t help but wonder…

“Hey. I need to ask you something.”

As if sensing the sudden seriousness, Tai sat up straight. “What is it?”

“Can this thing…” Qrow paused, his self-inflicted inhibitions of how he wasn’t worthy enough to even ask for such a thing clawing their way up his throat, trying to choke him. He got the rest out in a rush, “Can you show me anyone?”

He held his breath, waiting every painstaking second for the answer.

The angel studied him, his expression unreadable, before he finally looked away. “’Fraid not. I’m only able to show you people I know.”

“Oh. Well yeah, that makes sense.” He laughed it off as if it was no big deal. He crossed his arms, turning away so he didn’t have to see the other’s piteous look when he no doubt would see right through that ruse. He shut his eyes, fingernails digging grooves into his arms as if it physical pain could outweigh the sudden one in his chest. Stupid. Stupid! Of course, it’d be like that. Why did he let himself get his hopes up like that?

He was certain the hand that landed on his shoulder was meant to comfort him, and he reached out to push it off, when Tai spoke, “Why don’t you try?”

Qrow looked back, having to blink away kaleidoscopic spots the glowing feather spiraled across his vision. Heart pounding, he reached for it, but Tai caught his wrist. He jerked his head towards him, about to snap, but hesitated as he took in the other’s worried expression. His fingers curled up, subconsciously withdrawing from the light, and he asked softly, “Is it going to hurt me?”

“I… don’t know.” He replied. “Are you willing to take the risk if it does?”

Was he? Light burns were on a level all their own. It was an injury that charred the skin black and never healed. A searing pain that never stopped and no amount of water could relieve. Did he really want to live with that for all eternity?

But what if this is your only chance? The whisper coaxed from the back of his mind.

“Yes.” Qrow resolved, reaching out over their hands with his left now – ah, all those years working to be ambidextrous for nothing – and grabbed the feather. He flinched back immediately, setting his jaw tightly as he waited for the agony to start.

…Nothing.

He looked at his hand, just to be sure, but it was just as pale white as always. A wiggle of his fingers confirmed everything was still functional too. He nodded and this time when he took the feather, he held it firmly. He looked to the angel who was gaping at him wide enough to catch the whole insect kingdom. “Okay. Stop looking so impressed and tell me what to do next – preferably before this thing rethinks its generosity.”

“Uh, oh right!” Tai’s closed his mouth. “Just think of the name of the person you want to see and drop the feather over the water. It’ll do the rest.”

Simple enough. He held it up, the name coming as easily as breathing to him because it had been the first thing on his mind every day for twenty-nine years, and let go. He watched it fall, whole body tilting forward anxiously as he waited for it to finally touch the water. He heard the other man shifting closer as well but didn’t dare look away, not wanting to miss it when it finally –

The surge of fire roaring forth had him squinting against the sudden brightness and heat. He distantly noted that unlike Taiyang’s, which had been pure and bright orange, his fire had a veil of black flickering across the top. Such a minor thing wasn’t nearly as important as the picture that formed in its center.

She looked almost the same as the last day he’d ever seen her – a little older, maybe. He’d heard rumors those in Heaven could choose their age. Still her black hair was as wild as ever and it seemed she still loved wearing black and red, though her clothes were much fancier than they could have ever hoped to afford during their lifetime. She was with someone he didn’t know at all; a woman with short, brunette hair and tattoos running down one arm. He figured it didn’t matter, whatever she was saying was making his sister laugh.

She looked… so happy.

The picture suddenly started to blur and Qrow reached for it, thinking his tainted fire was the problem – but wet droplets hitting his arm told him the fire was fine.

Beside him, Taiyang said nothing. But a golden wing draped around him, a silent comfort as he cried.

~

He wasn’t sure how long it took for the fire to burn out. It could have been minutes, it could have been days, and it still would never be enough. His hand fell through the water as it dissipated, as if he hoped to catch it. Another beat, and he was lurching towards Tai, about to demand another feather.

It seemed this was something easily predicted, because Tai placed a hand over his mouth before he could utter his demand. “Another day, perhaps. This takes up a lot of my energy.”

The side of him that wasn’t quite as noble didn’t care, and ran through about a half dozen scenarios on how he might be able to either convince or force the other to do as he wished. It was a very loud voice. The smaller, weaker side of him took notice of the other’s unusually pale complexion and reasoned that patience would earn him far more reward than violence. It may have been the quieter of the two, but he still obediently backed down.

Tai relaxed too, resting back on his hands and letting his wings drag along the dirt. He tipped his head, looking towards the clouds drifting by above them. “So, who was she?”

Qrow knew that question was coming. “My sister.”

“Older? Younger?”

“She’s my twin.”

“You two must have been close. What’s her name?”

His eyes narrowed. “No jokes.”

Tai placed an affronted hand on his chest as if to say ‘When do I ever joke?’.

Qrow sighed and finally grit out, “Raven.”

Tai stared. Bit his lip. Whimpered, “One joke?”

“No!!” He snapped.

“Ugggh! Fiiine!” He whined like a toddler being told to clean his room. “Take all the fun out of it why don’tcha.”

Offhandedly, he noticed that the other’s western accent was more prominent when he minced words like that. It was a shame he didn’t do it more often.

He beat down that ridiculous thought as far down as it would go.

“You know,” Tai said, inclining his head towards him. “You could have searched around, looked for other people besides her.”

Okay, that was his cue to leave before the other really started to pry. “Just didn’t want to risk it.” He lied, getting to his feet, stretching his arms and wings. “Anyways, this has been fun and all, but I better be hitting the road. Oh, sorry, I guess for you it’s ‘hit the trail’?” He rubbed his chin, reconsidering, “Nah, that ain’t right. Skedaddle? Vamoose? Get along lil’ doggy?”

The angel held up a hand before he could continue. “Just go.”

That was all the permission he needed, tipping his non-existent hat at him. “You got it, partner.” He took a few steps away, then paused when the perfect payback for the other night occurred to him. “Oh wait. Forgot something.”

Tai watched him curiously as he came back around and leant down. His lips parted, certainly about to ask.

Qrow didn’t let him, stealing his voice by kissing him right on the corner of his mouth. He backed away, taking great pleasure in the other’s shell-shocked gaze as he reached up to touch the spot. If Tai wanted to play games he’d just have to get used to the fact Qrow was better at them.

“Now we’re even.” He declared as he headed for his portal.

Just as he was about to jump, Taiyang seemed to get enough of his bearings to call, “Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

By the time he popped out the other side, Qrow was still laughing.

[fictorium]

Mirandy - I don’t want to have a baby. 

Serena only comes in that afternoon because Miranda is supposed to be at a shoot in Battery Park until six. Andy rarely drops by the Runway offices unless she’s having lunch with Miranda, but Nigel had sent a text summoning Andy to try on her dress for the gala, weeks in advance of the actual night. Emily has come downstairs from ruling the art department with a rod of iron to join them, naturally, because when it comes to showing off their baby son, it’s hard to say whether Emily or Serena is the biggest show-off.

Even Nigel can’t help but be charmed by the squirming bundle of handsome, clad in a Gucci babygro. Andy isn’t allowed to even get near the sticky, grasping little fingers until she’s back out of the gown and in her own clothes, but it’s worth the quick change just to bounce him in her arms and get a hit of that new baby scent. 

Which, naturally, is when Miranda walks in on them all. It’s years of habit that makes them all scramble like they’ve been caught in the act, but Andy is still relieved when Serena snatches Aleixo back and pops him into his Baby Bjorn, ready to flee. 

“Emily,” Miranda says in her usual drawl. “Did you bring your child to work today?”

“No, no, Miranda.” Emily steps closer to Serena, taking her hand. “Serena had an appointment just a few blocks from here, so she brought the baby to uh, well...”

“Oh come on, Miranda.” Nigel is still bold, her Editor-at-Large now, almost boss in his own right. “You can Caroline and Cassidy in here all the time the first two years. Isn’t it time we lifted that unofficial ban on bringing the babies in? Every other office does it.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow, and Andy feels a little queasy that she’s the only one Miranda hasn’t made eye contact with. 

“Well?” Miranda demands a moment later, extending her arms in the middle of the Closet like they’re late with her gloves. “Do I get to hold the little darling or not? That is the point, yes?”

Emily almost topples Serena in her haste to retrieve Aleixo from the carrier. She’s muttering frantically as she hands him over to Miranda, and Emily has zero shame about letting her son know exactly whose arms he’s being placed in. 

“Nigel?” Miranda’s features soften as she looks down at the baby. “Didn’t Ralph send over...?”

“I was just thinking that.” Nigel disappears into the rows, returning with a ridiculous wicker gift basket full of baby clothes and accessories. 

“Emily, you’ll take that home later. Serena has quite enough to carry.”

“Miranda,” Serena interrupts. “We already received the beautiful changing table, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” Miranda says, handing the boy back. “Nigel, when you’re done here we have a photographer to fire and some complaining to the Mayor’s office?”

She frames it like a question these days, Nigel has earned that much. Andy moves to follow Miranda out into the hallway, but the rapid clicking of heels suggests she’s not supposed to catch up. 

Great. 

***

Andy is the latest one home, having returned to the Mirror’s offices and gotten caught up in new developments on her bribery story. She finds Miranda in the study as expected, Book on her lap and a glass of Scotch in hand. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Dinner’s in the oven,” Miranda says, as though she were the one to prepare it. 

“I don’t want a baby,” Andy blurts out. It’s the only response to the tense lines of Miranda’s body, to the worry that hangs in the air between them like fog. “I know that today maybe I looked enthusiastic but believe me, I only like it when I can hand them back.”

Miranda is going to ignore it, at first. Then she looks up, whipping her reading glasses off in one smooth move. “You say that now... to mollify me.”

There’s a thundering of teenage footsteps on the stairs of the townhouse, but the twins are going up, not coming down to them.

“Those two are all the kid I can handle right now. People think I must be into the whole baby thing because I’m nice or whatever. Nobody ever actually asks, you know? Including you.”

“And you don’t want children? People change, Andrea...”

“Don’t do that.” Andy crosses the room to insinuate herself into the large armchair alongside Miranda, pulling her close. “Don’t tell me I don’t know my own mind just because biology is involved. I don’t want a baby. I never have, honestly. It just doesn’t appeal to me. Not the way writing does, or having freedom to take on any story. Not to mention the freedom to be with anyone I want, especially when she’s already done with the having of the kids.”

Miranda strokes her thumb across Andy’s cheekbone. “I’d hate to think you were giving up on it just for me. The girls... it hasn’t been easy, but they’re the great triumph of my life. Maybe even more than Runway, though if you repeat that to anyone...”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Andy says. “You’re what I want, Miranda. I love our life, our home. I love Caroline and Cassidy, but I also love when they go to their dad’s and I get you all to myself for a weekend. No amount of smiling at cute babies is going to change that.”

“Buf if it ever did...”

“Then we’d deal with it,” Andy assures her. “But this is what matters to me, right now. Not some hypothetical that I don’t even want.”

Miranda kisses her, just the faintest hint of desperation behind it. Andy presses against her, kissing back with all the reassurance that lips and tongue can offer, her hands flat and soothing against Miranda’s cheeks. 

“Okay,” is all Miranda has to say when the kiss ends. 

“Okay,” Andy repeats, because she really is. “Think you can be done with the Book by the time I’ve had dinner?”

Miranda nods, more of a commitment than she would generally give. Andy kisses her again, just for that.

“Good, then I’ll see you upstairs.”

[liketolaugh-writes]

Divine Intervention

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Miri Sánchez is looking for her brother, and the Phoenix Formula is not eternal life in the way the public thinks it is.

“We should stop at the park on the way back,” Miri insisted, bumping up against her brother’s shoulder with a smile. Isaiah huffed and bumped her back, glancing at the road ahead.

“For what?” he asked dubiously. “The park is boring. Unless you’re meeting someone there?” He gave her a pointed look, one eyebrow ticking up. “You knew I was coming to get you, so that’d be pretty rude.”

She gave him a cross look and hefted her backpack up her shoulder. “No, I’m not. But it’s not boring! That’s the whole point.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be home?” Isaiah countered. “Because I’d rather be home. It’s too cold out here and it’s going to rain at any damn moment.”

“You have a coat,” Miri protested. “I’d rather do my homework outside.”

Isaiah rolled his eyes, but finally waved a hand dismissively. “Today only,” he warned, and Miri hid a smile because this wasn’t the first time he’d said that. They took the next path left, which led down the hill to the park, and Miri asked,

“Don’t you get bored walking me home from school every day? I’m as old as you were when you started, now. I can walk home by myself.”

“Absolutely not,” Isaiah said immediately, and Miri frowned at him.

“I’m not a kid. I’m thirteen.”

“You’re a kid,” Isaiah disagreed, a slight smirk appearing on his face. Miri stuffed her hands in her pockets and stuck her tongue out at him, and then yelped when her backpack slid down her arm. She and Isaiah moved to catch it at the same time, and he smirked at her as she hefted it back up again.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Miri protested. “You’re not that much older than me. Four years.”

“Four years is a lot, Miri,” Isaiah deadpanned.

“Not really, you know, not in the grand scheme of things, it’s only about a twentieth of a person’s lifetime, so really-”

“A twentieth is a lot too,” Isaiah said.

“You wouldn’t say that if you were cutting a pie into twenty pieces,” Miri said, and Isaiah laughed.

By the time they’d arrived at the park, Isaiah had actually stopped periodically complaining about the cold, but he didn’t go into the forest with Miri; he said that unlike Miri, he had a lot of homework and not just a little, so he’d rather get it done now.

The park, at this time of day, didn’t have any young kids yet, but there was a group of boys about Isaiah’s age playing basketball on the court. Miri glanced over, and caught sight of two men on the fringe of the trees – one brown-haired, green-eyed, and looking faintly pinched. Beside him was another man about the same age, with black hair and blue eyes and an intense, searching look, cast over the park.

The green-eyed man turned his head and caught her gaze, and his expression changed in a way Miri didn’t quite recognize.

Their gazes stuck for just a moment too long, and suddenly, Miri felt intensely uncomfortable. She looked away and took a few steps down the path, hesitated, and looked back. The two men had started walking, and the black-haired man called out once, and then again.

The second time, Isaiah looked up, and Miri shook herself. They were probably lost.

She turned away and walked on into the forest.

When she arrived back, Isaiah was gone, but his backpack – open and half empty, phone included – was still there.

“You aren’t normally this nervous about meeting people,” Atka remarked, tilting her head slightly to settle glazed eyes, not quite concealed by black bangs, on Miri, elbows settled on the table between them with an array of cards clasped lightly between her hands.

Miri swallowed and shrugged, shifting back subconsciously and head dipping downward.

“Mr. Castello is an important man,” she replied, avoiding Atka’s gaze by looking at the cards in her hand. “It’s getting to me, I guess. Not everyone can be the unofficial niece of the world’s leading life alchemist, Atka.” She flashed the other girl a quick smile and tapped her hand, red nail polish glinting in the light. “Got any twos?”

“Go fish,” Atka dismissed, not shifting her attention away. She didn’t even glance at her cards. Miri rolled her eyes. “You know you’re smart enough for this, right? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“That doesn’t actually stop me,” Miri said, mouth pinching in a half-grimace as her stomach turned just at the thought. “Call your card.”

Atka glanced down, just for a moment. “Kings?” she asked, and Miri shook her head. Atka drew. “Groundbreaking research doesn’t make him any less ridiculous a man. He likes to explain to people why hot dogs should be classified as a sandwich.”

“I’ll bite. Why?” Miri asked, not taking her eyes off her cards.

“Something about the language assignment being arbitrary,” Atka answered, a hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I stopped paying attention at some point.”

“Lucky you,” Miri murmured dryly. “Aces?”

“Hm,” Atka sighed, pulling out two and passing them over. Miri flashed her a smile and set the stack of four down. A moment passed, and Atka frowned, pushed her cards together into a stack, and asked, “Am I missing something?”

Miri blinked, actually looking up to her face again. “What?”

“You’re never insecure about your intelligence,” Atka said flatly. “And you don’t have excessive regard for authority or important figures. Is something wrong?”

Miri winced, pulling her cards to her chest, and took a beat to consider before she said, a little quieter, “I’m thinking about my brother.”

It was a half-truth. She was thinking about Isaiah. That just… wasn’t all of it.

She was thinking about Atka, too, with glazed green eyes and skin so pale it was tinged blue.

She glanced down at her own hand, with its darker tawny tone.

Atka bobbed her head once, gaze shifting away as she mulled that over. “Is it an anniversary?” she asked. “It isn’t the day he went missing, that was the month before last, and his birthday is next month.”

Miri grimaced at Atka’s blunt words and then shook her head. “Just a day,” she replied, and that was more like a lie. “Three years isn’t that long, you know? It’s hard to forget.”

Atka nodded, accepting that. “Do you want to meet with ‘Riah another day?”

A wry smile twisted Miri’s mouth. “If I don’t do it today, I’ll never do it,” she said. “But thanks.”

Atka granted her a brief smile, and then tipped her head up as someone knocked on the door. “That’d be him here now,” she noted, setting her cards down. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Miri sighed, setting hers down as well. “You win, I think.”

Atka glanced back for a moment and grinned, there and gone. “Mm-hm,” she hummed, and then she was up and heading for the door. Miri rose as well, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Showtime.

When she opened them again, Atka had let Zachariah Castello into the house.

He looked- amiable. Black hair and blue eyes, bright-eyed and grinning, almost an antithesis to neutral-faced Atka even as he reached out and gave her a quick, one-armed hug, making her scrunch up her nose and pull away with a roll of her eyes. Zachariah laughed and let her go.

Instantly, Miri wanted to either hit him hard, or push past him and out the door.

“It’s good to see you as always, Atka,” Zachariah said warmly, crossing his arms in front of his stomach. “Where’s your father?”

“At a conference,” Atka shrugged, stepping back to let him through and close the door behind him. “He’ll be back at about nine, he said. It’s kind of far away.”

“Busy man,” Zachariah chuckled. “I heard you had a friend who wanted to meet me?”

Atka nodded, turning and keeping pace with him back toward the living room. “This is Miri Sánchez,” she told him, gesturing at Miri. “She’s a classmate of mine, but we’ve been friends for about two years now. Sometimes we work on projects together.”

Zachariah met Miri’s eyes, and though she was looking for it, there was no recognition there, just an easy smile. “Is that so?” he asked, sounding pleased. He held out a hand for her to shake. “You must be good, then. Atka’s a little wonder when it comes to alchemy.”

It was through force of will that Miri didn’t drop her gaze, just reached out and took his hand in a firm grasp. “I like the field,” she said neutrally, and then made an effort to smile a little. “That’s why I’m seeking an apprenticeship with you, Mr. Castello. I’m more interested in healing magic than eternal life, but you know how much these things intertwine.”

It was something of an understatement. Zachariah Castello’s life work, the Phoenix Formula, was rumored to encompass elements of every field from healing to necromancy in its quest for immortality – though Zachariah’s former partner, Atka’s mother Lauren, had not lived to complete it. Some people wondered if that was why Zachariah sought its completion so persistently.

“That I do,” Zachariah said with a touch of humor, tilting his head with a wry smile. “And you’re in luck; Lauren specialized in healing magic before we started work on the Phoenix Formula, and I picked up more than a little.” He gave Atka a nod. “No wonder you’re working with Atka. It must run in the family.”

He moved toward the couch before either of them could reply, and the two of them tagged along after. Miri ended up between them, hands clasped between her knees as she tried to push down her anxiety, shoulders turned to face Zachariah.

“Why me, though?” Zachariah asked, tapping one of his knees, his smile faded into a thoughtful, intent look. “Why not someone who specializes in healing?”

“You’re a genius, Mr. Castello,” Miri answered, gaze unwavering, though her heart jumped in her chest. “And I think I could get a fresh outlook on the field from you.”

Another flash of a smile. “Flatterer,” he accused. “Did Atka coach you before I arrived?”

“I was going to, but she was too nervous,” Atka informed him.

“Nervous, eh?” Zachariah looked her up and down and then shot her a grin. “You’re good at hiding it.” Then, abruptly, “What are your grades like?”

“Not quite top of my class,” Miri answered, twisting her hands so one gripped the opposite wrist. He was so nice, and lively. It was hard to connect him with his work, like this. “But I haven’t gotten a B in years.”

Zachariah grinned a little, quirking up one eyebrow. “Through intelligence or work ethic?” he asked. “You’re sixteen, after all. College will be different, an apprenticeship more so.”

It was such a grown-up remark that it set her teeth on edge, and she had to drop her gaze and deliberately relax before she replied, “I like to think it’s a little bit of both.”

“Her work ethic better than mine,” Atka provided shamelessly. “When it comes to school work, anyway.”

“All your work ethic goes to your extracurriculars,” Zachariah shot back.

Atka shrugged. “Doesn’t keep me from getting good grades. School is boring anyway.”

“That’s going to bite you someday,” Zachariah said firmly, and then returned his attention to Miri. “I understand you and Atka work together sometimes, but do you have projects of your own?”

Miri played with her fingers for a moment, hesitating.

“I want to specialize in unusual afflictions,” she said eventually. “Right now I’m trying to reverse necrosis.” The admission tightened her chest a little, but she reminded herself that live flesh could rot for more than one reason. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Zachariah made an ‘a-ha’ sound of approval, sitting up quickly. “You know, that rings a bell,” he said thoughtfully, and Miri’s mouth went dry. “I thought you looked sort of familiar. Did you do a presentation on it? At a school fair, perhaps?”

“Once,” Miri said, quietly. She swallowed once, and then again, and when she continued her voice came out clearer. “It was about something else, though. Infection.”

Zachariah hummed again. “I’ll figure it out later,” he decided, smiling lightly. He didn’t speak for a heartbeat, and then he set a hand on his knee and leaned back with a firm nod. “Okay – Miri, wasn’t it? I’ll take you on.”

It took a second to process, and then Miri felt, at once, as if she were flying and falling. Atka jumped, and when Miri spared a glance back, she was beaming, a rare full-faced smile that crinkled her eyes.

“It’s on a trial basis, of course,” Zachariah continued, and Miri looked back at him to find the man smiling, warm and welcoming. “But I have high hopes for you, Ms. Sánchez. We’ll work out the details of your living situation and anything else another time. Here, let me-”

He reached for a notebook on the table and started scribbling, and Atka leaned over and gave Miri the same one-armed hug Zachariah had given her earlier, still smiling.

“Good job,” she whispered, too loud to keep Zachariah from hearing.

Miri managed a smile in return, twisting to make it a full hug and hide her face in her friend’s shoulder so she couldn’t see how sick it looked.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For everything.”

She was going to apprentice under Zachariah Castello.

Zachariah’s house, it panned out, was even bigger than Atka’s; alchemy research paid well, since it wasn’t a field easily taught on a large scale. Magic varied too much from person to person.

“There are two lab levels,” Zachariah was explaining to her, letting her in with his characteristic habitual smile. “You’ll be allowed on the first, but the very bottom level is off-limits; most of my work on the Phoenix Formula is down there, as is some of Lauren’s, so only Rowan and I are allowed down there. No offense, of course.”

“What, you don’t trust me with your top secret research?” Miri deadpanned, keeping her breathing even despite the pounding in her chest. Zachariah laughed.

“Maybe someday,” he said cheerfully. “Rowan should be around here somewhere, I’ll introduce you. He’ll be around a lot, you see.”

Zachariah’s current partner. Miri nodded quickly.

“What does he specialize in?” Miri asked. “I’ve never heard.”

Zachariah hummed. “Mostly in making ideas workable,” he said with a grin. “He’s a lot more practical-minded than I am. But, specifically, he works a lot with the arcane. It’s not good for a lot of everyday stuff, but, well…” His grin widened a little, and Miri’s stomach turned, a lump forming in her throat. “The Phoenix Formula is nothing ordinary.”

“‘The modern day philosopher’s stone’,” Miri quoted, and Zachariah nodded.

“Exactly,” he said with satisfaction, and then, delighted, “Rowan! Come here, I need to introduce you to Miri.”

“I think you just did so quite effectively,” the man at the end of the hall said, but he swept toward them without further complaint, light brown hair and dark brown eyes that went straight to Miri, examining her.

His mouth tightened instantly, and Miri’s nerves shot through the roof.

“’Riah,” Rowan said, quiet. “What’s this?”

“My new apprentice,” Zachariah said, amused. “I told you last night. She’s working on reversing necrosis, you know? It’s right up our alley.”

Rowan’s gaze lingered on Miri, and Miri couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Even if Zachariah hadn’t figured it out, there wasn’t a doubt in Miri’s mind that Rowan recognized her.

After a long and lingering moment, though, Rowan’s gaze shifted back to Zachariah and he gave him a nod, shoulders still tense. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, ‘Riah,” he said.

“Oh, this was all Atka,” Zachariah laughed. “She’s a gem.”

“She’s something,” Rowan said dryly, and nodded at Miri. “It’ll be interesting to have you around, Miss Sánchez.”

“It’ll be interesting to be around,” Miri answered before she could stop herself, and winced at the downward quirk of Rowan’s mouth before he swept away.

Zachariah chuckled quietly. “Sorry, Miri,” he said, glancing at her. “Rowan was kind of against me taking an apprentice during this project. I’m sure he’ll lighten up once he gets to know you.”

Miri nodded, keeping her eyes on the door Rowan had disappeared into. “I’m sure,” she echoed.

“Your necrosis research isn’t half bad,” Zachariah said conversationally, not moving his gaze from the powdered chimera bone he was grinding. Miri paused, and then glanced up, wary. Zachariah smiled a little and continued, “I think you’re most of the way there. Just a few things to touch up, am I right?”

Miri hesitated, and then said, “I don’t have much cause to test it. But I think so, yes.”

“That’s impressive, for a girl your age,” Zachariah said easily, dropping the pestle and going to wash his hands. Zachariah wasn’t a fan of cross-contamination, he liked to joke. “What drew your attention to it?”

“Uncommon afflictions are interesting,” Miri said, the lie falling easily from her tongue. If she avoided Zachariah’s gaze while she said it- she was just busy. Anxiety tightened her chest. “Leprosy was one of the first that caught my attention, and the same problem crops up with crushing injuries and infections, right? I thought it would be useful.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Zachariah agreed, grabbing a vial off the shelf. “Have you ever worked with this before?”

Miri eyed the vial and shook her head.

“Cerberus urine,” Zachariah said proudly. “Very rare, not very useful except in very specific situations. But you might find it interesting.”

Miri swallowed and asked, “What sort of situations?”

Zachariah grinned. “Already guessed it, haven’t you? It’s one of the elements I use in the Phoenix Formula.”

“That seems counter to your objective,” Miri said carefully.

“It’s like an antivenin,” Zachariah explained, tipping the vial into a bowl and then mixing in the powdered bone. “Gotta get a little death in before you can get it out.”

Miri stayed quiet for a long moment.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said at last, her voice so soft it could hardly be made out.

Zachariah gave her a sympathetic look. “It should be relevant to your research too,” he said. “But in a different ratio. Give it a try.” He tapped the bowl of solution with one finger. “This here will end up as a treatment for severe infection. You see the similarities, don’t you?”

Miri nodded.

“Rowan had a hard time with it too,” Zachariah added, and smiled wryly. “He’s a little squeamish. But he’s an amazing friend.”

It was two months into her apprenticeship – two months of learning techniques from Zachariah and occasionally from Rowan, guiding her through rituals and potions and combinations thereof, things she could do without the inherent magic Zachariah possessed in his fingertips – before she got her chance.

But then she did, left to study in Zachariah’s library while he and Rowan went to find ingredients out in the forest. Zachariah had estimated they’d be gone for two hours, three at most – more than enough time.

Rowan had given her a long, lingering look before they left, but he hadn’t said anything.

As soon as she was sure they were gone, and hadn’t forgotten anything important, she left the library and headed straight for the stairs, descending first to the main lab – locked with a ritual Zachariah had demonstrated to her a week in – and then to the secret one.

The stairs, she was sure, didn’t lead to anything; Zachariah was gullible and trusting, but not careless. No one with a secret like this was careless… no matter how right they believed they were.

And her first guess was that the true entrance was somewhere in the main lab.

She edged her way around stocks of dragon eggshells and stores of Greek fire, beakers of kirin blood and vials of chimera venom. The main lab was a dangerous place, if you didn’t know your way around; Miri was fortunate that she had experience on her side.

Miri was a very cautious person.

So carefully, she picked her way through the stacks and stores, and forty-five minutes later she found her prize. A hatch, set under a basket of belladonna, padlocked shut and likely warded.

With a touch, she brought the wards to life – she’d never been more grateful for her natural gift, something she hadn’t demonstrated to another person since her brother disappeared.

It was almost symbolic.

The wards were good, textbook perfect. But not creative. Neither Zachariah nor Rowan specialized in warding, and neither had Lauren, as far as Miri knew. And none of them had trusted an outsider enough to handle this.

Carefully, so carefully, Miri learned the wards inside and out, memorized them, and then unmade them in meticulous strokes and murmured words, once crossing the lab to take some of the unicorn horn dust from the opposite end. She didn’t realize how shallow, how quick her breathing had become until her fingertips began to tingle.

Almost there. Almost there.

She opened the trapdoor, and found a ladder.

Miri didn’t dare turn on the lights, but she had her phone, and more importantly, her phone’s flashlight. She left the door open above her and descended the ladder.

The secret lab looked almost like the main lab – with rarer ingredients, fewer experiments in progress, but the same meticulous organization around the edges descending to chaos in the middle.

And then another door on the other side.

Miri went forward, and she reached the door.

She knocked.

“What do you want?” a voice snapped harshly from inside, and her breath caught. Tears rose to her eyes, and a lump to her throat.

She leaned her forehead against the door, swallowed, and took a breath.

“Isaiah?” she called, voice shaking just slightly. “It’s me, Miri.”

“…How do you know my name?”

Her eyes snapped open, and a moment later, she opened the door and shot through.

Isaiah – her older brother, missing for three years, Isaiah Sánchez – was there, all right, and it was a relief, heady and dizzying. And then she took him in.

He was on the other side of glass, frowning at her from a room surprisingly well-furnished. Miri wondered, distantly, if Zachariah thought that made it more humane, but she was swiftly distracted.

Isaiah looked just like she remembered – too much. He was too young. Not the same age, but not much older than he had been. His skin, once the same color as hers, was grey-tinged, and – she felt like throwing up – in some places, like his cheek and one hand along the wrist and the edge of his palm, it was blackened with rot. His eyes, like Atka’s, were glazed, but still dark brown like hers.

“Who are you?” Isaiah demanded, and she flinched. “I haven’t seen you before.”

Brain damage. It was- it had been a possibility.

She ducked her head, holding back tears, and trembled, just a little.

“My name is Miri,” she said, quietly. “I’m your sister. F-four years younger.”

When she glanced back up, Isaiah’s scowl had deepened.

“I don’t know you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t remember anything for ages.”

“That’s okay,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I’m going to get you out.”

[namjhyun]

School 2017 Episode 9

First, let me tell you that I wanted to review this show episode per episode from day one but life has been really busy lately, so I choose not to. But it turns out School 2017 gets better and better each week and it has all the elements to call it “my kind of crack”. I’m no less busy but who cares when this show is giving me life?! Let’s move on to what matters, get ready because I have a lot to say:

What the fudge did Hee-chan do to Bo-ra last year? Why isn’t she talking? And what exactly did Dae-hwi cover up? It’s clear Hee-chan’s violent nature is a result of the pressure his family puts on him to excel at school and his feeling of entitlement come from the fact he never suffered the consequences of his actions, protected by his mother or -as we find out today- Dae-hwi himself. I’m not trying to excuse him for the things he has done, keeps doing and probably will do in the next episode, but I guess the show has made it possible to see where he’s coming from and why he’s like this. The fact he has no real support system in his friends (they’re totally the ones spreading the rumors in order for him to do badly in the finals) is also a factor of what I believe will be his debacle. I don’t know if in the next few episodes he will be able to redeem himself but I do hope he suffers a take down. His mother too. Mainly, I’m hoping Bo-ra speaks up because it would meant a lot of character growth for her. She has isolated herself thanks to an abusive ex boyfriend, Dae-hwi’s wrongdoings and a teacher who betrayed her trust. But today’s flashback gave me hope that perhaps she will be able to recover that spark that made call Hee-chan on his behavior and dump his ass.

I feel the rest of the episodes in the show will be more about Dae-hwi correcting all the the things he has done wrong in the past year since his friend died. I have to give credit to the show because at the beginning Dae-hwi seemed like the perfect put together, good student, handsome boy next door, and even when Tae-woon was constantly warning us about his “true nature”, I couldn’t quite grasp why. The first time I saw what Tae-woon was talking about was when Dae-hwi assessed -outside the coffeeshop- that his former friend has feelings for Eun-ho and throw it in his face like a threat, right after she told him she had protected him by not saying anything about the stolen exam. From then on the show has properly develop this character for what he truly is: a misguided and lonely boy, with no real support from his family, spinning out of control. And today’s episode showed us a little more on just how far Dae-hwi was actually capable to go in order to get ahead. I’m a little afraid to find out what he has been covering up for the rich kids, I don’t believe it’s only Hee-chan he has dirt on, but at the same time I feel expectant of what he could do with all that. While Tae-woon has been running around school “outing” the corrupt ways of the faculty and students, it’s really Dae-hwi the one who has the information to actually change something.

As for their broken bromance, nothing will change until Dae-hwi is willing to let go of his need of survival. Don’t get me wrong, in a way I’m proud of him for all his hard work but it’s the way he has achieved that perfect school record that taints his character, when I can see that at his core he’s a good kid. It’s the same reason why he feels like he can’t keep on dating Nam-joo. When he found out the truth about her, he wasn’t disappointed or hurt because she lied to him -he understands and knows her reasons- but he realized a big part of the attraction was because he believed her to be rich. Which of course hit right into all of Nam-joo’s insecurities and gave her even more misguided reasons to feel like she’s less or ashamed because her father is a taxi driver, when in reality she should be proud that he’s a decent and hardworking man, trying to make a living for his family and doting on her like the sun rises and sets with her. Nam-joo has been so far a small character but I want to see more of her storyline. This lie is bound to be exposed one way or another.

Personally, I think Dae-hwi and Nam-joo really like each other and now that there’s no longer a wall of lies between them, I hope they can find a way to patch things up. They never really got the chance to be themselves around each other or actually enjoy their romance.

As for the other characters like Sarang, guitar boy Kyung-woo, and precious soul Byung-goo, I hope they get more storyline in the next few episodes. I would love to see them team up with Tae-woon and Eun-ho.

Speaking of which... I have sold my soul to this couple. I love the relationships that are based on friendship and mutual understanding of each other, which is why Tae-woon and Eun-ho keep on giving me all the feels week after week. Yes, they are incredibly cute together and their chemistry is undeniable but one of my favorite things about them is that they are their own person, apart from how they are together. Can I say they are a couple? Unofficially, at least. Although I’m pretty sure it was made official today in a low-key way when Tae-woon declared he will do whatever he felt like it or when he made it clear to Hee-chan why he was meddling in her business; and Eun-ho gave him the thumps up with a knowing look and smile at the school’s corridor. These two.

Tae-woon isn’t perfect and I love him even more because of it. It’s been a pleasure to see him work through his grief over the loss of his friend with the help of Eun-ho, making it possible for him to actually start caring for others and meddle once again into Dae-hwi’s life. The thing about Tae-woon is that he seems to have no filter and a bad temper, this makes his reconciliation with his bestie a lot harder than it should be. I wish they could have a proper talk, one where they are not staring daggers into each other and actually speak about what happened a year ago. Why aren’t they friends anymore? Did they gradually come apart or did they really just throw punches at each other the minute Joon-ki was no longer in the picture? Did Tae-woon ever talk about the accident with Dae-hwi? Or about what his father had done?

Of course, that same no filter and bad temper does wonders when he goes Alpha Man in order to protect his lady’s honor or when he dotes and worries about Eun-ho. He was behaving like such an Oppa today, it got me all giddy. I love it when he becomes Tae-Swoon, which it’s something that comes natural for him when he is around Eun-ho. Yeah, floor meet Tae-Swoon.

Hee-chan and his mother clearly have plans for Eun-ho but they are very wrong if they think she has no support. This is what I worry about on this subject: whatever Tae-woon does in order to protect Eun-ho, his father won’t let him take the fault for anything. So, what if his father tries to do something similar as to what he did with Joon-ki and his family but with Eun-ho’s? Maybe this will be a breaking point for Dad and Tae-woon. In the last two episodes, Dad seemed to have been trying with his son and I grasped that maybe he’s just rough around the edges; that he had to raise Tae-woon by himself and had no-one who could help him see another way of doing things. I hope these two can work things out too because they are adorable and funny.

As for Eun-ho, aka Wonder Smile, I love her to pieces. She is caring, sweet and a truly happy kid who loves her friends and family, who genuinely tries to get along with everyone and is willing to work really hard to achieve her dream. She’s everything the rich kids aren’t, even when they had a hundred more opportunities and chances than her to achieve what they want. She’s also everything that Dae-hwi isn’t thanks to the lack of parent guidance. Eun-ho’s family is key to understand the way she is. Dad, Mom and even Oppa adore her and support her, even when they might not have a dime for her to assist extra classes, but the fact that she has grown to be such a good person shows that money isn’t everything. That it doesn’t make you a better person or student.

Tomorrow, Eun-ho will be going against Hee-chan and I know she will thrive, but I hope that people (apart from her family and Tae-woon) will come through for her like she has done for everyone else.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Gossip Girl?

Batfam Week Day 6 is Paparazzi! And I’ve come to the realization that I like writing about pictures? It’s ok, please enjoy all the dirt Babs has on the Bats. Can also be found here on my ao3. Rating: PG  Words: 1,558 Gen

The almighty, all-knowing Oracle knew that “information broker” and “well-informed gossip” were synonyms. Sure, information brokers had data on things like bank accounts and security blueprints but otherwise it was much the same. She knew all the dirt on any given League member or villain. You wanted to know where George Clooney was going on vacation this year? It was to Monaco with his wife, they were staying at a friend’s house there. The last time the Queen of England had eaten a burger? Two Thursdays ago for lunch, it was medium rare with ketchup, onions, and a pickle on the side.

As any good gossip did she kept tabs on her friends. Dinah often just gave Babs her stories freely, over coffee and cake, as the two friends had a long history of talking about their lives. Regardless, she had a file filled with reviews of the band Black Canary, tabloids about Dinah and Oliver’s relationship, and business articles about Sherwood Florist and the boxing gym she ran with Ted Grant.

Her files on her fellow bats? Now that’s were things got really interesting. Being Bruce’s unofficial PR department Babs was tasked with keeping the public from realizing that the Waynes and friends were secretly Gotham’s vigilantes. Not an easy job. Especially when they all kept on insisting on doing ridiculous stuff in front of cameras.

The file on Jason was smaller than the rest. Mainly consisting of articles about his adoption and paparazzi pictures from when he was younger. Though since his return and a slight mend in his relationship with the family he had been returned to the public eye under the rouse of being Cass’s personal bodyguard. Not that she needed one, just that they got along the best and Cass was more than happy to get Jason to help her make trouble with Steph, Harper, and sometimes Tim at events. It gave Babs a migraine just thinking about it.

The newer stuff on Jay mainly consisted of him flipping off the camera, a charming trait he’d passed along to Stephanie. There were quite a few from galas that showcased his left hook being used on a CEO who had tried to grab Cass. Those Babs smiled at whenever she came across them. A few were of him dancing with his sister or helping make mischief. Being caught spilling drinks or slipping food into pockets. A particularly amusing photo consisted of him and Steph sipping champagne and failing to look innocent. She sometime used this as one of her screens wallpaper because it always made her giggle.

The other smaller files all belonged to the bats who weren’t also Waynes. Steph, Luke, Harper, and Duke all broke just about even thanks to their own antics and known friendship with the Waynes. Much of Luke’s was on his company and family. A few were candid ones of him working out in the park or at a gym. Her personal favorite was when a paparazzi caught him at some gala eating a piece of cake and accidentally smearing icing on his nose.

Comparatively Duke and Harper’s consisted mainly of gala photos and other Wayne Foundation events. Duke also had articles on Bruce taking him in while Harper had conspiracies on “Which Wayne was she dating?” They also had a handful of pictures taken from when they were hanging out in Gotham with some of the other kids. Including one that was of them, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Jason all flipping off the photographer.

Stephanie’s file was certainly the most colorful thanks in part to her longer time as a vigilante. There were articles on her father and Spolier’s attempts to stop him. Many a tabloid on her relationship or lack there of with Tim. An amusing blog post speculating if she was actually Bruce’s illegitimate child since she always seemed to be with them. Steph herself was rather proud of that one. Babs’s headaches came from the plethora of pictures that accompanied all of them.

There were all the ones of her flipping the bird, a sweet smile on her face as her middle finger rested against the tip of her nose. Steph at the mall with Cass and Harper. Steph at an ice cream parlor with Tim and Cass. Steph with her arms linked between Jason and Dick, the older boys not trying to kill each other as she tugged them towards a movie theater, with the other kids in the background. Steph and Damian at the park, the animal shelter, the book store, the craft store, some coffee shop. Steph and Cass causing trouble in formal wear at a gala. Steph stealing drinks from an unsuspecting waiter at a gala. Steph with a shocked expression as she “accidentally” trips Brucie at a gala. The list was endless.

Babs swore that the youngest Batgirl sought the paparazzi out just for the sake of causing rumors. She was nearly as bad as Dick when it came to telling purposefully ridiculous stories about the family. His file was the second largest after Bruce’s, filled with roughly two decades worth of attention from the media. Everything from reviews of Haly’s Circus and talk of the Flying Graysons to his adoption by Bruce Wayne to his enrollment and eventual graduation from the Bludhaven Police Academy were contained within it.

A favorite stunt of his was to use parkour and his acrobatics to avoid the cameras, meaning that they just got shots of him doing ridiculous things in gravity defying places. Babs had given him way too many lectures for him to still be doing it and yet, the file was full of them. There was also the ones of him at the galas, some with a beautiful girl as his date and in many that was Babs herself. There were tons of him with Tim or Damian at the arcade or videogame store. Those always made her happy, Dick really was a good brother.

For being so young, Damian’s file was rather large. There was all the press that surrounded his appearance. Some genuine articles, including a few by Clark and Lois who had been asked to help, some just insane gossip and conspiracy. The pictures on the other hand were a mix bag of outings with his siblings and Alfred, walks with Titus, him and Bruce at galas, and the ones that made Barbara’s life difficult. The threatening glares at socialites, the pranks with Steph at events, a near fist fight with Jason. The one she had to delete any trace of was when he was waving a steak knife at Tim and Dick had to hold the two boys apart.

Tim’s file always made her sigh. Half the time he was trying to do his own image damage control and it just messed her up. There was all sorts of things on the Drake family and Tim and then Tim getting adopted and the mess that was him taking over WE and Tam being his “fiancée” or whatever. She still didn’t fully grasp how Tim managed that situation. His pictures were calmer but their locations not just Gotham. There were loads of him and Steph and him and Cass. Quite of few of him and Dick too. In all he looked exhausted but happy. There were literal tons of him going and coming at WE, always in a suit with coffee in hand. The more exotic ones were of his globetrotting for the company and cases. These held Tam, now known officially has his assistant, and Pru, her official position that of bodyguard. Sometimes they featured Cassie, Bart, and Kon who would visit him and the four would have mini vacations together. In all, pretty tame and Babs didn’t bother until Tim got himself in another mess regarding WE.

Cass’s file was probably the most entertaining. She was wrapped in mystery whenever the press talked about her, due to her not speaking for many years and her penchant to give reporters the slip. Whenever photographers did catch her she always saw them and would pose. There were hundreds of ridiculous Cass faces at all sorts of events. The one she and Babs both decided was the best was one of her dancing with Bruce at some gala, she had spotted the camera and given it a toothy grin and a little wave from behind Bruce’s back. Babs had sent this to Bruce and knew he had printed two copes and framed them. One sat in the study at the manor and the other on his desk at WE. Cass knew and loved that too.

Bruce’s file was the biggest one that Babs managed. If you could call it managing. At this point Bruce was so good at turning Brucie on and off all she had to do was put the latest photos in. Some though were just downright embarrassing. Him dropping ice cream on himself as the boys argued, an outfit that looked like it had been chosen in the dark, and about a thousand others. Some days she picked the best and sent it out in a mass text to everyone. Bruce didn’t like her on those days but the rest of the family certainly did.

It was nice being Oracle. She never lacked for good stories and she especially never lacked for good blackmail material.