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aster-aspera · 4 years ago

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Meet me on the Battlefield

CW for this chapter: minor character death, violence, non-graphic description of injury, a panic attack and slightly morally grey Janus, unsympathetic Remus (he doesn’t show up but I’m putting a warning anyways)

Relationship: platonic/romantic anxceit

Title is from the song 'meet me on the battlefield' by SVRCINA

Masterlist

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Janus stalked through the damp alleyway, his cloak swishing behind him.

From the shadows in the doorways and corners, he could spy timid eyes following his every movement.

For anyone else, walking through the city alone at night would be a death sentence, but not for him. Thieves and murderers quailed in his presence. The very worst scum of this city bowed before him.

He had nearly all of the city in his iron grip.

There was only one problem. Well, four problems actually.

Four teenagers who thought they were doing the noble thing by pestering him and trying to thwart him at every turn.

It would honestly be easier for everyone involved if they just left him alone but they never listened to him when he tried to explain that.

As he finally emerged from the dark back alleys into the slightly more well lit parks, he heard a gunshot tear through the night air.

He flinched and waited for a moment, trying to pinpoint where the noise had come from. Gunshots in the city weren’t that rare and usually one of their noble heroes would swoop in to handle whatever was going on.

He brushed it off and kept moving.

Two more gunshots broke the nightly silence and Janus sighed. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but this was a suburban neighbourhood.

Every criminal in the city knew this was a no violence zone. Janus figured he should have a talk with whoever was flagrantly disregarding the rules and therefore, his reign over the criminal underworld.

He pulled his mask over his face and strode towards the noise.

By the time he had arrived, someone else was already facing down the shooter. One of the superheroes, the purple one, Storm, was standing between the shooter, who Janus identified as Eric, one the duke’s goons, and a scared looking civilian.

Storm was speaking to Eric in a low, comforting tone, urging him to put the weapon down. Janus knew it wouldn’t help, the duke’s goons were notoriously violent and Eric wouldn’t stop until he got what he came for, whatever that may be.

Janus hid in the shadows, waiting to see how this would play out.

Eric seemed to be responding to the gentling tones of the superhero, lowering his gun slightly. Storm stepped forward hesitantly, still keeping himself between Eric and the civilian.

Janus leaned forward, intrigued, there was no way Eric was just going to give up the gun.

And he was right. As soon as Storm reached to take the gun out of Eric's hand, he lunged forward and grabbed Storm with more force than Janus had expected from him.

He knocked Storm to the side and pointed his gun at the civilian, sending two bullets into their chest.

“No!” Storm cried out, and scrambled to the civilian.

Janus knew it was a lost case. The bullets had hit them square in the centre of their chest.

Eric hesitated, his mission done but the opportunity to shoot the superhero, who had his back turned to him and was intently focused on the civilian, tempting him.

Now, Janus couldn’t have that, could he? If anyone was going to take down these insufferable heroes, it would be him.

He stepped out of the shadows, making sure the snake side of his mask was clearly visible. As soon as Eric caught sight of him, he paled. Aware he had been caught in an act of blatant defiance of all Janus’s rules. An act every criminal knew would result in banishment in the best of scenarios.

Janus jerked his head, making clear he should run while he still had legs to do it.

Eric didn’t need to be told twice and quickly scrambled away.

Storm seemed oblivious to the entire exchange, still focused on trying to save the civilian. Janus slunk back into the shadows. He knew he should leave, there was nothing to be done here.

He would handle the Duke and Eric tomorrow. But something wouldn’t let him leave.

Maybe it was the way Storm was shaking, his quick breaths hitching and rapidly turning into sobs.

Janus had no sympathy for the civilian, people died all the time, it was simply the cycle of life.

But something about the hero’s panic made his gut twist. He looked so young, bent over the body and shaking like a leaf.

Janus would never admit that in that moment, he could only feel deep sympathy for the young hero.

When looking back at that moment, he would say he did it to win his trust. To learn more about his enemy. The whole keep your enemies closer spiel.

But in that moment, he found himself moving forward without thought.

He approached loudly, not wanting to startle the hero. Storm flinched and turned towards him, fear flashing through his eyes when he saw the half snake mask.

“Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He soothed.

“Right, and why should I trust you?” He laughed shakely.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when your back was turned.”

“You realize that doesn’t make you seem any more trustworthy, right?”

Janus sat down slowly, exaggerating all his movements so he wouldn’t scare Storm.

“If you keep hyperventilating like that, you’re going to pass out.” He said.

“Why do you care?” Storm asked, but he made an effort to take a deeper breath.

He was still shaking all over and Janus felt the urge to reach over and hold him close. He shook that thought away. That really wasn’t very fitting behaviour for a self proclaimed super villain.

“Okay look, you don’t have to trust me, but just listening to me isn’t going to get anyone killed. Okay?”

Storm nodded minutely.

“Okay, breathe with me now. In for five, hold for seven, out for eight.”

Janus breathed, making sure Storm could follow his breaths.

Slowly, his breathing slowed and eventually deepened into quiet sobs.

Janus scooted backwards a bit and motioned to Storm to do the same. Storm shuffled away from the body on the ground and curled up against the concrete wall of the alleyway.

“It’s not your fault. You know that right?” Janus said.

Storm looked at him with wide eyes.

“I… I should have seen it coming. It’s my job. And now…now someone died because I was just too damn stupid to see what he was doing.” His sobbing deepened and he started gasping for breath again.

“You can’t always save everyone. That’s impossible, it’s ridiculous to expect that of yourself.”

“I’m a hero. If I can’t help people, what’s the point?”

“The point is that you’re trying. And for every person you can’t help, there’s ten others you saved. Just you, doing your best, means this world is a little less shitty.

You give so much of yourself to this city. It can’t expect you to save everyone.

You’re valuable, even if sometimes, you fail.”

Janus had no idea where all this sentimentality was coming from. This really wasn’t a good look for him.

At least Storm seemed to have calmed down a bit. His sobbing had eased up and now tears were just silently dripping down his face.

“Why are you saying all of this? You do realize we’re supposed to be enemies right?”

“Maybe I just wish someone had been there to tell me these things when I needed to hear them.”

Dammit, that had sounded way too vulnerable.

“Or maybe I’m just manipulating you.” He added, trying not to sound too emotional.

Storm smiled.

“You know, maybe you’re not totally evil, serpent ”

“How dare you, you insult me.” Janus replied, pressing his hand to his chest in mock offence.

A giggle burst from Storm’s lips and he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle it.

Janus felt a strange feeling bubble up in his chest and behind his mask, his lips curved up into a soft smile.

“Janus.” He said.

Storm’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What?”

“My name is Janus.”

“Why would you tell me that? Is this some nefarious scheme? Are you trying to get me to tell you my name?”

Janus shrugged, acting nonchalant, while in reality his heart was pounding and his brain was screaming at him for revealing that.

“Maybe, maybe not, maybe I’m just tired of all the snake nicknames.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a snake mask then.” Storm deadpanned.

“But seriously, why would you just hand out that information? I could use it to beat you.” He continued.

“One, you don’t know it’s my real name and two, you’ll never beat me.”

“Really?” Storm raised his eyebrow.

“I’m way too clever to be taken down by the likes of you.”

Janus stood up. This ridiculousness had gone on for long enough. He was afraid that if he stuck around any longer, he might go totally soft and decide to join the merry band of insufferable do-gooders.

“Anyways, as pleasant as this was, I really have to go. Lots of criminal business to attend to and all that.”

Storm scrambled upright and faced him.

“I’ll catch you one day, Janus.”

“I’m sure you will, stormcloud.”

He hesitated for a moment and then blurted out.

“You can call me Virgil.”

Janus felt his heartbeat stutter and he mustered a smile.

“And you thought I was the stupid one.”

“Look, you might be a villain, but you’re not totally evil. I know how you keep the criminal underworld under control. I know you have rules that protect the vulnerable and that help us in our job. I trust you with this information.”

Goddammit, how could Janus be expected to keep up his ice cold supervillain persona if the heroes acted so sweet?

Storm’s, no, Virgil’s eyes crinkled up in a smile that was visible even from under his mask.

“Don't you have criminal business and all that to attend to?”

“Yeah, right. Criminal business, that’s what I do.” Janus stuttered.

Virgil reached out and took his hand, shaking it in his. His grip was strong and Janus tried not to think of how warm it was even under two layers of gloves.

Virgil took a few steps back, still conspicuously not looking at the body, and took a device from his utility belt.

“I’m going to call the others now, you should probably go.”

Janus nodded, as much as he didn’t want to leave Virgil yet. If not for his own, selfish reasons, then for how the boy was still shaking slightly and he was looking everywhere but the body.

But, he figured Virgil would be alright if one of the other heroes was heading over.

“Give them my regards.” He called out and disappeared into the shadows. Swishing his cape, so as to at least hang onto the last shreds of his supervillainess.

#Reposting this cuz i did it wrong the last time #Janus Sanders #ts janus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #sander sides #sanders sides fic #anxceit #platonic anxceit #virgil/janus #superhero au #ts superhero au #my writing #tell me if i forgot to tag something

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

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Title: School Unity Club

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @bebexox4

Pairings/Characters: Hajime Hinata/Nagito Komaeda, with appearances by both Chiaki Nanami and Kokichi Oma. Others mentioned.

Rating/Warnings: T. Some mention of self-deprecating thought might be a relevant warning. There is also occasional swearing.

Prompt: Non despair hopes peak au with Enemies-Friends-Lovers komahina

Author’s notes: Hi there!!! Happy Komahina Secret Exchange, and I hope you enjoy your gifts!!! :D This is prompt one of two you can expect this time around. This was really fun to work on hehehe. Thank you!!!

1. Okay, Why Are We Starting a School Unity Club Again?

The first time Hope’s Peak Academy tried to recruit Nagito Komaeda, of course he turned them down: he was unworthy, he insisted, trying to laugh at himself, trying to raise his metaphorical palms in obvious surrender. I mean, come on. Hope’s Peak… haha, that was for genuinely amazing people. For the Ultimate Students, glimmering irrefutable beacons of hope to everybody else. They were — no. Nagito couldn’t go to school with people like that. Practically superheroes, so hardworking and disciplined and just everything Nagito knew he didn’t deserve to be. What would he even say? How would he know where to sit, or when to participate in class discussions, or how to tactfully say no when they felt obligated to invite him along places?

But, in the end, Hope’s Peak Academy hadn’t so much wanted Nagito as a student, he gathered, as they’d wanted to study his luck. Nagito’d always had unreasonable, relentless, mythically impossible luck. Amazing things happened to him, and then… like clockwork, like the gears of the universe churning away… equally devastating things inevitably followed. The Ultimate Lucky Student. That’s right. After years of fallen-apart loved ones and distant extended family members and snakes slithering out of his bathtub drain the second he realized “You know, I think this might be my favorite brand of shampoo,” Nagito Komaeda’s absurd luck was finally going to help somebody. Hope’s Peak could learn from his luck, and that was worth humiliating himself daily, stumbling around Ultimate Students, rambling and awestruck. That was worth knowing he’d never belong, because he hadn’t worked for his Talent. It wasn’t really a Talent at all.

When Nagito was happy, he knew he was sure to feel tears burning against the back of his eyes very soon. He was happy about the chance to attend Hope’s Peak, despite everything, despite knowing he should have turned the invitation down again, whether his luck could be useful or no… and so, of course, bad things followed. Bad things he hadn’t talked to his classmates about, yet, and probably never would. Because it wasn’t like Nagito had come to such a prestigious institution expecting anybody to actually care about him. It wasn’t like he would have clawed his way in without being invited. Right?

Nagito liked to think that was right, anyway, just the way he liked to think he didn’t actually want any of his fancy, impossible new classmates to contradict him when he described himself as worthless, a faceless background character in their lives. Why should they tell him he was more than a bystander? Nagito would hold the camera when his classmates wanted a group photo. That should be more than enough. If he wanted to get something done for their sake, he could lean on his Ultimate Luck. If he drew a lottery number, it would always win. If a car was careening out of control through the school grounds, it would be sure to hit him before it clobbered anyone else. A weird system — a horrible system, from some points of view — but it was the least Nagito could do. It was his so-called “Talent,” after all.

Maybe that was why the Reserve Course had never made a lot of sense, to Nagito. See, some people could pay a hell of a lot of extra tuition money and buy their way into Hope’s Peak… but not as Ultimates. It felt like a flashlight demanding to be called the sun, to Nagito. Like a puddle on the street insisting it was the ocean. If Ultimates really were “hope,” then how dare anybody scramble around to grab their spotlight away, right? Reserve Course attendants would probably be easier to get along with than the Ultimate Students, given that Nagito was more or less “one of them”… a nobody, a stranger, an intruder here in this place for gods. But he didn’t go looking for friends among the Reserve Course, either. Why should he want to be buddy-buddy with arrogant pretenders? It wasn’t like Nagito had ever felt especially good at talking to people, anyway. He’d probably say something wrong; he’d probably mess something up; he’d probably just get furious. Wouldn’t you want to turn off the flashlight that thought it was the sun?

Better not to delude yourself, even if the truth was ugly, full of shaky, simpering smiles and resignation. Happiness led to pain. Good luck led to misery. On and on and on, and Nagito had been fairly sure he’d graduate from Hope’s Peak without any of his classmates having memorized his full name. You know, if he lived that long.

That’s why it was all the more surprising when Chiaki Nanami… the Ultimate Gamer… kept insisting on talking to him. Of course, Chiaki was kind to their whole class. She had no reason to sit silently and play phone games with Nagito until his phone caught fire in his hands — she had no reason to chat about his favorite super-indie horror titles during breaks in schoolwork, coming over to stand by his desk on purpose. Chiaki wanted to understand everybody: she told Nagito as much, honestly. Chiaki wanted their whole class to be a team, and so when she asked Nagito to show up for movie nights he did. He knew he’d suffer the bad luck for it later, but he picked up the phone when Chiaki called him every time.

If she wanted to be friends with everyone, Chiaki shouldn’t have to work for the Ultimate Lucky Student’s friendship, obviously. He should be a shoe-in. And it wasn’t really that Nagito was having fun that kept him sticking around, probably. It wasn’t really that he was starting to banter with the Ultimate Mechanic and the Ultimate Gangster, as if they were actually… uh… friendly acquaintances, or something, either. Chiaki told him he was reliable, even if he still wouldn’t admit he belonged with the rest of them. Even if he said hurtful things sometimes and didn’t seem to realize it.

“What?!” Nagito had balked, then. “Have I insulted you? Oh, no. No, that’s unacceptable. For someone like me to speak badly of an Ultimate Student, even without meaning to —”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Chiaki had answered. She reminded Nagito of a cat, pretty consistently… heavy-lidded eyes, and a voice like a tail swishing slowly back and forth. She didn’t look up from the game system in her hands as she drawled at him. “You say horrible things about yourself, and about how you can’t understand why I’d want anything to do with you… makes me feel like you don’t think I can pick my own friends. I say I think you’re okay, and you spend the next half an hour telling me why that’s a stupid thing to think. Kazuichi says he’s glad you stopped by to help him work on that robot project he’s building, and you have to make him apologize for thinking ‘trash like you’ deserves to hang out with the Ultimate Mechanic at all.”

Nagito wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that. He’d cleared his throat.

“Your friends will hurt when they see you hurt, Nagito. I always heard people in games saying that, and now I know it’s true. Okay?”

“Hm. Okay… if you’re sure, as an Ultimate Student.”

“I’m sure as your friend Chiaki.”

“Interesting. I mean… yeah, I’ll do my best not to hurt you?”

Nagito had been watching the way he talked about himself around Chiaki Nanami for about a week before she came to him with a plan she’d been working on with the Ultimate Supreme Leader. Kokichi Oma was a couple years behind them, but he was always scheming like the “Spawn of Loki” the Ultimate Animal Breeder declared him to be — his latest plan involved trying to unite the two branches of their school, the Main Course and the Reserve Course, coming together for some sort of mysterious club. Chiaki was all for it, apparently, and Nagito had wanted to say a lot of things. He’d wanted to say it sounded like reassuring the puddle that ships could drown in it after all, and coral reefs were sure to grow. It felt false, and wrong. But a lot of things Kokichi Oma said felt “false and wrong,” and Nagito wanted to be Chiaki’s real, worthy friend so badly. He agreed to help, however he could.

“It’s so generous of the Ultimates to share their Talents with everybody!” Nagito said. That was a fair enough rationalization, wasn’t it? “You really are a commendable person, Ultimate Supreme Leader. Even if practically everything you say is a shameless lie!”

And, “Hey now, most of my nefarious criminal organization members wouldn’t be called ‘Ultimate,’ and they’ve got more talents to share around than this whole stuck-up school,” Kokichi answered, voice light and airy, like he wasn’t actually invested in the conversation… though his eyes said he really was, unless that expression was just another lie from him? Lies upon lies upon lies. People told Nagito he was confusing to talk to, but surely he couldn’t have anything on Kokichi Oma. Was that okay for him to think? “A lot of these titles we got assigned feel pretty arbitrary, if you ask me. And it’s ridiculous we’ve never actually met so many of our classmates!”

Nagito raised his eyebrows. “Classmates?”

Kokichi stared him down, smile practically painted on. “Classmates. Yeah. Just think of how many possible recruits for my organization might be waiting in the Reserve Course… ya think any of ‘em are interested in a life of evil?”

“Most of the people who made the games we play aren’t Ultimates, either,” Chiaki murmured, at Kokichi’s side. She was muted and dusky pink, with a tender, hesitant smile — Kokichi was so glaringly bright and loud next to her. They made a strange team, but of course no stranger than Nagito and anyone in the world. “Please, Nagito. The School Unity Club is going to try and form real friendships… I think it’s a chance for us to do something good, and to learn what it’s like to be in the Reserve Course.“

As if Nagito wanted to understand something like that! Haha! Oh, Chiaki. No.

But that’s what led Nagito here, to the first official School Unity Club meeting. He filled out the Getting to Know Everybody Questionnaire Kokichi and Chiaki passed out, and he hung around in the back of the room, hands folded in his pockets, face perfectly neutral, until a spiky haired Reserve Course guy came storming up to him. What could have possibly gotten this uppity loser so mad? Chiaki had decorated this classroom herself, specifically for trash like the both of them. They should be so grateful. There were streamers and everything.

“Are you Nagito Komaeda?” Mr. Pointy-Hair spat.

“I am. Nice to meet —”

“So you’re the one who wrote that people who joined the Reserve Course have ‘no good reason to be here’ on the questionnaire. Knowing we’d all read it — knowing how much we want to attend Hope’s Peak Academy —”

Nagito nodded, letting himself smile. Ah, okay. This was making a little sense now. “Excuse me, I think you misunderstand something,” he tried to clarify. “I don’t believe I have a good reason to be here, either… really, we’re almost the same, you and me. I probably have more to say to someone like you than my whole class!” Nagito paused. Glanced over at the Ultimate Gamer. “Except for Chiaki. Maybe. If she still thinks so.”

Mr. Pointy-Hair didn’t look reassured by Nagito’s explanation. If anything, his cheeks were flushed red, the fury creeping up to the tips of his ears, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He was a little shorter than Nagito, but he was standing as tall as he possibly could. “Someone like me?” he asked. It was a question, somehow, but what exactly did he expect Nagito to say? Mr. Pointy-Hair’s teeth were ground together, but there was something honest and wholesome about his mossy green eyes. Nagito might have wanted to ask his name, if he didn’t feel sure he was about to get yelled at. Why weren’t they understanding each other, exactly, here?

“You’re not an Ultimate,” Nagito said, explaining something painfully simple. “This is a school for extraordinary people, and you and I are both unworthy of it. You see? But that shouldn’t be news to you…”

Mr. Pointy-Hair was spitting mad. Was he going to punch Nagito, next? Or simply tell him how awful he was? Nagito was bracing himself either way, but he shouldn’t have bothered. That was when Kokichi Oma’s spotlight found them, after all. That was when the Ultimate Supreme Leader — sauntering around on a stage made of pushed-together desks and using a super-chipper ringmaster voice — declared, “Oh! And what’s this? Mr. Komaeda and Mr. Hinata are already picking a fight! I think we just found some volunteers for a club project, guys!”

There was a scattering of polite, confused applause, and this Mr. Pointy-Hair Hinata spun around on his heel and threw himself out of the room. The door slammed, and his footsteps thudded away down the hall.

Nagito took a stumbling half-step after him. He didn’t mean to. This was the sort of pretender who thought he deserved to be an Ultimate without earning it, after all. There was no reason to wonder what their club project would be together, or if he’d ever learn Hinata’s first name. There was no reason to ask what the Ultimate Supreme Leader had in store for them to work on — there was probably no reason to assume he and Hinata would ever see each other again, or get another chance to try and have an actual conversation.

Nagito asked Kokichi what their assignment was, anyway.

1½. Talking to You’s Like Trying to Paint in the Rain

Hajime Hinata figured if he just never attended a School Unity Club meeting again, he could simmer for a while and then amble on like this never happened. Like he’d never met Nagito Komaeda, with his hazy dark eyes and drifting, shaky-yet-infuriatingly-resolute voice. If he never joined up with the club again, then he couldn’t be assigned any weird-ass “club projects,” could he? And since Nagito was part of the Main Course… an Ultimate, even if he’d tried to convince Hajime they were “the same,” or whatever… their paths wouldn’t necessarily cross, otherwise. They even had passing periods at different times, and if Hajime saw Nagito’s fluffy, flyaway white hair from across the hallway he just stopped in his tracks and stalked away.

But, I mean… that isn’t the end of the story, obviously. Hajime underestimated the Ultimate Supreme Leader, and also how ridiculous things could get at Hope’s Peak Academy. Sometimes, the place barely even felt real.

Hajime received the instructions for his and Nagito Komaeda’s club project midway through math class. The guy in front of him — who he’d known the whole year, mind you, and was definitely just some guy who liked comic books and was often a little late to class — turned around in his seat and stage-whispered, “Hey, Hinata, you wouldn’t happen to know the answer to question thirteen, would you?”

“There is no question thirteen,” Hajime answered. “The worksheet only goes to ten —” and then he actually looked up, to raise his eyebrows at his classmate and/or see if they had different worksheets for some reason. And well. Hm. Wouldn’t you know it, this wasn’t his classmate at all. This was very obviously Kokichi Oma from the Main Course in a wig. The Ultimate Supreme Leader was wearing a Reserve Course uniform with the tie knotted all sloppily, and he grinned like the damn Cheshire Cat as he handed over a big envelope with the words “This is not your School Unity Club project assignment!” scribbled on it.

“Oh! Nice eye,” Kokichi grinned. “Aren’t you a smart one.”

“I don’t want to work with Nagito Komaeda,” Hajime hissed. “And Kokichi, this isn’t your class.”

“Are you sure I’m not enrolled in the Reserve Course, too?”

“Ugh. Yes? And you’re two years behind me.”

Kokichi scratched at his forehead. Hajime thought maybe he was taunting him, intentionally fiddling with his wig so that a little of his flippy purple hair snuck out. “Nagito’s stubborn, isn’t he? Kind of like you.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Hajime said, but even as he spat those words he knew they weren’t completely true. Honestly, Hajime felt sick with guilt for getting his family to pay this ridiculous Hope’s Peak Reserve Course tuition — he’d tried to change his own mind, convincing himself it didn’t matter whether the world called him Special. The Ultimate Students were just people, he told himself. So what if nobody thought he was good enough to be one of them? He could still live a happy, normal life… he could still pour attention into the hobbies he loved, and spend time with the people he cared about, and maybe it was kind of a pain to have your face on convenience store magazines anyway.

Hajime told himself stuff like that over and over again, but it wasn’t like it stuck, you know? It didn’t change the tide of his thoughts. It felt like the minute he painted a nice, encouraging picture of an alternative to Hope’s Peak Academy for himself, it got washed away. Staring into Nagito’s serene, self-righteously knowing eyes had felt a little like that, too. Hajime got the feeling that he could talk to him and talk to him, but it was almost impossible to change this guy’s mind until he changed it himself.

It was infuriating, wasn’t it, talking to people like that?

“If you want to prove you’re really different than Nagito — you’re really not super-stubborn and impossible to reach — you can always just do the project,” the Ultimate Supreme Leader grinned. “Up to you. I told him to meet you by those big fountains after school, and I think he’s actually gonna do it. He asked what your first name was, too… I told him it was ‘Daisuke.’”

“But it isn’t.”

“Oops, my bad. So tell him yourself.”

Hajime read the crayon-drawing assignment sheets waiting for him in that envelope during a break, sitting slumped over at a table with a bunch of students he didn’t really know. Apparently, Kokichi and the Ultimate Gamer wanted Hajime and Nagito to make a short documentary film showing everybody what life was like in the Hope’s Peak Reserve Course. They were supposed to interview students and get some funny stories; they were supposed to go over some of the things people were studying, and rate whether the desks were comfy. Just… get a portrait of the Reserve Course as people, basically, the instructions said. And be sure to let the Ultimate Supreme Leader know if anyone seemed open to helping with this prank he had in the works. Get them to sign a short, totally-harmless liability form. It’ll be fun.

Hajime crumpled the envelope and all its assignment sheets up, one by one, preparing to toss them away with the rest of his trash. But then he unfolded them, running a hand through his sticky-uppy hair.

You know what?

Why not.

Maybe it would do Nagito Komaeda some good, to get to know the people he was insulting. To see the school from a different point of view. Maybe it would be satisfying to see him feel like a jerk, fumbling around, trying oh-so-messily to explain himself to anybody a little less forgiving than Hajime. Anyway, it was sort of annoying the guy thought his name was something random Kokichi Oma had pulled out of a hat, too.

So Hajime went to meet Nagito by the fountains. For a moment, before they actually started working on the project, it had felt sort of right. Nagito had stood up from where he’d been bent over some homework; he’d smoothed down his vest, and smiled awkwardly, self-consciously. Hopefully. It had looked like maybe he would apologize. Maybe he’d thought over what he said, and Hajime didn’t need to spend any time convincing him he was an asshole. In that case, maybe Nagito was the kind of willowy handsome that Hajime liked in drama actors, if you got past the funny way he held himself. In that case, maybe his voice was sort of soft and lyrical, and if they were talking about something else… almost anything else… Hajime wouldn’t really mind listening to him.

But then, uh. Hajime got close enough for Nagito to wave, and call, “Do you understand what I meant, now, then? It’s nice to meet you properly, Daisuke!” And it only went downhill from there.

It didn’t help that the minute Hajime handed Nagito the school-owned camera Kokichi had finagled for them to use, it got carried out of his hands by an actual hawk. What the hell? “Ultimate Luck,” Nagito clarified, but what did that even mean? So then they were gonna record the thing on Hajime’s phone, except that they couldn’t decide where to start. Who to talk to. They got into a half-shouting match in front of a few of Hajime’s friendlier classmates, who excused themselves as quickly as possible. They tried to film the gymnasium, but it was closed for emergency fumigation and they ended up gagging, hunched over outside the doors for about five minutes. They tried to film in the dorms, but Hajime’s entrance pass cracked in two when they attempted to use it. Those were expensive! Augh! Why was Nagito laughing?!

Whatever Hajime tried to do, it felt like Nagito came sliding over to step on his toes. They were getting nowhere. This project was getting nowhere. They had to delete the one decent interview they managed to get because Hajime himself accidentally had his thumb over the camera. He had literally no idea how he could’ve missed something like that.

“Ultimate Luck,” Nagito said, again, for about the millionth time that evening. “See? It’s really not always much of a talent!”

That was the last straw. Hajime was done. Nagito was still obsessed with this concept of “talent”; Nagito was the last person who should be making a video trying to show what life was really like for Reserve Course students. The Ultimate Supreme Leader was probably just messing with them, just being a little shit like people said he tended to be. School Unity? What could Nagito Komaeda do to work towards School Unity? He was probably the sort of person who would want to trap a lizard that thought it was a dragon, just to show the poor little guy how small he really was. Hajime didn’t have time for this.

And so he told Nagito as much, and he gathered up his things. He deleted all the footage they’d recorded for their project, and went back home. That could’ve been the end of it. If Kokichi turned up in any of his classes again, Hajime would just tune him out. If the Ultimate Gamer asked him why he didn’t come around anymore, yeah, okay, he’d apologize, but that was it.

Hajime didn’t hear anything from the School Unity Club for about a month. “Good riddance,” he thought. He imagined himself slamming a book closed. And then possibly kicking said book under the bed, or something.

When he got a text from Kokichi Oma — wait, how had the Ultimate Supreme Leader gotten his phone number?! — Hajime almost didn’t open it. But morbid curiosity won out in the end, as it so often did. Morbid curiosity, and that claustrophobic, helplessly-stricken pull to the Ultimate Students Hajime still felt, even now. He had wanted to be valuable, to be seen; he had wanted to be a revelation. Every breath he took on this earth could have been game-changing, if only he’d been born someone else.

“Nice work on your video,” Kokichi said. “Turned out really insightful. I think it’ll help the Reserve Course students feel seen, too.”

Alright. Hold on.

What?

***

2. The Light

When Nagito Komaeda asked the Ultimate Supreme Leader whether it had been difficult, convincing Hajime to come watch his documentary about the Hope’s Peak Academy Reserve Course together, Kokichi said, “You just better not mess this up, kid,” with a big, sloppy wink. Nevermind that he really hadn’t answered the question, actually, when Nagito thought back on it – nevermind that Kokichi was… again… younger than him. Maybe it meant Hajime had struggled against the idea of ever actually talking to Nagito again, and Kokichi’d had to bribe him with glittery promises like, “If you give the video a chance, I’ll delete your phone number from my contacts list!” Or maybe it meant Nagito should feel lucky – lucky in a good way, mind you – because Hajime hadn’t needed a lot of nagging at all. Maybe Mr. Pointy-Hair was genuinely curious. Maybe he’d be willing to forgive how badly things had gone, and try, Nagito didn’t know, “hanging out” again, sometime.

“Why did you lie about Hajime’s name, to me?” Nagito asked. “I looked… inconsiderate.”

“Who knows?” Kokichi said. “I do stuff like that, you know.”

It would’ve been way too easy, if Kokichi Oma had been willing to answer a simple question for once. But all the same, Nagito ended up sitting alone in a dark, lonely classroom after club activities were over for the night; all the same, Nagito had finished up the Reserve Course documentary film on his own. He’d purchased four separate video cameras, and lost them all to his ruthless luck. He’d interviewed people from Hajime’s classes, asking the questions Hajime had scrawled out on the back of Kokichi’s crumpled-up assignment envelope that time they tried working together. “What brought you to the Reserve Course?” “What’s your most precious goal, and how do you hope the Reserve Course will help you get there?” “Do you like going to school here?” “What do you think Hope’s Peak could do differently, to show that it values all its students?” Some of the answers he’d gotten were genuinely shocking – one of them made him cry, actually, and try to shake the girl’s hand afterwards. (She took his hand, yes, but then asked why there was so much mud on it. Oh, crap. Nagito’d forgotten that happened… he’d been swallowed up by a surprise swamp on the way across campus that day.) All of the answers were… human? Maybe sometimes it was easy to get so wrapped up in this business of hope and despair, talent and luck, that Nagito forgot how learning a person’s abilities just barely scraped the surface of what it would be like getting to know them. He didn’t talk much at all, giving his interviews – aside from asking questions, of course. He laughed at jokes, sometimes, but he tried to laugh quietly, without wobbling the camera too much.

Nagito had expected the interviews would enrage him – would make him think these people were ungrateful, were building themselves homemade trophies to take away from the Ultimate Talents the Main Course actually earned. And sometimes, yeah, sometimes he did want to argue back. Put them in their places, back in the dirt with him; click off the flashlight that thought it was the sun. But he listened, for a while, anyway. Maybe it was because Hajime would’ve wanted him to, at first – maybe it was because Hajime might have said he couldn’t do it. But in the end, Nagito found himself with a lot of footage of people telling him their truths, and so many of those stories tasted familiar. That longing, that hurt, that want, that hunger. It had been written all over Hajime’s face when they first met, but Nagito’d never asked his story, had he?

Ah, well. Nagito had tried making the documentary into something Hajime wouldn’t hate, you know? He’d gone to one of the Reserve Course’s basketball games and recorded the crowds cheering, recorded the players’ teamwork and struggle. None of the players were the Ultimate Basketball Star or anything, but it still mattered when they won, didn’t it? Maybe not as much, existentially, or for the hope of the world as Nagito understood it, but – but it could still be emotional watching them come together and ruffle each other’s hair, afterwards, reminiscing about the game. Nagito had attempted to go to a Reserve Course swimming team competition too, but of course the pool flooded the second he stepped in the building… and like, really flooded, in that most of the bleachers were still underwater and they hadn’t been able to drain the dressing rooms, yet. Some sort of weird, constant flow in from ocean?! Nagito wasn’t sure on the specifics. Point being, he’d stopped attending sports events for a while, but he had asked Chiaki to record the Reserve Course’s musical production of Les Misérables so he could splice some of it into the documentary.

Nagito didn’t ask specific questions about Hajime Hinata while conducting his interviews, but he’d heard some stuff about him all the same. He was a good classmate, people said – a hard worker, soft-spoken, but he didn’t just sit back and take kindly to bullies. He was smart, but his handwriting was terrible, and he and Nagito seemed to like the same type of video games. Hajime’s classmates mentioned him in passing, see, discussing him among themselves… or they said, “Oh, no, Nagito’s probably okay. He was with Hajime a couple days ago, remember? Hey, Nagito, are you two friends?”

Um.

In that moment, Nagito had wanted very badly to say yes, yes they were friends. He would’ve been proud to have Hajime like him, as a person, the way Chiaki seemed to. But he just sort of smiled and shook his head. “We were working on a project together,” he offered. “School Unity Club.” It was probably fair to leave it at that, right?

But now the documentary was finished, and Hajime had been persuaded… somehow… to come to some empty classroom after School Unity Club let out and watch it at Nagito’s side. Nagito hadn’t really felt like he should be going to School Unity Club meetings lately: it was surreal to be back here again, inviting Hajime into the ruins of a game tournament. There was a scribbly, multi-color scoreboard, and bits of the floor were duct-taped off into what looked like a beanbag chair/slime vat obstacle course. The janitors at Hope’s Peak must have hated Kokichi Oma. Or who knows, really? Maybe he was planning to slink back in and clean all this up himself, after Nagito and Hajime finished with their video. Nagito showed Hajime over to some chairs he’d set up in front of his cracked-apart personal laptop. He pulled out Hajime’s chair a little bit, like they were someplace fancy, and Hajime scoffed. He sat down, though. And then he gestured to Nagito’s chair, like, “Well?”

They watched the documentary in silence. Sometimes Hajime shifted, or scratched at his neck. Sometimes he gasped, or shot Nagito careful, considering eyes. Nagito… for his part… tried his best to keep his expression neutral, the same as he’d done at that first School Unity Club meeting. The last interview was with himself, after all, and he thought he’d made his own points pretty clear. He didn’t understand what the Reserve Course meant, in connection to the Main Course here at Hope’s Peak Academy… on one hand he still thought it defied the point of the whole place, but on the other it was a class full of creativity and excitement and hope for the future, too. He’d learned a lot from the Reserve Course students, and it had been fun spending time with them. The interview questions had been written by Hajime Hinata, but they’d honestly become Nagito’s questions too, by the end. He thanked the viewer for watching, and the interviewees for talking to him, and the swimming team for their forgiveness when he tried to explain that it was his weird luck that ruined their tournament.

It wasn’t perfect. Nagito stumbled over his words, sometimes, and he contradicted himself, and he went on a short monologue about how it was possible hope came in innumerable different forms. He hinted at one of his most embarrassing thoughts, too – that maybe… just maybe, possibly, against all odds… it might’ve been more merciful to have a world without the worship of talent, a world where all people could just live as themselves and know that was enough. He had almost edited that part out. In another life, he probably wouldn’t have wanted anyone in the world to hear it. It flew in the face of everything he was supposed to honor, after all. It was skeptical of the very concept of the Ultimate Talents themselves.

Nagito might not have been able to explain exactly why he kept that part of his own interview in the documentary. Maybe he wanted Hajime to get him, if they ever spoke again. Maybe so many strangers had been utterly, vulnerably honest with him, he felt like it was sort of his turn. Either way, he winced, taking in the frustrated surrender on his own recorded face. He kept his arms folded over his chest and gritted his teeth. Hajime was watching him imagine a world where all that mattered was the light, whether it came from a flashlight or the sun. For all Nagito knew, he sounded ridiculous.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” Hajime said, slowly, after the credits rolled – Chiaki was thanked for most things Nagito hadn’t attributed to either himself or the conspicuously-absent Hajime Hinata. “Thanks, Nagito. You… are you going to the next club meeting?”

“What? Am I…?”

“I mean the School Unity Club. If you go to the next meeting, I’ll come too.”

Nagito swallowed, fidgeting. He brushed a little messy white hair behind his ear. “Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.” He decided to push his luck, just a little, then, seeing Hajime smile: he decided to try and make this raw, beautiful person that hated him laugh. “Maybe Kokichi’ll stop pestering me if I finally participate.”

Hajime snorted. He relaxed, just the littlest bit, and Nagito felt his insides twist. That was an unfamiliar feeling.

“Probably not,” Hajime said.

“No… probably not.”

That couldn’t have been part of the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s secret conniving plan, though, right? To get them to bond over mutual frustration… to pester them both until they started commiserating about it…

Right?

But then, maybe Nagito shouldn’t put it past him. Kokichi’d earned his Ultimate Student-status somehow. Maybe he and Chiaki hadn’t been completely wrong about a School Unity Club, either.

Well, now… they’d just played right into the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s hands, hadn’t they?

That didn’t matter too much, somehow, when Hajime was taking Nagito out to arcades with his other friends, and on hikes in the forest, and to read quietly on a bench in the park. Sun on their skin, wind in their hair, ruffling the pages of their books just the littlest bit… or else grabbing Nagito’s book away and hurtling it out horrifyingly fast into oncoming traffic. Or maybe it was the first book Hajime got him as a gift that would get stolen by a randomly-appearing hawk, this time? At least now Hajime knew Nagito usually laughed that desperate, rattling sort of cackle when he was upset. Nervous. Panicking. At least now Hajime would rub his back, a little, and tell him they were fine. Hey, hey. Nagito, look at me. Your luck isn’t your fault. Just breathe.

Breathe.

No, falling for the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s machinations barely mattered at all, this time.

2 ½. So Glad I was Wrong About You

The first time Hajime Hinata kissed Nagito Komaeda, he hadn’t been expecting to do it, himself, if you’d asked him just five minutes before. They were doing homework together, and the year was almost over – Nagito had asked Hajime to come to the Main Course Graduation Ball with him, as friends, of course, and high school was winding down to an end for both of them. Hajime had just worked weekend shifts at a thrift store to buy himself a set of four-leaf clover cufflinks to wear with his suit, small and gold and hopefully not the sort of thing Nagito would think was tacky. They were… Hajime hadn’t known what they were, exactly, until he found himself watching the way Nagito talked with his hands, staring off into the distance, swept away in what they were discussing. He remembered something their mutual friend Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer, had said a few weeks before:

“I don’t think Nagito’s gonna ask you to go to the ball as his date-date. But if he does, be nice.”

Hajime hadn’t pressed Chiaki on that, for some reason. He’d been a little distracted by how she was completely annihilating him in the game they were playing. Why hadn’t he… dammit, why hadn’t he really heard her, then? If Nagito asked him out, like… as a boyfriend… Hajime was supposed to treat him gently. Maybe Chiaki thought Hajime would’ve wanted to say no, to an invitation like that? It was hard to say. Her expression had been all dusty lavender, vague and soft, watching her character defeat Hajime’s so, so mercilessly. The game had been reflected in her eyes, neon and flickering and fast.

But maybe… maybe what Chiaki said had meant more than just some run-of-the-mill politeness advice. It could have meant Nagito’d told Chiaki he was interested in taking Hajime as his date-date, but had backed away squirming from the idea because he was still getting over the concept that he was somehow fundamentally broken. Maybe he didn’t realize Hajime had bought those four-leaf clover cufflinks like a promise, because he didn’t want this Graduation Ball to be the last chance he got to wear them. To be fair, Hajime had only just realized that, himself. Who else was he gonna wear four-leaf clovers for, if not the Ultimate Lucky Student? He’d gotten to know Nagito’s luck extremely well, over the last year together; he knew which scars he tended to keep hidden, because he hated explaining their backstories, and he had watched Nagito’s closing monologue from that Reserve Course documentary over and over in the dead of night. Trying to understand it. Trying to understand this impossible, contrary guy who had just helped him edit his last Japanese Literature essay of the semester.

Hajime had kept telling himself he was done with Nagito Komaeda – for weeks, he’d told himself that. It felt like such a waste, now. They were both growing beyond Hope’s Peak Academy, in their ways, even though obviously there had been a time when Hajime would’ve told you that was impossible. He hadn’t thought he could imagine himself a meaningful future without some link to Ultimate Talent, without this school, whatever exactly it was, but the possibilities had started painting themselves to life without him really noticing it. The change crept in so sweetly, somewhere between the Ultimate Supreme Leader dragging the whole School Unity Club into participating in the next academy-wide musical and that time they’d all gotten lost in the mountains and Hajime found himself spreading his coat out over Nagito while he slept. Living had changed things, brought meaning where none had been assigned by fancy academy board members. When Hajime learned about the Izuru Kamukura Project – a study that had apparently endowed some random Reserve Course student with all the Ultimate Talents under the sun – he was jealous, yeah, but not the way he felt he should have been.

Hajime leaned across the desk and took Nagito’s face in his hands; he kissed him fast and hard, before he could change his mind. Kissed him like he’d yelled his actual first name in his face. Kissed him like truth, and the revelation he’d always thought maybe he could be, if only, if only, if only. He felt Nagito tense and then soften; he felt Nagito try to speak, and then close his eyes, pale lashes brushing against his skin. Hajime ran his hand down Nagito’s neck, and tangled it just a little in his unbrushed hair. Nagito made a wondering, helpless sound, and Hajime held him closer. Pulled back. Kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Nagito said. Hajime didn’t think he knew what for. Maybe he was still sorry for saying he didn’t think Hajime had any reason to come to this school and that whole tangled-up, confusing introduction they’d had; maybe he was just worried he’d turned out to be a disappointing kisser. Somewhere out in the hallway, Kokichi Oma was laughing, calling, “You’ll never take me alive!” to someone chasing him with a mysteriously bedazzled mop. Somewhere out in the hallway, Izuru Kamukura – Reserve Course student-turned living god – was staring out at the world and realizing it was all immeasurably, heartbreakingly boring, when all the talent possible was limp in his hands.

“Why?” Hajime asked.

“Um,” Nagito said. There were so many words churning inside him, but he was holding Hajime’s hand really tightly, now. He cleared his throat. “I mean, we can try that again, if you want. If I did it wrong.”

Hajime and Nagito were both strong believers in second chances, by that point. They went to the Main Course Graduation Ball with Nagito holding Hajime’s hand just as tight, and no, that absolutely wasn’t the last chance Hajime had to wear those four-leaf clover cufflinks.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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thegreymoon · 3 years ago

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Broker

Guess who else noticed how gorgeous she is in her hot, pink suit 😋

No idea why I’m so happy about it, it was expected, considering that he’s the love interest and also not blind 🤣🤣

***

OK, I laughed 🤣🤣

Still hate the whole bunch of them, though.

***

Jealous baby is jealous 🤣🤣

***

Anyway, the pseudo-date with Qin Bin is idiotic. It’s not even worth screencapping.

***

I changed my mind because she is a Queen and I adore her 👑👑

Yes, sweetheart, put pushy, bothersome men in their place by stating facts!!

***

Can’t wait to get the background on the Qiu family drama and why Jianing is so low contact with them. It had better be something good because moving continents and not telling your fucking parents is just... not right.

***

LMAO, spatially challenged relatable queen!!

I also have no spatial awareness whatsoever and get lost without a map regularly 🤣🤣 The hilarious thing is, I picked up coping mechanisms when my ridiculous self went and studied architecture. The only way I can understand space is through plans and cross sections but I still have absolutely no sense of direction 🤣🤣

***

That whole lying to her parents thing is so pointless and impossible. I can’t believe that two educated middle-aged people are not going to check availability of seats themselves instead of taking their lying daughter’s word when she says they are all sold out for no reason. Just absolute nonsense.

***

LMAOOOO, relatable Queen is afraid of needles! 🤣🤣

Which, again, I fully get, but, baby, don’t look at them doing it! The trick is to look awayyyy!! Otherwise the urge to run becomes insurmountable 🤣🤣

***

LMAOOOO, she ran away 🤣🤣

***

She’s so upset and betrayed 🤣🤣

***

He’s so done with the sister and her bullshit 🤣🤣

***

I am sorry, she looks like a stronger than average breeze could knock her over and her fight scenes are not at all believable 🙄

***

LMAO, of course the father checked the availability of tickets himself! That whole thing was so damn stupid.

***

I am so mad this ridiculous backstabber didn’t get fired and is still around, sabotaging her superiors 🤬🤬

The lesson here, kids, is not “be kind and understanding to everyone, regardless of how they treat you”, but “when someone is actively malicious towards you and taking steps to do do you harm, don’t help them get out of trouble and celebrate when you finally get them out of your hair” 😠

***

OH WHAT THE FUCK

Did not see this coming, LOL, they got me good!!

***

The faces on those petty backstabbers, I can’t stop laughing 🤣🤣

***

Oh, wait, the big boss isn’t her dad, but dad’s friend 😅😅

***

So, no family drama, QJN has a good relationship with her parents and is just an asshole. I’m sorry, but however I look at this, it’s pure nonsense and deliberate cruelty. How do you move back to your hometown from years abroad, where your loving, supportive family still lives, and not let them know where you are at the very least?

I mean, I’m enjoying this show a lot so far and not finding it nearly as bad as other people say, but this is some bullshit.

***

Her father is fucking adorable and loves her so damn much! I’m so mad on his behalf 😠😠

***

LMAO, they’ve done nothing but stab her in the back from the moment she arrived 💀💀

***

A woman after my own heart 🤗

I became so much happier when I finally made peace with the fact that I would never look like the likes of Victoria Song, no matter how much I starved, and allowed myself to enjoy food.

***

Backstabbing bitch.

You’re not even smart enough to scheme properly.

***

THANK YOU.

Until something nefarious about him comes up, I’m continuing to like him. Super curious what her mother’s issues are, though.

***

What? WHAT??

Plot twist!! But with that said, I hate it when shows pull stunts like this. It’s such lazy writing. The world is not that small for this kind of coincidence.

Also, imagine trying to threaten someone into not ratting you out, and them going, "Pls do kill me, I really want to die!” 😅😅

***

LMAOOOO 🤣🤣

He god her goooooood 🤣🤣

***

Soft 🤗🤗

Also, the soundtrack for his show is the most wonderful thing!

***

LMAO, the idiot sister asking him to help set Jianing up with Qin Bin is the funniest thing 🤣🤣

Also, his face! He’s so done with her 🤣🤣

#luo yunxi #victoria song #broker #broker spoilers #broker ep09 #broker ep10

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jadekitty777 · 4 years ago

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On the Precipice of Trust

Fff alright, time for my personal favorite of the three I’ll be posting this weekend. I hope you all will like it too!

Day 2: Scars

Dedicated to: @saenda for unknowingly encouraging me to finish this one. I took an educated guess that your tumblr name and Ao3 name are the same lol

Rating: T, because Qrow had to be an inappropriate asshole

Words: Almost 9k

Summary: When Clover mysteriously doesn't show up for mission assignments, Qrow fears another betrayal is on the horizon and decides to go investigate. Instead of finding the man scheming with General Ironwood, he discovers Atlas' famed boy scout is just a bit under the weather.

But Qrow quickly realizes that there's more to the captain's sickness than just a simple cold. And even more to Clover himself, well hidden under all those cheerful smiles.

Ao3 Link: On the Precipice of Trust

Suspicion immediately wove into Qrow’s mind when Harriet went up to the mission board and started the announcement process.

“Alright everyone, I’m going to be assigning the missions for today!” Her voice boomed over the room.

Keeping his tone light and casual, he asked, “Where’s Mr. Lucky?”

“According to the General, he’s indisposed for today.” Harriet sidestepped, before turning to the board.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the various ways some of the kids reacted. Ruby sat up a little straighter. Blake’s left ear twitched. Yang started to curl a thread of her hair around her finger. All subtle, but all on the same wavelength.

This was what they had been waiting for.

As Yang, Blake and he crossed the courtyard towards the transport ships, Qrow spared the academy a look, then said, “Alright kiddos, I’m gonna vanish for a bit.”

“Right.” Yang’s tone betrayed her unease.

“Firecracker?”

“It’s just-” She stopped, halting the rest of them. She looked towards him with a frown, “Do you really think the General will betray us?”

Qrow frowned, his gaze drifting towards the skyline. “I never thought Leo would. Or Oz. So, safe to say my judge of character is pretty shit.”

“Then am I just dumb?”

That had Qrow’s gaze snapping back to her.

Blake’s ears had fallen. “Yang…”

“I, just, feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t suspect him.” She offered hesitantly, rubbing her hand over her metal wrist.

He followed the movement, reaching out to place a hand over the metal limb. “You wanting to see the best in someone isn’t dumb, especially for someone who’s done so much for you. Actually, you share that quality with Summer.” He snorted in amusement. “Granted, you’re a little more careful. …A lot more, actually. Sums was the type to trust a pickpocket to hold her wallet.”

That earned him a chuckle and he took it as a personal victory.

“Believe me, I would like nothing more than to be wrong. That’s why being cautious is the smart thing to do.”

Yang sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to.”

“Maybe one day, we won’t have to.” Was his own offer of condolence. “You two get out of here. I’ll catch up with you if it turns out to be nothing.”

With that, they went their own ways. Yang and Blake to the transport that would take them to the Grimm extraction mission down in Mantle. Him in the sky on his unofficial reconnaissance mission.

Qrow was so tired of being betrayed. Of feeling like he had to second guess every action of every so-called friend. He didn’t want to suspect James. Hell, he especially didn’t want to suspect Clover – though, he’d be the first to say his decision on that wasn’t entirely sound, if his growing attraction to the handsome brunet had anything to say about it.

That was what was on his mind as he flew past the General’s office, finding it empty. He gave a squawk of annoyance, before starting to circle the building.

Maybe this was just what trust looked like during a time of war. Spying on their own allies at every hint of unusual behavior and second-guessing every word spoken. The more he thought about it, the more he had to wonder if it was going both ways. Were the Aceops offering to train the kids because they truly wanted to hone their skills, or were they secretly hoping one of them would trip up over intel that they could report back to James? Was Clover assigning their missions together because he enjoyed his company or because he could keep an eye on him?

The idea filled him with dread. It only worsened when he considered that to do that, James would have had to order it. A year ago, he would have said that was a ridiculous thought.

But things had changed so much since Beacon fell. With him. With the world. With – Clover.

Wait. Clover?!

Qrow canted to the left, circling back to the window he had just flown past. Another glimpse told him his sight had been true. He dared to draw in closer, landing on one of the fancy panes that decorated the window in crystal-shaped formations. He tucked his wings in so the wind couldn’t carry him away and peered into the room.

The man was shambling around a small studio not too unlike the accommodations Qrow himself had been provided upon his arrival. There were personal touches here and there that he noticed on first glance – a plotted plant right on the other side of the glass, a shelf full of books, a ship in a bottle displayed on a desk. His focus mostly remained on Clover though.

The other huntsman was a mess. He seemed to be walking with a deliberate slowness, an arm around his stomach as he carried a small cup to his bedside. His normally upkept hair was a disheveled tangle and his face seemed pale and gaunt. He hadn’t even gotten out of his nightwear, still in dark grey sweats, a green undershirt and – were those slippers? Shaped like goldfish?

If he wasn’t currently a bird, Qrow would have rolled his eyes.

The ridiculous smiley abominations didn’t last long, Clover kicking them off his feet as he climbed back into bed and huddled under the covers. He looked absolutely miserable. Sick as he obviously was, Qrow was pretty sure he could believe Clover wouldn’t be up to anything nefarious for the rest of the day – and probably not the rest of the week either.

Qrow spread his wings and let the wind currents take him away. He headed towards the docking bay, figuring he could join the girls on the mission now.

He didn’t think about Clover again until he was shuffling into the mess hall behind the girls. Not everyone had made it back yet, but Jaune practically pleading for Marrow and Elm to take some of the casserole he’d no doubt been given (seriously, that was the third one this week) reminded him quite suddenly of their missing leader and his poor state.

While Blake secured them a table and Yang and he got in line, he took out his scroll, sending out a quick message. You eat yet?

The response came only a few moments later. No, why?

So he was awake. Good.

How about some soup? I know you’re not feeling well.

He was almost at the front of the line before he got his answer. That would be good. And then, like an afterthought: Thank you.

Qrow dutifully ignored his eldest niece’s knowing look as he ordered the turkey sandwich and chicken noodle soup to go.

He couldn’t quite ignore her teasing tone as he joined her by the pick-up counter. “What’s wrong Uncle Qrow? Feeling a little under the weather?”

“Hush.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “He’s got to eat.”

“Oh yes. I’m certain there’s no ulterior motive there at all.” Her grin was almost predatory.

Too bad for her he had played this game much longer then her – and was better at it too. He lent over, murmuring, “Yang, it’s called ‘having game’. And honestly? Considering my dinner dates often end in a nice roll in the hay and you can’t even get past hand-holding with your little pussy cat over there, you might just want to bow to the master here.”

Her eyebrows practically hit her hairline. “You’re the worst!”

“That’s not what Clover’s going to be saying.” His smirk grew. “In fact, he might just elect me as Remnant’s newest god.”

She buried her flaming face into her hands. “Oh my gods.”

“Yeah, exactly like that!”

All things told, he probably deserved the punch.

When he reached Clover’s room, he was surprised to find the door was already open a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way with his foot, announcing as he did, “Special delivery!”

Clover was in the same spot he’d been in this morning, huddled under his blankets on the bed – the only difference being he was sitting up at least. Despite the fact he was looking like death warmed over, he managed a smile in his direction. “Hey.”

Qrow grimaced at the hoarseness in his voice. That had to be painful. He kicked the door closed, heading across the room. “You sound like you swallowed a cheese grater.”

“You always this charming to invalids?” Clover joked.

“Nah, I reserve it only for optimistic assholes like you.”

That graced him with a small chuckle.

Qrow set the bag down on the nightstand, pulling out the container of soup and a plastic spoon. As he handed it over, he asked, “Seriously though, how are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck and, when the driver found out I was still alive, backed up over me again.” Clover set the container in his lap, pulling off the plastic top. “Thank you, again, for this. I probably won’t be able to finish it though.”

He waved it off, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry about it. Better you have something than nothing.”

“Suppose so.” He blew on the first spoonful, sipping on the broth. “How’d you know I was sick? I only told James.”

“Uh.” Shit. To make himself appear busy, he riffled through the bag for his sandwich, mind working on overdrive to come up with a plausible excuse. “You just didn’t look so hot after coming in yesterday, so I put two and two together.”

It was a gamble, but unlike their games of poker, this one actually paid off.

“I’m surprised you noticed. I’m usually more discreet.”

He shoved the first bite in his mouth. “You make it sound like you don’t want anyone to know when you’re sick. What’s wrong? Worried about people knowing the Captain of the Best isn’t as infallible as he seems?”

“Careful. If you keep being this observant, you’re going to reveal all my secrets.” He framed it like a joke, but there seemed to be a lack of humor in it.

Qrow paused, side-eyeing him. “You alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” Clover sighed, slumping back against the headboard. “Just tired, I guess.”

That rose a weird set off alarm bells, and he couldn’t help but sweep an eye over the small studio, almost expecting an Apathy to be hiding in the corner. Of course there wasn’t, the room empty beyond themselves and whatever program was playing on the TV at such a low volume it was almost inaudible.

“It’s frustrating actually.”

He turned his attention back to the other. “What is?”

“Just that-” He frowned, then shook his head. “No, nevermind. It’s nothing.”

It was with way more satisfaction then he should have had against an ill man when he came back with, “Now who’s deflecting?”

Clover blinked, then chuckled weakly, seeming to slump further. “Got me there…” He stirred his soup, already having lost interest in it. “I was sick not too long ago. It was some real awful thing; my throat was so sore I could barely eat. Hardly could get out of bed, either. The day you guys landed was actually only my second day back.”

Qrow did some quick calculations. That was only six weeks ago. “That normal for you, boy scout?”

“Not really.” He sighed. “And this couldn’t be a worse time for it. We need to get Amity up and Mantle’s defenses fine-tuned and the newbies training is still behind and-”

“And maybe that’s the problem.”

“What?”

Was he really going to have to spell it out? He rolled his eyes. People needed to learn when to half-ass it, like him.

“I mean, you’re overworking yourself, genius.” He could already see the argument brewing. Too bad for Clover, years of being a professor and having to deal with overachieving students had given him all the ammo he needed. “And yeah, I know. Everything you’ve got to do is important. But, so are you hotshot. So, maybe don’t run yourself into the ground?”

He thought about, but didn’t add, how thanks to him keeping tabs on nearly every single member of the Ace-ops, he also knew Clover almost never left his office until it was nearly midnight but was still the first to rise at dawn. That any tasks James didn’t have time for on his already overbooked schedule fell to him. That he was both running and assigning missions, handling reports and regimes, and somehow still managed to find time to provide Qrow with daily life advice that probably came from his desk calendar.

Overworked probably didn’t even begin to describe it.

Clover seemed to mull over his words quietly, running a hand over his chest with a grimace. “I know you’re right. But there’s still so much to do.”

“I think we can handle things for a few days.” He reassured.

“I don’t doubt you can. You’re all incredible. It’s just hard, knowing everyone else is giving their all while I’m just… here. Not contributing.” He ladled another spoonful of soup, raising it. “Oh! Maybe I can still do the paperwo-”

Without warning, a shake ran through Clover and his left hand suddenly spasmed, the utensil he’d been holding falling right back in the soup, splattering the bedsheets.

They both stared down at it, then Qrow gave him a look. “Might want to work on finishing dinner first, pal.”

He’d kindly let Clover pretend the flush that rose to his cheeks was only from fever.

They watched sci-fi dramas all night.

Or, Qrow did at least. Clover kept dozing off every few minutes. It was never for long, because whatever dreams his feverish mind was conjuring kept jerking him awake, one time hard enough he accidentally kicked Qrow in the leg. It was during one of these fitful tosses that an arm landed on his stomach with enough impact to knock the wind from him.

“Oof!”

Clover startled, his eyes opening. After a few blearily blinks, he started to draw away. “Sorry, sorry-”

“It’s fine.” Qrow waved him down – it wasn’t like it had hurt – when something caught his eye. “Hey, wait.” Much to both their surprises, he caught Clover’s wrist, pulling the arm back towards him, staring intently on the marks he saw there. Raised, red bumps, starting at the joint and going down the length of his forearm. Like a rash almost.

They weren’t there before, were they?

“Does this hurt?” He asked, running a finger along the skin as lightly as he could. Hot to the touch, but hard to say if it was just from fever. “You’ve had the chicken pox, right?”

They didn’t look quite right for pox though. When his nieces had gotten it, their spots hadn’t turned the skin around them red and the blemish had covered the entire area of their body, not just patches. Still, he heard it was different for adults, almost dangerously so. He remembered Tai had quarantined him from the house, when Qrow revealed he had no idea if he’d ever caught it or not.

“Clover?” He asked as the silence stretched, glancing over at him to make sure he hadn’t drifted off again.

Wide green eyes stared back at him, the man only seeming to realize that he was waiting for something when their gazes met. “Oh, uh. No. I mean, yes. I mean – what was the question?”

That blush was also not from fever.

He may have felt proud, if Clover didn’t appear so out of it.

“You. Chicken pox. Had it?”

“Oh. Yeah, a’course. Hit all of us at once.” Qrow thought maybe he meant fellow classmates or siblings, until Clover added, mumbling the rest into his pillow. “Sister Lisa was so upset when she couldn’t take in anyone new at the sanctuary for almost a month.”

His brows furrowed. “Got a feeling you ain’t talking ‘bout a church sanctuary.”

“No.” He shifted onto his side. “I mean, Sister Lisa was religious, but the only reason she called the home that was because she thought orphan was an ugly word. She was right, in a way. Learned not to let bad labels define me – so I could thank her for that lesson at least.” He gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing when he did.

Which gave Qrow the out he needed to bypass the uncomfortable conversation. “You alright?”

“Ugh.” He grunted, rubbing a hand over the muscle and trying to roll out the ache. The movement only seemed to cause him more pain. “You know those dolls, where you can move all the limb parts?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like some kid got ahold of a voodoo version of me and pulled them all off.”

He snorted. “Hate to tell ya, but it was probably one of my kids.”

“Well, when I find them, I’m court martialing them.” Clover grumbled.

The poor joke still won a laugh. That then won a yawn.

Which didn’t go unnoticed even by a man on the verge of death. “You should go. It’s probably late.”

“Yeah, it is.” Qrow conceded reluctantly. “What about your arm?”

He rose the splotchy appendage to eye level, reporting, “Well I won’t be entering any beauty pageants anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

“Clover-”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He waved him off, curling further into his blanket cocoon. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Qrow regarded him skeptically, but ultimately didn’t pry. He knew what it was like, being mother-henned; and while Tai and Summer always meant well, it wasn’t always enough to combat the embarrassment that would often result from their good-hearted meddling. He wasn’t about to inflict that on his newfound friend that he maybe, kind of, liked.

A lot.

“Alright well,” He started as he finally slipped off the bed. “Try to feel better at least.”

“I will. I got all the luck in the world.”

Qrow gave him a look. “I’m going to let you get away with that smartassary only because you’re sick.”

“So kind and giving.” He joked. “And since you are, you’ll get the light, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He headed for the door, running his fingers down the dial that was next to it until the room darkened. As he stepped into the hall, he added. “Good night Clover.”

“Night. And thanks, for keeping me company.”

Qrow glanced back. The glow of the TV was just enough for him to catch the soft smile aimed his way that left his heart fluttering and his own mouth twitching upwards. “Yeah, anytime.”

As he shut the door and headed for his own room, he pulled out his scroll to set his alarm clock back an extra twenty minutes. He was sure Clover would appreciate breakfast too, right?

There were many things Qrow was – a morning person was not one of them. Those who knew him were very aware if it was before 9 AM to not bother him until he’d had at least one cup of coffee. If it was spiked, wait until noon; or better yet, just pretend he didn’t exist on the mortal plane at all. How he’d ever managed to survive as a school teacher outside of just sheer willpower was completely beyond him.

So it was a rare feeling to be so chipper first thing in the morning, strolling through the halls with a spring in his step, no one around to see except for the robotic janitors tidying up for the day. As he hit the last leg to his destination, he checked his messages, not surprised to see Clover hadn’t responded. He probably wasn’t even up yet.

Which was why he had brought nothing that wouldn’t keep until he got up. The tray he was carrying only had a banana, a bowl with a ‘just add hot water’ oatmeal package sitting in it and a similarly bundled up cup with a lemon tea bag and a honey packet. He set it down next to the door, knocking a few times. “Clover! Breakfast is by the door!”

He waited, pressing his ear against the metal.

Not even a stir.

Well, he could always peek in on him from the window. For altruistic purposes only, he told himself as he headed for the fire escape. When no emergency was going on, the doors were kept locked to prevent students from hiding in there whenever they wanted to skip class – but James had long ago given Qrow the override code, because they were some of the only windows in the entire facility that had latches on them and the one place which had cameras only pointing at the stairwell entrances.

Not really a blind spot, unless becoming a bird was an option.

It wasn’t long before the icy wind was under his wings and he was circling the building. He knew he’d found the right room when he spotted the bamboo plant sitting at its place in front of the window. He landed on one of the panes just as he had the day before.

There was just enough light from the rising sun to stretch into the darkened room, spreading halfway across the lump laying in the bed. Though the plant was blocking Clover’s upper half, Qrow noticed how the blankets at the end of the bed were spilling down the side, probably kicked off from the same feverish fits that had bothered him during the evening. Qrow also spotted how the man’s left pant leg had rolled up, revealing the same rash he’d seen before was now spreading along the calf. He twittered anxiously, hopping to a higher pane to get a good look at the man’s face.

Red took up his vision like a blooming scarlet rose.

He hopped off with a squawk of panic, speeding back to the window. In his panic, he shifted too soon, grunting as his ribs collided with the sill, knees cracking against the wall outside. Ignoring the sting, he scrambled over, landing inside and taking the stairs two at a time until he was stumbling back out in the hallway. As he sprinted down it, he yanked out his scroll, hitting redial on one of the top recent contacts.

It felt like forever before James answered, voice thick with exhaustion, “Qrow? What are-”

He cut him off with a shout, “James! I need you to give me the code to Clover’s room, now!”

“What?” The general seemed to snap to attention, tone shifting from sleepy to alarmed. “Why? What’s happening?”

“He’s bleeding!” The vision filled his head again. Red, so much red, pooling around Clover’s head and soaking his pillow. Like he’d been stabbed. Or shot. The image was so jarring, he almost missed the door, skidding to a stop and slamming his fist against it. If only Harbinger wasn’t still back at his place, he wouldn’t have even bothered with the call. “Give me the damn code already! Hurry!”

Rather than a verbal response, there was a click from the panel and then the door flung open seemingly by itself.

Qrow didn’t question it, rushing inside. He put his scroll onto speaker mode before tossing it on the bed as he rounded it. He pulled down the blankets to check for other wounds while his other hand pressed against the man’s pulse point. Everything looked normal, though he spotted more of that rash outbreaking along his collarbone.

“There’s a medical team on the way. Qrow, talk to me. What are his vitals?” His friend called.

“Heartbeat’s too fast and irregular.” He replied, grateful for something to focus on. He shifted to Clover’s face and, this close, he realized the blood wasn’t quite as copious as his fearful mind had conjured up. There was splatters of it here and there, like blots of red ink, and a circular splotch surrounding the middle to lower half of the man’s face. “Not losing as much blood as I thought.”

“Where’s the wound?”

He squinted, seeing a lot of it congealed onto his upper lip and announced faintly, “It’s uh… it’s a nosebleed.”

He was allowed to feel a little foolish for about two seconds, before James spoke up, “Is he awake?”

“No.”

“That’s not normal. Clover’s a light sleeper, he should have woken up when you walked in.”

Qrow took that in, before he shook the man’s shoulder, softly at first then, when it failed to do anything, harder. “Clover? Hey, come on, get up.” The other man didn’t even seem to stir. “Nothing, he’s out cold.”

He heard James curse softly, the only sign of his own worry that he quickly stamped back down. “Breathing? Eyes?”

“Breathing’s labored, pretty raspy.” He gently pulled back an eyelid, seeing the pupil constrict as the light hit it. “But eyes are dilating.” That was good. That meant his mind was still working. He rested a hand along his chest, trying to feel if maybe fluid had built up in his lungs, only to frown when he noticed something else. “His heart’s not doing good James. It’s going way too fast. This can’t just be a sickness, right?”

“I don’t know.” He replied honestly. “But I’m forwarding this to the medical ward. They’ll know what to do.”

Qrow took a deep breath. “Okay. What else should I do?”

“Just stay with him. The team should be there soon to bring him down.” A pause. “And I’m right here too.”

Two emotions hit him in rapid succession. The first was relief, knowing he could count on James to keep him calm if Clover started to die right in front of him or something. The second was guilt. He’d spent so much time doubting James’ aims but, bullheaded methods aside, in the end, he was still a good man willing to look out for the people around him.

It made Qrow wonder how he’d ever jumped to the conclusions he had. Was he just becoming just like Oz? So suspicious of everyone around him, that he refused to trust anyone?

As he heard rapid footfalls coming down the hall, he made a silent vow to talk to Ruby after all this was over.

Throughout his travels, Qrow had met many people and, with a lifestyle like his, quite a few of those chance meetings were with folks in the medical profession. Yet, none of them quite matched the quick efficiency and brutal tongue-lashing of Dr. Callister. She was quite frankly a little intimidating, especially when after she was done commanding her staff to get this machine working or that test done, she whirled on him to grill him for all he was worth. And once he was done answering her questions, she promptly kicked him out of the room with sharp orders to stay out of her way or else.

That was why, when the General arrived, he found Qrow sulking outside in the hall like a delinquent waiting to be called in to the principal’s office.

“I see you’ve met Dr. Callister. She’s quite proficient, isn’t she?” James observed.

He did not at all appreciate the slight humor in his tone. “Woman’s a witch.” He pushed off from the wall, demanding, “And where have you been? It’s been, like, an hour!”

In answer, the man pulled out his scroll, the holo display showing a message having been received only minutes ago. “Updates take time and I had other arrangements to attend to, so I asked to be notified when something more concrete was known.”

He was tempted to call his friend out on turning a medical crisis into something he just ‘fit’ into his schedule, but the excited texts he’d been receiving from his nieces told him just what else his friend had been doing. “Like giving the kids the day off?”

“We don’t know whether Clover’s ailment is natural or not. Until we do, proper precautions aren’t ill-advised.” James replied.

Qrow frowned, mulling that over. Salem certainly would stand to gain a lot of headway by eliminating Clover, taking out the Ace-Op’s leader and James’ right hand in one fell swoop. It would completely shake the Atlas inner circle with an equal devastation to knocking down a load-bearing wall in a building. Yet, even if that was her aim, it didn’t really add up. If she had that kind of power, why stop at Clover? Why not just take out the headmaster himself? Or better yet, all of them?

He didn’t get a chance to broach his thoughts before the door was sliding open and the good doctor came marching out.

“Ah, Anora! So lovely to-”

“Don’t you Anora me, James.” She cut him off as she came to stand before him, her eyes ablaze. “Would you care to tell me why I was not properly informed of Captain Ebi’s condition sooner?”

“I, uh, well-”

Wow. And he thought Glynda was the only one who could strike James speechless.

“More importantly,” She continued on as if her commanding officer wasn’t even speaking, “Why was he allowed to go untreated six weeks ago?”

That drew the General to attention, a severe look crossing over his features. “He informed me he had gone to see you.”

“And yet, you failed to verify that with me?”

Having heard just about enough, Qrow cut in sharply, “Hey doc, if you didn’t happen to notice, the General’s been a bit busy handling – oh, I don’t know. Everything.” He waved a hand dismissively. “So the boy scout missed a doctor’s appointment, what’s the big deal?”

He kind of regret speaking when she whirled on him. “The big deal is Mr.-?”

“Qrow.”

“Mr. Qrow,” She continued without missing a beat, “Is that Clover is notorious for ignoring his own health needs to a near foolhardy degree. The General here is quite aware of that fact, and is supposed to inform me whenever I am to expect him in my office so that we assure he doesn’t skip it.”

He snorted. That sounded ridiculous. “What? Is he afraid of needles or something?”

“I believe we’re getting off track.” James intervened hurriedly. “Anora, what is Clover’s status?”

Oh. Qrow realized, side-eyeing his friend. There was something he didn’t want him to know.

His attention fell back to the doctor as she spoke up. “Currently stable. We’re managed to bring him back to consciousness, though he’s very disoriented and weak. It’s one of the most severe cases of Rheumatic fever I’ve ever seen.”

The only indication he had that whatever had just been said was bad was in the way James tensed up beside him.

“Uh, hey doc?” Qrow rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Mind explaining that for those of us less cognitively gifted?”

By gods, the woman could smile. “It’s a disease that can develop when strep throat goes untreated. You recall informing me that Clover had expressed to you he’d been ill a few weeks ago as well, yes?”

“Yeah?” He also remembered the way Dr. Callister’s eyes had lit up in sudden realization over what he had believed to be entirely useless information.

“Well, six weeks ago, I also just happened to be dealing with a rather rampant number of cases of strep throat among the facility and students. Not unusual, it’s a highly contagious infection. But it can only be properly treated with antibiotics. Clover was among the ones afflicted, but because he failed to seek treatment, it resulted in a new complication.”

He frowned, not liking where this was going. “This Rue-fever thing?”

“Precisely. Everything you’d listed out matched up.” She rose a hand, ticking the fingers off as she listed them, “Fever. Rashes. Joint pain. Jerky movements. Nosebleeds. So, I had my staff do a throat swab, and we got a positive on the streptococcus bacteria. I’ve already got him on the first dose antibiotics.”

“That’s good then, right? Pop a few pills and he’ll be good as new.”

James was the one to speak up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s… not so simple. Rheumatic fever damages the heart.”

He didn’t need to have a doctorate to know that was bad. “Wait, what?! So he was having a heart attack?”

The doctor shook her head. “Nothing quite so dramatic; at least, not right now. Though, the tissue decay can weaken the valves or muscle itself and that can cause future issues. Rest assured, we’re monitoring it closely and if further treatment is needed or even surgery-”

Surgery?!

“-He’ll be in the best of care.”

Qrow felt like the whole world had shaken underneath him.

However, James, whose own heart was nothing more than metal and oil, merely nodded. “I know he will be Anora. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“As much as the flattery is appreciated, you’ll find it will get you nowhere.” She said, donning her rough exterior once more. “I am going to make it very clear this cannot happen again. So, I don’t know what sense you need to knock into that boy, but do it.”

“I… will discuss it with him.”

“See that you do. And give this one a raise.” She waved vaguely in Qrow’s direction. “Clover certainly would have been worse off had he not been around.”

He blinked. Now that was a sentence he never thought he’d hear.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me gentleman, I have my duties to attend to. I’ll inform you of any updates and when he’s ready for visitors.”

Without further ado, the woman about-faced, heading back to her office without so much as a dismissal. In the silence left in her wake, Qrow could only find one word to accurately describe the whole situation.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

He glanced over at James, seeing the man sag some as he allowed himself to feel the weight of the world for a minute. Strangely, he was reminded of Oz; airing on an infallible image to most, but in private and trusted company, allowed for some of the cracks to show.

“Hey,” He reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know this isn’t on you, right?”

A sigh. “The wellbeing of my team should always be a top priority. I should have known better.”

“You still can’t expect to control anyone’s choices. Clover was the one who decided.” And almost died for it, Qrow thought but didn’t add. “What’s his deal anyways? He’s not actually needle-phobic, is he?”

James chuckled softly. “No. And I’m afraid that’s not something I’m at liberty to share freely. Although…” He eyed him over thoughtfully. “You two have certainly grown close.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say that.” He shifted away to lean back against the wall. “I mean, sure I guess we’ve talked a lot but, well, those rides to Amity are long and boring is all.”

“Qrow, in all the years I have known him, Clover has never been open to sharing with anyone when he’s ill.”

He knew what James was trying to imply, but the feeling of being ‘special’ to someone was so foreign it just felt uncomfortable to fathom. Besides, it wasn’t exactly like he’d come across that knowledge honestly. He slid down a bit, crossing his arms. “Was probably just the fever getting to his head.”

“I suppose anything’s possible.” He hummed. “I really must get back, but I’ll keep you updated on his condition.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“And Qrow?” The knowing look James shot him was more powerful than one from his revolver. “If you want to know for sure, I suggest you ask him yourself.”

As his friend retreated down the hall, Qrow was left wondering if he’d been talking about Clover’s strange phobia or his feelings for him.

His chance came 36 hours later. He was just dragging his feet through the doorway of the academy after a rather brutal series of Grimm extraction missions, when a ping on his scroll alerted him to the news.

Clover’s awake and doing well. Already gone to visit. He’s in room 7A.

He glanced up from James’ message, calling, “You kids go on ahead. I got something to take care of.”

“But Uncle Qrow!” Ruby said as she bounced on her heels, still hyped up on adrenalin. “Oscar says they have strawberry cake in the mess hall!”

“Save me a piece.” He waved over his shoulder as he headed down the hall. Faintly, he thought he may have heard Weiss’ muttering that she’d make no such promise if Nora arrived. He chuckled, certain his waistline wouldn’t miss the 60 grams of sugar.

Besides, Qrow found his appetite mysteriously disappearing as he approached the medical wing. He followed the directions given to him by the receptionist to room 7A, pausing outside the door in a panic as he wondered if maybe he should have brought something. Didn’t people usually buy gifts or flowers? Desperately, he snatched up the first thing he could spot – a handful of fake begonias sitting in a vase on a utility cart, before he made his way inside.

Streamlined for efficiency, the small room offered little beyond a window to look out at the night sky, a closet-sized bathroom, and a corner-mounted TV. The rest of the space was filled with the necessities every hospital seemed to have: a series of machines placed around or mounted onto walls, various jarred items like swabs and cotton balls organized on a counter, an IV stand, and a wheel-around bed. Which, of course, held only one occupant.

Clover was resting on his back, in nothing but a light green hospital gown that, oddly, seemed to suit him. Wires ran underneath the fabric and the steady beep that filled the air gave away where they were attached to. One arm had a steady IV drip going through it, but the other he had hovering above his face. His fingers were jerking about in such a manner it almost made him look possessed. So intent on what he was doing, he hadn’t even noticed he had a guest, until Qrow finally announced his presence.

“Trying to puppeteer your face?”

“Oh!” Clover started, head swiveling about, a brief jump to the heart monitor giving away his startlement. “Qrow! I, uh, wasn’t expecting you.”

“No one ever is.” He crossed over to plop into the only chair in the room. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. I’m great!” He said a little too quickly as he sat up with some effort. “Just have a lingering pins and needles effect in my arms and legs, but Dr. Callister says that’s normal.”

That explained the weird voodoo motions.

Before he could think to pry, Clover pointed down at the flowers, asking, “Are those for me?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Here!” Qrow practically shoved the bouquet in his face. “Get well and all that.”

Those unfairly fetching green eyes peered at him over the pale pink blossoms before reaching up to take them. “Thanks.” He brought them close, as if to smell them, only to pause in confusion. “They’re… fake?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, struggling for a plausible excuse that wasn’t ‘I stole them’. “Well yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were allergic so I, um…”

“Hedged your bets?” Clover supplied with a grin.

“Hah. Funny.” He made a mental note to never leave him, Tai and Yang in a room together. They’d probably have a pun off.

Chuckling, Clover dropped the flowers into his lap. “Well, it was very thoughtful.” He heaved a long sigh, resting back against his pillows. Despite all his assurances, he already looked exhausted.

Like the night before. Qrow took the easy out as he looked around the room. “Hey why don’t we try to finish up that season of Border Control? They were just about to unravel that cipher in the diary and – oh, there’s the remote.” He stretched his arm to reach the little stand by the bed, plucking the device from the plastic organizer it was housed in. He took note that it was filled with a few of Clover’s personal items, like his pin. As he pulled it back, the remote snagged the corner of it, tipping it over and spilling the contents across the table and floor. “Ah, shit!”

He overturned his own chair as he dove across the floor to catch the man’s scroll as it skidded over the edge. A second later, he was dinged on the head by the stupid pin and then the plastic organizer. He grumbled, rubbing his head in irritation as he picked himself up off the floor and started to put everything back together.

Clover still must have been delirious, because for some reason he found the whole thing hilarious.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Yuk it up hyena.”

He reached down to pick up a piece of paper that had been pushed off by everything else. The Atlas military insignia caught his eye. Try as he might, it was hard to miss the gigantic, scripted header, bolded for emphasis. He sucked in a breath as the words sunk in:

Letter of Reprimand

The room had gone quiet.

Beyond sneaking a peek at the familiar signature at the bottom, he didn’t dare delve into the paragraphs, merely setting it aside with a scoff. “Can’t believe Jimmy gave you a warning while you’re still recovering.”

“Yes, well,” Cover idly fiddled with the stem of one of the flowers, gaze distant. “It’s not anything I didn’t earn.”

“How so?” He asked, feigning ignorance as he righted the chair and sat back down.

“Remember when I told you I was sick a few weeks ago? Well that and this are related. And I maybe, kind of, didn’t show when the General ordered me to get checked out.”

Qrow lent forward, scanning his face as he asked, “You, boy scout? Disobeying an order? I don’t believe it. What could possibly get you to do that?”

For the first time since they’d met, he saw the easygoing attitude the man wore like a shield crack as Clover ran a hand over his face, his sigh bordering frustration. “I just – It’s really ridiculous. But I feel guilty, coming here.”

He blinked.

That was not at all what he had expected.

“Why?” When his question was only met with tentative silence, he backtracked, “I mean – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying into your personal business. You don’t have to tell me.”

Clover shook his head. “It’s not that. I just, it’s really dumb, Qrow. You’re going to think I’m a moron.”

“Okay, let’s shake on it.” He held out a hand.

The soldier looked at it, then him, curiously.

“If it’s as dumb as you say it is, then I’ll tell you something stupid I’ve done in my life. Fair?”

Being a spy for as many years as he had had taught Qrow the unconscious skill of getting people to talk when his bird form wasn’t enough to get what he needed. Oftentimes, that involved getting people into a position where they both felt comfortable and loose, but not vulnerable. Bars tended to create that atmosphere quickly, and loosen the tongue twice as fast.

But sometimes, he reminded himself as Clover grasped his hand, his methods were more honest than others.

“Okay. Deal.” As he drew back, he took a moment to gather his thoughts, before finally saying, “Do you remember yesterday, when I told you about the sanctuary? Truth is, that was my home. It wasn’t terrible, or anything. We had beds and food and an okay school system. But…” His gaze dropped back to the flowers, rubbing the petals between his fingers.

A nervous habit, Qrow realized. Maybe that was why he wore so many trinkets.

“But?” He finally pushed as the quiet drew on.

“They… weren’t well funded back then, if I’m being completely honest. Especially the ones in Mantle. A lot of our furniture was rickety or uncomfortable. Almost every toy was broken. And I don’t think my clothes ever fit properly until I made it to the academy.” Clover grimaced. “I mean! Things are way better now, of course. James convinced the council years ago to shift the budget. Though, I may or may not have given him a… gentle suggestion on that.” He didn’t seem so hard up on this fact, puffing out in pride. It was kind of adorable. “I went by the old place a year ago. It’s all fixed up with new paint and everything! Even some playground equipment.”

“But that’s why you feel guilty coming here, because it’s too expensive?” He guessed, trying to work with the weaves of information he was being given. But something still didn’t feel quite right.

The way the other’s smile shifted tensely told him that feeling was spot on. “No. I mean, we didn’t have regular doctor’s appointments or anything, but Sister Lisa really did try her best to make sure we stayed healthy.” His hand clenched around a blossom. “Everyone except me.”

A terrible, sinking feeling filled him as the missing piece fell into place.

Qrow breathed out slow. “When did you find out you had a good luck semblance, Clover?”

“I’ve had it as long as I can remember.” His whole body slumped, like he’d finally lifted off a great weight and could finally relax. “I knew you’d understand.”

He did – or at least, he was starting to. There were a lot of textual accounts of kids, even toddlers, inadvertently unlocking semblances when under duress. Orphans were often the number one case of this particular phenomenon, as over half of them found their way into the system after Grimm attacks.

Qrow had been ironically lucky. His own semblance had come about when he was a teenager. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have survived his childhood had he found out sooner. But he remembered how easily he became the black sheep to his people. Every little thing that went wrong was suddenly his fault and any instance of someone falling ill was on him. Those events had still left their scars and misgivings, things that went deep and were hard to undo and some days all he could tell himself was that sometimes, bad things just happened.

Clover was the case of what one would do with someone with the opposite of that ability and discovered it young.

“So, when you’d get ill, your caretaker decided your luck was enough to keep you well. I’d bet you got in trouble if you even tried to take something for yourself too.” He surmised.

“Basically, yeah.” Sheepishly, he rubbed the side of his neck. “Told you it was stupid.”

He pressed his lips together, a protective anger spilling the words out in a heated rush, “I wouldn’t call it that. But I would call it child abuse.”

Sharp as it was, Clover didn’t flinch back. “Yeah. Yeah it was. But that’s not what I meant.” He rose his head, finally meeting his eyes. “Did you know I got my first and second demerit because I wouldn’t go to the regular checkups Atlas academy students are required to be present for? And, the first time I got sick when I actually had some money to blow, I went out and bought some aspirin. But I felt so awful for doing it, thinking I was taking it from someone who needed it, that I slipped it into some other kid’s bag.”

“But Clover, that’s-” Qrow tried, but Clover wasn’t done as he gestured wildly to the room around them.

“Even this place! I almost died, yet the longer I sit here the worse off I feel because I can’t stop thinking: what if someone else needs it more? It’s pathetic!” He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, tugging at his hair. “I’m thirty-nine year’s old! I should be over this. But I can’t-”

He never found out what Clover couldn’t do, because, without even thinking it entirely through, Qrow had reached out, grasping his other hand in both of his. “Hey, stop. Breathe for a second, okay?”

“But I-”

“Breathe, boy scout.” When it seemed the other was taking his advice, he lessened his iron grip some, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “Now look, I might not know everything, but I sure as heck know this – you’re not less of a person just because you can’t get past a bad experience.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I should know. I got about half a dozen of those hang-ups.”

The side of Clover’s mouth twitched upwards. “Like accepting compliments.”

Well. He supposed it was only fair. “More like accepting praise. When I was a teenager, the people I was around sometimes literally beat the idea into me that I couldn’t do anything right, until I just thought that was the truth. It was so bad, that by the time I got to Beacon, being told I’d done a good job actually caused me to have these weird anxiety fits.”

Their grips changed, Clover now the one holding his hand.

“It took years of reconditioning to break that response and even now, I sometimes still struggle with accepting praise of any kind.” Qrow scanned the other’s face, reading nothing there but sympathy. “So yeah, some things are hard to get over, especially if it was caused by something that was supposed to make you special.”

It was almost funny to think that there was once a time he’d been excited to discover he had a semblance and what it was.

Clover sighed, head drooping. “What if I can’t ever get over it?”

“Then all you can do is learn to deal with it best you can. Just know that that’s okay.”

There was a long moment as he seemed to take that in, before finally saying, “Yeah, I’ll try to remember that. And…” He looked up. “Thanks, for listening.”

“Thanks for trusting me.” He replied, unconsciously squeezing his grip.

As one, they looked down at where their hands were joined.

Also as one, they both jerked away, faces flaming up.

“O-Oh, sorry I was just-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

Their voices stumbled together, only for them both to pause at the same moment, staring.

Then the room steadily filled with the combined sound of their embarrassed laughter, Clover trying to stifle his behind his hand while Qrow rubbed the back of his neck.

“Man, what a day right?” He was the first to say.

Clover’s smile was soft. “A surprisingly good one.”

“You’ve spent half of it unconscious so… yeah I guess it would be for you.”

He tossed a flower at him. “Oh stop. Come on, let’s watch that episode already.”

“Gladly.” This time Qrow got the remote without incident. He shifted his chair around to face the TV, placing it closer to the bed. As he started to scour through the listings for their show, he couldn’t help but say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why trust me? This whole thing seems like something you’d rather keep under wraps and it’s not like we’ve known each other that long. For all you know, I’m gonna go blab this to everyone who frequents the water cooler.” He tilted his head back, asking again, “So, why me?”

Clover merely arched a brow. “Because we’re partners, aren’t we?”

“Doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“True.” He conceded. “But I have to trust you with way more on the field than I do with my personal life. Isn’t that why you told me what your semblance was?”

Qrow faltered, dropping his gaze to the tiled floor. “I just wanted you to be on guard when around me.”

“It was still hard for you, right?”

“Sure but still, what you told me wasn’t relevant to the job.”

“Neither was your sobriety.” Was the cheeky reply. “Yet, it’s all relevant to our relationship. I want to get closer to you Qrow.”

Oh. He flushed a bit, averting his face to hide the silly grin he could feel on his face.

“That’s not gonna happen if I don’t trust you. Sure, maybe you might go telling my secrets to the world, but if I don’t risk them, then nothing will ever go anywhere. And at its core, isn’t that what trust is? A risk.” Those words made him look up, the sincerity in Clover’s smile making his heart jump. “So… you willing to risk it with me?”

Was he? It had been a long time since he’d taken that step with anyone.

Yet as their gazes met once more, the fears that normally held him back seemed to crumble so easily in the wake of those kind teal eyes, guiding him in like a gentle ocean tide.

“Yeah.” He finally said. “I think I am.”

It wasn’t the only one he decided then and there it was time to take.

The next morning, Qrow strolled into Jimmy’s office, Ruby and Oscar at his heels.

The General had his head buried in a holographic replica of Amity Tower, scouring over the progress data – but at their entrance, he minimized the diagram, getting to his feet. “Ah, good morning. What brings you three here?”

Gut twisting with nerves, he paused at the foot of the stairs, looking between the kids that flanked either side of him.

Ruby smiled.

Oscar nodded.

He took a breath, then faced the man head on.

“Hey James. We gotta talk.”

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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theindigoflirt · 4 years ago

Note

🎄"Care to explain this, Inigo?" Owain waves what is, unmistakably, a bunch of mistletoe tied to a string in front of the student's face. He frowns. "I'm no fool; I know the nefarious things the leaves of mistletoe imply. I found these hanging around all sorts of places... is all this foolery part of your desperate scheme to get kissed by a pretty lady?"

A Mistletoe Kiss!

Okay, so maybe he hung some mistletoe around the monastery, and maybe some other students decided to get in on the trend, though he shouldn’t stand here and be yelled at for it!

Inigo crosses his arms, barely even flinching at Owain’s theatrics. “Nefarious? Owain, please. I am not desperate! Simply taking advantage of the holiday spirit! And if pretty lady just so happens to pass by...well, we have to observe traditions, no?”

Unfortunately for both of them, Owain was neither pretty nor a lady. “Now stop scaring off all the girls! Don’t you have to go shout some ridiculous names in the training hall?” Inigo’s gonna regret this. He knows it the moment the thought pops into his head. But messing with Owain is just so much fun.

“I think you still need to work on “Eternal Chastity”. Love to help, but a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” With a wide grin, Inigo flees.

#mistletoe kiss #mik i am SO SORRY #I LOVE YOU AND UR SON #blarflame #did i make you smile? [asks]

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unpopularly-opinionated · 5 years ago

Text

RE: My post earlier about the Ooblets Epic Games Exclusive backlash.

I’m not going to show the Twitter user, if you follow the indie game development scene on Twitter it’s likely you’ll recognize this tweet, either way that’s not who I am. The Ooblet’s account on the other hand is fair-game since it’s basically a product placement.

I feel it needs reiterating how utterly dense this kind of tweet is, and how completely skewed the narrative for this issue has gotten, so let me reiterate in obnoxiously large and emboldened font to try and get the point across:

THE GAMING COMMUNITY IS NOT TOXIC

“Honesty” and “transparency” are all well and good, but unless you’re honestly trying to drive away your own community, perhaps you should try being a little less honest and a little less transparent. No one (or I guess no one but this guy and the few who agree with him) is going to thank you for honestly throwing them under the proverbial bus after they’ve spent months, if not years, supporting your project; your dream.

I’ve heard from others that “this is just how they write” and “it’s meant to be funny”, and to an extent, I can understand that. But let me just include some screenshots from the post in question to reiterate my point, because I feel like my previous post didn’t quite get the point across:

(Context: What the Epic Games Exclusivity Deal means for you, the fan and/or financial backer of Ooblets).

I get that the Fortnite bit is the joke, ha ha, Fortnite used to be wildly popular, I get it, good meme. What isn’t the joke, and what was part of why people got upset was the first bit, specifically the “download the Epic Games Launcher and make an Epic Games account” bit, that bit.

Now, I personally have no qualms about having the Epic Games Launcher on my PC. I have long since looked beyond the ‘scandal’ of tech companies saving and selling my data to distant lands to be used for nefarious moneymaking schemes. Is it bad? Sure, maybe. Would I prevent it had I the chance? Of course. Do I have that chance? Not a chance in the world, so I decide to live with it.

That said, many others have not reached that point of fuck it, and understandably so. I hit that point because of my negative outlook on society as a whole but, praise be, there are in fact still some optimists out there who look at these shitty corporate tactics and say no to them, and good on them for that.

That is what I would say is the bulk of the primary issues people have with the Epic Games Store. The missing features bits aren’t terribly important, as even this post says, if you have a social life on Steam, then use Steam. The EGS does not need to be your do-all replacement.

This is where the post should have stopped. Here and now, had this post ended, any and all issues with this decision would have been but a whisper in the wind. As I said in my previous post, yes they undoubtedly would have received plenty of critical, and non-critical backlash for the decision regardless, but ending the post here would’ve 100% put the developers on the right side in this situation and I’d be right up there agreeing with that tweet.

(Context: Are you angry at Epic and/or us for this decision?)

Referring to earlier when I said that playful tone and humour are all fine and dandy, I understand that this is probably meant to sound playful and humourous, but it comes across as largely self-important and ignorant, and the bits that follow do in no way dissuade from that appearance.

While my response to this complaint was similar to their own, in that you should just use Steam for the features that the Epic Games Store lacks, they go on to essentially say that this is just baby EGS and that Steam used to be just like it and look at it now.

While they aren’t technically wrong, from a development point of view, the big thing they need to understand is how web standards have dramatically changed since 2003 when the Steam store launched. Launching a store, of any variety, without a shopping cart is a big no-no.

As far as missing features go, that’s not like missing a friends list or a IM feature, that’s missing a crucial part of a web-based storefront. Imagine going to a store and only be allowed to purchase one thing at a time, that would be ridiculous.

Their response to this was as corporate as any triple-A publisher, or really any corporation at all, from any industry. Just a complete disconnect from society that frankly is unwarranted from what is quite literally a two person operation. Not to mention, their response is quite literally what every parent warns their kids about at a young age. “But mooooooooooooom, everyone is doing it!!!!” Yes sweetie, but if everyone jumps off a bridge, are you going to?

Apparently, yes.

And not to discount the idea of making money, by all means make money, but let me put it this way, had they left this post exactly where I said they should have previously, all of the blame would be at Epic’s feet. Because at the end of the day, having your game be exclusive to one service does not make you money, it makes them money. So this whole “everyone is doing it” schtick doesn’t fly when coming from the developers. Had this been a post by Epic (and frankly with all the shilling I could be convinced it was from them) then this argument might have made just a tiny bit more sense.

Underlined in yellow are the jokes; the “playful” and “humourous” attitude I’ve heard so much about. Underlined in red however, are what the developers are actually genuinely saying with complete and utter seriousness.

“There are worse things in the world to be upset about.” I kid you not, that’s their argument.

Now, all of that reiterated, to get to the actual point of this post (wish Tumblr let you do multiple “Keep Reading” lines but I digress), the article linked in the tweet here is about the previous “non-critical” backlash I mentioned they’d receive, though multiplied exponentially by their horrendous blog post, and further community responses to said blog post.

I’d like to refer to a completely unrelated post I made quite a while ago that really needs to spread like wildfire if you ask me:

RECEIVING INSULTS, UNCRITICAL FEEDBACK, AND/OR DEATH THREATS DOES NOT INVALIDATE THE CRITICAL FEEDBACK NOR THE ISSUE AT HAND.

I am by no means wiping away death threats or mean words as things to scoff at, by all means take them as seriously as you will, but under no circumstances should 20+ people telling you to kill yourself invalidate the hundreds of fans and financial backers who are upset with your recent financial decision, or your response to criticisms to those decisions.

This happens time and time and time again. Someone of note does something bad, for one reason or another, and instead of responding to the completely warranted and justified criticism and feedback they instead play up the 15+ people who IM’d them to drink bleach and throw it up as “an example of the ever present toxic gaming community”.

More or less, the substance to this article is their “apology”, and I use that term very loosely but I’ll get to that, to the community at large for the recent events. The post summarizes the issue from their (biased) perspective, posts some screenshots of the colourful responses they’ve received, the usual woe-is-me schtick.

I’d like to highlight a few bits from it to further exemplify the continued mindset of these people:

I have given the full context to this next statement with these screenshots so that I can now take parts of these statements out of their context to, at least to my belief, succinctly identify the mindset of these folks:

“I understand the relationship people think they might be owed when they exchanged money for goods or services, but...we’ve never actually sold them anything and don’t owe them anything at all.”

I don’t want to get off-topic any more than necessary, but this, this right here is why fundraisers, Kickstarters, GoFundMes, Patreon subscriptions, or any other form of crowdsourcing platforms need to be handled with extreme care. I hesitate to say regulated legally, but I am by no means opposed to that idea.

I want to express this carefully and plainly: LEGALLY, yes they are absolutely right that they do not owe anyone anything. At least to my knowledge, they didn’t have a formal Kickstarter, their financial backing came primarily from whatever it is they do for a living AND the support of their Patreon backers.

And while I do not feel that it needs addressing, for the sake of consistency I will address it: MORALLY they owe the game to anyone who financially supported them with the express purpose of developing the game.

“We definitely owe all of you who supported us, but also fuck off you entitled cunts because we don’t owe you shit.”

When in the face of well-deserved criticism, deflect deflect deflect. As if a broken record, I’d like to again emphasize that yes, legally they owe no one anything. Morally, they do. Legally, they don’t. Morally, yes. Legally, no.

This, in essence, is a response to the majority of people who are like me, who aren’t screaming vitriolic personable attacks, telling them to drink bleach, long jog off a short pier, the works. Essentially: “If you aren’t with us, then you’re against us.”

Because apparently pointing out your blatant mischaracterisation of the gaming community, your outrageously awful personal relations skills, and most especially your morally bankrupt understanding of the relationship between you and the people financially supporting your passion project means we are, by their logic, on a level equivalent in nature to the 10+ people telling them to drink bleach.

Fixed for typos:

Remember how I said this was an “apology” in the loosest form, well what I was referring to was how in the beginning during their (totally unbiased) summary of the events, they more or less said “Sorry you didn’t respond the way we wanted you to.” Beyond that, yeah, it’s not an apology.

And why would we expect one? Nothing they have spat out in the face of their fans so far has even a hint of self-realization or self-reflection in it. Even their acknowledgement of their (horrendously under exaggerated) bad PR skills comes across as a hollow acknowledgement, if it can even be referred to as an acknowledgement at all, because if you truly truly acknowledged it, then this post wouldn’t exist.

As to this anti-Semitic fabrication making the rounds, I have not seen it so I will take their word for it that they did not make one, especially since I have seen fabricated evidence involving Discord messages rearranged out of order. What I feel needs addressing specifically in this chunk though is his reference to “my messages taken out of context to insinuate I don’t care about our patrons/fans”, because if you’ve seen my previous post then you’ll know no amount of context makes this statement look good:

Sure, it’s a true statement of fact now that they have Epic’s money, but it’s fairly obvious that it reads “We have Epic’s money now, we don’t need you anymore.” I’m sure they didn’t mean that, but that when combined with their other statements regarding how they don’t owe their patrons anything, what they are saying is clear as day.

But hey, credit where credit is due, at least with this we can agree:

But of course, as these people are now infamously known for not ending their posts where they reasonably should...

Now I know how much money goodwill, faith, and morals make, and again I would fully expect this kind of response from the likes of EA, Ubisoft, Bethesda, or fuck even Amazon or Facebook to show that corporate greed has no industry bounds, but this is a two person team whose passion project is to make this game which is being financially supported by loyal fans and future customers.

And that’s just it, that is the mind-boggling part to me, that this is all just the self-important, mischaracterising, morally bankrupt, and childishly ignorant ramblings of a small little husband and wife duo.

In summary...

As was said in the blog post, I’m sure that looking from the outside in we don’t get to see the full scope of the vitriolic comments they’re receiving, so to that I give them credit, and the most sincerest of apologies. I’ve received a few death threats and vitriolic hate-filed messages in my time on the internet, and while personally I am unphase by them, I can fully understand that it can be damaging to one’s self-esteem and self-confidence, especially when it comes in relation to your passion project. I am sorry.

But unwarranted, hate-filled, vitriolic, suicide-baiting messages do not invalid those of us criticizing you for the things that you did do, the words that you did say, and the actions that you did take. I mentioned this in my previous post, but as it stands, the centerpiece to this issue isn’t even about the Epic Exclusivity Deal anymore, it’s about you. You and your treatment, of not just the community at large (for which, might I add, is your primary customer base), but of your treatment towards your loyal fans and financial supporters along the way.

You, for whatever reason, act as most of us have come to expect a soulless and faceless triple-A publisher would, when in fact you are just a two person team with public faces. You’re taking the shots that the likes of EA, Activision, or Bethesda would and have taken, but you’re forgetting that it is above and beyond easier to find you then it is to find them.

All we, but more importantly your fans want from you is for you to make the best game that we all know you’re capable of. And for those who supported you this far along the way to be given even an ounce of respect, despite you not needing their support anymore.

#long post #seriously don't click keep reading unless you really want to read this #it's stupid long #ooblets #indie games #indie developers #video game development #random rant

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years ago

Text

Psycho Analysis: Giovanni

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Over the years, Pokemon has had a great many antagonists and a great many evil teams, but few have ever surpassed the sheer notoriety of Team Rocket. And at the very top of Team Rocket is the man, the myth, the legend: Giovanni. The Viridian City gym leader as well as the head of an international pet-stealing criminal organization, Giovanni is the original twist villain of the franchise, with his ultimate role as the final gym leader of the Generation I games likely coming as a shock to many players back in the 90s. But what is it about Giovanni that has kept him as such an enduring foe of the franchise to the point that he helped send the franchise off in a blaze of glory at the end of Generation VII, letting them transition from handheld to hybrid consoles?

Motivation/Goals: Part of what makes Giovanni so unique is that he, by the incredibly simple nature of the Generation I games, has an incredibly simple goal: make money and steal Pokemon. That’s basically all Team Rocket does, to the point they kill Pokemon and harass anyone who gets in their way. The thing is, over time and through the dozens of remakes, Giovanni’s true goal has been hinted at and reimagined in numerous ways. The most impressive reimagining is his role in the Rainbow Rocket postgame questline in Ultra Sun/Ultra Moon, in which he gathers versions of all the franchise’s villains from across the multiverse into one team and tries to conquer Alola. Here, it is revealed that he has Mewtwo on his team, which seems to imply that, at least in the timeline established from Gen VI until this point, that Giovanni’s true goal was in line with his anime counterpart’s and that he had a hand in the creation of Mewtwo for his own nefarious purposes. Whether this is true in games like the Generation I games and their remakes is pretty much up in the air and open to interpretation, but one thing is for sure: Giovanni wants power, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Personality: While Ghetsis of all people describes Giovanni as pure evil, Giovanni certainly doesn’t show it. His own men view him as a benevolent boss, and in games like Yellow and the Let’s Go games he pretty much has to be somewhat decent to his employees if he allows goobers like Jessie and James to stay in the ranks despite their incessant blundering. Obviously Giovanni is tough and intense, and if you ask Silver I’m sure you’ll be told he’s not a very good father, but I think there is at least some honorable traits to Giovanni. Even after you defeat him in the Rainbow Rocket plot, he concedes to you gracefully and applauds you for defeating him, showing he is very much not a sore loser as some other villains are.

Final Fate: In Gen I, Giovanni claimed he was going to reform before disappearing, with his presence being felt heavily in the Gen II games as Team Rocket tried and failed to get him to return to lead them again. Later games and the remakes would retcon this, showing that Giovanni would never truly give up on his dreams of conquest, and at least one version of him would go on to be a dimension-hopping menace who attempted to invade the Alola region.

Best Scene: Basically any climactic battle against him, particularly the battle at Silph Co. and his gym in Gen I, his special event battle in the cave by the waterfall in Gen IV, and the final duel against him in the Rainbow Rocket plot of Gen VII. All but the battle in Gen IV are sure to be a tough, challenging duel that will test your skills (unless you packed a Water-type, anyway).

Best Quote: After defeating him during the Rainbow Rocket plot, Giovanni has this to say: "Having a kid stand in front of me like this... Such a thing should never happen. But for some reason, it also makes me feel nostalgic."

As this line comes on the last games to be released on the last true handheld consoles of Nintendo, it feels all the more special and poignant. Giovanni was there at the start, and he was there at the end, bookending the series’ time on handhelds in a way that, yes, does invoke feelings of nostalgia.

Final Thoughts & Score: Giovanni is most definitely a simple villain. But I think that as far as simple villains go, he is a pretty impressive one. I think that because he is so simple and because a lot of his true goals are only hinted at by the games, it allows players to come to their own conclusions about what evil schemes he might have in ways you can’t with the more straightforward and unambiguous villains of later titles like Ghetsis and Lysandre, who spell out their evil plans. Meanwhile, Giovanni here straight up tells you you’re a foolish kid who could never hope to understand what he’s doing and straight up tells you nothing. What a boss.

This will sound strange, but in some ways Giovanni is similar to DIO. Look: he’s a major antagonizing force in the first part, the part that introduces the series (Phantom Blood/Red & Blue), and then his actions loom large over other parts of the franchise (Diamond is Unbreakable, Vento Aureo, and Stone Ocean/Gold, Silver, and Crystal and their remakes), until finally things culminate in a huge, climactic duel that reveals secret parts to his plan no one realized before (Stone Ocean/Rainbow Rocket in Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon). He even has a son who is ultimately a better person than him, though Silver is a hell of a lot crabbier than Giorno. Obviously Giovanni is nowhere near as impressive and iconic as DIO, but for what Giovanni is, he’s still a 10/10.

I think a lot of Giovanni’s enduring appeal is because of the anime, which wisely kept him in the shadows and made him an undeniable badass due to him controlling Mewtwo and constantly be stroking his Persian a la Blofeld. Much like Slade would years later in Teen Titans, the ridiculous amounts of mystery surrounding Giovanni in the anime led to a world of speculation, with some of the more famous theories claiming that he was Ash’s father. Keep in mind, this is a character anyone watching the show would already be familiar with because they already played the games. Still, there’s no denying it was incredibly cool and effective for kids, and thanks to Rainbow Rocket drawing on some elements of the anime version of Giovanni, it’s nice to see the anime have a positive influence on the games as opposed to the stupid Ash Greninja or the numerous Ash hat Pikachus.

Bottom line: Giovanni is a cool, simple villain who does what he does with great style, honor, and intrigue, and as far as starter villains for an RPG franchise go, they don’t get much better than the Big G.

#Psycho Analysis #Giovanni #Pokemon #Red and Blue #Gold and Silver #ultra sun and ultra moon #Team Rocket #Rainbow Rocket

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themurphyzone · 5 years ago

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104 Words for 104 Days: Advice

This was supposed to be a ficlet, but Stacy’s dialogue just ran away with me. This fic takes place after Tales of the Resistance, so Doofenshmirtz is no longer in jail.

Candace Flynn dedicated her life to order and justice. She protected her brothers from the nefarious schemes of the Doofenshmirtz family. She led a group of rebels, knew seventy-five ways to disarm Normbots, and served as a beacon of hope in the chaos of dystopian Danville.

And now here she was, willingly breaking several laws of physics in order to satisfy her own selfish whims.

Since it took an enormous amount of power to travel counterclockwise between dimensions, Isabella and the Firestorm Girls could only perform three reconnaissance missions into the Prime Dimension, but the information they brought back was invaluable.

“We’ve scoped out prime counterpart Candace Gertrude Flynn. She’s in the sophomore class at Danville High School,” Isabella reported. “Associates include prime counterparts Stacy Hirano, Jenny Brown, and Jeremy Johnson.

“Don’t use my middle name under any capacity, Isabella,” Candace commanded as she tugged on a denim jacket.

It felt restricting, but it was necessary. Her normal outfit would be considered a violation of the dress code, and she needed to blend in while talking to the other Candace.

“Of course, Commander,” Isabella replied coolly. “Recon suggests catching Prime Candace between 1:30 and 2:00 pm. She typically excuses herself from class in Room 217 and goes to the large window at the end of the second floor corridor to watch the nearby elementary school for her brothers’ activity. Her associates don’t accompany her on these outings.”

“Good,” Candace said. She glanced in a nearby mirror, making sure the black dye completely covered any sign of her natural hair color. Dyeing hair was something she couldn’t do under Doofenshmirtz’s reign. She’d been meaning to experiment with different colors in her minimal spare time.

“Be careful,” Isabella cautioned.

“I won’t compromise anything except the power grid,” Candace replied.

Five minutes later, Baljeet finished the usual safety checks and opened the portal, which opened in the middle of an empty girl’s bathroom.

Buford and Baljeet let out high-pitched shrieks and dove under the desk.

Candace rolled her eyes. Those two were the perfect brains and brawn team, and Candace had witnessed them tear apart a Normbots factory with nothing but a paperclip and a yardstick, but they couldn’t handle the sight of a girl’s bathroom.

“Isabella and Gretchen. Since those two are…temporarily indisposed…can I trust you to man the controls in the meantime?” Candace asked as she stepped through the portal.

Isabella and Gretchen nodded, the portal fizzling out just as the door opened. Candace immediately dropped into a crouch, regretting that she’d left her bo staff behind.

The newcomer wore a bright blue blouse with a matching skirt, so unlike the dull gray and black outfits of Candace’s home dimension. Candace’s finely-tuned senses screamed at the unnaturalness of this world.

Thanks to the recon team, Candace already knew the girl was another version of Stacy Hirano. Horror slowly dawned Stacy’s face, and she let out a shriek. “Do you have any idea how dirty those floors are? Have you never been inside a high school restroom before?”

Candace never felt the need to step foot inside the rebuilt high school, but she didn’t entertain that with a reply. She stood up, quickly rinsing her hands in a nearby sink.

“Trust me, you don’t want germs all over your denim jacket. It’s cute in a 90s-early 2000s teen way,” Stacy explained as she stopped in front of a restroom stall. Instead of going in, she took out a sharpened pencil and examined the stall door. “Ugh, Mandy’s dating Carlos again. This is the third time they’ve gotten back together this month! When’s that girl gonna learn?”

She scrawled a message under a large pink heart with C + J in the middle of it.

Candace felt her cheeks heat up. Her counterpart had no subtlety whatsoever.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Stacy commented, finishing her message. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t you have class or somewhere to be?” Candace deflected.

Stacy shrugged. “Free period.”

“Fine. It’s…Gertrude,” Candace cursed inwardly, wondering why that was the first thing that popped in her head. A whole sea of false names she could’ve given, and it had to be her embarrassing middle name!

“Gertrude?” Stacy gave her an appraising look. “Funny. The only person I’ve known with that name is Candace.”

Candace grimaced when Stacy circled her, inspecting her disguise more closely. Maybe she’d banked on Stacy’s ditziness a little too much.

“Wait a sec, I know that neck!” Stacy gasped. “Candace, seriously! You really think I wouldn’t recognize my BFF? Though I don’t know if that hair dye is working out for you. I always thought you’d be better off with brown highlights.”

“It’s a disguise,” Candace said, in the most no-nonsense tone she could muster. “I’m from a different dimension. I didn’t get to do whatever normal teenagers do because I was too busy with the Resistance.”

Stacy blinked. “Resistance? Like against a dictator?”

Candace kept her mouth shut, deciding she’d better not give more information that wasn’t pertinent to her mission.

“So you’re like the YA version of Candace?”

Candace gave her a blank look.

Stacy shrugged. “You know, YA? Young adult genre where a clumsy teenage girl leads a ragtag group of misfits against a dystopian government and angsts about a love triangle with her childhood bestie and a mysterious bad boy she doesn’t know very well?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Candace said. “All books except badly written autobiographies about the dictator were banned.”

Stacy grimaced. “Sheesh. That stinks. Not even a fashion magazine?”

Candace shrugged. “No, but that’s life. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go ask my counterpart about her Jeremy Johnson.”

“Probably not the best idea,” Stacy said. “If my Candace figured out you were another version of her, she’d blame her brothers and drag you off to her mom. Then you’ll disappear or get transported elsewhere. You don’t want that.”

“Her mom makes people disappear?” Candace asked, wondering how her recon team could’ve possibly missed that detail.

Stacy shrugged. “Not her mom, really. More like random green laser beams from the sky. They always happen when Candace tries to bust her brothers. But hey, I’d be more than happy to share what I know. Candace and I were best friends since elementary school. I promise I won’t tell her about you.”

The Stacy Hirano of Candace’s dimension usually coordinated supplies between Resistance bases. She didn’t lead from the front like Candace. They cooperated when necessary, but they weren’t nearly as close as these versions of Candace and Stacy.

“You will answer all questions to the best of your ability,” Candace said.

“You don’t need to treat this like an interrogation. Relax a little,” Stacy sighed. “Oh, who am I kidding? You wouldn’t be Candace Flynn if you were relaxed.”

“Alright, Hirano. First question. Why is your Jeremy attracted to Candace?”

Stacy scuffed the tile with her shoe, as if she hadn’t been expecting the question. Well, she should’ve known what she was getting into. “Starting with the loaded topic, huh? Sorry, I was expecting you to ask me about how they met or what they like or something simple like that.”

“I’m not moving to the next question until you answer.”

“Fine. I guess Jeremy likes her determination. Candace hasn’t succeeded in busting her brothers yet, but she’s always willing to try another method. She doesn’t let anything stop her either.”

Determination. Like how she’d been determined to overthrow Doofenshmirtz to create a world where her brothers could grow up peacefully and not have to give up their childhood whims.

“And he doesn’t mind her busting her brothers?”

The Doofenshmirtz family was still out there somewhere. What if they attacked while she was with Jeremy and neglecting her duties? Would Jeremy mind if she rushed off to thwart them?

“She’s always leaving in the middle of dates for busting purposes,” Stacy shrugged. “Jeremy’s pretty chill about it, as far as I know. He knows how much Phineas and Ferb mean to her. They even helped him cheat at a dance competition so he could impress her. Personally I found it a little freaky, but I guess love is a little blind to that sort of thing.”

Candace wasn’t sure about introducing Jeremy to Phineas and Ferb though. It was a big risk if Jeremy ever got captured. But at the same time, she could potentially entrust her brothers to someone else in an emergency. Isabella was a good lieutenant, but Jeremy had years of experience on her.

“Candace crushed on Jeremy since seventh grade. It took a lot of time and courage for her to take the next step,” Stacy said. “With a lot of pushing from me.”

“So you think I just need to have some courage and talk to him?” Candace asked. “Then what was the point of diverting the city’s power to open a portal and spy on you people to catch my counterpart at a good time?”

Suddenly her plan seemed ridiculous in hindsight. And she thought she was pretty good at planning missions.

To her credit, Stacy didn’t seem fazed about Candace spying on her. “I’ve read enough YA novels to know overthrowing dictators is easy for teenage girls. Boys are a different story. And it figures you wouldn’t do the simple thing and make a ridiculously complicated plan instead.”

“You got me there,” Candace admitted.

“So how’s the fashion in your dimension?” Stacy asked, switching topics so abruptly that Candace was caught off guard.

But only for a moment. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun. Candace began describing Dooferalls, much to Stacy’s growing horror.

Stacy was so revolted she ducked into a bathroom stall and begged Candace not to say anymore. Candace couldn’t help but laugh, even as the portal to her dimension reopened.

Realizing Isabella and the Firestorm Girls were staring, Candace quickly schooled her expression into her usual look of indifference. “Thank you for your help,” Candace said over her shoulder. “I have to go now. Remember to keep this a secret.”

“YOU BURDENED ME WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF DOOFERALLS!” Stacy screeched back.

The portal closed.

“Baljeet, dismantle the portal tech,” Candace ordered. “Our recon missions into that dimension are finished.”

“Did you find the other Candace?” Isabella asked.

“Not exactly. I talked to Stacy Hirano though. She gave some good advice,” Candace admitted. “Isabella, can I leave you to run a patrol around downtown tomorrow? I want to meet with Jeremy at the park.”

“You can count on me!” Isabella exclaimed.

“Excellent,” Candace said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.”

She dialed Jeremy’s number, feeling more confidence in leading a normal life than ever before.

#104 words for 104 days #more of a oneshot than a ficlet #phineas and ferb #post 2nd dimension and tales of the resistance #2nd dimension candace #stacy hirano #mentions of jeremy

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hushman · 6 years ago

Text

Curse you Pidge the Paladin

Summary:

Pidge the Paladin (known also as Agent P) is an agent for O.W.C.A. (the Organisation Without a Cool Acronym) and dedicated to helping keep the world safe. She does this by stopping the "nefarious” schemes of “Evil Genius” Lance McClain, founder of Lance McClain Evil Inc. and evil invention tester for L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. (the League Of Villainous Evildoers Maniacally United For Frightening Investments in Naughtiness). Armed with the best untested equipment L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. can supply him with, Lance will work tirelessly on his plans for global conquest, unless it's on the weekends, after 5pm or if he’s takes a personal day. Taking over the world is all fine and dandy but a good work-life balance is essential.

Rating: Everyone

Tags: Comedy, adventure,

My entry for the Plance Mini Bang over at @planceminibang

Special thank you to @oddreycharge for Beta reading this and to @perrytheplatypusgirl for making a gorgeous piece of art for this fic.

Check it here

You can read the story below or you can read it over at Archive of our Own

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764709

Enjoy

****

Pidge, hotshot O.W.C.A. agent, arrived in her secret base in a teal smart suit, orange tie, brown fedora, and black-rimmed glasses. She sat down in her chair in front of a screen as her boss, Coran Smythe, appeared onscreen.

“Greetings, Agent P,” Coran said. “Our intelligence shows strange frequencies being transmitted from the headquarters of Lance McClain as well as “how to detect increase in bird behaviour” on his web history. Your mission is to go there and put a stop to whatever nefarious scheme he is up to. Best of luck, Agent P.”

Pidge gave a salute, climbed into her jet-powered hover car, and flew off just as her theme song was starting.

Dooby dooby doo-bah Dooby dooby doo-bah Dooby dooby doo-bah Dooby dooby doo-bah Pidge!

She's a computer savvy, tech loving lady of action! (Dooby dooby doo-bah) (Dooby dooby doo-bah) She's a scrappy young hacker, Who'll never flinch from a fray-ee-ay-ee-ay!

She's got more than just all that, Fe(Wah-ah-ah) She's got a snazzy suit and a hat, Fe(ah-ah) And the men all swoon whenever they hear her sa-a-a-ay

“Hold up, who said anything about swooning?”

She’s Pidge, Pidge the Paladin But you can call her Agent P. Pidge! I said you can call her Agent P! A-gent-P!

A short flight later, she arrived at Lance McClain Evil Incorporated by crashing through a skylight.

Waiting for her was Lance McClain in a lab coat and holding a remote.

“Ah, Pidge the Paladin, what an unexpected surprise,” Lance commented. “And by that I mean entirely expected!”

Lance pushed a button. A massive pole popped behind Pidge. Before she could react, a stream of bola flew in, tying her to the pole.

“It appears you have fallen for my cunning trap.”

“Cunning trap?” Pidge deadpanned. “This is the third time you've tried to use this thing. You even marked out on the floor where you wanted me to stand.”

“And yet, you fell for it,” Lance crowed in rebuttal.

Pidge gave as much of a shrug as her restraints allowed. “I wanted to see if you had fixed the aim on the bola launchers.”

Lance pursed his lips. “Fine, act all high and mighty tied to that pole while I enact my evil scheme.”

“And by “enact”, you mean tell some backstory to justify whatever hairbrained scheme and device you have today.”

Lance ignored this jab as he introduced his latest “tragic backstory”.

“You see, it harkens back to my miserable youth spent in my cold and unforgiving fatherland.”

“You grew up in Cuba.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Lance snapped back before continuing. "My siblings have always despised me."

"Just last week, you said Veronica was wrapped around your little finger and loved you with all her heart."

"That was last week,” Lance dismissed. “As I was saying, I was left to face the endless shame and ridicule from my elder siblings. But no more! Finally, they shall learn true terror with this: the Fowlagitationinator!”

Lance flung his arms flamboyantly towards the glorified satellite dish.

“So what exactly does it do?” Pidge asked.

“I am so very glad you asked.” Lance paused briefly as he failed to discreetly pull back his sleeve notes. “This device will emit a frequency that will increase the aggression in every bird within the city.” He read monotonously, “All urban activities will grind to a halt as everyone is terrorised by millions of feathery foes, leaving the city ripe for the taking.” His voice and arms pitched in confidence, dropping his speaker notes in the process.

“Millions?” Pidge raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re overestimating the city’s bird population.”

“I was going for dramatic effect.” Lance let out a groan. “Look, you’re here to thwart my schemes, not criticise them.”

“Fair enough,” Pidge conceded. “Speaking of thwart...”

At that moment, the restraints fell off her body.

“So, did it actually take you this long to escape, or were you waiting for me to finish talking?”

“Didn’t want to be rude.”

Pidge pounced at Lance with a jump kick. The man dodged with a last minute swivel, just barely missing Pidge’s boot. While the first strike had not connected, it had placed her between Lance and the device. He tried to throw a right hook at her. Pidge ducked and delivered a double palm strike to Lance’s abdomen.

“Your gut feels firmer,” Pidge commented. “Have you been working out?”

“Why yes, I have. Thank you for noti..Argh!” Lance was interrupted by Pidge flooring him with a roundhouse kick.

“Are you ever going to not fall for the compliment sucker punch?” The agent snorted.

She fell to ground with a yelp when Lance yanked one of her legs.

“It’s not a crime to appreciate it when you notice the effort I put into this body,” Lance replied as he stood up and wiped his mouth to check for blood. “Speaking of which, would you stop going for the face?”

“Sure.”

Lance managed to catch Pidge’s foot before it connected with his groin.

“Not what I meant.”

Lance flung Pidge by her leg across the room, causing her to hit the brick wall with a crash. He raced to press the large red button on the device. Pidge fired her grappling gun. The cable shot out, wrapping around Lance’s arm and pulling him back. He managed to get his arm free from his lab coat in time to bring his guard up against a furious onslaught of limbs.

What followed was a series of back-and-forth blows. While Lance had a higher endurance, Pidge was harder to hit. This continued unabated until he picked up a nearby chair. Pidge snatched a stool of her own.

Before either of them could take a swing, a ringtone interrupted the battle. Both Lance and Pidge put down the chairs.

“Is that your phone or mine?” Lance asked.

“Yours,” Pidge replied. “I changed my ringtone last week.”

“Huh.” Lance checked his phone. “It’s my brother. I’d better take this.”

Pidge nodded her consent as Lance answered the phone.

“Hey Luis, how’s it going?...Not too bad. Same old, same old...Yeah, she’s here to thwart my scheme...Nah, it’s fine, what’s up? Sure I can watch them tonight...not a problem at all...You’ll be here at 7? Yeah, that's fine.” Lance looked up and saw Pidge pointing to her watch. “Listen I’d better get back to work but I’ll see you tonight...Love you too.”

Lance hung up and put away the phone.

“Thanks for that, so do you want go back to chairs?”

“Nah, the moment’s gone.”

“Fair enough.”

Pidge proceeded to duck and perform a leg sweep, causing Lance to fall to the ground. As he picked himself up, Pidge raced over to the device. She pushed the self-destruct button and pulled out her grappling gun. She fired out a line, yanking herself through the skylight as the device exploded.

“CURSE YOU, PIDGE THE PALADIN!” Lance yelled.

Once he was certain was alone, he picked up a broom and started cleaning up the debris.

“You know, just once, it would be nice for her to stick around to help with the clean up.”

****

Lance had just finished sending his report to head office when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and was tackled by two blurs of energy.

“Come on you two, don’t break Uncle Lance within the first two minutes.”

“Hey, I can take it,” Lance laughed. “How about you both pick a game on the gameflux?”

At that sentence, the two raced off to where the gameflux was set up.

“I swear that thing is 90% of the reason they like me babysitting,” Lance commented.

“Well, that and the fact you usually offer pizza,” Luis said. “So you okay? You’re developing a bit of a bruise.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lance replied. “The agent O.W.C.A. assigned to me just got a lucky hit in.”

“The compliment sucker punch?” Luis asked.

“Gets me every time.”

“You know, man, you really need to see about getting out of that franchise.”

“Eh…” Lance gave a non-committal shrug. “It’s not that bad. Besides, we both know it takes three million dollars to buy out of the place before the two years are up. I got into this mess. I can take the lumps to wait it out.”

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“Trust me it’s fine. Sure, that woman kicks my butt on a regular basis, but at least we’re keeping things professional.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “Only you would consider being punched in the face as professional.”

“Well, it kinda is her job to punch me in the face since I am technically trying to take over the city slash country slash world.”

“That sounds like the best job in the world.”

“Love you too, bro.”

With a quick hug, Luis left. 20 minutes after watching his niece and nephew screech at each other in Combat Cousins X, Lance heard the doorbell.

He answered the door. Standing there was Katie Holt, holding a couple of pizza boxes.

“Battle supplies as requested,” she said with a wink.

“Thanks, Katie. You're a lifesaver.”

“Oh please, considering the stuff I’ve seen you survive, you’re practically immortal,” Katie replied flippantly.

Lance scowled at her suspiciously. “What exactly have you seen me survive?”

“For starters, Charlene LeManche.”

“Objection withdrawn.”

Katie’s watch started vibrating.

“Excuse me.”

She stepped out onto the balcony. Satisfied that Lance had given her privacy, she activated her watch to see an image of Coran.

“Hope I’m not bothering, Agent P,” Coran said. “I just wanted to congratulate you another job well done.”

“Thanks, Coran. Though if you don’t mind, I’d better head back inside. Secret identity to maintain and all that.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Agent P.”

Katie hung up on Coran and went back inside. Tomorrow, she would probably be kicking Lance’s butt again, but she was perfectly satisfied with beating him at Pancake Dojo 2 whilst enjoying a slice of pepperoni pizza tonight.

****

It was Tuesday morning. Lance had finished his breakfast and was savouring the first sip of coffee. The blissful start was interrupted by the doorbell. He answered the door to find several men with crates.

“Morning, guys,” Lance said as he stepped aside to let the movers in.

After everything was moved into the open space “Evil Lair” area, Lance got to work opening first crate.

“Alright, let’s see what L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. cooked up for me today.”

Lance pulled out a letter from his superior. The latest device was something called the Vapourmatroninator. Apparently, there was a little extra assembly required.

After all the other crates were opened, Lance realised that that by “a little extra assembly”, they meant that this assemble would be bigger than a minivan, yet not a single piece was bigger than the palm of his hand.

“No worries. So long as the instructions are clear, I’ll just work through it piece by piece.”

Not only were the instructions incomprehensible, Lance wasn’t even sure that it was in English. After an hour of failing to make any headway, he picked up his phone.

“Hey Hunk, I need some help with building the latest world conquest machine… I know what I’m doing. It’s these instructions that make no sense...Look, can you come help me without making fun of me?...Alright, but can you still come or not?...Thanks, Hunk. You’re the best.”

****

Pidge kicked open the door to Lance McClain Evil Inc. at 4 p.m. on the dot.

She was ready to get her thwart on when she saw Hunk working on the device. He looked up to see Pidge standing there.

“Katie? What are you doing here?” Hunk asked. “And what are you wearing?”

Before Pidge could answer, Lance walked in.

“Hi Pidge, sorry I’m running a little behind so I had to call in some help.”

“Wait, this is Pidge?” Hunk asked in disbelief.

“Oh right, where are my manners?” Lance said. “Hunk, this is my nemesis Pidge. Pidge, this is my friend Hunk.”

“This is Pidge?” Hunk asked again. “As in the person that thwarts your plans daily.”

“Well, it's more of a Monday to Friday basis, gotta keep that work life balance, but yes. That’s her.” Lance answered “What’s your point?”

“Lance, that’s...argh!”

Hunk was interrupted by Pidge grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.

“Shut up,” Pidge hissed to Hunk. “Play along and I’ll explain everything later.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, Pidge! Let him go this instant!” Lance scolded.

Pidge complied.

“Hunk doesn’t work for L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. He's just helping me out as a favour. Do whatever you want with me, but I will not have you attacking my friends!”

Pidge looked genuinely remorseful as Lance took out some money and handed it to her.

“Now you are going to say sorry to Hunk, and then you’re going to go the donut shop and pick up a dozen lemon cream-filled donuts with passionfruit sprinkles. When you get back, he should be done with the Inator and then you can thwart me.”

Pidge complied, sending Hunk one last pleading looking before heading out the door.

“Sorry about that,” Lance said to Hunk. “She honestly isn’t that bad, she’s just a little wound up at times.”

Hunk eyed Lance with utter astonishment.

“And she doesn’t remind you of anyone?” He pressed.

Lance paused thoughtfully.

“Now that you mention it, with that fedora, she kinda looks like Indiana Jones.”

“You think she looks like Indiana Jones?” Hunk asked, clearly not sure how to react.

“Kinda.”

“So when are you next due for an eye exam?”

“Next year, I think. Why?”

“Might want to move that forward.”

****

Pidge arrived with the donuts just as Hunk finished assembling the Inator. She handed them over Hunk he packed up his tools.

“Well, I better be out of your way,” he declared as he headed for the door with tools and donuts in tow.

“Leaving so soon?” Lance asked.

“Yeah, as much fun as it would be to watch you getting thwarted, I’d rather not watch the device I worked so hard on get destroyed.”

“Fair enough, catch ya later.”

Hunk shot Pidge a meaningful glance before leaving.

He hopped in the elevator and waited for the ding signalling the ground floor. Just as he exited the building, the Vapourmatroninator crashed onto the sidewalk, inches from his ears.

He could faintly hear Lance yell, “CURSE YOU, PIDGE THE PALADIN!”

****

A while later, Hunk and Pidge, in her civilian attire, were at Hunk’s favourite sandwich place. Only after he was halfway through his sandwich was he ready to address the elephant in the room.

“Alright, Katie, tell me what the heck is going on.”

“Okay.” Pidge took in a deep breath. “You remember that internship I took with a think tank? Well, that think tank is a secret government agency, and that internship is more of a field agent position.”

“So, who do you work for? The CIA?”

“No, I work for O.W.C.A., the Organisation Without a Cool Acronym.” Pidge watched Hunk raise an eyebrow. “Look, the name isn’t great, but they do good work.”

“And why exactly are you kicking Lance’s butt on a daily basis?”

“When Lance signed on to an employment contract with L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. that marked him as an ‘evil genius’, O.W.C.A. protocol is to assign an agent to be a nemesis to every evil genius. This was my first nemesis assignment, so the higher ups wanted to assign me to something lighter to chew on.”

“And the fact that you and Lance being friends isn’t against policy?”

“It would be if Lance recognised me,” Pidge explained. “I would get reassigned and he would get a new nemesis. I’ve been busting his scheme for nearly a year, and I thank whatever miracle that he still hasn’t worked out that I’m his nemesis.”

“How can he not know? All you do is put on a hat and glasses. You don’t even change your voice!”

“Look, are we really going to debate Lance’s intelligence? He has some strong suits, but he signed on to an evil organisation because their name was L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. And it took three weeks of being friends with him before he realised I was a girl.”

“To be fair, we were 12 at the time, but I see your point,” Hunk conceded. “But why stay as Lance’s nemesis? Franchise or not, you know Lance isn’t evil. Wouldn’t you rather spend your time taking down real bad guys?”

“Three reasons,” Pidge explained. “First, if I don’t do it, O.W.C.A. will send someone else, someone who will actually think he's evil. Second, Lance has been a surprisingly useful asset in undermining L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N.

Any tech that fails with Lance tends to get scrapped, so stopping Lance also prevents some of the actually dangerous tech from being used by actual evil geniuses.”

“And the third?”

“Being Lance’s nemesis means that my work day is usually done by 5 and I get weekends off. Nothing wrong with appreciating a good work/life balance.”

Hunk rolled his eyes at this. “Alright, so what happens now?”

“Well it’s up to you,” Pidge explained. “Standard procedure would be to take you in to have your memory erased.”

Hunk choked on a piece of sandwich. A long sip of his drink helped him to speak again.

“Erase my memory?”

“Just the events of today,” Pidge assured him. “But if you promised to keep this secret under wraps I could conveniently forget the part where you recognised me when I file my report.”

Hunk deliberated for a moment. “Alright, I don’t like keeping this from Lance, but I’m not risking forgetting my great aunt’s banoffee pie recipe over this.”

“Thanks Hunk,” Pidge said gratefully.

“Though if you ask me, the real reason you like this gig is because you get to spend all your time with Lance.” Hunk emphasised his statement with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Pidge glared at Hunk. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Hunk singsonged.

Pidge was about to respond only to let out a cough.

“You alright?”

“It’s nothing,” Pidge replied.

****

Wednesday morning was somewhat easier for Lance. The day’s Inator came in mostly assembled. So now all he had to do was wait for Pidge to arrive.

An hour later still had no Pidge. He was starting to worry. Just then, his phone rang. He answered for only to have his ear fill with the noise of hacking.

“Hey Lance,” Katie said in between coughs. “Sorry I can't make game night.”

“Jeez Katie, you don’t sound good.”

“It’s fine, just gotta rest up and I’ll recover soon.” She let out more coughs.

After hanging up with his friend, Lance felt conflicting emotions swirling in his chest. He really wanted to check on Katie, but he was also meant to be trying to take over the city in time to get thwarted.

It certainly was a dilemma.

****

Allura the Altruist was on her way home from stopping her nemesis when she got a call from Coran.

“Great work, Agent A. Though would you stopping by Lance McClain Evil Inc? Agent P is not feeling well.”

“Right away, Coran.”

Flying her car over to Lance’s evil lair, she parked her car on the roof and dropped elegantly through the sky light, ready to battle. To her surprise, the lair was completely abandoned. She then noticed a large device in plain sight with a note attached.

Dear Pidge,

Sorry I can’t be there. Had to go check on a sick friend. I’ve marked out the self destruct button. See you tomorrow.

Lance McClain

P.S. Curse you, Pidge the Paladin!

Against her better judgement, Allura pressed the marked out button. As she left the ruins of the lair, she couldn’t help but wonder if O.W.C.A should reassess Lance’s threat level.

****

“Here you are, Katie,” Lance said as he carried in a steaming bowl of soup.

“Thank you,” the sick girl wheezed as she took the soup. “You didn’t have to come over to take care of me. Don’t you have work?”

“It's all good,” Lance said dismissively. “I’ve got it covered. Besides, I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

Katie blushed. If asked, she would claim it was fever.

****

On Thursday, a recovered Pidge arrived at Lance McClain Evil Incorporated, refreshed and ready for a day of thwarting. She flew in through an open window. As she arrived in the lair, she realised Lance wasn’t there.

“Er...hello?”

“Pidge! I’ll be right there,” Lance called out before coughing.

A dishevelled and ill-looking Lance stepped into the lair. He was still in his pyjamas and his lab coat was crooked.

“What a...an unexpected sur…” Lance started coughing again. “Sorry, think I might’ve caught something from my friend.”

Pidge looked at Lance in dismay. “You should be in bed,” she scolded.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lance insisted. “So, behold my… achoo!.... Latest invention the...Something...inator!”

Lance gestured towards a crate that was barely even opened.

“With this I...shall take over the...world.” Lance’s half-hearted speech was shot through with more coughing.

“Lance, seriously, go to bed. I can come back and stop you tomorrow.”

“No, I flaked on you yesterday. I’m not going to do it twice.” Lance raised his fists, staggering slightly as he fought to keep balance. “Thwart me if you dare.”

Rather than fight, Pidge took hold of his hand and dragged him to the kitchen. She pushed him into a chair and silently heated up a can of chicken soup. She plopped the bowl in front of him and said, “Eat.” After making him eat all of it, she hauled him to his bedroom. She took off his lab coat and pushed him into his bed.

“There,” she quipped as she draped a blanket over him. “I’ve thwarted you. Now get some rest.”

“Curse you Pidge the...zzzzz,” Lance was asleep before he was even able to finish his sentence.

Not too long after, Katie arrived to check up on Lance.

****

Friday came as Pidge arrived at the hideout.

“Ah Pidge the Paladin, so nice to see you,” Lance greeted. “Sorry about dropping the ball the last couple of days. Still, I promise to make up for it as I unleash my TRINITY OF TERROR!”

There was a dramatic orchestra and flashes of lightning.

“Head office finally approved your effects budget?” PIdge asked.

“Why yes, thank you for noticing. Anyhoo, behold! The Degravitinator!” Lance held out a handheld, ray-gun-looking device. “Capable of disrupting the personal gravity of its victims. Behold the Plantinator!” He gestured towards a device with a large antenna. “Capable of sending out a pulse that will cause all the plants in the city area to grow at an uncontrollable rate. And finally the DX7J.” He pointed to a large cubic machine. “Capable of...something equally evil, I guess.” He noticed Pidge’s raising eyebrow. “Cut me some slack, not only did I have to finish building yesterday’s device, head office sent me two inators instead of one today. It's a miracle I know what the first two do.”

“And you had time to set up the special effects?”

“Look, are we going to fight or waste time criticizing my workplace priorities?”

Lance jumped back just in time to dodge a right hook from Pidge. He aimed the ray gun at Pidge and fired. Pidge jumped out of the way, narrowing missing the purple ray that shot out. The ray instead hit a nearby couch. It glowed purple as it started to float. Lance continued firing at Pidge. The agent kept ducking until a desk, several crates and a metal barrel were floating.

“Darn it!” Lance muttered. “Why didn’t they put a decent sight on this thing?”

Pidge leapt onto a floating crate, hoping to get high ground. She leapt to another crate to avoid the ray. She finally lunged at Lance with a flying kick. The kick hit Lance squarely in the chest before he could let out another shot. He fell back to the ground and accidentally pulled the trigger.

A purple beam shot out and hit the Plantinator. The Inator started to float in the air. Seeing her opportunity, Pidge kicked with all her might. It flew out the open balcony door. It then came to a rest between the two buildings.

Both Lance and Pidge stared at the floating Inator.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was expecting,” Pidge admitted.

“Well, we can’t leave that out there,” Lance said. “Eventually, the ray will wear off, and it'll fall onto incoming traffic. I already got a citation for what happened with the Vapourmatroninator. I don’t need another.”

“Fair enough, any ideas?”

“Do you have your grappling gun?”

“In shop getting a tune up. You?”

“The winch on mine broke and I’m still waiting for the replacement to arrive. How about your hover car?”

“Came here on the moped today.”

“Fair enough.”

Lance turned a dial on the ray gun and aimed it at the floating Inator. He fired a red ray that vapourised the floating inator.

“That thing has a disintegrator setting?” Pidge asked in shock.

“Yeah, you really think that would be the main feature of this thing.”

“If it could do that, then why were you bothering with the gravity setting?”

“I’m not firing a disintegrator ray in my own lair,” Lance said indignantly.

“That’s surprisingly responsible of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Still got to destroy it.”

“Fair enough,” Lance replied as he turned the ray gun back to gravity mode.

Lance spun round, firing the ray gun at Pidge. Pidge dropped and sweeped out Lance’s legs, causing him fall flat on his back. “Nice move,” Lance said, winded but clearly impressed.

“Thanks.”

Pidge picked up the nearby raygun and smashed it against the handrail. She then started to head back inside to deal with the DX7J only for Lance to snatch her foot, tripping her up.

Lance scurried to place himself between Pidge and the DX7J.

What followed was another fist fight. Lance was holding his own until Pidge hit him with kick to the gut, knocking him backwards.

Lance bumped into the DX7J, turning it on. Sounds of moving parts and sloshing liquid echoed in the machine. Shortly afterwards, there was a loud ding and a small hatch on the device opened to reveal a cup of steaming liquid.

Curious, Lance picked up the cup and sniffed it. He then proceeded to take a sip, much to the panic of Pidge.

“False alarm,” Lance said. “This isn’t an Inator. It’s the coffee machine I ordered.”

“You ordered a coffee machine?”

“Yeah, and not just any coffee machine. This is top of the line, does everything from expressos to cappuccinos.”

“That sounds pricey.”

“I charged it to the head office,” Lance replied. “They’re an evil organisation trying to take over the world - the least they can do is fuel my caffeine addiction.” He proceeded to take another sip from his coffee.

Pidge nodded; she couldn’t really fault the logic.

“Wait, does that mean I already thwarted you?” She questioned.

Lance paused his drinking.

“Huh...I guess so...Oh well. CURSE YOU, PIDGE THE PALADIN!” He hollered before returning to his normal tone. “Do you want a coffee for the road? I’ve got a travel mug I can lend you.”

“Can that machine do a Chai Latte?”

Lance scoffed. “Do you honestly think I would charge my boss top dollar for a coffee machine that couldn’t do Chai Lattes?”

****

“So glad we managed to switch game night,” Lance said as he brought in a bowl of chips.

“I’m just glad neither of us are mucus factories anymore,” Pidge commented.

“I’m just glad I didn’t catch it,” Hunk commented. “So care to explain how all that stuff is floating?”

“Today’s evil invention was an antigravity ray.”

“Antigravity ray?” Hunk repeated in surprise. “How does that work?”

“I aimed the ray gun, pulled the trigger and then whatever got zapped with it would start floating.”

“No, I mean…” Hunk paused as the realisation of who he was talking to struck. “Nevermind.”

“I don’t get what the end game was,” Pidge commented “As cool as it is, I just don’t get how your bosses expected you to take over the world with an antigravity ray.”

“They don’t really look at how so much as they just throw whatever random idea that comes to them at me and wait to see what happens.” Lance explained. “I’m still not sure how I was supposed to take over the world with an iguana cannon.”

“Buddy, you really need to get out of this gig,” Hunk affirmed.

“Would love to, but we all know that’s not going to happen until my contract expires. Besides it's not so bad. I set my own hours, I don’t pay rent on this place and I now have a coffee machine. Speaking of coffee, you guys want one? It's pretty good.”

“I’m good,” Hunk said.

“Chai Latte, please,” Pidge requested absentmindedly.

Lance paused and stared at Pidge suspiciously.

“How do you know it can do Chai Lattes?”

“Would you honestly invest in a coffee machine that couldn’t do Chai Lattes?”

Lance let out a laugh.

“You got me there. One Chai Latte coming up."

As Lance went over to the coffee machine, Hunk turned to Pidge.

“You know, eventually, he is going to figure it out.”

“Agree to disagree,” Pidge replied as she watched Lance come back with her latte.

Lance handed to the latte to her. As she took a sip, Lance spoke.

“So guys, I’ve been wondering. Should I invite Pidge to join us for games night?”

PIdge did a spit take.

“Sorry,” she sputtered. “It’s a little hot.”

Hunk kept his composure.

“You want to invite the person whose job is to kick your butt on a daily basis to games night?”

“Alright firstly, I can hold my own just fine.”

“Have you ever stopped her from destroying your stuff?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point,” Lance argued. “Neither of us take the whole thwarting thing personally, and she’s the closest thing I have to a work colleague that I actually like.”

“You like her?” Pidge asked, not really sure how to process this.

“Well sure, she’s skilled, self assured, witty and honestly kind of a badass,” Lance replied.

“She also wails on you almost every time you face off,” Hunk added.

“No one’s perfect,” Lance replied. “Come on, what could it hurt to ask her? If she says yes, it will be a chance to get to know her better.”

“If you feel so strongly, I think you should do it,” Pidge replied.

“What?” Hunk said in dismay.

“Great, next time I see her I’ll ask,” He looked down and realised his hands were empty. “Whoops, forgot my coffee.”

As he went to get it, Hunk turned back to Pidge.

“I know this week has been full of shocking revelations, but how do you plan to be two places at once?”

“I won’t have to,” Pidge replied. “I’ll simply say that O.W.C.A. forbids me from fraternising with supervillains outside of work.”

“You know that’s only going to be a temporary fix.”

“It will do for now,” Pidge replied. “I’ll cross that bridge when I reach it.”

“Yup,” Hunk replied. “Keep telling yourself that.”

#plance #plance au #plance mini bang #Lance #Pidge #Hunk #phineas and ferb #Lance being lance #bless him he is trying #flirtyrobot #Evil Genius Lance #Secret Agent Pidge

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possiblypeachy · 5 years ago

Text

tea & schemes. (4)

―; summary: Jacob visits Florence for the first time. Florence is left with far too many emotions.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 4.9k (its a big boy, babey)

―; warnings: light swearing. anxiety-esque feelings towards the end (Florence gets overwhelmed ): )

―; A/N: i love Florence muchly at this point and, trust me, i already want to write cute little fluffy smoochy things but there’s a bit of time before that still. society has a lot to say about how a woman should be at this time and it really has begun to wear on Florrie, as demonstrated at the end of this chapter.

don’t worry though!!! she’s just babie and will work past it soon. the heart wants what the heart wants, after all.

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

― ❊ ―

Freddy and Florence had spent the next few days having tense conversations between their self-isolation to their own bedrooms. There was a sense of regret that hung in the air but neither siblings seemed to want to speak of it. Florence, nerves too high to even stay in the same room as him for a while and worried that he would further draw attention to her mortal flaws, kept herself to reading. Freddy busied himself with paperwork and patrols until the late evening. That is until Lissie, fed up with their pride, sat them both down and commanded that they talk to one another, lest the cook quit and leave them to fend for themselves.

Oh, if she had a shilling for every time she’d had to do this since working for the Abberline’s, she’d have enough money to finally buy that necklace she’d always ogled on the way to the market. It was the way of siblings, she supposed: they always had to prove they were superior to the other in one way or another.

They had reconciled after a few moments of silence then them both leaning forward and mumbling an “I’m sorry” at the same time. Frederick admitted that perhaps his leash on her was too tight. Florence said that she understood that he was just trying to protect her. Her brother sighed tiredly, thankful that this was all over, and joked that at least she didn’t have to write about their bickering now in her letter to their parents. When she laughed, everyone could feel a weight lift off of the household.

All was well with the Abberline’s once again.

That afternoon, after Freddy had left for work with a smile on his face for the first time in days, Florence had retired to her room, finally content enough with life that she could write a sufficient letter to her parents. Edward and Hannah Abberline were kind parents and especially lenient with their children, much to the dismay of other mothers and fathers of their rank. Their only condition for Florence to move into Freddie’s house in London was that she wrote regularly and that she at least try to find a nice man to marry. She was more than happy to uphold those terms.

The brunette was lucky that, when three knocks came to her bedroom window, her dip pen was away from the paper; with the way that she jolted in her seat, it surely would’ve ruined the page she had been writing on. A string of meowing began from her bed, her cat obviously peeved at the disruption to his sleep. When her gaze finally dragged to the window, half-expecting to see an insistent bird, she met eyes with Jacob, who’s grin told her that he found her surprise amusing.

Florence stood and slid the window up, letting Jacob haul himself inside. “The window is usually open; you didn’t have to knock.”

He dusted himself off, readjusting his coat. Before he could speak, the tabby cat to his left honked at him. Shocked, Jacob looked about before meeting the stare of perhaps the most tired-looking (and sounding) feline he’d ever seen. The cat yelled at him again and he gave Florence a look.

Florence scooped the cat up into her arms, much to its displeasure. “Don’t worry about Duncan. He likes to tell people off for disturbing him.”

Jacob chuckled. “He’s called Duncan?” He reached a hand out and Duncan sniffed it cautiously.

“An urchin gave him to me a year or so ago. The poor child said that she wanted him to live a nice life with a nice lady. She said his name was Duncan.” Florence looked fondly down at the cat, who seemed to have now forgiven Jacob and was gently purring. When Jacob drew away, Duncan meowed and clawed his way up to balance on his owner’s shoulder, sniffing the air. Florence looked inconvenienced but decided to allow it, continuing to speak with Jacob. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure, dear Flor.” He had begun to peruse through her belongings, eyes scanning the letter she had been writing and the cat figurine on her desk. “You, me, the great city of London: are you up for it?”

Florence tutted, leaning to let Duncan hop down onto the bed from her shoulder, and shuffled Jacob away from her desk. “That’s not particularly specific. You could be planning on taking me somewhere nefarious like a…” She paused to think, during which Jacob was practically challenging her to say something terrible, “... brothel in Whitechapel.”

Jacob grimaced but huffed out a laugh. “Nothing of the sort. I don’t even know what that is, Miss Abberline.”

Florence nodded mockingly. “Of course, Jacob.”

“Anyway, before I let you poison my mind with thoughts of brothels,” He gave her a pointed look, reaching down to scratch behind Duncan’s ear, and Florence grinned, “I thought that I could introduce you to a slice of my world.”

Florence cooed, clapping her hands together, though her movements dripped of sarcasm. “Ooh! Are we going to derail a train together?”

His smile said ‘you cheeky mare’ but he continued before she had the chance to berate him further. “No, I was going to take you to a newly liberated stronghold. Evie and I run a gang, you know? Well, it’s more me than Evie but--”

“Where?”

Jacob thought for a moment, like he’d forgotten its location entirely, before breaking out into a terrible smile. “Whitechapel.”

Florence sighed but couldn’t hide the glint of excitement burning in her eyes. Gangs? A stronghold? Goodness, it sounded like a piece from a gritty book or perhaps a play. How delightful!

“I’ll come along but if I get pickpocketed you’re getting my money back, Jacob.”

“Certainly, dear lady.” He made a sweeping gesture to her bedroom door. “Shall we?”

Florence hadn’t been expecting to venture into Whitechapel again for a good few months. Catching her brother and meeting the twins there a few days prior had been enough for her. Now, she never looked down upon the poorer; before her father had opened that little shop of his and gained a seat on the town’s council, their family of seven all squished into two rooms and lived off of scrimping. Rather, she felt terribly bad for wandering around perhaps the most impoverished area of London in full health with a warm meal being cooked for her at home. Of course, she didn’t feel sorry for the thugs on the streets that ruffed up those who already had nothing and simply saw them as even more of a reason to visit as little as possible.

When Jacob began to lead her down a dingy alleyway, he seemed unfazed by the drunk man passed out on the floor and… was that his vomit beside him? Florence unconsciously began to walk closer to Jacob, a hand coming up to adjust her hat-- almost hoping that, if she moved it in a certain way, the shadow cast over her fast would hide it. “Are you certain we’re going the right way? Or, are you just leading me down here to test my resolve?”

He chuckled, giving a brief nod to a tall, bald man in a green jacket. “Why can’t it be both?” He stopped walking to let her go in front of him, gesturing for her to do exactly that with a sweep of his hand.

Florence hummed, dissatisfied, but walked ahead of him anyway. She could feel that he was close behind, almost like he was making it painfully obvious that the well-dressed, middle-class lady was with him and not available to be robbed today. It brought her a small degree of comfort, though she couldn’t help but think of her brother’s disapproving glare.

“Oh.” He muttered from behind her. She would’ve turned to look but she decided against it, not wanting to risk accidentally bumping into anyone strung about the narrow pathway. “I almost forgot. Here.” Jacob’s arm appeared at her side, palm upturned and holding the bird figurine from the market. Much to his delight, Florence made what sounded like a pleased little coo and took the sculpture from him, inspecting it with a collector’s eyes. “I went back to the market the other day and bought it; I thought you deserved a gift after the work you did.”

It was a sweet gesture and Florence couldn’t deny the happiness felt in her chest or the smile that immediately cracked her anxious demeanour. “That’s… quite kind of you, Jacob.” She ran a thumb over the intricately carved feathers then, in an effort to keep her newfound treasure safe, she pulled it closer to her body without much thought.

Jacob, however, grinned at this, seeing the amusing resemblance between her and a creature that hoards-- like a magpie or a squirrel. “You collect them, don’t you?”

Florence huffed out a laugh, allowing herself a brief glance over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Yes, I do. They’re always beautifully crafted and they make a lovely addition to a mantlepiece or desk.” She paused for a moment, pondering. Then, she sighed. “I also collect coins, though they are a lot harder to come by and… I have a book in my desk drawer filled with stamps.”

“Stamps?” He repeated, intrigued. Florence could hear amusement in his tone.

“Stamps.” She confirmed. Wanting anything but having to assess whether or not Jacob thought less of her for this, her sight stayed firmly on the path ahead.

With a simple “I’ll keep an eye out, then” Florence felt altogether better about the situation. It wasn’t often that people simply left her be with her ridiculous collecting habits. She simply enjoyed the… satisfaction that came with the task; she was not a madwoman.

Jacob was becoming more likeable by the minute.

More and more people clad in green began to appear, all regarding Jacob with considerable amounts of respect and admiration. A few made comments about her, telling him that this was “no place to bring a bird like that”, to which, from the corner of her eyes, she could see him throw up two fingers at them. A half-smile tugged at her lips, though she made no audible observations.

They finally got to a small square behind four buildings. A few urchins ran about the place but most were men and women, dressed in green and chatting with one another or having what seemed to be playful brawls. A curious gaze dragged across the surroundings, slowly piecing the puzzle together. Flags of the same shade of green flew and, if she looked closely enough, she noticed that a symbol had been painted onto them: a bird holding a chess piece.

A rook holding a knight.

“You and Miss Frye are the ones that rallied the Clinkers?” She spun around to look at him, face etched with awe. Florence gestured wildly to their surroundings. “I expected a little gathering of rogues and crooks not… this. From what I’ve heard, your new Rooks have been taking down Blighter territory left and right.” Jacob’s eyes were wide but he said nothing, unsure if she was excited to be here or more frightened. A few seconds passed, then Florence broke out into a grin, pointing a finger at him. “I’m impressed.”

The tightness in his shoulders left and he visibly relaxed, mirroring her expression. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Not compared to what I usually do.”

A nearby gang member-- a rook-- booed at him, though it was through a laugh. The man to her side shook his head, breathing out a chuckle through his nose. It was nice to see that there was such a strong sense of camaraderie between them all, despite them being up against huge and (until now) unbeaten opposition. Florence supposed that being united under two people so outwardly courageous and rallying for change that it would make any group be reinstilled with a sense of hope.

She tutted at him, chiding him for trying to take all the glory, but the smile that twisted at her lips told that she didn’t take him too seriously. “Don’t be a prick, Jacob; I didn’t venture here for you to take all the fame from your men.” He feigned offence, holding a hand to his chest. Clearly having just arrived at a stop on her train of thought, Florence tilted her head slightly, “Speaking of which, why did you bring me here? If you hope to enlist me, I’m afraid my days are all taken up with reading and looking for a husband-- you know, the usual.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile and a sarcastic dip of her head.

Jacob kissed his teeth. “A shame, really. Could’ve used a woman with your skill in…” he searched for something to fill the gap. Florence stared at him, a challenging light dancing in her eyes, “... making men feel small.”

She threw her head back, a glimpse of her signature, ridiculous laugh gracing the world. One of her fingers pointed at him and she nodded, “Not bad, Frye. Not bad. But,” Her giggling quietened down and she threw her arms up, as if to gesture to the square and its people, “besides making me feel all-powerful, why exactly have you decided to bring me here?”

“Well,” he began, moving toward a small alcove. There were a few sacks held up on sticks, littered with holes and slices. A crate beside them had a few practice weapons, though she was almost certain that, if she were to be hit over the head with that… wooden stick it would hurt. A lot. “I thought that, what with the mishap--” His eyes flickered to the fading bruise on her cheek, now a sickly yellow colour, and she grimaced, “-- the last time we were together, I might introduce you to extra forms of protection.” Jacob pulled a throwing knife so swiftly from his person that Florence had no idea where it actually came from. He turned it in his hand, fingers carefully holding the bladed end while the grip pointed toward her. “Protection besides a good kick to the bollocks, that is.”

Florence huffed out a laugh and took the knife from him, weighing it cautiously in her hand. “Freddy would go insane if he saw me holding this.”

“Through fear or anger?”

“I’d take a stab at both.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, begging him to pick up on her pun.

He had indeed and gave a “ha, ha, ha” in response, to which Florence shot him an over-exaggerated frown.

Jacob moved to stand beside her, his position forcing her to turn and face the mounted sacks. He pulled another knife out and her gaze flickered towards it. Florence seemed appropriately wary of the weapon and, without knowing, had begun to lean away from Jacob while he held it. His lips curled into a discreet smile upon noticing this but he said nothing; it’s better that she feels in control and comfortable when trying things like this.

“The key to throwing one of this is the power in the wrist.” He rotated the knife around, letting the bladed end almost rest near his wrist. His thumb and first two fingers were at the grip, supporting it, though she could see how loose the hold was-- presumably to make it easier to throw the knife. Jacob looked to her and gestured with his head for her to copy his position. Florence pursed her lips, unsure if she was willing to risk accidentally cutting herself and facing her brother’s wrath, but, after a few moments of quiet deliberation, she did it anyway; she didn’t come all this way just to waste her and Jacob’s time.

He gave her a smile so reassuring and kind that something skipped or bloomed or… something in Florence’s chest and she had to look away.

No. We won’t be having any of that, Florence Abberline.

“Then, once you’ve got a good hold on it, you use the flick of your wrist to--” Jacob threw the knife and, to her amazement, it landed in the centre of the sack, “-- throw it. It can be difficult to get the power right but, once you’re as good as me, you won’t have to think much.”

Florence gave him a harsh side glance. “You continue to gloat even when I’m holding a knife? You’re a foolish, foolish man, Jacob Frye.”

He gave her a sly grin. “It appears you just make me lose all sense, dear Flor.”

Their eyes stayed locked for just a second too long and, in an attempt to distract them both, she threw the knife. Its trajectory was wobbly and the side hit the sack rather than the sharp end but, all in all, he had to admit that it wasn’t too bad; he’d seen some of the Rook initiates throw them worse than that.

Jacob’s lips curled into one of those ‘not bad’ frowns, brows darting skywards. Florence glowered at the fallen knife, never one to enjoy a loss. “Trying to make sense of one of these is ridiculous.” She sighed, pointing to the weapon in the dirt. “Can I not just use one of those as a… normal weapon?”

“It is a normal weapon.”

“Shut up-- you know what I mean.”

As he went to collect the knife, he gave a chuckle. “I suppose you can but only as a last resort; it’s not made for close-range combat.”

Florence huffed. “Well,” A light grew in her eyes, gaze flickering to Jacob. When he turned to face her again, he could tell that a thought was brewing; she had that same look when they first met, “if I were to ever fight someone further away from me, I would much prefer to use a gun.” She glanced down to his hips-- at the straps and holster that held his pistol.

Jacob shook his head, clicking his fingers to draw her attention. “My eyes are up here.”

She grinned, the dimple a deep crease in her cheek. There came a playful wink and a “What can I say? I like a man with who can handle his pistol well”. Innuendo dripped from her tone and he threw his head back to laugh.

“Are you only using me for my gun, dear Flor?” Despite his words, he still pulled the weapon from its holster, checking the cylinder to see how many bullets were inside. He removed all but one.

“If I am, you’re making it terribly easy.” A hand was on her hip when he handed the gun over to her, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No resistance, Jacob? You seem like the type to treasure his weaponry.” Florence raised a brow, eyes raking over the pistol in her hand.

He shrugged as she held it up toward the sacks, moving to lean beside a nearby wall to stay clear of… whatever might happen when she shot it. “When a pretty lady offers to play with your gun,” Jacob scrunched his face up, pitch heightening, “you don’t tend to turn her down.”

Florence cackled, leaning over herself to allow her shoulders to shake for a few moments. “You’re terrible.”

“I do try.” He grinned. Then, one of his hands came out to gesture to the training area. “Right. Are you gonna shoot that or n-- pass it back to me.”

“What? Why--”

Jacob took a few urgent steps forward, leaning toward her with his palm open, “Pass it back--” She heard him quietly curse under his breath and stand up straight-- almost too abruptly. He was facing the opposite direction to her now and, as she turned to see who was there, he uttered a devastating: “Hello, Evie.”

Impending doom had appeared in the form of Evie Frye.

Florence could tell that Jacob was caught in between a rock and a hard place with how his brain appeared to have dripped out of both of his ears and he was stood beside her, completely absent. Evie looked between the both of them. Florence hoped that her hat obscured some measure of her face but she also knew that Evie wasn’t an idiot.

“Miss Abberline,” Fuck, “I didn’t expect to see you here of all places. Don’t tell me that my brother dragged you here.” Evie already knew what was happening and that made it triply worse when Florence decided that the best thing to do in the situation was to lie.

Pure desperation coursing through her veins, she grabbed the rook closest to her-- a skinny man in his mid-twenties-- and hooked her arm around his, shuffling herself so they looked like a couple. He didn’t look particularly convincing. “I was actually here to visit…” Florence looked into the bloke’s eyes, her lips drawn into a thin line and her expression panicked. He said nothing and she quietly kissed her teeth, “... Paul. He’s enchanting and I can barely keep myself away--”

“My name is Terrence.”

Beside her, Jacob’s hand flew up to his forehead and he turned away from the pair of them, breathing out a heavy sigh. Evie still stared at Florence, who had frozen in the face of her badly made lie falling apart.

In one last attempt to redeem herself, Florence slapped Paul’s-- Terrence’s-- arm in the same way a wife would when she has to laugh at her husband’s joke. “Don’t be so silly, my love.” She gave Evie a smile, to which the assassin returned but it seemed impatient and altogether unconvinced-- like she was simply trying to speed up her breaking point.

“Good old Paul likes to mess about to try to get Miss Abberline all flustered. He says that her blush is beautiful, isn’t that right Paul?” Jacob joined the fight again, though there was a dimness to his hazel eyes that told Florence that he already knew his sister had won.

Paul frowned. “I just said my name is Terrence. And, why is this woman holding onto my arm?” Florence and Jacob cursed in unison. A smile twisted at the gangly man’s lips, however, when he finally gave Florence a proper look over. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having a go on a posh bird. You got any plans for tonight, love?”

Disgusted, Florence yanked herself away from him and crossed her arms below her chest. Jacob grimaced beside her and, with a flick of his hand, gestured for Terrence to leave. The man in question went into a sulk and began to kick dirt up as he disappeared around the corner.

“Are you finished?” Evie glanced between them. The pair said and did nothing, which Evie took as a ‘yes’. She pointed a finger to Jacob. “I need to speak with you about something important so you should--”

“Is it about the gang war, Miss Evie?” One of the rooks piped up from a few feet away, having just strolled into the middle of the chaos-filled alcove.

Jacob perked up at Florence’s side. “The what?”

Before Evie could ask the rook to be quiet, they had already started to speak again, “Kaylock has agreed to a fight over Whitechapel. Whoever wins owns the borough.”

He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. “That sounds perfect.” Hazel eyes flickered between Florence and his sister. Both women seemed to anticipate his departure before it even began. “Sorry ladies but I have a borough to become king of.” He looked to the rook, who gestured loosely in the fight’s direction. Jacob nodded and was off on his way, musing “King Jacob: sounds good, doesn’t it?” as he passed the girls by, pinching the gun back from Florence.

Florence, finding the whole thing quite amusing, began to laugh quietly, while Evie at her left simply gave a sigh. Blue eyes dragged over to the smaller woman and she raised a brow, gesturing to the direction he left in. “One of the many reasons why anyone should just stay at home if Jacob invites them out.”

“I think his passion is inspiring.”

“Not when you’ve lived with it your whole life.” Evie gave her a solemn look.

Florence breathed out a chuckle, shaking her head. “You and Freddy would get along well.”

Evie, all things considered, didn’t regard Miss Abberline in a negative light; her apparent desire for adventure and little escapades through London didn’t work to destabilise something greater-- like the reckless decisions Jacob had the tendency to make. She only worried that having her brother form some kind of hopeless attachment to Florence would hinder any progress that he might make and keep him perpetually senseless.

A softer look gracing her features now, Evie gestured for Florence to walk with her. “I think, now that my brother has abandoned you, we should get you home, Miss Abberline. Will Sergeant Abberline be back by the time you arrive?”

Florence pondered then her answer came by way of an inconvenienced frown. “If he’s on his break, maybe. Knowing my luck, he will be.”

They finally reached the main street and Evie seemed to search for a carriage. Briefly, she turned to regard Florence, an eyebrow raised. “I heard that Sergeant Abberline didn’t seem particularly happy when you returned home last Tuesday. Has it passed?”

“This morning, actually.” Florence confirmed. “Lissie made us reconcile; she threatened to leave if not.”

“Your sister?” Evie asked, nodding her head toward a carriage parked on the other side of the road.

Florence followed after her, allowing a light laugh. “No. If anything, she’s more like an over-enthusiastic aunt. Lissie is our live-in cook. She tends to help me like a handmaid, though.”

For the first time, Florence heard Evie’s genuine laugh. Her grin formed in the same way that Jacob’s did but wasn’t given out as freely as he tended to. Reaching the carriage, she gave Florence a hand to help her up onto it before clambering into the driver’s seat herself. “Well, this Lissie sounds like a good woman.”

“Ah,” Florence smiled, huffing out a giggle, “only sometimes. I think she enjoyed when I moved in with Freddy; it gave her someone more lively to gossip with.”

Evie hummed, amused, then silence fell over them both for a small while, leaving Florence to gaze out at the changing boroughs of London and let her thoughts run loose. No matter what her mind tried to focus on-- the book she had been reading, the play her and Freddy were due to attend at the end of the week, the dress she so desperately wanted to buy-- all lines seemed to lead back to Jacob and the (albeit limited) actions they’d had throughout the past few days. It was ridiculous to have suddenly become fixated on this one man. He knew nothing about her and she knew just as little about him. Yet, the thought of him persisted.

Was it him? Or the adventure that came from him?

She began to chew on the inside of her lip, thumbs playing with one another in her lap.

Liking and love were not for Florence. She had tried love once and declared that that would be her last time. A life without that burden was liberating, she’d always told herself. It’s why she despises the idea of getting married and having someone always able to hold onto her reins. It was a useless endeavour and would not serve her in any way that she would like. It would suffocate and surround her. That’s what she’ll always tell herself.

She liked the adventure he caused.

“Miss Abberline?” Evie called over her shoulder and Florence straightened up again but her head was still spinning. The hum she gave would’ve been a voice break. “I think…” Evie gave a sigh, “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if you don’t indulge my brother. He’s-- he needs to focus on our plans in London. We are working for the better of the people and being close to him-- us-- could put you in a delicate position.”

Of course.

"It's obvious that he enjoys the time spent with you and already counts you among one of his friends but I just..." Evie sucked a breath in through her teeth, leading the horses neatly around a corner, "He hasn't yet realised the gravity of our situation. He just needs to focus."

Of course. Of course. Of course.

It was really beginning to grate on Florence: the fact that everyone wanted her to leave something or another alone. Freddy wants her to stop her business in helping him. Her parents want her to stop messing around and find a husband. Now, Miss Frye wants her to stop interfering with herself and Jacob’s plans. It was only ever ‘stop’ and never a push-- an encouragement to ‘go’.

Frustration rioted in her blood. Her hands were shaking. They held each other tighter.

Maybe they were right. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if she stopped doing and simply let herself be. Freddy only wanted her to be safe and sane. Evie was saying this to protect her and keep London’s best future on the cards. It wasn’t selfish of them to ask; it was selfish of her to disregard.

It was considerate, the part of her mind that wasn’t fire and brimstone thought-- soothed.

“That sounds fine, Miss Frye.”

It’s for the best, the growing calm of her thoughts said in an effort to pacify.

“You have a fair reason for asking.”

All will be well and fine, her mind-- now having ceased its chattering-- assured.

“I’ll let him down gently.”

#assassins creed #assassins creed syndicate #ac syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x oc #evie frye #frederick abberline #florence abberline #florence has a lot of inner turmoil #she'll iron it out eventually i promise

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Forty-Seven:

The One Where Olaf’s in a Dress

The closer that the Baudelaire siblings got to the eye-shaped building, the more Sunny felt like she wanted to throw up. She didn’t want to lose Klaus again. She didn’t know how Klaus could be physically with her but mentally a million miles away, but she did know that she didn’t want it to happen ever again.

She turned to Klaus and shook her head. “Reditus,” Sunny pleaded, which meant, “You can’t go back there,”

“Sunny…”

“Periclum,” She replied, which meant, “It’s too dangerous, Klaus. Something happened to you last time.”

“I don’t care...I have to be able to see,” he said in a false confident voice. He was trying to act tough for his baby sister, but on the inside, he was terrified. He didn’t know what happened to him last time, but he was right when he said that he needed to be able to see.

“Nocere,” she pointed out, which meant, “What if you get hurt?”

“Sunny, you’re the one who wanted to stay!” Klaus cried impatiently.

“Mea culpa,” she said looking down to the ground, which meant, “I know this is my fault, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put you in danger. I don’t know why they blame our parents for the fire, and I don’t care anymore. I just want you to be safe.”

“This isn’t your fault…”

Sunny shook her head. “Effugere,” she suggested, which meant, “Yes it is. We could run away. We could hide until the next train arrives, and take it as far as possible. We know how to work in a lumber mill now, so we could get jobs in some other town.”

Klaus shook his head. “But what if he finds us? Who would protect us from Count Olaf, if were all by ourselves?”

Sunny looked at Klaus baffled. “Praesidio!” She shouted, which meant, “He has found us! And we can protect ourselves!”

“How can we protect ourselves when one of us is a baby and the other can barely see?” Klaus asked.

“Ante!” Sunny shouted, which meant, “We’ve protected ourselves before. We’ve always protected each other.”

“Just barely,” Klaus pointed out, “We’ve just barely escaped Count Olaf each time. We can’t run away and try to get along by ourselves without glasses. We have to go see Dr. Orwell and hope for the best.”

Sunny gave a tiny shriek of fear. “Relinquo,” she pleaded, which meant, “We have to leave.”

“And we will...after we finish at Dr. Orwell’s,” Klaus said in a soft tone.

“Bomby!” Sunny shouted, which meant, “We don’t know what will happen to you inside there. It’s like the Great Unknown!”

Klaus chuckled. “That’s a myth, Sunny.”

“Dada,” Sunny suggested, which meant, “that’s not what Father told me,”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Father loved to tell old wise tales. He stopped telling them to me because I got too old and logical, Sunny.”

“Bomby!” She said again, which meant, “We still don’t know what happened to you last time!”

“Well this time...I have you to protect me,” Klaus said smiling down at his baby sister. Sunny couldn’t tell if that was meant to be sarcastic or serious, but she had no time to question her brother’s tone since they had arrived at the eye-shaped building.

Both Baudelaire siblings looked at the eye-shaped building, and the building looked back at them. To Klaus, of course, Dr. Orwell’s office just looked like a big blur, but to his sister, it looked like trouble. Klaus reached for the doorknob.

“No!” Sunny hissed incredulously, “Nolen,” which meant, “You’re not going inside.”

“What else can I do?” Klaus asked quietly. He began to feel along the side of the building to find the door, and it’s at this point in the story of the Baudelaires that I would like to interrupt for a moment and answer a question that has been asked by many of my associates over the years. It is an important question, one which many, many, people have asked many, many times, in many, many places all over this world. If you continue to choose to look this misery in the eye, you should be asking that very question.

It’s the same question that the two Baudelaires should’ve asked, and a question that the beloved Beatrice should’ve asked on the day that she had died (although I have reasons to believe that she had asked this question...but it was far too late), It is a question I am sure that Lemony Snicket, himself, had asked several times during dire situations.

And that question is: Where is Count Olaf?

If you have been following the story of the two Baudelaire orphans since the very beginning as closely as I have researched it, then you know that Count Olaf is always lurking around these poor children, plotting and scheming to get his disgusting hands on their parents’ fortune. Within hours of the children’s arrival at Lucky Smells Lumbermill, Count Olaf and his nefarious assistants--the word ‘nefarious’ in this case means “Baudelaire-hating”--were already on the scene, sneaking around and committing dastardly deeds. And yet so far he has yet to beseen by either Baudelaire orphans. So as the two youngsters reluctantly stepped foot into Dr. Orwell’s office. I feel it is my duty to tell you... very nearby.

They were immediately greeted by Dr. Orwell, who smiled sweetly at the Baudelaires while holding her long black cane with a shiny red jewel on the top. “Why hello, Klaus. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Don’t tell me you broke your glasses again.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Klaus admitted.

“That’s too bad, sweetie.” She said rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “But you’re in luck, it shouldn’t take as long as it did yesterday.” Dr. Orwell smiled at Sunny, who shot her a suspicious glance back. “And you’ve brought your adorable baby sister with you, how sweet.”

She patted Sunny on the head. Sunny stared at the woman up and down for the second time today. It was the same sweet woman she had met earlier when Dr. Orwell delivered her brother’s glasses to him. She was glad to not see count Olaf disguised as Dr. Orwell.

“Come on,” Dr. Orwell said, showing the way with her black cane. “Shirley, my receptionist, made some cookies that the little baby can eat in the waiting room while I make Klaus’ glasses.”

Klaus just nodded and followed Orwell slowly to the waiting room, they walked along a hallway decorated with medical certificates. “This way to the office,” Orwell said holding out her cane for Klaus to grab with his free hand to help him walk without bumping into everything. “Klaus told me he's an avid reader, do you like to read?” Orwell asked Sunny. Smiling when she noticed the young infant slowly beginning to relax.

“Yep!” Sunny shrieked.

“I’ve been teaching her how to read,” Klaus pointed out happily, as he was beginning to relax.

“Awww, that is so sweet. What a good big brother, you are.” Orwell replied, sneaking an eye roll that Sunny did not notice.

Orwell gave the waiting room door a little push and had the children follow her. Sunny glanced around the waiting room and her heart immediately dropped. The waiting room was a small one, and it looked like most waiting rooms. It had a sofa and a few chairs and a small table with old magazines stacked on it, and a receptionist sitting at a desk. But when Sunny looked at the receptionist, she saw something that made the younger Baudelaire orphan bare her teeth as she began to growl and glare.

A nameplate on the desk read, “Shirley”, but this was no Shirley, even though the receptionist was wearing a plain pink blouse, with a red belt around the waist. Underneath the belt was a long pink skirt with yellow patterns embroidered on it. The outfit also included red heels, a pair of glasses that looked suspiciously similar to the ones that Dr. Orwell and Klaus had, a pair of white earrings, and red lipstick. The receptionist had their strawberry blonde hair up in a weird hairstyle. But above the red lipstick and just below the hairdo was a pair of shiny, shiny eyes that Sunny recognized at once.

When Sunny began growling and struggling in Klaus’ arms, Klaus began to tense up again, wondering what had his sister so agitated. “Sunny…”

Dr. Orwell looked shocked. “What’s wrong with the little sweetheart,” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Klaus said squinting to try to see what Sunny was staring at, but no matter how hard he squinted he could not see anything but a blurred silhouette of a person sitting behind the receptionist’s desk.

Sunny starts flipping out once Shirley smirked at Klaus. She tried her best to get her brother to let her go. “Sunny, what’s wrong?”

“Badman!” Sunny yelled. “Fucker!”

Klaus’ heart dropped knowing immediately what his sister was talking about. Klaus tried to squint but in the other direction. “Where?” he asked desperately holding Sunny closer to him in order to protect her, which further annoyed Sunny, who wanted to be put down so she can attack Dr. Orwell’s receptionist.

“What’s wrong, kids?” Orwell asked feigning confusion.

Both Baudelaires ignored her, as Klaus began to practically spin in circles trying to locate what Sunny was talking about. It wasn’t until Shirley stood up that Sunny bared her teeth again. “Bite!” she yelled warning him. Shirley stayed behind the desk shooting Sunny a glare. Sunny turned to Klaus. “Olaf,” she said. “Der!” grabbing Klaus’ face and trying to get him to face the villain. But every time Sunny pushed his face, he turned his whole body in that direction instead of simply turning his head.

Klaus began to shake nervously. He continued squinting in every direction. Klaus was pissed, this was completely unfair of Olaf to do. Not only was Sunny an infant, but without his glasses, Klaus was blind. Both Baudelaires were more defenseless than they had ever been before. “Where, Sunny?”

“Recep!” Sunny exclaimed, which meant, “he’s the receptionist!”

“The receptionist?” Klaus cried.

“Why, hello darling little children. How are you today? Would you like some freshly baked cookies?” Shirley asks in a ridiculously high voice.

Klaus began to shake violently and he held Sunny even closer to him. “Olaf...show yourself!” he yelled squinting in the opposite direction. Sunny tried her best to get her brother to turn the correct way but it was beginning to seem pointless. So Sunny turned to face Olaf glaring at him.

“My...my...my... You are such a silly child. My name is Shirley and I am right here sitting at my desk,” Shirley explained.

“You’re Olaf!” Klaus shouted, still not turned to face the villain. Klaus continued to shake even if he somehow found the courage to yell at Olaf.

“No, my name is Shirley. It’s on my nameplate and my name badge,” Shirley explained.

“Bull!” Sunny yelled.

Klaus gave up trying to see Olaf and began to try to backtrack out of Dr. Orwell’s office.

“Children, you seem confused…” Dr. Orwell said.

Klaus shook his head furiously. Still trying to find the exit.

Shirley smirked at Sunny. “Yes. My name is Shirley, I am a lonely receptionist and I would love to have children of my own. Two orphans, in fact.” Shirley explained, “One of each. A vision-impaired obedient little boy and a baby girl with a set of teeth that’d be considered a dentist’s nightmare.” Shirley says, walking away from the desk and closer to Klaus and Sunny.

“Sucks for you! Sir and Charles are raising us!”

“Oh, he’ll hand you over soon enough…” Shirley replied in a harsh whisper. “Just wait and see,”

“I bite!” Sunny warned.

“Dr. Orwell,” Klaus cried.

“What’s wrong, children?” the optometrist asked in her sickly-sweet voice.

“Please...you have to listen to me, your receptionist is a notorious villain,”

“Bastard!” Sunny added.

“Children...I don’t understand...what are you talking about?” she asked as she gently grabbed Klaus’ arm to keep him from finding the exit.

“Shirley is a man named Count Olaf in disguise,” Klaus explained, his heart beating rapidly. “Please, call the authorities!”

“I’m confused, too, Dr. Orwell,” Shirley replies. “I don’t know who is this Count Omar person is, although he does sound quite handsome.”

“Your name is not Omar! It’s Olaf! Not Shirley, or Sham, or Stephano!” Klaus yelled as he began to shake more.

“See, I’m utterly confused. I think the boy is just scared of the optometrist,” Shirley said mockingly. “So I’ll forgive him for calling me by the wrong name,”

“Dr. Orwell, please. Please believe me,” Klaus pleaded.

“Now, Klaus...Shirley does have a point. You were nervous yesterday and you admitted that you were nervous during your first trip to the optometrists. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, sweetheart.” Dr. Orwell said in a concerned voice.

“I bet the little crybaby needs his mommy and daddy to hold his hand,” Shirley said mockingly smirking at Sunny, knowing Klaus can’t see any of the faces that were being made. “But alas, they won’t be helping him out...ever again.”

“Fucker!” Sunny shouted growling.

“Let me tell you what,” Dr. Orwell said gently taking Sunny from Klaus. “Why don’t we just go back and get you some new glasses and then you and your baby sister can leave and go back home.”

“No...no…I can’t leave her in here with him,” Klaus explained reaching out for his sister but unable to see her.

Dr. Orwell set Sunny gently down on the couch and handed her a cookie. “She’ll be fine, Shirley will stay here and simply watch her. We should be done in a jiffy, Klaus.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Klaus cried. Dr. Orwell gave a quick smirk to Shirley, which Sunny did not see because she was too busy glaring at the receptionist. She walked over to Klaus and gently grabbed his arm.

“Wave bye-bye to your sister,” Dr. Orwell said kindly to Klaus. “We’ll be right back, Sunny,” she called out as she gently dragged Klaus into her examination room closing the door behind them.

Sunny glared at Shirley from the couch. “Bite!” she warned again. Olaf merely rolled his eyes at the infant, who began to bare her teeth at the villain. Shirley smiled at the infant. “Animo!” she yelled, which meant, “I’m not scared of you, bitch!”

Sunny watched as the villain shook his head and shrugged his shoulders indicating that he has no idea what she was saying. She rolled her eyes and carefully thought about how she could interrogate Olaf.

“Hide?” She asked, which meant, “You’ve been cowardly hiding in this eye-shaped building since we’ve arrived haven’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Shirley replied.

“Team?” She asked, which meant, “And you’re in cahoots with Orwell, aren't you?”

“Possibly,”

“Zom!” Sunny yelled, which meant, “And somehow Dr. Orwell and you turned Klaus into a zombie!”

“Maybe,”

Sunny glared at the villain. “Re!” Sunny cried, “And she’s going to do it again, right now, isn’t she?”

“It’s within the bounds of the imagination, dear child,” Olaf replied smirking at Sunny. “Would you like to hear what I imagine happening to your brother?” he asked with a big toothy grin.

Sunny took a deep breath. “Redrum!” she shouted, which meant, “If you lay a finger on my brother, I’ll kill you with my own bare hands!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Olaf replied rolling his eyes. “I imagine someone taking a sharp, sharp knife and just slicing away at his little orphany skin, but the trick is to not immediately kill him. Oh no, that’d be letting him off way too easily. No, I imagine whoever gets the honor to do this, allowing all of his blood to slowly pour out....sort of like a waterfall. Oh, I can hear the screams of agony already. Music to my ears! ” Olaf hissed laughing like an unhinged psychopath. He was trying his best to scare Sunny, but what Olaf still hasn’t learned about the younger Baudelaire orphan is she was tougher and braver than she looked. Sunny’s eyes went wide with anger, not fear as she stared down the disguised villain.

“And there’s no one to save him…” Olaf commented mockingly. “Just a stupid little baby,”

Sunny’s blood began to boil. “Bite!” She cried as she quickly climbed down from the couch. Olaf stood up shocked and terrified of the feral infant who was making her way towards him. Sunny was now out for blood. She didn’t give a damn about anything other than protecting her brother.

“Get back!” he yelled as he threw cookies at her.

“Rip!” She yelled angrily as she reached Shirley, which meant, “If you hurt my fucking brother again I will rip you to shreds with my four fucking teeth, you worthless piece of shit!” She opened and closed her mouth rapidly imitating the act of biting to freak Olaf out. It seemed to work because after he threw his last cookie at Sunny, he screamed and ran towards the door that Klaus and Orwell walked through. To Sunny’s dismay, he closed the door behind him before she could reach it, keeping her trapped in the waiting room. But worst of all keeping Klaus trapped in there with him and Orwell.

______________________________________________________________________

Dr. Orwell helped Klaus find the chair. Klaus was shaking, imagining what Olaf could be doing to his baby sister right now. “Dr. Orwell,”

“Yes, Klaus,” Dr. Orwell asked. “Are you nervous?”

“Well, yes...”

“Now, Klaus. Didn’t we go through this yesterday, everything is going to be fine. This won’t even take as long as yesterday.” Orwell interrupted, feigning a look of concern.

“It’s not you that I’m freaking about...it’s your receptionist!”

“I don’t see why,” Dr. Orwell said as she turned Klaus’ chair towards the screen.

“Dr. Orwell, please listen to me. Your receptionist is not named Shirley. Your receptionist is Count Olaf in disguise, ”

Dr. Orwell was silent for a second, as she slowly began to smirk. “ I know, ” she hissed at Klaus before Klaus could process what she had just said, he heard two loud, metal clangs! As leg and arm restraints came down, restraining him to the chair. Dr. Orwell started chuckling as Klaus heard another loud, metalclang! As she pushed down a head restraint.

Klaus began to struggle against the restraints at first, but when he realized that he was hopelessly trapped, Klaus began having a full-on panic attack worse than every other panic attack he’s ever had. His body violently shook and trembled in the chair, as his heart started beating rapidly. His breathing became sharp and difficult. His eyes were moving every which way trying to focus on something to bring himself back to reality. He felt tears falling from his eyes. Klaus’ mind kept reminding him of the last time he was trapped and the horrendous deeds Olaf had done. Klaus started screaming as loud as he could, but most of his screams were hoarse because his breathing had affected him, he felt like his body was going numb and he was becoming lightheaded from his breath becoming short and sharp. Almost immediately, he started pleading with Orwell. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’ll behave...I promise I’ll behave,”

Orwell looked at him confused seeing that she hadn’t even said much to him. Only confirming that she knew Shirley’s true identity.

“Please...please...don’t let him hurt Sunny. Let him take me…” Klaus pleaded, as he began to lose the feeling in his hands and feet. He shook his hands and kicked his feet the best he could in the restraints to stop the tingling numbness.

“Oh, Klaus. Your sister will be just fine...for now. You see, Olaf wants to get a hold of you brats legally so no one can stop him.” Orwell explained.

“L-look, if...if...you let me go...I’ll give you my half of the Baudelaire fortune once I turn eighteen. I...I don’t need the money.” He pleaded still suffering through his panic attack.

“Oh, Klaus, silly boy,” Orwell chucked. “It was never about the fortune to me...it’s about…” Orwell began.

“Oh, Georgina...don’t tell him what else this is all about,” Shirley interrupted walking in front of Klaus. Shirley gave the young boy a big smile. “It’s so lovely to see you again, Klaus.” Shirley hissed chuckling.

Even though Klaus’ vision was blurred and he couldn’t see Olaf clearly, all it took was Olaf’s voice to send him into another panic attack. He shook and trembled against the restraints of Dr. Orwell’s chair. The only thing his mind could think about was the possible ways that Olaf was going to hurt him this time. The young boy closed his eyes trying to imagine himself anywhere but here.

“Wait, I thought you were watching the baby,” Orwell commented glaring at Olaf.

“She’s a useless baby. What can she do other than bite?”

Orwell looked at Olaf with a highly unamused expression. “Did you run in here because she threatened to bite you?”

Olaf looked away from Dr. Orwell, slightly embarrassed. He rolled his eyes, “The brat has fucking piranha teeth! Let her biteyou and let me know how it feels!” Olaf growled remembering all the times that Sunny bit him in an attempt to defend herself and her older brother.

“You’re pathetic. It’s no wonder you’ve lost to these childrenthree times now,” Orwell commented rolling her eyes.

Olaf just ignores her and turns to Klaus. “Besides, I wanted to check in on my favorite little punching bag,” he said pinching a helpless Klaus’ cheek.

The second that Olaf touched him, Klaus’ panic attacked severely worsened. The boy’s symptoms all flared up seemingly all at once, as he began to whimper. “I’ll behave...I promise I’ll behave. Don’t hurt Sunny. Don’t hurt me.”

Olaf began to chuckle. As he placed a rough hand on Klaus’ shoulder. “Once I have you back in my care…” he hissed glaring at Klaus. “Just imagine what I am going to do to you for misbehaving for sooooo long. I can not wait to see you and Sunny suffer by my hands.”

Klaus closed his eyes as his breathing became rapid, his head felt heavy, his body felt numb. He turned to Dr. Orwell the best he could while in the restraints. “Please...please. Let me go,” he cried. Dr. Orwell simply ignored the boy.

Olaf turned around examining the small table where Dr. Orwell had all of her surgical tools. “Hmmm...these don’t seem sharp enough, Georgina,” Olaf commented. “You have a broken umbrella lying around or a simple dagger?”

“ No...no...no...please…!” Klaus begged, his shaking worsening. He closed his eyes tightly as he struggled harshly in the chair. “I’ll behave. I’ll listen... just don’t…” he cried trying to shake his head. His eyes were blinking rapidly. Klaus felt like his lungs were on fire because he couldn’t breathe properly.

Dr. Orwell looked from Klaus to Olaf with a concerned look on her face. “My God. What the fuck did you do to him?”

Olaf simply smiled. “Just...trust me. You don’t wanna know.” He chuckled after Georgina gave him a skeptical look. “Let’s just say he needed to learn his lesson.”

Klaus began to scream for help. Olaf slammed a hand over the young boy’s mouth, which did not help Klaus’ ever-worsening panic attack. “ I’ll behave...Please…! Please, I’ll behave! I promise!” Klaus’ muffled words were cried into Olaf’s hand. He looked to Dr. Orwell for some mercy, knowing full well that Olaf did not have any mercy.

“Then shut it!” Olaf hisses waiting for Klaus to stop yelling, begging, and crying. He removes his hand from Klaus’ mouth. “See, he’s like a puppy. Just got to train him.” If Klaus had any control over his eyes or hands right now, he probably would’ve glared at Olaf or flipped him off, but Klaus’ body was so numb, he didn’t even feel alive. He knew he was alive though because he felt his trembles and shakes.

“There are much easier ways into making him complacent,” Orwell pointed out.

“Yeah...but this is more fun,”

Orwell rolled her eyes. “And yet you’re afraid of the baby,”

“A baby with piranha teeth!” Olaf cried defensively, “And I’m not afraid of her!”

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you ran in here to get away from her…” Orwell said as she turned on the screen in front of Klaus.

“No...I ran in here because I wanted to join in on the fun,”

Klaus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down but to no avail. It took him a minute to speak, and when he finally did, it was in a weak, hoarse voice. “W-why do you h-hate us so much?”

“Because it’s fun!” Olaf replied matter-a-factly.

“W-what...what are you going to do w-with me?” Klaus asked in a meek voice. Klaus stopped struggling, his anxiety and fear finally taking over, completely paralyzing him. His body was entirely numb and cold. To his horror, his body and mind had given up. He stared at the blurry forms of the two villains completely terrified. He hoped that with his body in this current state of numbness that if Olaf had planned to harm him in a similar way that he did when he tried to rescue Sunny from the tower room, that he wouldn’t be able to feel any of it.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Dr. Orwell replied smirking.

“Well...not really,” Olaf corrected as he and Dr. Orwell laughed maniacally.

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