#{/*sigh* ... i DO want to get to work on a dictionary project for this sometime lmao}

[inthegardenofgenesis]

A Look into New English/Nou Anglish and it's history - Apocalypse

After Ilka's teachings had led the androids and technology left behind after the first extinction of humanity to end their wars and discover the "Human Key" (A term to sum up what makes humans human, on both a psychological, philosophical and psychical level), the creation of the first human was made following the uncovering of the human genome. Preparations were quickly put in place to begin bringing on the first "wave" of society. The new language of this society - Nou Anglish, or New English - was chosen to be based off of English for it's popularity and reputation as a global language. Though the androids had begun to quickly get to work in learning English for themselves, androids, being beings composed of steady patterns and orders, found the numerous inconsistencies in it's vocabulary and grammar to be greatly difficult. A linguistics department was created to do further research into English, and following the tracing of it's roots back to Old English and the Anglish project, a new plan was developed: Create a new variant of English that would be consistent and easily learnable for both human and androidkind. Nou Anglish was based primarily off of Old English, with bits of Anglish scattered about for words that were nonexistent to the prior. Over the years, and especially following the Decommission, Nou Anglish became more and more simplified and lax in it's pronunciations, resulting in it's current form at the time of Apocalypse. Barnabas' favourite NA word is "þeðken" (Thethken) - A word taught to him by Colin shortly after he joined the team as Ilka. "Þeðken" is a new word particular to Nou Anglish meaning roughly along the lines of "The realisation that at the time you exist, someone you've never met or is out of your sight, near or far, is currently existing and living their own life as well - In all manners of sight, feel, taste, etc. etc.". Barnabas commonly used it as a sign-off to Colin in their letters to each other.

[smallblip]

You asked, I deliver! Part II of Accidental baby acquisition💖 I lost one of the asks 😩 but anon who asked about baby Udo, I named the baby in your honour! Saddle up cowboys! I’m not good with sequels but here we are-

Babygate:

the scandal that implies that a certain boy band member cheated on his partner (another band member) and had a kid even when the mom was never pregnant.

- urban dictionary

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. Life is definitely picking up. Pieck still sends him excerpts of her dirty fanfiction to proofread, Bertholdt is still doing all he can to “retire at 30”, Annie might have eloped with said boyfriend. But he’s seeing Porco on the regular now, he’s really cute, he’s got a nice ass. Reiner can’t complain.

He’s also recently donated his Levi Ackerman standee. Only because it’s getting increasingly hard to reconcile the fact that he has a life sized cutout of his colleague’s boyfriend in his room.

What he can complain about is said colleague (and friend) dropping bombs on him. He’s one of the moderators of one of the bigger No Name servers. Sometimes he wonders if that’s a conflict of interest because, well, he knows the guy on a first name basis. But today he has other concerns. He sees his notifications blowing up and decides to go on the No Name server. And lo and behold. There’s a paparazzi shot of Levi and Hanji with a stroller taking a walk in a new channel called “MYSTERY FAMILY?”.

He cancels his plans with Porco. “Don’t text me for the next few hours, got a fire to fight.” He clicks send, and feels kinda bad, so he sends Porco really dank meme to appease him. (That doesn’t stop Porco from doing exactly what Reiner told him not to do and demanding an explanation every five minutes).

He forces himself to take a deep breath before texting Hanji-

“Hanji… I don’t mean to be rude but…

WHAT THE FUCK?”

—

So here begins babygate. A conspiracy theory that took the Internet by storm.

“Levi Ackerman had a secret marriage! He was keeping this from us from the start!”

“It’s a publicity stunt to keep No Name relevant during their hiatus!”

“It’s an elaborate scheme by the company to punish Levi for announcing the hiatus without their knowledge!”

“Levi’s mystery partner was sent by the lizard people to take control of his mind and produce half-lizard, half-human hybrid babies to take over the world! What a bitch!” (This is Hanji’s favourite).

And the internet’s favourite- this is all an elaborate scheme to cover up the scandalous love affair between Levi and Eren- the band’s guitarist.

“What the fuck?” Levi had said during dinner once, to which Reiner had to swallow his food and pretend he never read or actively looked up ereri content. Yes. Reiner knows the name of their ship.

Levi hadn’t been too worried before, but when pictures of them shopping for baby stuff leaked online, something snaps. Something snaps and Erwin tells him he needs more time to figure out the biggest PR crisis in No Name history.

It’s Levi. Levi is the PR crisis.

So in the meantime, no shock reveals, no more social media, (if possible) no more leaving the house with pregnant girlfriend in tow. “Don’t do ANYTHING.” Erwin had said, “especially not you!” Erwin had directed that at Eren, who suggested he makes an announcement. Erwin shudders. He remembers all the past scandals they got themselves into just because Eren, bless him, didn’t know when to shut up.

“I’m sorry…” Levi says to Hanji when they’re cuddled up on the couch watching a documentary on whale migration.

“Huh?” Hanji says, voice muffled through her incessant sniffling because “whales are delivered tail first, Levi! They wear their mothers like hats!”

He apologises for putting her through the mess that is him and his job. And Hanji smiles at him. He wonders if their kid will look like her. He’s hoping they would.

“Levi…” Hanji sighs, taking his face in her hands, “that night at the bar I thought to myself ‘this man has a face I would risk it all for’… I think this counts within the realms of ‘all’”

Levi scoffs, but a smile is threatening the corners of his lips. Erwin’s nagging over the phone fades a little and he sinks a little lower into the couch. He sighs one more time for good measure before saying-

“So… you wanna know which my favourite babygate theory is?”

—

“And you’re really not bothered by all this?” Reiner asks, in an emergency meeting that he had scheduled into her calendar. He hates that he’s packing things into her already busy schedule when she’s about to pop but, he figures it’s better now than when the baby’s actually out. He had booked a meeting room and everything, figuring if he projected some of the crazy shit they’re saying on the fan boards up on screen, Hanji would start taking this seriously. Because if Reiner knows anything, it’s that the fans will do anything to keep their ship afloat.

He scrolls past another post on the lizard people and Hanji gets him to pause.

“I mean… A little?” Hanji pinches her fingers together.

“Hanji…” Reiner sighs, “you and Levi discuss and rate babygate conspiracy theories you find online I don’t think you’re taking this seriously at all…”

Hanji looks at Reiner- an absolute state of panic. And she considers panicking for a moment. She’s read articles dissecting babygate and although they’re absolutely batshit, Hanji appreciates how well-researched they are. Which is a little scary. To be fair to Levi, he’s been trying to get her to worry. “I can’t keep you safe all the time, you have to be careful” like he’s going off to war somewhere. But it’s not in Hanji nature to worry about things like this. She’s a researcher at a lab who lived an ordinary life up until the point the universe hit her with a-

Sike! Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy! What are you gonna do about it?

And now she knows what headcanons and lemons are, and she really doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. So Hanji decides, she’ll do nothing. She’ll go on indulgently long walks Levi in tow, she’ll talk his ear off about work. And like a good girlfriend, she’ll listen to his demos (and enjoy them) and tell him “are you sure anger rhymes with danger?”.

“I don’t really know how to worry about anything beyond our samples getting contaminated…” Hanji says, sheepish. Reiner sighs. He doesn’t want to be a wet blanket on Hanji’s life. He wants to be fun Reiner. Cool as a cucumber. Reiner who manages to make it through dinner at Hanji’s without having to excuse himself to hyperventilate in her bathroom because Levi is right there. And he’s so afraid that he might just be able to read his mind and find out he had looked up Levi Ackerman x y/n fanfiction once in his foolish youth (youth being approximately four months back)

Reiner shudders.

“Yeah okay… That’s um… That’s cool… Right?” He says.

Hanji shrugs.

—

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what?

You go into labour of course, with a matter of fact- “oh. Look Levi. The water broke.” All while refusing to leave the house until you demolish that amazing sandwich he made for you. You go into labour and you yell and grunt like a beast as you squeeze the life out of your baby daddy because he kinda deserves it. You both kinda deserve this pain. Take it as heavenly punishment for being horny and stupid if you will.

And in the middle of it Hanji thinks huh, this feels like a mix of a reality TV show from MTV and a badly written fanfiction. Except Hanji isn’t a teen mom and she’s too old for self-insert fiction that involves a lead singer of a popular band.

But Levi is here, and he doesn’t complain one bit even though he looks like he’s about to pass out. So as far as drunken one night stands go- this is pretty damn aspirational.

The baby enters the world with a huge cry.

“Kid’s got a huge set of lungs…” Levi says, but his own voice is quivering.

“Just like her dad…” Hanji smiles.

As he watches Hanji fall asleep with their baby on her chest, Levi thinks fuck it. Fuck keeping this under wraps. Fuck the fans and them enjoying how Eren gets on his nerves. Fuck Erwin and his “Levi. You’re giving me a headache. You are the cause of this headache.” Because the baby has Hanji’s nose and his eyes and he loves them more than anything in the world.

He snaps a picture of them and tags bigdaddyzoë-

“Welcome to the world, my love.”

—

Reiner can’t help the tears that well in his eyes after seeing the picture Hanji had sent him of the baby-

“He says hi to his favourite uncle!” Was the caption, and Reiner could only reply with a crying cat meme and an incoherent text that Hanji favourites.

He’s on the bus on the way to the hospital when his phone buzzes incessantly. It’s Porco.

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK.”

“LEVI ACKERMAN IS HANJI ZOË’S BABY DADDY?”

“HANJI ZOË MY PHD SUPERVISOR?”

“LEVI ACKERMAN OF NO NAME?”

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK?”

He sends a reply at the entrance of the hospital-

“Welcome to my world”

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. He’s one of the moderator of one of the bigger No Name servers, so he can block and remove people at his discretion. Some days he lets it get to his head. It makes him feel like a king. But today, he’s putting out fires.

Erwin decided their PR strategy was absolutely no strategy, because “they’re zooming in on the pixels Levi. Once they doubt the pixels, they won’t believe anything we’re saying”. With that. Babygate has officially taken on a life of its own. Eren still sends Levi babygate articles to annoy him, and to Hanji because she asked very nicely. Hanji thinks Erwin’s strategy makes sense, Levi thinks it’s just lazy. But Erwin framed a certificate that says “survived a PR crisis (sort of)” that Hanji had insisted be hung up on their wall, so that closes one chapter. Besides, Eren has been spotted going out on dates with a mystery girl. Which has the double effect of diverting attention away from Levi and exacerbating babygate because “see? Told you the company’s doing all they can to prove they’re not together!”

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” Levi had thrown at Eren, to which he had responded cleverly with a-

“Could’ve said the same for you!”

Touché…

“See? That can’t be Levi! Look at how he’s smiling!”

“That can’t be a baby! Looks like an animatronic to me!”

“Do they even make animatronics that realistic?”

Reiner pins his “no slander” rule- one day they’ll get it. Or at least he would’ve gotten rid of all the people that don’t.

“Who’s this bigdaddyzoë anyway?”

“Maybe she isn’t real? Company probably invented her…”

“Heard she’s a crazy groupie who got knocked up…”

“Heard she’s hot…”

… several people are typing

—

“So… I heard from Reiner you were defending my honour in the server?” Hanji quirks an eyebrow.

Levi shrugs. Whatever goes down in the server stays between Leviackerman173810 (leviackerman and all 173809 permutations of said username had already been taken) and the hundreds of people who haven’t quite figured out he’s the real deal. Besides, Erwin has issued him three warnings so it’s best to lay low for now.

“My hero…” Hanji chuckles, pressing a kiss on Levi’s head. Below them, baby Udo wriggles and yawns against the fabric of Levi’s shirt. Cute.

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what? You look at your son and know he’s going to break hearts like his father of course. And if you’re Levi, you pray to god he never asks about babygate because Hanji has read up enough about it to be considered a connoisseur.

One day the internet will break when they find out the identity of bigdaddyzöe. But for now baby Udo has his parents wrapped around his tiny fingers and he doesn’t quite understand the concept of him being the spawn of every typical band member x y/n fanfiction. Or the centre of a very popular, very absurd, yet strangely believable internet conspiracy theory. Or the canon plot that has sunk one of the biggest No Name ships. And that’s okay.

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 17

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 18

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader)

Chapter: You finally make contact with the Avengers again but everything is not as it seems. Or rather everyone.

Word Count: 1928

A/N: the next 2 chapters are more “Move the damn plot, Mee!” than “yes, brain! Deliver some flowing, symbolic prose!” I’m not thrilled about it either, but here we are.

The village was small. Hearty in the way towns are that have crawled out of the wilderness, just barely keeping the wild at bay. It was rugged and worn, and if you’d been there by yourself, you’d have passed right through without marking it.

Bucky pulled the creaking truck beside one of the larger single-story buildings. You’d have guessed the shutters hadn’t been painted since they were installed sometime in the late 1960s. The windows were probably last cleaned around the same time. The concrete wouldn’t need painting. No, eventually it would crumble into the dust whence it came.

For now, the entire side of the building had taken on a soft brown patina; decades of road dust streaked grey with the steady drip of melting snow and ice. Most couldn’t have picked it out of a line-up from the other buildings. Nothing distinguished this one as a government building except the sign in the filthy window of the door advertising its hours of operation. You doubted very much if their adherence was strictly enforced.

“Only library with wifi for the next hundred miles,” Bucky had told you as he gassed up the truck for the drive. You’d yawned and handed him a coffee in a white styrofoam cup. The liquid was black and cloudy as the sky overhead. Even the 3 creams you’d dumped into yours had done little to brighten the stale, hefty brew.

The library door groaned when Bucky drew it open for you. Not the gentle squeak of a place welcoming a new guest. No, this was the deep angry howl of a door stubborn and calloused in its disuse. The woman scowling at you from behind the counter stood as the physical embodiment of the very sound. Grey wisps of hair tumbled out of a hastily tied knot, a worn and grease-stained flannel hung on heavy shoulders over top of a fading wool knit. The collar had begun to fray long ago, as had this woman’s patience.

“Hi.” You offered as pleasant a smile as you could find, a customer service smile, though you were the customer.

The frown didn’t budge one millimeter. Her eyes though, turned to Bucky when he stomped heavy boots on the rug at the door. Muddy slush from the day-old snow dropped off his boots in clumps.

“Please wipe your boots outside,” she scolded.

“The snow’s right up to the door—“

Her head snapped and her eyes burned with the sort of anger only a stern teacher could conjure.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded before cracking the door just enough to knock his boots on the brick wall.

“Do you need somethin’?” she asked you. Not, ‘Can I help you?’ Not, ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ Not even a, ‘Are you lost?’ This was a terse, ‘Honey, I know you’re lost and I know trouble. I want nothin’ to do with either.’

“Yes,” you jumped forward, matching her eagerness to rush you out. “I’m um… I’m not from here and—“

“Well I can see that.”

Bucky stepped in then, a scowl as deep as her own. He turned it down on you though. If you could kick yourself, you would. One of his rules of being on the run – don’t give away unnecessary information. Not who you are, where you’re going, who’s coming for you, not even what you need. Be nondescript. This was a difficult rule to follow when you were a nervous talker, when your sympathy scale was off the charts and the best way you knew to communicate was to connect in a personal way.

“We need to use your computer,” Bucky said simply. “You have internet here?”

She pointed to a back corner of the building. “Yeah. We even have indoor plumbing,” she grumbled.

“Well, she hates us,” you fidgeted, leaning close to whisper at Bucky’s shoulder as he led the way toward the computers. “You remember people you hate. She’s going to report us or something.”

Bucky chuckled as he looked back at you. “To who?”

“I don’t know… a Mountie? Loki could be anywhere right? Anyone?”

“Loki is from another planet. He’s not Interpol. There’s no hotline running for us. Far as she knows we’re a couple on a fishing trip.”

“Really? You don’t think she’ll remember us?”

He shrugged, pulling a chair over beside the one he took in front of the computer. “She wouldn’t have remembered some idiot who forgot to wipe his boots. Probably gonna remember ‘I’m not from here, please like me,’” he teased, donning a high squeak of a voice.

You smacked his arm with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I sound like.” A glance over your shoulder at the woman unfurling a cough drop at the desk. “She just looks so unhappy. How many  people smile at her in a day, you think?”

“Not enough,” Bucky agreed. Grim places made for grim people. Harsh living and meager needs made even the softest people harden at the edges. Necessity, he called it. Survival.

“See. I might be the weirdo that cowered at the library door, but she’ll have a story to tell her partner when she gets home. Bet she’ll laugh about it.”

Bucky chuckled, sparing a glance over to you as he booted up the software. The computer was ancient and it made a dissatisfied grinding noise at the request.

“You laughed at least,” she nudged his shoulder with her own.

“That wasn’t a laugh,” he argued, failing to stifle a grin. “That was a… a snort at best.”

“Oh come on. There was at least a chortle.”

“A what?”

“A chortle! Look it up, we’re in a library. Ma’am!” you hollered, turning over your shoulder and waving.

“Knock it off!” Bucky laughed, reaching for your arm and pinning it to your side.

“Ma’am, could you point my friend here toward the dictionaries, he needs to look up a word—Umpfh!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth, the other still firmly wrapped around your arm, enveloping you thoroughly.

“No, we’re fine with the computer. Internet, so helpful,” he hollered, over your muffled chuckle.

The soft tickle of breath on his hand, the gentle shake of your laughing shoulders set off that warm, brightness in his chest. He was smiling down at you as he let go.

“Well I definitely got a smile, at least,” you nudged when he did lift his hand away. “You don’t smile enough either.”

“I smile.” His brow crinkled, like he wanted to scowl, but then… he would be proving your point. So he kept a half a smirk on his lips.

“Well, yeah, everybody smiles sometimes. But you rarely,  and you never laugh—“

“I do too. I laughed yesterday when you fell on the stairs.”

“That was rude. You didn’t warn me they ice up like that.”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “You looked like a cartoon. You should’ve seen your face.”

“You should see your face, Sir Scowls-A-Lot.”

“Scowl?” His eyes went wide and the smile threatened to erupt into an astonished laugh.

“Yes. You have the worst case of RBF I’ve ever seen.”

“What the hell is RBF…?” he wondered. But by now you were talking over each other, arguing and laughing all at once.

“People say, ‘If looks could kill…’ but, really. When you’re grumpy it’s like… if looks could kill, gimme Captain America’s shield because, nothing could stop those silver bullets.”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolled his eyes, typing away on the keyboard.

“It is. I mean, it’s fine, it’s a good looking face, so it works. But it’s a definite scowl.”

“A good looking face?” His entire visage lit into a grin now. His grey eyes were sharp and glittering like the cat that got the canary.

You were suddenly, glaringly aware that you’d been carrying on about all the little looks you’d noticed about your indefinite bodyguard all while you were still pressed tight against him from shoulder to hip. Heat flooded your cheeks and nose and throat at a record pace as you scrambled for a proverbial ripcord.

“Oh, you know you’re handsome.” When had denial ever worked for anyone? Misdirection, was clearly the way out. “Don’t act like I’m the first person to tell you that.”

He was still as marble for a long moment while you picked at your nails. The grin had dimmed a little, no longer a beaming mischievous thing, it had settled to a gentle warmth. He was Bucky again, the one who carefully assuaged your fears, who listened, who made eggs when hot pockets wouldn’t do.

“No,” he agreed finally and you looked up at the sweet softness of his tone. “First time in a long time it’s mattered to me, though. For some damn reason… I care what you think.”

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony’s voice thrummed angrily through the computer’s speakers. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Bucky took a sharp breath, deep into his lungs, breathing in the last of the stillness between you and taking it with him when he turned to the monitor. “Yeah,” he said and then he was talking to Tony. Something about a Doctor and the big bang and some powerful stones. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky.

Tony was irritable. Fuming, actually. The “doot-doot blub-blub-ting doot-doot” of the videocall ringtone repeated again, fueling the inferno. Waiting on technology was not something he was accustomed to. Waiting for inelegant, vulnerable technology that was too old to exist to project an image of the inside of his offices out into the world, well that would have been an a resolute No before today. But his teammates are nothing if not stubborn. Barnes most of all.

“Finally!” he sighed, leaning forward and peering at the image. “Why is it so grainy. I can’t… That’s a terrible picture.”

“It’s good enough,” Dr. Strange deadpanned beside him.

“No that can’t be it. Connection’s bad or something. They can’t even hear us talking!” He began waving haphazardly at the screen, hoping to catch the eye of the soldier or the stone-keeper.

That’s when he noticed what was actually on the screen. Bucky’s arm around you, tightly. A laugh. The goddamn Winter Soldier, your guardian for this mission, looking down at you as though he…

“Holy shit,” Tony mumbled, leaning closer. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, you have to allow the app to access your microphone,” Strange rolled his eyes, entirely missing the point.

“Hey, Rogers?” Tony called just as Steve strode into the room, slightly out of breath. “I think your bestie has compromised the mission.”

His eyes were glued to the screen as Steve leaned his shoulder with a hand on the desk to get a closer look.

“Indeed,” he hummed through a grin as he watched the screen.

“What?” Tony frowned up at him.

Steve shook his head minutely. “Bucky’s fine. He’s only ever failed one mission. And I’m not this mission.”

Tony’s frown never lifted as his eyes darted over Steve. Doubt clouded them for but a moment. He hammered a quick line of code into the digital projection of a keyboard and swiped the screen away.

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony asked after patching the room’s audio systems through to the rudimentary video conferencing software. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Not a second later, Steve – or rather Loki projecting himself as Steve – noticed a slight shift in the cameras in the room. One after another, they made slow sweeping turns until he stood squarely within each and every frame.

Part 18 >>

[kidultgyu]

gorgeous

jeonghan x gn reader

part of my seventeen x taylor swift series!

wc: 1.0k

warnings: fluff, drinking

would recommend listening to gorgeous by taylor swift while reading!

the party game they play is based on a game i played once last year (back before covid)

masterlist

--

“you’re drooling.”

you’re shocked out of your daze by a giggling minghao. you wipe your mouth but your hand comes back dry. giving him a light shove, you roll your eyes.

“i wasn’t. shut up.” eyes shining with mirth, minghao glances over at the other side of the room. “you should talk to him.” you vigorously shake your head. “absolutely not.”

“if it’s because of that guy from last week, he’s a jerk and you should get over him.” you sigh and take a sip of the beer in your hand, cringing at the taste. “i know. i’m staying away from grad students for the time being.”

“…he’s just..way too beautiful for me. i wouldn’t be able to say anything to him.” minghao groans. “stop idolizing him. he’s a college student just like the rest of us.” you open your mouth to respond but you’re interrupted by a very inebriated soonyoung stumbling upon the two of you.

“guys!!” he slings his arms around both your shoulders and you stumble from his deadweight. “we’re playing a game in the other room. come join!” he doesn’t wait for a response and instead drags you and minghao out of the living room and into the game room. there’s already a good number of people in there, and your other friend seungkwan is attempting to organize them into a semblance of a circle.

you sit down next to vernon from your music class and minghao takes the seat on your other side. you’re discussing the ethics of sampling music with vernon when you see him walk in. he’s accompanied by a girl and you steel yourself for the inevitable jealousy filling your veins. you wonder if she’s his girlfriend, but if he’s single that might be even worse to think about.

he also takes a seat in the big circle, greeted by his friends and you force yourself to look away. standing in the middle of the circle, seungkwan claps his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. “okay! the game is seven minutes in heaven, but instead of pulling names, you’ll pull a piece of paper with either a riddle or an answer. once you find the person with the matching piece of paper, you’ll go in the closet with them!”

a hat gets passed around and you pull a piece of paper with the words ‘the more of me there is, the less you see. what am i?’ you turn to ask minghao what his paper says but his only has the word ‘dictionary’ on it.

you make your way through the people in the room and with your luck, it’s no surprise that you can’t find the answer to your riddle. you do manage to direct a giggling mingyu towards minghao with a paper that reads ‘where does today come before yesterday?’

soon enough, the only people you haven’t asked are the people sitting by him. you know that if you had to stand in a dark closet with him you would sink and drown and die after merely making eye contact but you can’t help the small part of you that wants it to be him.

you’re standing on the side, watching most people find their partners and soon enough, it’s just you and 3 others left. the girl that was next to him has already found her partner, and you take satisfaction in the fact that he didn’t seem bothered by her leaving.

seeing the four people left just awkwardly standing around, seungkwan takes charge of matching the partners up. he takes your arm and pulls you towards the other three, gesturing for you to read your riddle out loud. avoiding eye contact, you read your paper quietly. “uh..the more of me there is, the less you see. what am i?” the other two people shake their heads, and your eyes widen when you hear his voice.

“darkness. that’s the answer.” you look up at him and theres a soft smile on his face directed towards you. “it’s a match!” seungkwan cheers, and grabs both of your hands. he drags you towards a side room and shoves you in the closet, your partner following behind. still in disbelief over your luck, you stay quiet in the corner.

“i’m jeonghan.” he breaks the silence. “i know,” you say quietly before realizing how that sounds. “i-i mean, i’ve heard your name around..and i think we have mutual friends and..” you let your words trail off in embarrassment. voice soft again, you tell him your name. with your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you make out a smile on his face when he responds. “i know.”

shy, you duck your head to avoid eye contact. the closet is quiet for a bit before he speaks again. “you know, i’m kinda glad our papers matched.” startled, you look back up at him. “really?”

“yeah,” he grins. “i’ve always wanted to talk to you. i think you’re gorgeous and really talented.” your eyes widen at his confession. “what?” he giggles before continuing. “i don’t know if you remember, but we were in the same photography class freshman year.”

you rack your brain to try and remember his face in that class. you were a lot quieter as a freshman and you didn’t speak to anyone in most of your classes, preferring to sit closer to the front and focus on your work. “i always thought your projects were beautiful,” jeonghan interrupts your thoughts.

shy from the praise, you respond with a soft ‘thank you.’ the room is silent again for moment before he reaches out and takes your hand in his. he seems to hesitate before he speaks. “..if you’re interested, i’d love to take you out for dinner sometime next week.”

mouth open in shock, it takes you a few seconds to respond. “yeah! i mean, yeah, sure.” his smile appears again and you want to be mad because of how gorgeous he looks even in the bad lighting, but you can’t, because the days of thinking he’s someone you can’t have are over.

[silkling]

Silkling, I really love your writing. Could you please write a TFA fic of Isaac and Bulkhead bonding over growing up on farms?

You know, I always forget Bulkhead grew up on a farm. But I would be thrilled to! I hope it’s to your satisfaction!

———————————————————————————————————

Bulkhead was painting again. That in and of itself wasn’t something new. He painted a lot. What made this time different was that he was alone at the base. Sari had taken the others to something she’d called a “theme park”. He didn’t understand exactly what a park had to have to be called a theme park, but she’d told me it usually involved lots of things called “rides” and lots of games. He also didn’t understand how a ride could be fun, but then again he didn’t know what a ride was. He had a feeling that the way Sari used it, these “rides” weren’t the kind of ride that was defined by the dictionary definition of the word. She had also, helpfully, said that theme parks were always popular and the funnest part of the “rides” was the screaming. He had opted out at that point, being more confused by what exactly that weird park entailed. So, here he was. At the base, alone and painting with peace and quiet.

He rather liked it, actually. He knew Bumblebee didn’t understand, but it was moments like this Bulkhead found himself really getting Prowl. Stillness and quiet could be nice, sometimes. He was intending to do a big project today, wanting to take advantage of the rare peace to be found in their make-shift home. The others had said they’d be gone all day. He wasn’t expecting them back till close to sunset.

So when he heard a voice from the front of the base, he was rather startled. Thankfully, he didn’t ruin his painting as he jerked, and he sighed in relief before dropping the brush in the water pot. Then he turned to the voice, head tilting as it called out again. Oh, wait. He knew that voice! The large bot lumbered towards the unexpected guest, and as soon as the smaller form came into view his engine let out a soft churr of greeting.

“Hey, Professor Sumdac.” he said contentedly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The human had turned at the sound of approaching pedes, his gaze locking on the Autobot at the soft rumble of his engine. He blinked rapidly, not having expected the largest of their alien guests to be the one to greet him. He would have thought it would be Optimus, or perhaps Bumblebee. Still, it wouldn’t do to be rude. He may have had more humble beginnings than most of his wealth, but his mother had taught him manners and he intended to use them. Besides, Bulkhead had been polite enough to come out and greet him, even though he was technically intruding on the gentle giant’s own home.

“Good afternoon, Bulkhead. It is very nice to see you. I apologize for the intrusion, but I was looking for Sari. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?” he asked hopefully.

Bulkhead only blinked a few times, looking a little surprised. “She took the others to something she called a theme park. I stayed behind. Screaming for fun doesn’t really…sound good. I’m surprised she got Ratchet to go.” he paused. “Actually, that may be because I’m pretty sure she has blackmail on him.” he added, as if to himself. Then he seemed to remember the point of the question, and he frowned at the older human. “She didn’t tell you?”

“That she’s going to a theme park or that she’s blackmailing senior alien robots?” Isaac said dryly. “She told me neither of those things.”

Bulkhead smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Professor.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m certain she would have found a way to the theme park either way. I do wish she would stop skipping her lessons, though.”

Bulkhead blinked. “I suppose. You’re very patient with her. On Cybertron, if a youngling consistently misbehaves than their creators wouldn’t be as patient.” he said offhandedly.

Isaac blinked. “Youngling? Is that your word for a child?” he asked. Then the second part of the statement caught up. “Ah, pardon me for asking, but what are “creators”? I was under the impression you are living robotic organisms, not built by someone else.”

Bulkhead hummed. “Yeah, youngling! I’m one, technically. Though I’m closer to being considered a fully grown mech than Bumblebee. I’d be considered the equivalent of a 16 year old human?” he said, running the calculations in his head. “Yeah, somewhere in that range. Bee is the equivalent of a 13 or 14 year old.” He was pretty good with math. His numbers were mostly right, or at least close enough for his point to be understood.

Isaac was staring. “You and Bumblebee…are not yet adults?” he seemed stunned.

“Nope!” Bulkhead was cheerful. “Bossbot and Ratchet are. Prowl is too, I think? He’s really private but I’m pretty sure he is. He’s older than Bossbot is, anyway.” he smiled, humming to himself. “I actually think Prime is only just considered a proper mech? Like, uh….between 19 and 21 in humans terms?” he tapped his chin with a finger, only just then noticing the open mouthed gape the professor was sending him. The large bot squirmed, uncomfortable. “Professor?”

Isaac snapped his mouth shut with a audible click, then shook his head. “You and Bumblebee-“ he cut himself off, shaking his head again before he kept speaking. “You are not yet adult on your world?” he repeated, still internally flailing over that revelation.

Bulkhead blinked. “Well, no.” he said, tilting his head. “Why?”

“Because if you’re still so young you shouldn’t have been allowed off the planet!” Isaac answered, his hands flapping with his distress.

The Autobot frowned. “Well, I’m close enough to being an adult that I’m considered capable of any type of non-combatant work. When I flunked out of the Academy that left space bridge repairs.” he said. “My creators were fine with it cause they were sure I’d be staying in Autobot space territory, and since they know how well I know space bridges they weren’t actually worried about me being in danger.”

“What about Bumblebee? You said he’s even younger than you!”

“Ah….” Bulkhead hunched his shoulders. “Bee, um. He doesn’t have creators. He wasn’t cold-forged, which means he wasn’t just placed in a protoform after Vector Sigma spat out his spark, but he was a abandoned at a Youth Center as a sparkling. A, uh, a baby.” Bulkhead explained awkwardly. He squired at the probing stare. “Please don’t make me explain Cybertronian reproduction differences. Ask Ratchet.” he said desperately. He did not want to have that discussion.

Isaac sighed. “Oh, very well.” he agreed. He didn’t want to make Bulkhead uncomfortable, after all. “So, creators…I gather they are the equivalent of human parents?” he tilted his head. “Would you mind telling me about yours?”

Bulkhead perked up. “Yeah!” he confirmed. “My creators were real proud when I joined the Academy. I’m lucky they weren’t disappointed that I flunked out. They understood.” his gaze went soft and fond. “I do miss them. I know they were a little sad I didn’t want to continue on with the family business like my older brother, but…” he shook his head. “Breakdown didn’t mind staying at the farm. I always wanted more.” he sighed. “Roadbuster and Beachcomber, my creators, were just happy I was getting the chance to do something I wanted.”

Isaac stilled. “Farm?”

“An energon farm!” Bulkhead supplied cheerily. “The farm was built on top of a really big underground energon spring. Our job was to extract it, purify it, then refine it into different grades and types of energon to be shipped out to the rest of Cybertron.” He shot a fond look around the building. “This place reminds me of the energon refinery on the farm, actually.”

Isaac blinked. “You grew up on a farm.” It was a statement.

Bulkhead frowned. “Didn’t I just say that?”

Isaac smiled. “I grew up on a farm as well, Bulkhead.”

The Autobot’s eyes quite literally lit up at that little tidbit, and he shot a glance at the small lounge area they’d put together. “Sit?” he asked hopefully. “I’d like to know about earth farms.”

Isaac nodded, leading the way and taking a seat on the himself couch while Bulkhead sat himself on one of the odd tire seats. “It was a dairy farm, primarily.” Isaac smiled. “My family raised cows for their milk and sold it to stores and at farmer’s markets.” he sounded fond as he reminisced. “We also made our own cheeses. I still have the recipes!”

Bulkhead tilted his head. “What happened?”

“I…” a pause. “I was always good with machines. I suppose that I, like you, wanted more. So I went to school for robotics and then, well…” he put out his arms. “Here I am.”

Bulkhead hummed. “…I miss the farm sometimes. Even if it was annoying to have to get up so early.”

“Ah, yes. Early mornings.” The human groaned. “I remember those. I despised them. Especially when I had cleaning duty for my morning chores.”

Bulkhead made a look it disgust. “Tell me about it. Cleaning out the energon purifiers and refiners was the worst job on the farm, but I always got stuck with it cause I was the youngest.”

Isaac hummed. “I remember the smell, even years later.”

“I remember the slime.”

He paused, unsure if he wanted to know. “…slime?”

Bulkhead nodded. “Yeah, see, when energon is being refined and when it’s being purified, the process involves removing unwanted contaminates or components at a base level.” he tilted his head. “The finished product comes out looking fine, but then it leaves a very thick, sticky slime on the insides of the machines that has to be cleaned out.” He grimaced. “I really preferred the work of extracting the raw stuff from the spring. It was really hard and labor intensive but at least it wasn’t slime.”

Isaac found himself grinning. “I was much the same with the cows. I detested mucking out the barn, so much so that I would prefer to do twice my share of the milking. That was dull work, but at least I could plan out blueprints for my projects in my head while I worked.”

Bulkhead found himself humming softly. “I liked the farm. I would have been happy there, I think. But…”

“It wasn’t what you wanted to do with your life.”

He grinned. “Yeah.” he paused. “I do miss the songs, though. And my brother, though Breakdown is probably annoyed that I missed so many calls. I miss my creators too.” he frowned. “I hope they don’t think I’ve offlined. I was in stasis for a while.”

Isaac softened, sighing and feeling something fond well up in his chest. “I’m sure they held out hope. Speaking as a parent…well, I don’t think I’d ever stop hoping if Sari were to go missing.”

Bulkhead glanced up, then smiled faintly. “Thanks, Professor.”

“You mentioned something about songs?” he asked with a smile in return, hoping to shift to topic in order to cheer up the green bot.

“Yeah!” Bulkhead brightened. “My creators had old songs that were passed down from their creators, and that they taught us. Whenever we were all working together we’d sing!” he seemed fond as he recalled the memories. “It was always really nice. When we were singing, I almost wouldn’t mind cleaning duty.” he shuddered. “Almost.”

Isaac barked a laugh. “I see! My family never had any songs, but we had recipes we shared and cooked together. We would all make dinner together after a hard day’s work. Those were my favorite moments of the day.” he sighed.

“Your parents must be proud of how far you’ve come.” Bulkhead mused.

Isaac smiled sadly. “They’re dead, Bulkhead.”

“Oh…” he reset his vocalizer. “I’m sorry.”

The human sighed. “It is alright. I have had time to mourn and grieve. And you are right. They were very proud. My father was proud even when I left the farm. He was happy to see me trying to pursue a better life. My mother was disappointed that I would not carry on the family legacy.” he sighed and tilted his head up. “But she did come to terms with it. In the end, she was happy for me and proud of all I’d accomplished.” He glanced at the Autobot, considering. “I own the farm now, though I no longer work there and I have far fewer cows. One of my cousins stays there when I am not to take care of the few cows there are, and I return with Sari during holidays sometimes.” he shot Bulkhead a warm grin. “In fact, I was going to bring her there again for the upcoming Fourth of July. Perhaps…you would like to come as well? I can show you life on a human farm in person.” he offered.

Bulkhead almost seemed to vibrate with glee at the prospect. “I’d like that a lot, Professor! And hey, if you’re ever on Cybertron, I’ll show you may farm!” he said brightly.

Isaac laughed, loud and free. He doubted that he’d ever see the alien planet, but the sentiment was still very nice. “I’d like that very much, Bulkhead. Thank you.”

Just then, he heard the sound of approaching engines, and when he looked towards the door he realized he could see the sun setting. Goodness, he and Bulkhead had been talking for hours. As the other bots stopped and transformed, Sari hopped out of Bumblebee before he did so and froze when she saw her father.

“Uh, hiiiiii, dad!” she squeaked.

Isaac sighed. “Sari, you should have told me where you were going! I was worried about you!” he scolded. “Come, we’re returning home. It’s getting late and I have the feeling you haven’t had proper food all day.” he said.

“But dad-!”

“No buts! The car is outside. Go, please.”

She groaned and grumbled, but after a quick goodbye to the others she obeyed.

Isaac turned to Bulkhead, smiling. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Bulkhead. I enjoyed it.”

Bulkhead, for his part, merely beamed in response. “You’re welcome! I had a lot of fun! It was great to learn more about you, Professor Sumdac!”

Isaac smiled. “Please, Bulkhead. You can call me Isaac.” he said warmly.

The Autobot blinked a few times, and before smiling even more brightly. “Right. Isaac.”

Isaac grinned in response. The young bot’s joy was positively infectious. “I would enjoy talking further another time, Bulkhead. For now, I must take my leave. Goodnight!” he said, before walking out the door.

Bulkhead waved. “Goodnight, Isaac!” he called.

When the sounds of the human car had faded into nothing, Bulkhead turned to find everyone else staring at him. He smiled at his teammates, standing from his seat. “Hey guys! Did you have a good day?” he asked. Then he realized he had forgotten his painting. “Awe, scrap. You can tell me about it later! I have to go!” And then he was gone, hurrying to see if his art couldn’t be saved.

Even if it couldn’t, he didn’t mind. He’d gained a new friend today, and that was worth a thousand paintings in his optics.

Back in the main room, Bumblee could only stare after his friend. “Uhhh…what was that all about?”

———————————————————————————————————

And there it is! I hope you liked it! I gave Bulkhead a family because I wanted to, and yes his big brother is Breakdown. That means his brother-in-law is Knock Out. Ratchet is horrified when he learns this. Roadbuster and Beachcomber are very worried for their youngest. They were told he’s dead but like Isaac said, a parent never stops hoping. The team is currently very confused about what they just witnessed.

Also, poor Ratchet. Sari will never let go of her blackmail on him. How does a child get blackmail on a millions-of-years-old giant alien robot? It’s Sari. You could tell me she convinced Megatron to agree to peace purely by annoying him and I’d believe you. I love her. :D Anyway.

Until next time, folks!

[a-ghostlight-for-roman]

how to never stop being sad

Summary: Following his brother's acceptance, Roman's life felt like it was falling apart. His family was turning against him, that awful snake was being allowed in their home, and worst of all, he still couldn't seem to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

How does he choose to deal with it?

Not in a good way, that's for sure.

Warnings: Gore/Death/Violence (none actually occur but it is described), food mention, cursing

AO3 link

Chapter 1

Repeat to yourself that they’re not really gone

Time has proven

That fooling yourself into believing a lie

Is the most effective way

To deal with things you have no control over

Roman was fine. Completely 100% percent, absolutely fine, and he would tolerate no thinking to the contrary. Things were abnormal, sure, but he was coping. Maybe he felt a bit (a lot) guilty for letting things in the Mindscape get so bad, but it’s okay! He’s managing! Maybe he’s surrounded by people that barely tolerate him now, but he’ll fix it!

...eventually.

Right now, though, he’s in his room. Alone, as is usual these days. Usually, he’d ask Patton or Virgil to hang out with him, but after the last video, things were… Tense, to say the least. 

Patton wasn’t mad at him, of course; he wasn’t ever truly mad at any of them. However, Roman would have to be stupid not to notice the disappointed looks Patton gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking or the way that after Roman left the room, he always made a point to talk to Janus afterwards, as if he needed special attention just for enduring Roman’s presence.

Things were a little better with Virgil, but he was frustrated with Roman for tolerating Janus’ presence at all. Despite his obvious vitriol towards him, he still outright refused to talk about what exactly Janus had ever done to him. So Roman was forced to choose between Patton, his father figure who’d never meant to do him wrong (who had acted like Roman was unreasonable for sticking to the very moral rule set that Patton had imposed on him since they were children), or Virgil, who Roman had been wrong in not listening to before, & who was obviously extremely hurt and betrayed by both Janus, and now his own family.

He still hadn’t quite been able to choose, straddling the line between adhering to Patton’s kindness policy towards Janus and respecting Virgil’s feelings. It didn’t really work-- rather, it just seemed to leave them both dissatisfied. Roman could hardly stand it.

...but it’s fine. Really. It’ll blow over eventually. He isn’t quite sure how, exactly, but things always turn out alright in the end, right? There’s always a happy ending.

Except when there isn’t, but… bad endings only happen in Remus’ stories, & he doesn’t have power here in the Mindscape.

...except he sorta does, now. After his video, he’d (albeit reluctantly) been accepted. His ideas were considered, even valued, now. Sometimes, he was even chosen over Roman. Not only by Thomas, but also by the other sides, at times; Logan may think he’s slick, but Roman’s seen him specifically request his brother’s assistance in the Imagination, in the living room, in the archives, in his room- It made Roman sick to think about, and whenever he walked through the house, he could see evidence of his brother’s influence littered throughout. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the appeal. When had society fallen so far as to value a duke more than a prince?

---

Roman hadn’t thought he’d been in his room for long; he’d only meant to duck in to get a breather after having to endure Remus’ maniacal ramblings for nearly half an hour, but it seemed he’d been brooding long enough to attract Logan’s concern. He heard a knock at his door and broke out of his haze, looking towards it.

“I apologize for bothering you Roman, but I was wanting to inquire whether you were alright. It’s been an hour,” Logan said. Had Roman really been away for that long? No wonder Logan was checking on him.

“Yeah, Specs- Sorry. I’ll be out in a minute, just finishing a project,” he lied. Logan was so cold, calm, rational- Surely he would look down on Roman’s groveling simply because he couldn't deal with his brother for more than a few minutes. As much as Roman was full of himself and proud of his work, he thought if Logan talked down to him, he’d break down and cry.

“We’re currently 'hanging out' in the common room. You’re welcome to join whenever you finish. I look forward to hearing about what you’ve been working on.” Roman could hear his footsteps slowly grow farther from the door.

Shit. Now Logan thought he’d been working on something, so now he had to do something-- he couldn't just show up empty-handed. They’d see through his lies in an instant. He’d be just as bad as Janus, imagine what Virgil would think--

He took a steadying breath. Okay, yeah, he’d lied, but that wasn’t so awful, he just had to make it right. He just had to make something, and that shouldn’t be so hard, right? That’s his job! He’ll just think of something real quick, and it’ll be done in a jiffy, and then it won’t be a lie anymore, and on top of that, he’ll have something to talk about! Talking parts were hard to come by sometimes when you had to find something that would include the two people you hate most, your former-enemy-turned-best-friend, your dad and your colleague (as he insisted to be called), but everyone was always eager to hear his new ideas, so this would be perfect.

---

It was nothing special, but it would do. He hadn’t had the time or energy to think of a concept for a whole scripted video, so instead, he’d written the next Shoutout Sunday. Simple, but it had to be done, and it was already Friday, anyways. He closed his notebook, and stood up, keeping it under his arm. He never knew when inspiration would strike, so he tried to carry it with him whenever possible. He opened his door and stepped out from his room, making his way down the hallway past the multicolored doors of the other sides, pointedly avoiding looking at Janus’ signature black and yellow-colored door. Out of sight, out of mind.

As he walked into the commons, the conversations faltered for a moment, but everyone quickly returned to what they were doing. Remus was noticeably absent; Patton and Virgil were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket between them and speaking in excited whispers; and Logan and Janus were speaking across the counter separating the living room and the kitchen while Logan made dinner on the stove and Janus leaned with his hands crossed under his chin. 

Roman lingered by the stairs for a moment, caught off guard by the lack of greeting, but continued to the side of the couch not occupied by Patton and Virgil. He’d hoped to share his script with Logan, but he was busy at the moment, and he so rarely was this casual with the others; Roman figured it better to let him be for the time being. He pulled his notebook from under his arm and summoned a pencil from his desk. If he couldn’t share his idea, he might as well get started on the next.

He spent around five minutes doodling a new creature to introduce into the Imagination when Logan finally seemed to notice he was there.

“Ah, Roman! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you were here. What was the idea you were working on?” he asked. He turned off the stove and fully turned to Roman, looking past Janus. Roman was almost ashamed to say he felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Logan had put aside his conversation with Janus in favor of speaking with him. Keyword being "almost."

“Well, it is a most illustrious, melodic creation--” Roman sunk down from the living room and rose into the kitchen, laid his now open notebook on the counter, and gestured towards it with a bow-- “Behold, the newest Shoutout Sunday!” He smiled and rose from his position, bouncing on his feet a bit as Logan rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful, and read it. Logan gave a slight, satisfied smile.

“So you’ve worked ahead of schedule, then. Wonderful! Good work, Roman."

“I know,” Roman replied, beaming, “I shall have a new idea by the morn-- perhaps I can even start the next video script!”

“So long as you do not burn yourself out, Roman. Otherwise, I look forward to your next contribution.” Logan closed Roman’s notebook, handed it back to him, and then opened a cabinet, gathering bowls for… Whatever healthy monstrosity was in the pot on the stove. Roman could only guess what it was. Some sort of soup, maybe? “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Roman?”

“I’m afraid there are simply too many ideas and too little time, I must return to my work!” Roman replied. Janus narrowed his eyes at him from across the counter.

“I wouldn’t be witnessing any self-neglect right now, would I, Roman?” his voice dripped, cool and patronizing. It carried a lilt of care, but it was clearly faked-- Patton would have scolded him if he’d been listening. Roman rolled his eyes.

“No, I am simply dedicated to my craft! Creations don’t come from thin air, do they?” he replied. Logan tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“...They do,” he said. He raised his palm, and atop it, a paper appeared. “As you can clearly see, I’ve just summoned this piece of paper- Now, it’s not on par with many of your creations, of course, but I’m sure you understand my point. Just last week, you summoned me a new Rubik’s Cube. Don’t you remember?”

Virgil snorted from across the room, and Roman sighed. “Yes, Specs, I- I remember. I meant that metaphorically.”

“That was not a metaphor. According to Oxford Languages Dictionary, a metaphor is 'a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.' Would you like an example?”

“Not now, Logan. I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Aw,” Patton interrupted, “why not stay? You’ve spent so much time up in your room- Now, I know sometimes we need our alone time, but spending some time with your famILY won’t kill ya!”

“Did someone say kill?” came Remus’ shrill, excited voice from by the lamp where he’d just appeared.

“Not that kind of kill!” Patton rushed, “there will be absolutely no killing on my watch, mister!” Remus put his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry at that, exaggeratedly pouting at him.

“You’re no fun,” he replied. “Nothing wrong with a little casual murder to pass the time! Everyone dies sometime, might as well make it exciting.” Patton grimaced as Virgil’s eyes went wide and he groaned.

“...Everyone dies sometime. We are going to die. Thomas is going to die. Death is inevitable,” Virgil mumbled shakily, though it was still quite loud once the tempest tongue kicked in. He put his hands in his hair, but before he could pull at it, Patton led his hands away.

“Now Remus, that may be true, but there’s no need to dwell on it, especially when you know it will upset Virgil,” Logan said with a strict tone.

“Oh oh, I wonder who’ll go first when Thomas dies? Think it’ll be all at once, or one by one? I vote Roman-”

“Won’t you just shut up?” Roman spoke up, voice raised. “You’re harming Virgil and you know it. Keep your ideas in your side of the Mindscape; We don’t want them here.” His fists balled up as he glared at his brother. Oh, what he’d give to be able to walk up to him, to punch him square in the jaw. He’d love to unsheathe his sword and bury it right in his fucking stomach, to watch the emotions flicker through his eyes as they slowly went glassy and he collapsed to his knees, the blade continuing up through his skin like it was paper, the blood leaking through his clothing and pooling around him on the floor-

Roman blinked hard, brows furrowed. No one had responded to him yet, because it had only been a moment. What kind of thought was that? Certainly not one becoming of a prince. Was Remus messing with him somehow? Roman knew he could project thoughts into Thomas and the others’ heads, but Roman had never experienced it himself-- Why would Remus give him an intrusive thought right now, especially one so gruesome as to include his own gory death by Roman’s hands? He didn’t look like he had done anything, but he had to have, right? Roman didn’t come up with ideas like that. He was light creativity, he was good creativity!

Patton must’ve noticed his distress, as he quickly looked between the two. “Oooookay,” he began, “Remus is being a little inconsiderate of Virgil. And that isn’t okay! But that doesn’t mean we don’t want him at all. Everyone messes up from time to time!”

“But he’s doing it on purpose!” Roman exclaimed. He gestured his arms towards Remus and waved them incredulously. “I mean, look at him! He doesn’t even care!” 

Remus didn’t respond, continuing to stand in his spot, smiling and unblinking. Janus cleared his throat, gathering their attention. 

“I’m sure Remus just loves being talked about as if he isn’t here. Regardless, it’s hardly fair to criticize him for one incident that’s a result of his function as intrusive thoughts, especially considering that you’ve shown a pattern of worse behavior over the past… What, three years?” He looked towards Logan for confirmation.

“Yes, approximately that long, although that’s a misleading usage of the information. He’s improved over time,” Logan responded.

“Only if you consider his treatment of Virgil exclusively. Regardless, you've proved my point,” Janus said, sounding satisfied. “If it took Roman three years to warm up to Virgil, why does Remus only get a few months? Not to mention that he’s just being told that he’s unwanted and to leave, you've never experienced despite your actions, and which is preposterous notwithstanding.”

Virgil finally ripped his hands from Patton and covered his ears, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” he said frantically. Patton bit his lip and looked around the room.

“Listen, usually I’d encourage a healthy family discussion, but now’s really not the time to be doing this-- Roman, please go to your room. Remus, I’m not mad at you, but I’d really appreciate it if you would go ahead and leave for the night, too.”

Roman stared at Patton for a moment, mouth agape and brows furrowed. “My room- Patton, I’m not five! This isn’t even my fault-”

“Don’t argue, Roman,” Logan cut him off, “Do as Patton said. We’ll discuss this more in-depth later.”

Roman gave a loud scoff as he trudged across the room and began making his way up the stairs. He gave one last glare to Remus, who’d finally begun to move, and then continued to his room, where he fell backwards onto his bed. He closed the door with a flick of his hand, and stared at the ceiling, letting out a resigned sigh as he reminisced. Why was everything so backwards nowadays, he wondered? When had the dastardly acts of his brother become the new norm, overshadowing his own heroism and creativity?

It wasn’t as if Roman could even do anything about it, either; Patton’s decisions on what was right and wrong was like the word of law in the Mindscape. Sure, Roman could challenge his thinking, but he hardly wanted a repeat of his… Frog incident. He couldn’t bear it if he distressed him that much again. All Roman could hope for was that one day, sooner rather than later, someone would either talk some sense into him, or he’d come to the realization himself that Remus was merely a parasite to their famILY.

For now, at least, Roman could dream. 

‘Patton loves me just as much as the others. He’s a dad! Dads love all their children equally.‘

‘Even if it seems like it sometimes, no one really hates me- Well, besides Remus.’

‘...And even if they do, I can fix it.’

Even if it meant lying to himself.

[voiceless-terror]

Proficient in PowerPoint (The Magnus Archives)

Summary:

“Why are there so many animations?” Jon tapped his foot impatiently through the unnecessarily arduous process of getting to the next page. “I’m not a child. This is for Elias, not a primary school.”

“I thought they looked nice…” Martin said softly, shuffling his feet. “I can take them out, if you’d like-”

“They’re wonderful Martin, don’t listen to him."

Jon has to make a presentation for Elias. Sasha, Tim, and Martin help, with dubious results.

“It’s standard procedure, Jon. Every new department head does a presentation.”   “But I-” Jon left off with a sigh. Being called up to his boss’s office at the beginning of the day to be informed that he would be making a presentation to all of his intimidating colleagues (and superiors, if he were being honest) was not the way Jon wanted to start his Monday. Besides, what was he going to say? How could he explain this mess of an Archive that was currently under his command? That he didn’t really know what an Archivist did, and that when he googled the position it didn’t seem anything like what Elias had described? He might as well get in front of the room, announce his resignation and go home. Somedays this felt like the best course of action.

 He’d heard the whispers following the email announcing his promotion to Head Archivist.  “Him?”  was said more than once. A few scoffs, a few appraising eyes from the other department heads who were all at least a decade older than him. Even Sasha and Tim had given him a sort of silent treatment, only speaking to him in short sentences and one-word answers in the weeks that immediately followed.

Elias seemed to sense his unease. “It doesn’t have to be long. Just a rundown, a simple assessment of the Archives as they are and what you plan on implementing during your tenure. Perhaps a little about you and your team. Introduce yourself. Everyone’s eager to learn a bit more about you.” Jon very much doubted that.

 “Well the Archives, in my “assessment,” are currently a mess.” His candor was not appreciated. Elias was not amused.

 “A mess that you’re going to fix,” Elias gave him a withering glance. “I assumed you could handle this, but if that’s not the case-”

 “No, I-” He sighed again, the only sound he was capable of making. “Al-Alright. You said it was this Friday, correct?”

 “Yes!” Elias gave him a brief smile and ushered him out of the door with a hand on his shoulder, signaling the conversation was over. “Let me know if you have any issues. Not that you will, of course.”  Of course.

 The door shut behind him and Rosie gave him a sympathetic look from her seat. “You hang in there, alright? You’ll do just fine.” Either Jon looked that pathetic, or Rosie truly did eavesdrop on every conversation.

 Perhaps a bit of both.

 __________

 It was Wednesday evening and Jon was staring at a blank screen.

 Everyone else was packing up for the day while he sat in his chair, stewing over what words to write. He should be recording statements like Elias  wanted, not putting together some bureaucratic nonsense so the others could ‘get to know him and his plans.’ He didn’t really have a plan for the Archives besides digitization, and even that was going disastrously. Should he even mention the tapes? He’d likely be met with scorn and laughter. Elias may find them promising, but anyone who took one look at their equipment said otherwise. Google told him that he should share fun facts about the team but that seemed highly unprofessional. Who cared that he liked to watch documentaries in what little spare time he had? Instead, he’d written a very bare-bones outline of what he’d like to say but for some reason typing it out was impossible. The only thing he’d managed to get was a layout and font in neutral, unobtrusive colors. This was very important to him. 

 “Still stuck on the presentation, Jon?”

 Sasha was leaning against the doorway with a gentle smile on her face. She knew how hard it was for Jon to get his thoughts together sometimes and was always a sympathetic ear when it got particularly bad. She seemed to have finally settled into her role (whatever that may be) and was talking to him more and more. Though no one in the department had any experience in archiving, Sasha at least had more concrete ideas.

 “Yes, I’m just-” he sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his temples to ward off the approaching headache. “I’ve got no idea what he wants. What is a ‘rundown’ and how can I have one with the Archives like...this?” He gestured to his mess of an office, currently drowning in paper and cardboard boxes.

 “Well, what do you have so far?” Jon grimaced and handed over his notebook, filled with messy scribbles and half-finished ideas. Sasha skimmed it and made a few promising noises; Jon hated the part of himself that sought her approval. She finished and looked up with a grin. “How about you let me have a go at it? You know I love this sort of thing, and then you’ll have some time to record that statement tomorrow, hm?”

 “I-really? Would that be okay? I don’t want you to have to- I mean, it’s my job.”

 “I’m your assistant, Jon,” she interrupted with a placating hand. “So let me assist you!” Her offer seemed very genuine. Jon was loath to ask for help or admit to trouble even in the best of cases, but Sasha had a way of wearing him down with one well-placed smile. He decided to take the hand offered. 

 “Thank you, Sasha. Really.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her a grateful smile, glad for any progress made on the project.

 “And it’s no problem. Really.” She tucked his notebook into her bag and gave a cheerful nod.  “I’ll show you what we come up with!”

  ______

Jon yawned into his fist for the fourth time in an hour. The Amy Patel statement wouldn’t record on the computer so unfortunately he brought out the tape recorder. For some reason every time he recorded to tape he came away exhausted and anxious, unsettled by the words he spoke. Luckily he managed to get to the follow up recorded without too many interruptions- usually one of his assistants would come banging on the door and he’d be forced to start over for the sake of professionalism. 

 “Knock knock!” 

  Speak of the devil.  Tim grinned at him from the doorway, Martin standing close behind him.

 “Yes?” he asked shortly, straightening the files on his desk. “Do you need something?”

 “Your presentation, as requested!” Tim bestowed upon him a flash drive with much pomp and circumstance. “You’re welcome.”

 “Oh! Er, I thought I gave that to Sasha?” He looked in surprise at the device before him. He wasn’t expecting them to actually finish everything- he also wasn’t expecting anyone but Sasha to help him out. If Tim and Martin helped out as well... “I’ll uh, check it out in a few moments, thank you.

 “But I want to show you now, boss!” Tim’s voice reached the whiny pitch that he knew Jon loathed. He sighed however, and plugged it in. After a few moments a window popped open, with a file labeled  Jonny’s First Work Presentation.  He rolled his eyes while Tim snickered.  I’ll need to change that before the meeting…

 The file looked...hellish, to say the least. Jon spied on the first few slides a strange and ugly gradient background that faded from bright green to black, along with garish rainbow WordArt. He was almost afraid to click on anything, lest it blind him or inspire a seizure.

 “It’s really best viewed in slideshow mode,” Tim nudged Jon’s hand out of the way and made it so, the full screen now proudly showing the title page-  Jonathan Sims’ New and Improved Archives!!   Martin and Tim leaned in over his shoulder, the latter clearly excited to showcase his work.  That’s never good.

 “That’s far too many exclamation points, Tim.”

 “There are never enough exclamation points, Jon.”

 The next slide came in with a sort of shutter effect that did nothing to minimize the horrendous resizing done on the Magnus Institute logo, which had been stretched to fit almost the entire page and was unrecognizable due to pixilation. Jon gritted his teeth. “This is unnecessary.”

 “Wow, everyone’s a critic,” Tim rolled his eyes.

 “I-I can probably find a logo with better resolution,” Martin offered timidly. Jon had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

 The next pages were not much better- the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of ‘archive,’ the audio pronunciation for it had a page to itself. There were several collages of books and artifacts (these looked handmade, as if someone had copy and pasted several finds from google images). Jon felt his anger grow with each laborious click. Was this someone’s idea of a joke? Where was Sasha? “Is there anything of actual substance in this?” he asked, huffing as the current slide disintegrated out of view in a dramatic fashion.

 “God, so impatient! We’re building up to it.” A few more clicks. They got to a page covered with cartoon ghosts and nothing else. “Watch this!” With a click the ghosts all flew away, a clunky piece of animation that revealed  Jonathan Sims’ Plan of ATTACK!!

 “I did that one,” Martin announced in his ear with not a little pride.

 The ‘plan of attack’ included bullet points (which were also little ghosts) regarding the new digitization and accessibility project in clear, cogent prose which must have been the work of Sasha. The rest, however- random paragraphs about ‘synergy’ and ‘dynamic team players’- was clearly unsalvageable and designed to make him the laughing stock of the institute. 

 “I can’t...this is unusable, Tim!”

 “Keep reading! There’s good content there. God, there’s no accounting for taste these days, is there Martin?” Martin did not answer. What could Martin have said? Each page was worse than the last- the current slide had only a picture of what looked to be an ancient Egyptian scroll and nothing else.

 “This is the definition of unusable.”

 “No it’s not!” Tim argued though he was on the verge of laughter. He was smiling, clearly enjoying the entire scenario. “Look, I even put a ‘Meet the Team’ section-” He clicked through the slides, each piece of text gliding across the screen in an obnoxious star pattern. 

 “Why are there so many animations?” Jon tapped his foot impatiently through the unnecessarily arduous process of getting to the next page. “I’m not a child. This is for Elias, not a primary school.”

 “I thought they looked nice…” Martin said softly, shuffling his feet. “I can take them out, if you’d like-”

 “They’re wonderful Martin, don’t listen to him,” Tim had finally reached the first slide of his ‘Meet the Team’ section. Instead of starting with Jon it began with an incredibly large photo of Tim, smiling and winking at the camera.  Naturally.

 “Tim Stoker: A Gentleman and a Scholar,” Jon read aloud. “I’m not saying that. And shouldn’t we be starting with me? I ask for one thing-”

 “I saved the best for last, of course! Martin, you’ll  love this,” Tim began frantically clicking through animations, taking a full minute to get to Jon’s slide. “Ta-da!”

  Jonathan Sims: The Man, the Myth, the Legendary Archivist

 It was a picture of Jon from a happy hour years ago, smiling broadly with half-lidded eyes and sprawled across the bar in a state of disarray. He had a vague memory of Sasha snapping the photo before he fell to the ground and vomited everything he drank.  No no no no  - he attempted to slam down the laptop screen before Martin could see but the damage was done. The man was red and stuttering, clearly embarrassed for Jon. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. He contemplated his options- double homicide or self-immolation. Both seemed equally appealing in the moment. 

 “Please leave,” he fumed, his own face a tomato red as he stared at the floor. “Now.”

 “Aw boss, don’t be like that-”

  “Now!”  Two sets of footsteps scurried from the room as Jon threw his head into his hands.

 He had quite a bit of work to do.

 _____________

 Of course he scrapped almost all of it, keeping only the informative parts that Sasha had written.  This is why you should do things yourself. ‘Assist’ my ass. 

 Jon had kept the door closed for the rest of the afternoon, ignoring both the plaintive apologies from Tim and Martin and Sasha’s insistent knocking. He wanted to blame her for letting the other two get involved, wanted to yell and stamp and maybe throw a thing or two. But it was  his  job. He shouldn’t have left it all to them.  Lazy, incompetent, his mind raged but the words were aimed at himself. Perhaps that’s why they sabotaged the slideshow, to tell him they weren’t going to do his dirty work. Hazing the new boss.  Did they realize how important this was to him? Did they even care? He already looked like a fool- why not double down on it?

 He took the ‘Meet the Team’ page down, his fingers angrily punched the ‘delete’ key for every picture and turned it into one slide with only their names and positions.  That’s all they need to know, really.  He managed to throw together a few slides on a new organizational system and something about research follow up, but it all rang false and hollow- any academic would see right through this bullshit attempt. Even the digitization slides seemed trite- why was this his first order of business?  What the hell are you doing?

 It was late into the night when he finally finished, though the presentation was nowhere near what he wanted it to be. The clock informed him it was only ten though, so he still had some time before the last train. He was just going to rest his eyes for a minute and then he’d get up and go.  Just a minute...

  ____________

And then it was tomorrow.

 Fuck.  Fuck! 

 Jon woke up with his head pillowed in his arms and his back almost completely immobile. He squinted at the clock-  7:00 AM. He tripped down the hallway and into the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on his face and cursing under his breath. How embarrassing to be caught in yesterday’s clothes- if he switched out his sweater vest for a blazer, they might not notice. His wardrobe was nothing if not consistent and boring. His hair tamed into some semblance of neatness, Jon went on to his next stop, the break room for a cup of coffee and then finally, back to his office to survey the finished product and perhaps do a few run-throughs.

 He settled in his seat and pressed the power button to coax his laptop out of sleep. The clock on the wall ticked a steady, droning rhythm that somewhat calmed his racing heart and he took a sip of coffee, savoring the bitter flavor. His eyes flickered down to the screen- still black. He pressed it again. Nothing. He looked to the side of the computer, noticing the lack of power cord.  Oh, it’s not plugged in. That’ll do it. He solved that problem quickly and tried again.  

 Again, nothing. He pushed it harder, hurting his finger with the intensity behind it. The screen remained black.

 It was then that Jonathan Sims screamed.

 _____________

It was nine in the morning and he still had no idea what to do. No amount of coaxing, either through nice words or obscenities had managed to wake it up. He removed the battery and put it back in. He prayed to several gods, none of which he believed in. He kicked the desk and promptly fell to the ground, screaming in pain. IT didn’t come in until ten, and his meeting was at nine-thirty. He was well and truly fucked.

 But then he heard footsteps coming down the hall and he dashed to meet them, hoping it was the person he needed. And it was.

 “Sasha!” he panted, taking in heaving, gulping breaths. “Help!”

 “Oh God Jon, is this one of your asthma attacks? Do you have your inhaler?” Her eyes widened and her hands fluttered nervously. ‘I’ve told you-”

 “No,” he grabbed her by the shoulders, feeling more unhinged by the moment. “I-I lost it. The PowerPoint. My laptop won’t turn on, and-”

 “Breathe, Jon! That’s no trouble at all. I can get into your drive, no worries!” she said, pushing him into a chair and booting up her laptop. Jon put a hand to his chest, attempting to follow her advice.  See, it’s fine!  “Where did you save it? On your ShareDrive or on the general Archives one? I’ll need your credentials if it’s the former.”

 His heart dropped.  No no no no. He’d done the one thing Sasha had always warned him against.  “I-I saved it to the desktop…”

 “Oh Jon.”

 And that's when he spiraled. He was going to have to walk into that meeting, hands empty, and face the firing squad. Elias will know he should have never hired him and everyone there will nod and agree that the stupid boy who couldn’t do one simple task does not belong at the table with the rest of him and Jon will be sent on his way, back to research if he’s lucky or fired if he’s not and he can’t do one fucking thing right-

 “Jon. Jon!”  Sasha had a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Fucking  breathe. It’s fine, you’re fine! Here.” She slipped the flash drive from yesterday into his hand and he groaned, attempting to pass it back

 “I can’t use that one, you know I can’t-”

 “No, this one’s different, I promise,” She grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I tried to tell you yesterday- I’m sorry about all of that. It wasn’t funny. We fixed it.” She seemed honest, sincere. But Jon was still hesitant, taking in shaking breaths.

 “This isn’t a joke?”

 “I swear. Here, use my laptop.” She passed it over and Jon paused, considering his options, which were few.

 So Jon took the flash drive and laptop and left, ignoring Martin’s greetings as he brushed by him on his way up to the conference room.  Here goes.

 _____________

 “Erm, h-hello,” Jon coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist, as Elias...already said, I guess.” He let out a nervous laugh which no one returned. Elias nodded, urging him to go on.

 Jon had made his way to the room with fifteen minutes to spare, giving him some time to boot up the computer and load the presentation. A quick, nervous glance let him know that it was much changed- at least the first few slides. He shook hands with each department head as they came in, trying to see which of their smiles and congratulations were sincere. The answer? Very few. This was not comforting. 

 His hands shook as he clicked his way to the first slide, his heart pounded in his chest to reveal-

  Bringing the Archives into the 21st Century- A Plan for Updating and Digitizing the Institute's Statements

  Well that’s not bad at all.

 He began to speak, his voice gaining clarity and confidence with every sentence. The presentation was lovely- incorporating his preferred neutral color scheme, a great improvement on the nauseating colors of before. The animations were minimal and sleek, making the transitions meld seamlessly from slide to slide. There was a bit introducing Gertrude’s past work and a dig at her filing system that earned him a laugh. There were new slides regarding the preservation of documents, a new organizational structure, the introduction of a database. All ideas they’d briefly spoken about before committing themselves fully to the digitization process as Elias instructed. Everything was written in his favored academic tone- so natural that Jon found himself speaking extemporaneously on the slides he felt more comfortable with. It was all met with approving nods and a studious gaze from Elias that Jon couldn’t parse. There was also no mention of the tapes.

 The dreaded ‘Meet the Team’ section had been heavily reworked- each one of them had the headshot from their IDs (poor Martin had his eyes closed) and a mention of which department they’d transferred from, along with their credentials. It was professional and informative, everything Jon had wanted it to be. Sasha had outdone herself.  Sasha should be the one making this presentation. 

 He tried to ignore the guilt settling in his chest, even as he smiled back at the approval from the academics he so desperately craved. He clicked to the last slide, which had their contact information and-  oh. It was a picture taken from his birthday a few weeks back, where they all looked fairly presentable and were smiling, no idea of the task ahead of them. Elias was there too; Rosie had taken the picture at Tim’s insistence. His audience tittered, though it seemed to be in good humor rather than mocking.

 “Ah, yes. Th-Thank you for your time.” He quickly turned it off and stared at the ground, his face warm with both embarrassment and a creeping sense of belonging that he didn’t know what to do with. He was startled when a small round of applause began and he looked up with wide eyes to find a smiling audience. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elias nod and smile as well and he finally felt the sense of accomplishment he’d longed for since the start of his promotion.  

 The room cleared rather quickly (no one really wanted to be in a Friday meeting, after all) but Jon was stopped by a tall, smiling woman he had only seen in passing. “Sonya from Artefact Storage,” she reminded him, shaking his hand again and giving him a warm smile. “I’m looking forward to talking to you more about that database. I was always telling Gertrude she needed one, but of course she never listened to me. Stubborn to the end!” He could only stutter, too overwhelmed to formulate a proper response. A hand reached out to his shoulder.

 “That was nicely done, Archivist.” For some reason the title made Jon feel odd, like he was having an honor bestowed that he had not yet earned. Elias wasn’t that much taller than him, but he always seemed to loom over Jon. “Quite the presentation. Lots of...ideas. But I must stress the importance of getting the statements-”

 “On tape, yes, yes,” Jon said, quick to agree. “I just thought, er- I should let them know some of our other objectives, as well?”  Seems like Sasha wanted to, at least.

 “As long as you don’t forget yours,” A pointed glance. Jon gulped nervously, shoving a hand in his pocket. “Still, a good job all around. That Sasha of yours seems like a good asset. Enjoy your weekend.”

 Jon froze in the doorway. Did he know?  Of course not, don’t be silly.  He shook his head and left the room. Well, at least that’s over with.

 ____________

 “Did it go alright?” Sasha asked immediately upon his entrance. He managed a self-deprecating smile. 

 “Surprisingly, yes. That was-  thank you, I guess.”

 “No trouble at all,” Tim jumped out from the break room, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Always knew you had it in you. A consummate performer, I was telling our Martin-”

  “Tim!”  He scowled and tried in vain to shove him away, still irritated by his presence.

 “Seriously, though. Sorry about all of that before. Just trying to lighten the mood, I swear we wouldn’t have actually left you with that-”

 “It’s- It’s fine,” Jon sighed, reluctantly giving in to Tim’s insistent affection. “Well, not really, but it turned out alright in the end.” Sasha gave an encouraging grin.

 “Did you like the photo?” Martin asked anxiously, hovering in the corner of the room. Jon paused. He considered telling him no, that he would have never put it in there himself and considered it rather unprofessional on the whole, but one look at Martin’s face told him that was the wrong move.

 “Yes, Martin,” he said, summoning up the equivalent of a smile. “I liked the photo.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142390

[transromanticism]

any spare trans shawn hcs ? 🥺

KSKAKKSJLKSKS MY TIME HAS COME

just a heads up trans shawn is probably the most i've ever projected onto a character (no joke). also i'm gonna mention trans gus + trans jules bc yeah ✌🏼😗

when shawn was a kid he was like Tomboy™. if you searched tomboy on a dictionary shawn's childhood pics would be there. and like his parents were always like "shawn why don't you wear a dress? what about this pink shirt? let me style your hair" but they let him be all tomboyish bc he was like textbook adhd yknow. he and gus became friends over being the "weirdest" girls of the class and shawn was always fighting with girls who would pick on them bc gus hated it sometimes in really bad days it would lead to him having meltdowns (bc gus's autistic and you can fight me in that).

anyway nothing much was thought of it until he was like 12 and feelings started to happen. that's when shawn was like me? bi? in love with girls? especially gus? PFFFFFF... maybe. which is like ok whatever that wasn't so hard yknow. he looks both that's cool that's nice. gus likes both too so that's cool too. BUT THEN shawn's like uh. i don't really feel like a girl. i wish i wasn't a girl bc i don't like being a girl.

cut to 13yo shawn and he cuts his hair real short and one day someone calls him a boy and he's like :O I'M A BOY and he talk to gus about it and he gets really excited about it and can barely contain himself (gus's really happy for him and falls in love even more with shawn and he starts to question his gender too bc shawn's talking about stuff he also feels and he's like maybe? no, but what if?). shawn decides on the name shawn a little before his 14th bday and he and gus sort of become each other's safe haven bc they're the only people that know and use the other's name and pronouns.

cut to 16yo shawn and he finally comes out to his dad. gus & shawn made a pact to come out on the same night so that's what they're doing. henry is accepting? like, he doesn't get it, and he's kinda rude sometimes, but he loves his son (and his friend who's also his boyfriend). shawn knows it's not that safe for him to start transition, so he waits until he finishes hs, which ends up being another reason he leaves sb. he gets why gus's going to college, bc that's how gus wants to transition, but that's just not his thing. shawn knows he wouldn't fit in college, and it would be just a continuation of the inferno of school, so he goes away. in the 10 years, he starts taking t and get's top surgery (he loves his chest scars SO MUCH). he and gus keep sending each other postcards updating each other on their transition, and if it's a big thing that makes them really excited, they call each other and talk for hours.

when shawn comes back, he's more himself than he ever could be. for once, shawn's actually shawn. seeing gus makes me legit cry, and he can't even believe this is happening? like, he wishes he could tell 13yo shawn that's still unsure about what name to go by that a day will come where he's got a goddamn fucking beard and so does gus and they're together in love and happy being who they truly are. hell, even saying it now still sounds unreal!

which is why when shawn's called to the precinct, it sucks even more. he knows he will be deadnamed and possibly even misgendered, he doesn't expect less, and he's goddamn correct. lassiter asks for his name, and he notices he's henry spencer's kid, "yeah, that one" "uh, i thought he had a daughter", and under his breathe shawn days "yeah, he did". and when lassiter asks for his papers and he only gets a "there's no shawn spencer, sir" he gets really confused. shawn waits for some time, like he's collecting himself. he hates so fucking much already, and he hasn't even got to the worst part. barry nudges shawn and asks him to explain himself, to which he responds with a sigh and days "look for [deadname] spencer", which they do, and they thing, but lassiter still doesn't accept bc "this is a girl, and you're not" to which shawn says "some people are trans!" which leads to even more confusion bc cis people in 2006 don't know shit about trans people. thank god buzz knocked at the door before shawn started crying.

anyway shawn & gus are kinda :/ with working with the sbpd but they're also like whatever we get some money and it's nice yknow? until jules into the picture. they don't know she's trans btw and neither does she know about them initially. but one day going through files, jules's like "wait where are gus's and shawn's files? they're supposed to be here" and then she idk asks lassiter and he's like "yeah turns out spencer's trans and so is guster" and she's like :OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO but like on the inside so she just says "oh really? cool for them" and leaves. the next day she goes RUNNING to the psych office and she's like "WHY DIDN'T YOU GUYS TELL ME YOU WERE TRANS" and gus's like "how the heck did you discover that??????" and jules explains what happened and shawn's like "damn lassiter that was not cool" while gus's like "okay but why are you barging into our office asking us why we didn't come out to you?" and then jules comes out to them and shawn & gus are like "WAIT YOU TOO?" and they three become the spider man pointing at each other meme but they're excited trans people bc they just round another trans person. they become the trans trio and their wlw/mlm solidarity grows stronger. yknow that scene in the s1 finale where it's the three of them eating takeout and laughing? TRANS TRIO

anyway thanks for listening to me trans rambling about my fav hc even if this wasn't exactly what you asked for 💞 now i'm gonna first write another post where it's actually just a bunch of psych trans hcs and then add to my wip ideas "psych moments rewrite where shawn+gus+jules are trans"

[queenofthelanternfish]

Disclaimer: New chapter upload from my lovely gf @anesther! I particularly love this chapter because I am completely biased since my baby girl Odessa is in here!!!

-

AN: Finally, she shows up.

Title: Interfaces

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, featuring Odessa

Pairing: Entrapdak

Rating: G

Go to AO3 to read better.

                                                         Wedding

Odessa has been alive for three years.

There are lots of things she knows, despite her young age. Her mother says she will only continue to learn more, for life is a never-ending research project. Her father believes nothing can’t be achieved without patience, and sometimes a little force.

She learned how to read before she was even six months of age, according to Etherian standards. Her body is developing at a different rate than most children, she’s been told. There are similarities between her and children from Etheria, but she isn’t on the same level when it comes to mental and physical changes. She considers Emily and Imp to be her siblings, and she finds their presence comforting.

Her parents said she’s the most fascinating thing they’ve ever created.

Odessa likes to sit with her progenitors and watch them build machines, ranging anywhere from harmless technology, meant only to advance a field or lifeforms, to dangerous weapons, meant as a ‘just in case’ scenario. Her father is nothing, if not thorough, and, in her opinion, paranoid.

Her mother is an optimistic wonder, unable to view the negative in a situation for too long. She craves success, but she also knows to take her time with a particular feat. She is not without her limits, however, knowing there is a line that can be crossed if she is pushed beyond what she can take.

Odessa, Princess of Dryl, Heir to the Horde, believes her parents are an equally riveting aspect to life on the ship.

She had been perusing the small, if well-stocked and excellent, library that is kept at the back of the spacecraft. Emily and Imp usually follow her, and when they, inevitably, fall asleep from the relaxed atmosphere, Odessa learns as many new things as she is able.

For fun, she decided to read the dictionary. Normally, she wouldn’t. It’s a ‘baby step’ to knowledge, but when she desires laidback reading, she will pick that up. Scanning down the ‘W’ section, she came across the word ‘wedding.’ A noun, though an attributive one. Meaning any one of three definitions, but they all mean the same: a ceremony meant to celebrate the union of people, normally two.

She has heard of there being more than two, but the planets she has been to have, more or less, continued the tradition of monogamy. You would think with hundreds of planets, there would be some type of variation. Her mother said she expected more polyamorous couplings. Her father said most he’s found are often sexless, biological- and societal-wise, thus the concept of romantic partnership isn’t necessary.

But it gets her thinking. There is no doubt her parents love each other, and neither of them are overly sentimental. Well, her mother is. She likes to have pictures of cute things on her desk, and engages with possessing a keepsake or three, if they really mean a lot to her. Her father, not so much. He likes what he has, and that means his family. The only material item that matters is the gemstone engraved with First Ones lettering. Even if it didn’t have to be attached to him, Odessa knows he would never throw it out.

So she sits now, eyeing her creators with curious wide eyes.

Entrapta smiles at her, “Sweetie, can you hand me the drill?”

Quietly, she gives the tool to her mother’s outstretched tendril. Opting to remain standing, she jumps over to where they’re working, getting a closer view. Hunching over, knees to her chin, she observes the proper handling of the instruments. On occasion, they will allow her to try operating an apparatus, but while she is capable, her dexterity isn’t quite there yet.

They work in tandem with wordless expressions and motions, a sign of having known each other for a long time. She thrums her fingers on her kneecaps, absorbed in her typical pastime of inspection.

Entrapta looks up, hearing a beep from above, “Oh, it’s time for a snack!” Using her hair to propel her across the room, she opens the small pantry, kept here for quick breaks. Her hair extends back out to where they are, forming a small, circular seat, “Odessa, do you want to pick out what you want?”

Odessa hops on, swinging her feet. She points to fruit juice, potato chips, and a type of sour candy her father found for her when he went out to scope a more hostile territory that would not have boded well for her mother and her physically.

Coming back together, Odessa snaps back the tab on her soda, taking a plentiful sip. She hears Hordak give a small sigh. He prefers giving her a more balanced nutritional diet to keep her metabolic processes functioning correctly, but considering she needs more calories than any child he had in the Horde, he doesn’t complain, so long as she eats decent meals. Entrapta, as she put it, ate nothing but cake and soda for a long time, and she turned out fine.

He wasn’t too amused but he let it be.

“Did you learn anything in the library?” Entrapta asks, popping a potato chip into her mouth.

Odessa nods.

“Is that why you’ve been more quiet?” Hordak adds, setting down a beaker. He folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the table. “It must’ve been rather intriguing for you.”

Odessa answers with another nod.

Grabbing a notepad and pen, Entrapta places it in front of her daughter, “Can you write it out?”

Sucking on the hard candy, Odessa clicks the pen. Word complete, as well as definition, she holds it up for them to look at.

Hordak leans over Entrapta, the two of them reading it.

He turns to her, “What caught your attention about this word?”

Odessa flips over the page, scribbling her query, “Did you two have a wedding?”

Entrapta drinks her soda. Scratching her cheek, she looks up at her lab partner. She replies, “There didn’t seem to be a need for it, I suppose?”

“Why not?” she writes.

Hordak shrugs, “Your mother and I never discussed it. It’s not an event my species holds sacred, and as you know, many don’t. The concept of holding a celebration to pronounce a commitment is a waste of time. If desires and needs are met, and affection doesn’t dwindle, I don’t need to prove why with some fanciful get-together.”

“Same thoughts?” Odessa asks, pointing to the sentence with her pen, then at her mother.

Entrapta laughs, “I never thought about it! Weddings can be lovely, and there’s loads of delicious food, but it wasn’t something I’d demand.”

Odessa hums in understanding. Scribbling down on the notepad, she asks, “Would you ever want one?”

“I don’t think so. We kinda did it our own way,” Entrapta looks over her shoulder, eyes on Hordak’s face. “Your father proposed to me the moment he asked if I would leave Etheria behind, and travel the universe with him. That was all I ever wanted.”

A genuine smile comes onto his features.

Odessa mirrors it, pleased with the answers.

Entrapta drains the last bit of her soda, throwing away her bag of chips. Dusting off her hands, she asks, “Did you want us to do a wedding? Just to show you?” Shaking her head, Odessa writes, “Maybe one day. When I’m bored.”

That statement makes her parents burst out laughing. Her father even snorts, causing them to cackle harder.

Entrapta and Hordak resume their business. Satisfied with the afternoon’s impromptu lesson, Odessa yawns. Crawling over to a spot near the desk, she cuddles into a makeshift, tiny bed. She falls asleep to her parents’ talking, content.

[wordcubed-writes]

My BNHA villain OCs: Inko’s sidekick

Apparently by “tomorrow” I meant a week later, and by two OCs I meant "four, but each gets a separate post because jeeeezus this’d be too long otherwise”.

Inko has her own journey in Libra, going from homeless single mom to respected villain. Due to how the timeline works out, I needed to create some OCs for her to interact with, since none of the other canon characters’ histories line up with AU!Inko’s in the way I needed them to.

Also, the point of Inko’s character is that she can’t survive on her own. She’s a villain, yes, she breaks the law, and as she grows into her role she even knowingly hurts people. But she’s unusual among villains in that she doesn’t pretend to be strong by herself—her real strength is in the many connections she makes. Inko becomes the surrogate mom to a generation of young villains. A key part of her story is found family.

Hence her organization’s name: the Underground Family.

Today’s character: Kangen Kutsurogi

You can tell this one's important because she has a proper name!

Kangen's role: Inko needed a companion, someone she can interact with through her journey. I wanted them to be younger than her, so Inko is still definitely The Adult in the relationship, but old enough to babysit Izuku, old enough to spend money without raising too many questions, old enough to have political opinions, and old enough to know how to bullshit their way through some things.

(Fun fact: this role was originally going to be Dabi's, but he’s just too young at this point—11 at most—to credibly do some of the things I’d need his character to do. Don’t worry, he still joins Inko's family, just at a later date.)

I also wanted someone to provide an alternative kind of character development. Inko is already a mother, already carrying responsibility, already intensely compromised, and her character growth is about things more grounded than destiny and bigger than personal vengeance. Kangen, however, wants more shonen-esque things: she wants to solve mysteries, she wants to make herself into something.

And boy howdy, does Kangen have a mystery to solve. Because her Quirk isn't hers. And, possibly, neither is her name. This is BNHA, you can probably guess how she has a Quirk that isn’t hers...

Kangen wants to solve the mystery of herself, Inko wants to take care of the people she cares about. All For One can either be the antagonist in Kangen's personal story or he can be the monster who generously tolerates the small fry swimming around him. He cannot be both. Kangen's story is that she must learn to temper her wants and grow around her own scars—like Inko already is.

If Kangen pursues the things she thinks she wants, she'll destroy the things she actually values. (Sometimes, you have to let go of your personal dream narrative to realize the one you've actually been living this whole time.)

Kangen's Quirk: Nonthreatening.

Kangen's Quirk prevents anyone from seeing her as a threat. No matter how hostile or violent Kangen acts towards someone, she can never provoke them. They will never panic, get angry, or get stressed about her. Confrontations become friendly chats and deadly fights become laid-back play-fights.

Nonthreatening allows Kangen to challenge people who are normally very dangerous and walk away without few-to-no repercussions. She’s also used it to steal stuff right in front of the owner's eyes. (At most, they'll sigh exasperatedly and get around to filing an insurance claim. Chasing her or calling the police would mean they’re worried or angry, and that’s not possible with her.) Or brazenly assault people in broad daylight and walk away without anyone trying to stop her. (It is not a stealth Quirk; people can see and remember her normally, they just can't be fucked to pursue/confront her while she's present.)

The exact mechanics of Kangen's Quirk are the mystery, though. Is it an always-on field affecting everyone around her? Can it be suppressed with concentration? Or is it the reverse, and takes work to keep activated? Is she the sole focus, or can she prevent anyone from provoking anybody? Does it work on robots? Can a recording of her have the same effect?

The little answers are ever-changing. The big answer is that her Quirk is very, very old: one of the first-generation Quirks from 200 years ago. Its original user was taken by the government, and used in “Project Kangen”, a series of experiments in "pacifying" large crowds, or potentially even entire populations. Her Quirk is (sometimes) strong because it's actually many Quirks—one of the first amalgamate Quirks forged by All For One—but it's unstable because, well, he was pretty young himself back then, and not nearly as skilled with his own Quirk as he is now.

And Kangen Kutsurogi’s name? Given to whoever the Quirk subject of Project Kangen is.

Kangen's name: It's literally the Japanese phrase "kangen", which according to at least one Japanese dictionary means "leniency and severity", making her name ~meaningful~ by Horikoshi standards. Kutsurogi means something like "comfort" or "relaxing".

Her villain name is Peacemaker, and yes she is going to carry a Colt Peacemaker revolver, because irony.

Kangen's backstory: The desirability of certain Quirks means human trafficking is a big problem in this AU, and Kangen got shuffled all over the place as villain groups tried to use her Quirk for various purposes (anything from petty crime in broad daylight to negotiation to infiltration).

Eventually, All For One decides that the Project Kangen Quirk is his creation and therefore belongs in Japan, kidnapping her. Then, not having much use for her (AFO has far more potent telepathy Quirks under his command) he put her where he dumps all the Quirks he collects but doesn’t use.

That is, he gave her to the actual designated antagonist of my villain!Inko fic: a cult leader villain who worships All For One (and doesn’t realize he’s merely caretaker to All For One's human collection of salvaged Quirks). Kangen’s job there was mostly to suppress the more violent Quirk-users and help raise the younger kids.

In addition to highlighting the uglier side of Quirk society, Kangen also parallels Eri: used by villains for her Quirk, but escapes and runs into a genuinely good person (Inko). It sets up the conflict between AFO's cult and Inko's family in Libra, and (SPOILER) later, in Let the Heavens Fall, the conflict between Overhaul and Inko (who let me tell you is SUPER PISSED that this upstart new villain's first major step is "torturing a child for her Quirk").

[the-paris-of-people]

That Cute Couple You See at a Coffee Shop

SURPRISE! (Or not?) I’m your @tgpsecretsanta @alys07! I hope you enjoy this Cheleanor Cinderella Story/College AU I wrote for you! You can read it on AO3 or down in the cut below! 

P.S. special thanks to @chidi-anagonye for editing! <3 

Summary: What happens when Chidi and Eleanor begin messaging each other online, with no idea of who the other really is? 

Words: 5555

I got my latte with almond milk this morning, pinged Chidi’s penpal. A special shoutout to you, bud.

A grin slipped onto Chidi’s lips. He was in the middle of class, his seminar about Middle Eastern civilization, but still he typed back,

I’m jealous. But! at least you’re able to enjoy it without any of my agony and guilt.

Did you just make a joke? She wrote back. Look at you! I’m impressed. Character development.

You taught me well.

“Chidi!” Tahani hissed, catching Chidi in the middle of his lovestruck look at his computer. “Chidi!” She cried again, tapping his desk with her manicured index finger.

“Huh? What?”

“Look, I know you are quite infatuated with this mystery girl, but can you please pay attention for one moment so we can meet with our group project partners?”

“Right! Sorry!” Chidi cleared his throat. As he whipped out his notes from his backpack, Tahani squinted at Chidi’s iMessage. Blushing furiously, Chidi clicked the ‘X’ at the corner of the window. The last thing Tahani needed to see were his ramblings from last night, after he told his mystery friend that he wished they were a couple he had seen at the coffeehouse, studying together, staring into each other’s eyes. He then panicked because he realized how desperate he sounded. To cover for his semi-flirty messages, he typed out a long explanation, spanning paragraphs, but it didn’t work. He was bad at lying, and the worst part was, he wasn’t even drunk. He was just that awkward.

“Ugh,” Tahani sighed, flopping down in the seat next to him dramatically. “Chidi, you obviously like this girl. It’s been three months. Are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

“First of all,” Chidi shut his laptop. “You should not be reading my messages! Also, no. It wouldn’t be right to disclose my feelings if she doesn’t have all of the information she can possibly can have about me. And! I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or if she’s romantically interested in any gender at all! It would be ethically unsound for me to dump that burden on her. And since finals are approaching, and it might distract her, too!”

“I mean that’s technically true, but still-“

“Alright!”  interrupted Eleanor, the de facto leader of their project team, barreling in from the doorway. “Let’s get to work!”

Perfect timing, Chidi thought, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did you just get to class?” he inquired, eyeing the coffee cup still in hand and scarf around her neck. It didn’t surprise him, Eleanor always came late, but still, it floored Chidi how she strolled in with unabashed confidence. Chidi shriveled away when he arrived even one minute late, how could Eleanor muster the guts to come forty five minutes after class began?

“Long line at Michael’s,” Eleanor explained, setting her cup down and pulling her messy notes onto the desk. As Chidi learned from their midterm presentation, Eleanor wasn’t the best student, but she was the best at organizing their projects of the four of them. Unlike Chidi, she didn’t waver on which details to include and unlike Tahani, she wasn’t concerned with how to woo the teacher for self-validation. And unlike Jason, she actually had… a brain, so she could contribute sometimes.

(To be honest, Chidi didn’t know how Jason got into college at all. Not that he minded having him there, he always offered free snacks at their group meetings, but he wasn’t... the sharpest tool in the shed)

“By the way, I saw Jason nuzzling with Janet by the windows,” Eleanor mentioned. “ So I guess they’re not coming either.”

“Wait, Jason and Janet together?” Tahani asked, flabbergasted. Tahani wasn’t the only one surprised. Jason was a great guy but Janet wasn’t exactly... his type. She was pretty, funny, president of the student body and the Scholars Club. On top of that, she knew everything. He wasn’t exaggerating. She literally knew everything. Sometimes his friend Simone joked she was secretly a robot.  “Since when have they been… dating?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve been ‘dating’ if you know what I mean,” Eleanor snorted. She flipped through her stack of loose leaf paper and pulled out her project notes, clicking into her planning mode, “Alright, so we have five more days to put together our final presentation, and from what I remember from what we talked about on Tuesday, no one has any weekend finals, so I vote we get together Saturday and Sunday and just bang this shiz out, ya feel me?” Proud of her quick thinking, Eleanor laid back in her seat and propped her feet up on Jason’s vacant chair.

“Oh!” Tahani clucked. “I’m sorry Eleanor! But no can do!”

“I’m sorry?” Eleanor sat back up.

“What Tahani is trying to say is, the Scholars Club has a ball on Saturday of winter finals week,” Chidi filled her in, “And since Tahani and I are on the board, we’re busy planning until Saturday, and then on Sunday, we have to clean up and debrief, so it probably won’t be until Monday that we can work on the presentation.”

“Seriously?” Eleanor threw her head back and groaned.  “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Well, we’ve been caught up with other finals, Scholars Club events, I’m part of the Plato society…”

“Oh my god, I get it, you ner-” Eleanor paused mid-sentence.

Chidi cocked his head at her. Was she about to say nerds? Huh. He felt like he had heard that phrase from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where…

“-naturally very busy overachievers,” Eleanor covered. She froze for a second before flapping her lips exasperatedly, folding up her notes and shoving them back into her backpack. “I guess we’ll just do it on Monday around my philosophy final, then.”

“I’m sorry, Eleanor,” Tahani patted her hand. “But I promise I’ll come by your dorm tonight to give you that face cream. It will make all your blemishes disappear!”

“Tahani, I never said-”

“Oh, I’m so excited to see your triple, Eleanor!” Tahani interrupted, clapping her hands together. “I bet it’s just so… quaint.”

She shot her one last grin before gathering all her books and striding away, her floral dress billowing behind her. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open at she watched Tahani exit, still wondering what just happened.

“Don’t worry,” Chidi told her. “She gave me face cream last week, too. You don’t need it.”

Eleanor’s eyes sparkled before she coughed and stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. For some reason, Chidi found himself liking the way her eyes glimmered under the fluorescent lights, how the ends of her mouth softened, how her cheeks tinted pink. She looked pretty.

Calm down, Chidi, he scolded himself as he shook his head. One crush at a time.

***

I ate a quesadilla for lunch today, Chidi texted mystery girl later that day, at the library with Uzo. And now I have a giant stomach ache.

I’m sorry, philosophy cutie, she instantly replied. I wish you didn’t feel so sick all the time :(

The campus health center is open until 7. She added. Maybe you can make an appointment? She sent him a link to the online appointment maker.

I have to study for my psych final tomorrow, Chidi messaged. But thank you for checking for me. That was really nice of you.

Guess you’re not the only one with character development.  :)

Chidi chuckled to himself. He began crafting a witty response, clicking on the urban dictionary link he bookmarked to match her constant use of casual slang. He felt Uzo peering over his shoulder and turned around.

“Shrimp freak again?” Uzo lifted an eyebrow.

Chidi nodded.

Uzo, his childhood best friend, his roommate, his pseudo-brother, was one of the only people who knew the full story. Of how Chidi wrote under a pen name for the university’s online philosophy zine. Of how one day, “StoneColdSteveAustinfreak” had commented on his post, mocking his rigidity and suggesting he “lighten up.” Chidi responded politely, requesting that she directly contact him for her difference in perspective, and two days later, he received a message from shrimpfreak1014 over his newspaper gmail chat. At the time, he was refining his midterm paper for deontology, checking every now and again for messages. Somehow, he remained embroiled in an argument with her until three A.M.

She irritated Chidi to to end. She was argumentative, and she made fun of his nerdy habits, and her sense of humor was cruder than he liked. But at the same time, Chidi didn’t want to stop talking to her. She was sharp and witty and unlike anyone he’d ever met. She was selfish, but she was trying to be better. She was rude, but she apologized when she went too far. She coined herself as a moral particularist, yet she sometimes cited Kant in her arguments, emphasizing when she did just to tease him.

And soon, as their chats grew more and more frequent, they became closer. She messaged him during her work breaks, and he talked to her while he worked on his homework late at night, bags sagging under his eyes as he alternated between his essay about Plato to their discussion of Tim Scanlon. They were friends, advisors, maybe even confidantes, their conversations ranging from philosophy to their favorite coffeehouse on campus to their lives outside of university. She told him how she emancipated from her parents at fourteen, how she worked three jobs to pay off her student loans, how she decided to become a better person after a near-death experience getting her stomach pumped. He confided that his grandmother passed away last year and he missed her, he missed the snacks she used to send and the stews she used to serve. Since then, he told her, he had been more anxious than usual, the simplest of decisions causing his palms to sweat and his leg to bounce .

Listen, dude, how about this? She wrote. Since you’ve been my dorky mentor and you’ve helped me a better person and all the junk, why don’t I help you make decisions? I’m good at that stuff, anyway.

You would do that? He asked.

Yeah, man, I owe it to you! She insisted. The next time you freak out over a big decision just come to me.

And so he came to her each time he freaked out, faced with a choice between white or black, right or left, frozen mocha or coffee.

Just get the frozen mocha, she would reply, as if choosing was so easy. You don’t even like the taste of fair trade coffee at the cafe, so why not get something you enjoy?

You’re right, said Chidi, shocked at her ability to choose without qualms. And so they went on, Chidi as her philosophy mentor and shrimpfreak as his decision maker, and Chidi found himself aching for her messages. During the day, his mind began drifting to her: how perfectly she complemented Chidi, how since they started talking, he softened her and she strengthened him. He wonder about her in ways he shouldn’t, about how her eyes were probably bright and fearless, about if her mouth would curl after a quip, about how her skin would feel against his, cuddling in Chidi’s bed-

No, no, no. It was wrong. How could he have a crush on her when-

“Chidi?” Uzo waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him back to reality. “Chidi? Dude, are you freaking out about your crush on shrimp freak again?”

“A little,” Chidi squeaked. “Okay, well a lot,” He admitted. “I can’t handle this anymore, Uzo! I mean I’ve kept this from her for way too long, and I’m the one who’s always maintained a moral code of honesty! And if I do tell her how I feel, it could potentially destroy our relationship and all the progress she’s made! And who am I to destroy progress, Uzo? I don’t have that kind of authority!”

“Listen, you’ve got to calm down, man,” Uzo advised, while Chidi gasped for air. “Look, it seems like this is eating you alive inside…”

“Pretty much everything does!”

“Right, but it seems like you like her a lot, so… why don’t you put yourself out there? ” He punched Chidi lightly on the shoulder. “Ask her to the Scholars Club ball.”

“The Scholars Club ball?”

“The Scholars Club ball.” Uzo nodded. “Just so you have a shot at meeting in person. I mean, it’s been four months and you don’t even know her real name. You can just go as friends, too. No pressure. But this way, you don’t have to worry about her not knowing who you really are, and if you want, you can come clean and tell her about your feelings.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Chidi pondered, tilting his head. If they went to the Scholar’s Ball together, they could have a lot of fun. Shrimpfreak could meet Uzo and Tahani and Simone, and they could talk and laugh all through the night. And maybe, just maybe, (just a thought!) they could slow-dance together, too. He even knew how to sell it to her. There were tons of caterers and free cocktail shrimp. He’s sure she would like that.

But there were drawbacks, too, and Chidi had to consider those, too. Maybe he could make a pros and cons list. Or maybe he would use that Magic 8 Ball in the student union to make a decision for him.

“I’ll think about it,” he told Uzo.

“You’re going to stay up all night agonizing about whether to ask her, aren’t you?” Uzo anticipated.

“Yeah, pretty much!”

“I know you too well, buddy,” Uzo laughed.

***

“Eleanor!” Tahani sang outside her door. “I have your face cream!”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor muttered. “Here we go.”

She closed her laptop and ripped down her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster. Eleanor wasn’t sure if Chidi told her about their messages, but wasn’t taking any chances. She scanned her room for any other defining items that might give her away. Luckily, she wasn’t much of a decorator, unlike Becky, who littered her desk with pictures of cats, Spiderman figurines, and frog drawings by her cousin, Jeremy. Yeah, sure, the frog sketches were cute, but the Spiderman figurines? Come on, Becky!

“Hello, Eleanor!” Tahani greeted as Eleanor opened the door, waltzing right into her room without permission.

“Sure, come on in, Tahani. I definitely invited you.” Eleanor grumbled and flopped onto her bed.

“Here’s a bag with some face cream, and some other Korean skincare products I’d thought you might like to try!” Tahani perched herself on the edge of Eleanor’s bed. As she examined the rest of Eleanor’s dorm room, her face scrunched. “Why, this space is awfully… cramped…”

“Because it’s a dorm room,” Eleanor drawled sarcastically. “It’s small? It’s something normal college students usually live in?”

“I mean it’s nothing compared to the spacious single I have in the Scholar’s Club house, and it’s not as quaint as I thought, but I have to admit, it’s quite cute. Aside from the Spiderman figurines on that desk, which are creeping me out…”

“Right? Thank you!” Eleanor threw her hands up in the air emphatically. “I keep telling Becky to turn them to the side so we don’t have to see them!”

“Though I suppose they would creep out the people walking and looking at the dorm windows,” Tahani giggled.

“Haha! You’re right!” Eleanor snickered. “There’s no winning, is there?”

“Not unless you accidentally throw them in the garbage can!” Tahani joked.

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had, babe!” Eleanor rolled over from laughing so hard. Tahani, who was keeling over with her laughter along with her, suddenly stopped, focusing on the left corner of Eleanor’s room.

Eleanor’s eyes widened. Oh no. She had completely forgotten that she left her work backpack on her desk. It was free of badges and patches and tacky Becky-like decorations… besides the small shrimp keychain on the zipper.

Shit.

“Say Eleanor,” Tahani spun back towards Eleanor. “Shrimp doesn’t happen to be your favorite food, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani,” Eleanor challenged, shooting Tahani her sharpest eyes. Tahani’s normally light demeanor darkened to match Eleanor’s venomous stare.

“Anyway,” Eleanor swung her legs around her bed and stood up. The faster she could shove Tahani out of the room, the better. “I think it’s time for you to go, Tahani,” She pushed Tahani back towards the door with her feeble muscles. Jeez, she was surprisingly strong. “Buh-bye! See you Monday!”

“Hang on just a second,” Tahani resisted Eleanor’s shove.“You don’t happen to have a poster of Stone Cold Steve Austin, do you?”

“Again,” Eleanor choked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tahani. See you later, okay buh-bye!”

“Oh, really?” Tahani smugly leaned against the doorframe, pointing to the back of the room. “Then why is that Stone Cold Steve Austin poster on the ground?”

Eleanor flicked her eyes back to the back of the room. Her Stone Cold Steve Austin poster was lying face-up. Fuck. She tore the poster down but she forgot to turn it over or hide it under the bed. Damn it, Eleanor!

“Okay, fine, you caught me!” Eleanor caved. She sighed and walked back to her bed. “I’m shrimpfreak1014.”

“Well, since I am very well-connected,” bragged Tahani, shutting the door and joining her on the bed. “I happen to know the identity of the lucky man you’ve been talking with-”

“Please,” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “ I know it’s Chidi. I sit behind him in class and he’s not super discrete about messaging on his laptop.”

“Oh,” Tahani shook herself out of her initial shock before agreeing, “That is true. But if you know who he is, and you both are very close, why don’t you tell him who you are?”  

Because it’s Chidi, she wanted to say. He’s intelligent and patient and kind and he genuinely cares about people. He cares about me. But I don’t even know if he cares about me me. Eleanor me.

And I couldn’t stand losing him if he didn’t.

“Because I don’t even know if he likes me,” she said instead. She avoided Tahani’s gaze as her eyes welled with tears, tucking the strands of hair behind her ears. God, she probably looked like an idiot, getting all soft talking about how much she liked him. “We always bicker while working on projects, and he always gives me a funny look whenever I say something ignorant, and I just… I don’t want him to change his mind if he knows who I really am…”

“Eleanor,” comforted Tahani, rubbing her back in circles. “I’ve known Chidi for a long time, and he doesn’t dislike anyone. Including you. And also…” Tahani hesitated  “You never know how someone will react if you tell them how you feel, so it never hurts to try. Like the time I told Daniel Radcliffe that…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Eleanor cut her off. “I always get it. But…. Thanks, Tahani. I guess. Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She smiled up at her in between sniffles.

“No problem, friend,” Tahani gave her one last pat on the back before heading back to the door, this time, without Eleanor forcing her out. “Well, I better get going. I have to run a bunch of errands for the ball. But Eleanor,” Tahani lingered in the doorway, rocking back and forth on her feet. “If you ever want to get lunch or something…I’d be happy to put something in my calendar.”

“That would be great, Tahani,” accepted Eleanor, grinning. Sure, Tahani was a snob, and she name-dropped too much. She wore heels even though she didn’t need them, and she was too concerned with her popularity…but she also had a good heart. And she was kind of fun to be around. It was only fair that Eleanor gave her a chance.

“But only if we go to get burgers,” she added. “I’m not much of a fancy girl, and you could use some loosening up.”

“Well, I look forward to the grease.” Tahani bobbed her head, then double-checked, “Is grease something to look forward to?”

“You’ll see, babe,” Eleanor winked at her. “You’ll see.”

***

Chidi paced up and down the shiny, hardwood floor of the Scholars Club house kitchen. He had been at it for an hour and a half. Femi already came down to check if he was okay, and he had already scarfed down three bananas from the ornate ceramic fruit bowl Tahani had made for the kitchen. Okay, he was going to go over the possible outcomes one last time, then he was going to decide on what to do…

Hey, bud, his phone vibrated in his hand, disrupting his train of thought. Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Feeling alright?

Chidi trembled as he reread the message. He couldn’t keep up this charade any longer, otherwise he would just end up freezing her out. Yeah, that’s what normally ended up happening with his friends and ex-girlfriends he couldn’t break secrets to, but he didn’t want this to happen with her. He didn’t want to lose her; he wanted this, finally, to be the one that stuck.

You know what? His mind whipped into shape and settled, He was going to do it. If shrimpfreak had taught him anything, it was how to be more decisive. He yearned so badly to meet her, he yearned for nothing else, but he was letting the tossing and turning of his mind prevent him from going for what he desired.

Hey! He texted. Thanks for checking up on me. I was just thinking how to ask you something. So I’m part of the Scholars Club on campus and we’re having a ball on Saturday night. Do you want to go with me? Just as friends, of course. There’ll be free shrimp!

He held his breath while he waited for her response. Nothing.

He removed another banana from the fruit bowl. Maybe the overload of potassium could somehow carry him through the day.

***

It was only in his final class of the day, creating a study guide for philosophy of neuroscience alongside Simone, when he heard back from shrimpfreak1014:

Sorry man, I have work from 9-5 tomorrow and then I have to finish my group project. :(  

Oh, Chidi responded, swallowing his disappointment. I understand. Good luck with finals! If you end up having time, feel free to come by.  

Yeah, honestly, dude, I’m not really sure if I will. I don’t know if I’m ready to meet yet.

Chidi blinked, pushing down the sickening feeling slithering up his throat.

That’s okay, He reassured, although he was stewing in his own regret. We can just meet when we’re ready. There’s no rush, right?

No response.

Chidi heaved as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“You okay, Chidi?” Simone asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” He somehow managed to lie through his heaving. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

This was why he couldn’t make decisions.

***

On the day of the ball, Chidi rose with dread.

He was surprised he could get up at all- his muscles fatigued from restless turning, his eyes strained from rereading old messages all night. Uzo calmed him down for a little bit in the morning, promising that shrimp freak just needed some time to process the idea of meeting him in person. Chidi told him he was probably right, but still, he checked his phone a couple more times to see if she had messaged back.

The rest of the day kept him distracted enough; he and the rest of the board met in the living room to begin ball preparations: wrapping carnations around the banisters, confirming arrival times of the caterers, transporting surprise gift bags to the gazebo. He felt normal, for the most part- until he overheard Simone and Vicky talking about their dates.

Chidi’s stomach boiled with agony. He didn’t know why he cared so much- he had been fine with not having a date, with not meeting his secret friend in the near future. Now he couldn’t get it out of his head, and he hated himself for it. Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

As the sun lowered over the Scholars Club house hill, the guests rolled into the living room. Chidi feigned a smile as he tore them in half, trying not to let his misery get the best of them. They had planned this ball for months and at least it was going well: the decorations colorful yet classy, the guests adorned in flowing gowns and fitted suits.

After he finished up registration, Chidi floated throughout the house to different groups, greeting them and asking if they were having a good time. It wasn’t a distraction, he tried to convince himself. It was part of his job as a board member. He wasn’t trying to keep his mind off shrimpfreak at all. He wasn’t even thinking about her.

“Chidi!” beckoned Simone from the kitchen.

Chidi let out a sad smile and moved towards Tahani, Uzo, and Simone. As he approached them, Tahani handed him a plate of shrimp. Chidi thanked her gratefully and popped it in his mouth, humming delightfully at its taste.

“Mmmm.” He turned to Tahani. “You did a great job with all of this. The shrimp is so much better than last year, and people seem to be having a great time.”

“It’s much better than the one Kamilah threw two years ago, isn’t it?”

“Oh, much better,” Chidi reassured, and he meant it. Kamilah’s taste was a little too loud and garish for him, but Tahani struck the tasteful balance between sophisticated and fun.

“Be honest,” Uzo slugged an arm around his shoulder. “How are you holding up, man?”

“Could be better,” He shrugged. “But, I’m not doing horrible. I think… I’m going to go outside for a little bit. Get some fresh air.”

“Oh,” Uzo dropped his arm from his shoulders. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like some more shrimp, Chidi?” Tahani extended out another plate.

“I’m good,” Chidi tried to think of an excuse so he didn’t sound lame “I’ll come back in later… maybe… to get some more.”

Skeptically, Simone crossed her arms. “You’re going to go outside and read until you calm down for a bit, aren’t you?”

“I-I-I-I-I, um-” Chidi stuttered, but their gleeful chortles freed him explanation.

“Go ahead, mate,” Simone shooed him off. “Just come back after the dance ends to clean up. We’re going out to iHop after.”

Chidi confirmed their plans one last time before he left for the gazebo. On the way out, he grabbed his copy of Symposium, the one he had purposely left on the living room table in case he wanted to escape. Deftly, he balanced the book with his plate of shrimp as he pushed open the door. He paused on the steps to appreciate how beautiful the night was, the thickness of the black winter sky, the shimmering stars that lay overhead. The gazebo stood brightly against the dark with its fresh white paint, quickly drawing Chidi in with its solitaire.

Ever since he was a freshman, Chidi sought solace in the gazebo. He frequently snuck away when he needed to be by himself, especially after his grandmother passed away. It boasted a sprawling view of the campus and open panels that breathed in fresh air. Yes, the paint was chipping, and the roof crumbled when it rained, but Chidi loved it nonetheless. Last spring, Tahani held a fundraiser for its restoration, and by fall, it had returned to its former glory. The days of Chidi’s secret, safe place slipped away as he found kids, not even from the Scholar’s Club, using it as a gathering spot to down shots. He was surprised no one was out here right now. He hoped it stayed that way.

Chidi closed his eyes, listening to the plucking of the guitar seep out of the house. He was in his favorite place. The music inside was slowing, the shadows were swaying loosely, and he felt, just for once, that he could handle things.

He opened his book and begin to read.

“Hey nerd,” A brash voice echoed from the doorway mid-paragraph. He snapped his head up to see a familiar frame leaning against the entrance. Wait… was that? No… it couldn’t be…

“Are you reading Plato during the ball?” teased Eleanor. She sauntered over and joined him on the bench.

Chidi opened his mouth to ask her more questions, but instead, he broke into a grin. It was Eleanor. Of course it was Eleanor. No one else was as funny and hard-working and brave as she was. He should have known. He had crushes on both shrimpfreak and Eleanor for the same reasons; how could he not have figured it out before?

“Just needed to get away for a little bit.” He shut back his book and slid it to the side. Eleanor was dressed more casually than normal. Her hair was messy, she sported oversized, food-stained sweats, and still, Chidi couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “Did you kn-”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew,” Eleanor scoffed. “You leave your messages open way too much, Chidi.”

“Right,” Chidi couldn’t help but laugh. She was right. Tahani was always telling him that, too.

Eleanor bit her lip and gave him a shy smile.

He scooted closer to her.

“Um, I created a rough outline of the project!” She cried. She began fiddling with her fingers. “It’s almost done, we just have to add more details in the slides.”

“You worked on the project?” Chidi felt himself warm towards her. He knew how much she hated schoolwork. “Without us there?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor shifted in her seat. “I mean, you and Tahani and Jason are all my friends. I just figured it would make things easier for all of us, since I had the time.”

“That was really nice of you, Eleanor,” His voice fell quietly at the end of his sentence. Eleanor glanced down at her shoes, failing to hide her blush. Chidi wanted to hold her so badly, but he kept talking,

“So, you emancipated from your parents when you were fourteen?”

“Yup. That’s why I work three jobs. I’m surprised you never noticed. I’ve been on shift when you ordered your frozen mochas at the coffeehouse.”

“And you like shrimp?”

“More than I love life itself. And I’m ready to wolf down this unlimited free shrimp! If I’m still allowed to, that is.”

Chidi ducked his head down and chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to talk with her the rest of the night.  

“I can’t believe you came,” he said happily. “I’m really happy you did.”

“You are?” Eleanor’s eyes shone.

“Of course I am,” He lifted her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. Eleanor wove her fingers in his and squeezed his hands, leaning her forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. He could feel her shaking against him. “I said no because I freaked out, not because I didn’t want to see you.”

“I understand,” Chidi empathized. “I freak out all the time.”

“That couldn’t be more true,” Eleanor agreed endearingly.

They moved in closer to each other.

“Eleanor?” Chidi licked his lips nervously. He didn’t know why he was about to ask what he was about to ask, but he really wanted to. “Can I- can I kiss you?”

Eleanor beamed up at him.

“Go ahead, bud.”

Chidi sprang his lips onto Eleanor’s, moving his mouth passionately against hers. Eleanor drew back at first, startled, but then she sank into the kiss, her mouth curving against Chidi’s in a smile. Chidi removed his hand from hers and wrapped them around her back, sliding one down to her waist and the other up her back. As Eleanor laid her hands on his stomach and let them travel up to his shoulders, Chidi reveled in having her fingers against his chest. This, he realized, thoughts unlocking as they kissed and kissed, is what he always dreamed of. It was always Eleanor he heard when reading her messages. It was always Eleanor he imagined kissing. It was always Eleanor he longed to be near, and now he finally was: her tiny little body pressed against his, her mouth moving with trademark feistiness he admired and loved.

They kissed until their lips grew weary, reluctantly pulling apart as they clung to each other still. Eleanor gazed up at him, her eyes full, and it struck Chidi that he’d never seen her so happy. Guess they both made each other that way.

Chidi kissed her forehead as she snuggled herself his chest. He felt ready to make million decisions right then, with Eleanor in his arms in his favorite place, the brisk air gusting all around them.  

“Hey, shrimpfreak.” He bumbled as the music spilled back into the gazebo, “Do you- do you maybe want to dance? Um, with me?”

Eleanor laughed, tugging Chidi up onto his feet.

“Come on, Kantafficado.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Show me how it’s done.”

[hibiscusangel15]

Have You Seen My Robut?

A/N: Day One: Role Reversal

Yeah, let’s get this Tobecky Week started!

...A day late, but y’know…. Gotta start somewhere.

I haven’t written anything Tobecky-related in ages. It feel so good to write for this fandom again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I started writing this fic.

So this is just a short AU for the theme “Role Reversal”. My take on it was basically the idea of Tobey being a hero and Becky being the villain (who also has a crush on him). It’s sort of a rewrite of how the episode “Have You Seen the Remote?” would go in this AU. Hopefully you all enjoy this first installment of fics I’ll be writing for Tobecky Week!

If you like this, please consider buying me a coffee!

Also available at FF.net!

Have You Seen My Robut?

“Another relaxing day begins as Tobey and his mother finally get to watch that movie they’d been wanting to watch for a while!” the Narrator began, his voice upbeat.

Not a moment after that announcement was made, his mother had to rush off to take care of some emergency at work. Of course, right when they found some time to themselves, something just had to come up. Something always came up.

Well, that was fine. His mother usually took care of things quickly enough.

In the meantime, he could just finish up his latest project to help the city.

But then his new robot had to go and malfunction on him and run off in a blaze of smoke. That certainly wouldn’t help with his image.

He repressed the urge to scream and instead put that frustrated energy into making a tracking device that he fitted in the middle of his dotted heart insignia on his supersuit.

Yes, he, Tobey McCallister the Third, was the resident superhero, Techboy, but it had taken quite a long time for the people of Fair City to warm up to him. He thought this city would have learned to trust him after all the times he’d used his robots and gadgets to save them, but no. The masses could not be won with mixed signals.

He sighed. This blasted city had watched too many old movies, it seemed. Just because the odd robot went awry every now and then did not mean he wanted to destroy the city on purpose. There was a big difference between a boy genius and a mad scientist. His many battles against his old mentor Doctor Two-Brains made that perfectly clear. So why couldn’t anyone accept him? What did he have to do to make everyone believe he was the good guy?

Still, he kept at it. His mother had instilled a strong sense of justice in him ever since he was born, so it was only natural that he turn to heroism when this city needed it most.

He didn’t do it for the recognition, although being recognized and awarded the key to the city several times certainly was appreciated. He didn’t want fame or money or any of that guff.

Mostly, he just wanted to be left alone.

He grimaced as he reluctantly thought back to his stubborn classmate, Becky Botsford. She was always so incessant in her accusations of him being Techboy, but, luckily, she was never able to find enough evidence to prove it. Not that that ever deterred her.

It was exhausting having to combat her every school day when she came up to him with another crackpot theory he could easily disprove.

“You have to be Techboy!” Becky would always insist. 

This particular time, Tobey had been sitting under a tree reading a book, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered. Most people had the good sense to leave him be, but not her. Never her.

He turned to her with a pained smile. “Oh? And what makes you think so today, Botsford?” he asked, shutting his book with more force than was necessary.

He’d only indulge her for the moment. It would get her to leave faster, anyway.

“I mean, you’re the same age, the same height, you have the same sparkling blue eyes—”

“What?”

Her pet monkey slapped his hand over his face.

“Er...the same attitude that I despise. Yeah, you’re both so...so haughty!” she huffed, crossing her arms.

Tobey rose an eyebrow. “Haughty, hm?”

Becky blinked. “Oh, when someone is haughty, it means they arrogantly think they’re superior to everyone. Like...Techboy may be a hero, but all his bragging about how much this city needs him can come off as pretty haughty sometimes. Or how like you scoff at everyone for...just being them. That’s being haughty.”

Tobey’s face fell into an unimpressed deadpan. “I know what haughty means, Botsford. And I do not—I mean, Techboy doesn’t brag. He’s a hero. It’s only natural he take some pride in his work.”

“There’s a fine line between proud and arrogant, Tobey.”

“And Techboy manages to walk that razor-thin edge,” he snapped back. “Now, if that’s all you have today, then I suggest you leave. I’m in the middle of something, as you can see.”

“Is it a book about robots?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.

“S-So what if it is?” he said, shoving the book behind his back. “I don’t go up to you whenever you’re reading a dictionary and proclaim you’re WordGirl just from that.”

Becky flushed red.

Tobey had long since suspected Becky Botsford to be the villain (and his self-proclaimed rival), WordGirl, but he had as little proof to go off of as she did. Only hunches, only vague feelings spurred on by small clues here and there that could ultimately mean nothing.

He supposed it wasn’t so different from her suspecting he was Techboy, though he never went out of his way to bother her about it like she did with him. Whether Becky was WordGirl or not, though, it was clear that both she and the villain had feelings for his alter ego.

Clear to everyone but herself, anyway.

Becky gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly. Psh, I mean...me? WordGirl? Nah….”

He shrugged affectedly. “If you say so.”

“I do say so! And I also say...I’m leaving!” she announced and whirled around.

He watched her and her monkey friend trot off with a faint smile then went back to his book.

And that was just yesterday, too.

He sighed yet again as he took off his glasses and stepped into his robotic supersuit. The suit automatically fit to his body, assembling itself piece by piece until it reached his neck. He slipped his black goggles on, blinking to adjust his vision back to normal. These goggles had been fitted with his latest prescription lens, so he had no trouble seeing as Techboy. In fact, these goggles were much better than his simple glasses. They alerted him to incoming dangers, helped him zero in on moving targets, and zoomed in on far-off objects he wanted to get a better look at. If this invention wasn’t a dead giveaway as to who he was, he’d opt to just wear these all the time.

The suit itself made him ten times stronger than he really was, gave him the ability to fly, and had a number of other useful features and little gadgets that helped him stop the various criminals running amuck about Fair City.

He tapped the little tracking device on his chest to make sure it stuck, then finally hovered out of his shed to look for his robot. His mother would just have to wait a bit longer to finish the movie with him.

Techboy zoomed about the city, listening for any sign of citizens screaming or for his tracking device to beep. He made a mental note to tag all his robots from now on, regardless of their purpose.

Much to his utter shock, he suddenly slammed against someone else floating amongst the skyscrapers right as he turned a corner.

“Ow! Hey, who—”

“Techboy!” a high-pitched voice squealed, sounding equally as surprised.

Of course it had to be her.

“WordGirl. What a...lovely surprise,” he grumbled.

“Fancy seeing you here!” she said, leaning much closer than she needed to. Her henchmonkey let out an impatient squeak that went ignored.

Techboy pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Look, what are you doing here?”

“Just flying around hoping to catch your eye. I mean, seeing if anything catches my eye. My eyes, not your...amazing...sapphire....eyes....”

Techboy gave her a weary once-over, but let it go. “Well, you’ve also taken up my time, so if you could just....”

He reached for the tracking device on his chest, but it wasn’t there. He patted his suit all over then glanced down in horror. The device was in little pieces on the sidewalk.

Techboy slapped his hand to his face with a groan. “Oh, joy. How am I going to find my robut now? You’ve wrecked the only thing that could find it.”

WordGirl hunched her shoulders up. “Sorry....”

He took a deep breath. “It was an accident. It’s alright. We just have to keep an eye out for it, and—”

“‘We’? You said ‘we’, right?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

He cleared his throat and floated a comfortable distance away from her. “Yes...we. Unfortunately, you are the only other person in this city that can fly, so I’ll need your help in tracking it down. It shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, six eyes are better than two.”

“Right!”

Captain Huggyface shrieked in disapproval, and she quickly hissed, “Huggy, c’mon! He needs our help!”

He chirped again, gesturing at Tobey like he was nothing more than trash on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I know, he’s a hero, but we did destroy his tracking device, and.... Oh, I know that’s good for us! ...No, just.... I’ll buy you something before we get home. Deal?” she whispered.

The monkey seemed to consider this, then glared over at him. He stuck his tongue out at him once then nodded back at WordGirl.

“So he’ll help, I take it?” Techboy asked.

“Yup! I managed to persuade him.”

Captain Huggyface rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

“Alright, so where should we go first?” WordGirl asked, already scanning over the city.

Techboy gestured vaguely at all the skyscrapers. “I don’t know. It could be anywhere now.”

“This might take us the whole day then. Weeks, even. Let’s just take our time with it. Maybe hold hands so we don’t get lost.” Her eyes flickered to his for a second before they darted away again.

When he threw her a deadpan look, she blushed and said, “What? It’s a big city!”

Techboy just looked away to scan over the rest of the city. “If you were a giant malfunctioning robut, where do you think you would go?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“What about there?” WordGirl said, pointing over at the convention center.

His goggles zoomed in on the banner hanging just above it. “Ah, the Annual Future Tech Convention,” he mused. “I’ve been invited to give a few talks there every year, but I never go.”

She tilted her head. “Why not? I’m sure they’d welcome you with open arms.”

“Of course they would,” he said, waving at her dismissively. “I’m the most formidable boy genius this world has ever known.”

She continued to stare at him. “But...?”

“It’s just...I....” He sighed. “I don’t know….”

“No, c’mon. Tell me.” WordGirl sat cross-legged in the air, waiting patiently.

Techboy hesitated. If he told her this, he was sure she would never let him live this down. And yet, her face was open, honest.

WordGirl stole and lied and poked fun of people’s weaknesses until they crumbled, but all words were important to her. It would mean a lot for him if, just once, she would keep his secret.

“I’m not sure I’d be able to give a good speech,” he admitted.

“Why not?”

He laughed a little under his breath. The irony of being so aloof and haughty all the time meant that he wasn’t good at being much of anything else. He tended to fumble over his more heartfelt words more than his standoffish ones. It was just so easy to save people at a distance. Facing them head-on was another matter entirely.

“I’m not that great with words,” he continued, throwing her a wry smile. “Not like you are. You know exactly what to say all the time. Even if you use them as distractions or to bring people down...it’s still a skill I admire.”

WordGirl blushed at this then looked away. “Not all the time.... But thanks, Techboy.”

He smiled, genuinely this time. “Yes, well, the convention does sound like an excellent idea. Perhaps my robut thought it could repair itself there.”

She returned his smile with one of her own.

“Alright!” she said. “Let’s go!”

“Later...” the Narrator said.

Techboy and WordGirl strolled out of the convention center, their arms full of all kinds of free stuff the convention center had handed out to them.

WordGirl had attached a headband with a fuzzy robot antennae on top of it to her helmet while Techboy had bags full of stuff that a number of his fans had given him while they were over there. He didn’t even know he had such fervent fans. It was flattering, to say the least.

He reached out and flicked the antennae on her head, and the two laughed at the springy noise it made. Huggy just stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth, undeterred.

“Well,” Techboy said finally, “my robut wasn’t there.”

“No...” she admitted. “But at least we got all this cool stuff.”

Her bright smile fell as she watched him look over the city block, vigilant once more. 

“We spent far too much time in there.... My robut could’ve wrecked half the city while I was here being foolish....”

He flew higher before she could say anything to him. A small pout tugged at her mouth as she reluctantly floated up with him.

The two scoured the park, only to get sidetracked by the playground per WordGirl’s suggestion, then the library, only to stop and read a book on advanced robotics that she so happened to find.

There was no sign of his robot anywhere.

Techboy sighed as he finally took a seat on the edge of a building. WordGirl was kind enough to buy him ice-cream from the stand below, and the two sat eating in relative silence. 

Captain Huggyface took the liberty of eating four different cones all at the same time. WordGirl had put the robot antennae headband on him, hoping to garner a small laugh from Techboy, but he wasn’t even paying attention.

“Where is the confounded thing?” he grumbled after finishing off his cone. He would think a smoking six-story robot would be fairly easy to find, but their efforts had been maddeningly fruitless so far.

WordGirl sighed as she leaned closer to him. “I don’t know. But it is nice to take a breather and watch the sun set,” she sighed.

The sun set today was unusually breathtaking. The oranges and pinks and purples inked the sky in a colored haze as the sun continued to sink into the ocean. The cool breeze that wafted up from the sea below made him smile, just a bit.

He shook his head. They had no time for this. “Yes, but we still need to find my robut.”

“Yeah, but—”

Just as he was about to glance at the docks, WordGirl flew in front of him and yelled, “Hey, we, uh, haven’t checked out the movie theater yet!”

He blinked. “Why would my robut be at a movie theater?”

“Because...er...maybe....”

Someone screamed behind her, and she shut her eyes, resigned.

“What....”

“That was a seagull!" she yelled, throwing her hands in front of his face. “Just a seagull! It certainly was not a person who found something scary on the beach!”

He squinted at her. “But it sounded like a person....”

“It’s probably nothing. Why don’t we head over to the theater and—”

He floated high above her and saw his robot collapsed and smoking on the sand. A few late beach dwellers had just come across it, based on the terrified looks on their faces.

“My robut!” he yelled.

When he caught WordGirl’s panicked expression, he narrowed his eyes and asked, “Wait...did you know it was there the entire time?”

She smiled nervously. “Uh...not the whole time....”

When he glared at her, she added, “At least we had a good time together....right?”

He was so utterly taken aback by this that he was at a loss for words. Her puppy dog eyes certainly didn’t help in that regard.

“Wha—I just...I mean....”

WordGirl beamed at him. “You did have a good time with me!”

“I didn’t say anything!” he snapped. “And besides, I don’t appreciate you wasting my time when you could have simply pointed out where my robut was right from the start.”

“Wasted?” she repeated, incredulous. A flash of hurt shone in her eyes before it was replaced by an abrupt anger. “I don’t think any of that time was wasted! When something is wasted, it means, you use that thing carelessly! And I don’t think getting to meet your fans for the first time, getting all that free stuff, and having some fun for once means your time was wasted!”

Techboy flushed. “I still would have liked to find my robut sooner rather than later, WordGirl. I don’t appreciate you lying to me yet again.”

He began to float down to the beach, then paused after a few inches. He let out a weary sigh and glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Look, if I admit that I had...somewhat of an alright time with you today, can you help me out with one more thing?” he asked.

WordGirl perked up. “What’s that?”

“I can’t carry my robut and all this stuff we got at the convention, so...if you could hold my things until I fix my robut and put it away...I would very much appreciate it.”

“And finally say that you had a good time with me?” she asked, smiling excitedly at him.

“Yes, yes....”

“And go out with me for ice-cream again?”

Techboy smirked at her as he handed her his stuff. “Oh, now you’re just pushing it....”

Her laugh rang against the last remaining light of the day.

The sun peeked over the horizon just a bit longer to watch the two. Satisfied with seeing their echoing smiles, it winked one last time and vanished.

[mx-fawkes]

Die Historic on The Furby Road

Hey, thanks so much for the support and also for sending me on the most fun story research I’ve done in a while.

Junkrat spent more time in Roadhog's basement than he probably should. There wasn't much of use down here, just boxes of things Roadhog didn't want to look at or didn't think were reusable. He didn't have the keen scrapper instincts Junkrat did though, he'd once found a whole box of good quality cables down here. Roadhog couldn't even remember what they were supposed to be for!

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the glimpses of what Roadhog had once been like he sometimes found down here. Never anything too revealing, no photographs or birth certificates, but things like a box of maps, carved wooden objects and an oversized mannequin were tantalizing hints of what had been important to Roadhog once upon a time.

Pawing through boxes in the semi-darkness was usually not a good idea, but he was pretty sure there was nothing too dangerous down here. He'd never found any signs of animal life, and it wasn't like- he froze as his hand brushed against something fluffy, taking two deep breaths before slowly pulling his hand away, hoping not to draw attention. Leaning back he flicked on his lighter, staring into the box in horrified curiosity.

Two lifeless eyes stared back at him.

The scream made it all the way to the garage, Roadhog putting down his tools with a sigh. It wasn't the first time Junkrat had freaked out on one of his basement diving expeditions, he'd once mistaken an old dressmakers dummy for an omnic, ready to burn the whole place to the ground before Roadhog dragged it out into the light.

Groans of protest came from the stairs as Junkrat ran for the surface, clutching a dusty cardboard box. "Roadie Roadie Roadie! You'll never guess what I found!"

The mask tilted questioningly.

"I mean I dunno what they are, but you probably do. Some kind of robot birds?"

He dumped the box on the floor between them, throwing it open and pulling out one the creatures, covered in black and white fur. "Pretty weird right?"

Roadhog's sharp intake of breath was audible through the mask, pulling the box closer to look at the contents. He'd forgotten he'd even had these.

Junkrat didn't seem to notice, messing with the one he'd picked up. "So, what are they?"

"Furbies."

"Right. Furbies. What are they about then?"

How to explain a Furby? Weird bird things that had been beloved by children that later found them creepy and annoying. Friends for a lonely kid who never got the hang of talking to people and wasn't allowed a real pet? An old toy that kept a community of fans long after they stopped being made?

"Kids toys. They can talk and respond to certain words." He winced as Junkrat shook the one he was holding.

"Hello?" He poked it when it didn't respond. "It's not talking, reckon it's dead?"

"There's a power switch on the bottom."

Junkrat flipped it over, trying to wake it up as he flipped the switch back and forth. "Still dead."

"Maybe the batteries need changing." Where they were meant to get AA batteries from was beyond him. Obsolete before he was even born, he doubted anyone here collected tech ancient enough to need a supply.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Junkrat prising off the battery cover until he heard the yell of pain. A glance showed the batteries corroded and leaking, quickly grabbing Junkrat's hand before he put it in his mouth. "Don't. Go wash it."

A trail of curses followed Junkrat as he ran for the sink, swilling his hand in the water. "The fuck was that?" "Battery acid." "What kind of battery has acid in!?"

He shrugged, wiping the base of the furby clean with a nearby rag. "All of them did back before 2030."

It wasn't long before Junkrat strode back over, wiping his burnt fingers on his shorts. "It felt more like an alkaline burn." Like he could tell the difference. "Of course I can tell the difference!" He lent on Roadhog's arm, glaring at the old batteries. "Reckon I could rewire it to fit a proper battery. One that won't melt and burn people." - One dismantled remote control and a bit of solder later the Furby twitched, blue eyes blinking open. "u-nye-loo-lay-doo?" Its voice was rough, the speaker hadn't lasted well. Junkrat sat it on the desk triumphantly., "It's alive!"

The furby shifted, whirring quietly as its ears moved up and down. "Doo?" They both stared at it. "Yoo?"

Junkrat hummed, moving closer. "Do I what?"

"Boo."

Junkrat pointed a screwdriver at it, face scrunched in displeasure. "Look, either you start making sense or we're moving onto brain surgery."

Mako fished a manual out of the box, holding it in front of Junkrat until he snatched it, mumbling to himself as he read the instructions.

"Oh, we have to teach it English?" He shifted into a dramatic stance, raising on arm and closing his eyes,  voice uncomfortably loud in the small space. "We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes, but to one table. That’s the end." He cracked an eye open, looking down at the Furby like he was expecting applause. "A man may fish with a worm that has eaten the flesh of a king, and eat the fish that has fed on that worm. "  

It chirped in response. "Me no listen."

"Alright you little-" Roadhog grabbed the hand that went for the screwdriver, pointing firmly at the Furbish-to-English dictionary.

Junkrat took it with a heavy sigh. "Fiiiine, wee tee kah wah tee?"

"Wah Tee!" The low fidelity wail it began to make wouldn't be out of place in a horror film, neither would Junkrat's burst of laughter.  He continued to flick through the guide. trying out new phrases as he went. It was almost comical, both staring wide-eyed at each other making nonsense sounds. Roadhog felt he should have seen this coming somehow, he'd spent his youth with a creature that always stared, always wanted attention and refused to shut up, and now he had Junkrat.

Quickly exhausting the commands, Junkrat dropped the manual. "Is that it? It only knows like five things."

"It's pre-millennium tech."

"Pretty sure they had better things than this pre-millennium."

"It was a kids toy."

Junkrat leant back, staring up at him. "So what, you kept a box full of toys you had when you were a kid?"

The clicking of the toy filled the silence until Roadhog finally replied.

"Only had one when I was a kid, got the rest when I was older."

"Why?"

Roadhog turned back to the box, fishing through until he found the right one. Green with a painted faceplate and a custom-made raincoat.

"People used to customize them for fun. Some people just changed their appearance a little, others changed the shape completely or attached them to other things. Lot of people added better AI."

"Huh. Maybe I would've done that if I was around back then."

Had Junkrat ever had a hobby? He loved building and blowing things up but they were also the closest thing he had to a job. Had he ever done anything without a purpose, anything that wasn't wired to survival in his brain? Hell, it had been a long time since Roadhog had made something just for fun.

"Do you want to do one now?"

Junkrat's eyes shone, bouncing to his feet. "Really? One of yours?" Furbies scattered as Junkrat upended the box, picking out one he liked. "This one!"

"No."

"Why not? It's practically falling apart anyway, not like I can make it any worse."

Because it had been with him for forty years. It had meant so much to him as a kid and even now he couldn't bear to get rid of it He didn't say a word, but Junkrat seemed to get it anyway, looking slightly stricken as he put it back in the box with exaggerated care.

"Hey, no worries mate, I'll use a different one. Wanna pick one out for me?"

Roadhog placed a blue and pink model in Junkrat's outstretched hand. "Paint it, circuit bend it. Do what you like with it."

"Thanks mate. Ooh! I think I've still got some of the gold spray paint left from doing the bricks."

He skipped away, leaving Roadhog to stare at remaining furbies. Well, no reason he couldn't mix this old part of himself with who he was now. They didn't see each other for a few hours after that, both working on their own projects. It wasn't until the next day that Junkrat decided he was finished, proudly strutting into the room and presenting his piece to Roadhog.

"Okay so first I used soot and grease to dye it black, didn't completely work, you can still see the original colours a bit. The fur on it's stomach was too patchy to fix so I covered it with this sack material, then since it had those dots around it#s belly first I did 'em over with some rivets I had going spare. Sprayed the ears and mask bit gold then gave it the goggles we snatched from that prick with the chainsaw a while back." "S'good." Junkrat followed his gaze to the clunky bit of plastic at the bottom.

"That's the second best bit. Basically I was like, what's the point of having a pet that's stuck in one place?" He reached below it, flicking the switch. It cooed as it floated into the air, hovering around his shoulder.

“Used some of the bits from that old assistance drone, the one I made into the scarecrow bot you thought was too creepy?“

Roadhog had never said it was creepy, but he hadn't liked the idea of a humanoid figure floating outside his farmhouse at night, even it was in the hope of scaring away anyone who wanted to try and get them while they were sleeping. He could feel Junkrat's desperate desire for a follow-up question. "What's the best bit?"

It should be impossible for anyone to smile so wide. Junkrat plucked the toy from the air, pointing it towards the open doorway.

"Fire in the hole!"

A tap to the head and it let out a distorted scream,  a stream of flame shooting through its open beak, "Imagine treading on that in the dark!"

Note to self, make sure that's turned off before Junkrat forgets about it and treads on it in the dark.

"So what did you make then?"

Roadhog reached into the box, pulling out his creation as Junkrat gasped in delight.

Its lilac fur had been dyed a vivid orange, face plate sprayed with chrome. The beak had been covered with carved yellowing teeth. A tiny decorated leather jacket sat on its non-existent shoulders, open to show a survival belt with a tiny knife attached. "I love it! Did'ya do anything with the insides?"

A flick of the switch and glowing yellow eyes completed the look, It danced in place before speaking in a clear, deep voice. "kah-boh-dah-kah-way-loh-kah-boh-koh-koh!"

[toushindai]

The Hidebound Journal

Conflict erupts over the hidebound journal the kid brought back from Prosper Bluff.

[Bastion, missing scene fic]

[ Read on AO3 ]

The journal is all cramped notes and rough diagrams, Venn’s handwriting so haphazard that it would be a challenge to decipher even if he’d written in the language of the City. But it’s written in his native tongue, and Rucks answers the kid’s hopeful glance with a shrug.

“My Ura ain’t that great,” he says. “Zulf’ll have a better chance of reading it than I will. Why don’t you show him?”

The kid’s brows contract. “I don’t know,” he says, averting his gaze. “Something about it makes me nervous. You really can’t read it?”

“Not quickly.” Rucks can make out a few words here and there, but to actually pick out what it’s saying, he’d need a lot of time and maybe a dictionary.

The kid leaves it with him anyway, rather than showing Zulf, and he heads out to the edge of the Wilds with a musket slung over his shoulder. “Be careful, okay?” he says to Zia before he goes, even though the worst that could happen already has. Rucks scoffs at the unnecessary warning as artless flirting.

But try as he might, he can’t convince himself of his own nonchalance. He’s been uneasy since the kid brought that notebook to the Bastion, too, a sick sense of premonition in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he will work on Venn’s journal after all. It’s something, at least, to keep him from dwelling on his sense of déjà vu and the Bastion and what those two things might mean together.

An hour later, though, he’s two uninteresting pages in, and the only things he’s learned are that Venn hated his job and that Ura still gives him a headache. It would be easier if Zia weren’t humming, but Rucks isn’t about to stop her; he admires her optimism. He wishes he could feel the same way. By all rights, he should: all the kid has to do is find that last core and they’re home free. They’ll go back to before the Calamity. The City will remake all its decisions, and hopefully this time it’ll do a better job. In a sense, it doesn’t even matter what’s in this journal.

But he can’t get rid of this lingering apprehension, so he keeps reading. Or at least trying to.

“Do you need some help?”

Rucks is so caught up in his thoughts that he jumps when Zulf touches his shoulder. The startle response makes sense. The way his stomach plunges with suspicion and fear doesn’t so much. He’s been feeling this ever since the kid brought Zulf back, to his own frustration. He thought he’d left all his old racial sentiments behind; there’s no point in resenting or fearing the Ura anymore. And it certainly doesn’t make sense to resent or fear Zulf. He’s a gentleman, learned and kind; he believes in nothing so much as peace between the Cael and the Ura. That’s something few Caelondians ever bothered to believe in.

So maybe that’s why Rucks sighs and hands the journal over. “Need more than just help,” he confesses. “My Ura was never this good. You want to take a crack at it? Translate it for our little songbird over there?”

“I could do that.” Zulf accepts the journal, but his eyes are on Zia. “It’s a tragedy that she wasn’t taught any of her own language.”

“Well, it’s outlawed within City limits,” Rucks says practically.

A strain appears on Zulf’s face. “I wish it weren’t. We have so much to learn from each other, the Ura and the Cael.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, but I’m just sayin’, Venn had enough reason to avoid teachin’ her anything that might bring the wrath of the Marshals down on her head.” Given that she gets twitchy when the kid flashes the badge he picked up, might be that Venn wasn’t entirely successful in shielding her.

But Zulf doesn’t pursue that line of thought any further. Instead, he tilts his head. “You speak of her father rather familiarly. Did you know him?”

Rucks shrugs, hesitates; then decides that there’s nothing stopping him from being honest. “We were distant coworkers, you might say,” he explains. “Both Mancers. Our paths crossed once or twice.”

“Mancers,” Zulf repeats with wariness in his voice. “Are you sure I should be reading this journal, then?”

“Well, if there were any City left to speak of, I’d be on the hook for treason just for handin’ it to you. But there ain’t no one left for whatever’s in that journal to hurt.”

Zulf sighs heavily. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll see what I can do.”

*

So Rucks leaves the journal with Zulf and tries to think no more of it. The kid will be back soon, and anyway it looks like rain, so he goes down to the Bastion’s heart and checks it against his own notes. Everything looks to be in place. As long as the principle behind the restoration function is solid—and he flatters himself that it is—then they should be able to undo the Calamity just as soon as the kid brings back that last core. Then everything Rucks has put him through will be worth it, and it’ll be erased anyway. He wonders what the kid’ll do once he gets off his absurd second tour on the walls. Briefly, Rucks indulges in the fantasy of remembering just enough to find him and take him on as an apprentice. He may not have the subtlety of thought expected of a Mancer, but he’s not an idiot. He’s effective. Sometimes that’s what the Mancers value most of all.

He’s disturbed from his task when the Bastion gives a great shudder, and his stomach plunges. Not again is his first thought, but he doesn’t stop to figure out why. As fast as his legs and his cane will take him, he climbs up to the Bastion’s surface—

Just in time to see a rain-drenched Zulf raise the kid’s hammer over his head and swing it down against the Monument. Metal resounds against stone and Rucks’ ears ring.

“Hey!” he thunders. “What are you doing?!”

Zulf doesn’t stop. He raises the hammer again with a strained grunt and lets gravity and the hammer’s weight do his dirty work. The Monument fractures under his assault with an enormous crack, and blood pounds in Rucks’ ears. He hobbles forward over the slippery stone, barely taking the time to curse his old body or wish that the kid had come back faster before he’s shouting again.

“Zulf, what in Mother’s name are you doing?” he demands. “That Monument is our only hope!”

“Your only hope of what?!” Zulf whirls around as Rucks nears. He slips in the rain and the hammer’s weight nearly overbalances him, but he catches himself. “Of finishing off the Calamity’s work, of murdering the rest of my people?”

“What?” Rucks asks in genuine confusion.

Patience and despair alike are gone from Zulf’s face; instead, it’s twisted with loathing. Rucks can hardly believe this is the same self-appointed diplomat that the kid brought back from the Hanging Gardens. “Don’t you dare play the fool with me, old man—”

“Zulf? Rucks?” Zia runs up as if to get between them. “What’s going on?”

“Stay back!” Rucks orders, warning her away with an outstretched arm. She falters, looking back and forth in confusion.

Something unreadable flashes across Zulf’s face. “You think I’d hurt her?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you!” Rucks growls in answer. He takes one more step forward and reaches for the hammer to pull it out of Zulf’s grasp. “Why don’t you put this down and—”

“No!”

Zulf grapples with the hammer and shakes him free. Rucks falls backwards with an undignified, muddy flump. A jolt of pain shoots up his tailbone and down his calves.

“Zulf, what are you doing?” Zia rushes forward to help, but they both ignore her.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Zulf?” Rucks demands.

But Zulf only spits a question in return. “How much did you know about the ‘peace project’?”

All the air goes out of Rucks at once and he goes pale. Instinctively, he tries to protest ignorance, but he can’t do it. He can’t. He’s known the whole time that the Calamity had the marks of Mancer tech, he’s just tried to pretend not to. “What did Venn do?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“My father?” Zia asks faintly. “Zulf, what does my father have to do with this? Is this about his journal?”

Rucks glances her way and sees that her pale skin is even paler with alarm. His stomach drops, some instinctive dread telling him that she deserves better than to hear whatever’s made Zulf so furious. “Zia, this doesn’t—”

“You want to know what he did, Rucks?” Zulf switches suddenly into Ura, his voice cold. “He turned the Cael’s own weapon against them.”

His words come as quick and vicious as their machetes as he explains, and it’s a struggle to keep up, but Rucks doesn’t need to catch every word to follow the story. The Mancers had Venn on the peace project, searching for something to prevent future war between the Cael and the Ura. He found a way to seal the Ura tunnels with the Ura trapped inside. They told him it would only be used in an emergency. He didn’t believe them, or maybe he just didn’t care. He set his weapon to backfire if they ever did use it. To take down the Cael along with the Ura.

To cause the Calamity.

Rucks’ heart pounds as Zulf finally falls silent. Zia speaks before he can, Zulf’s tirade gone over her head because the girl can’t speak her own inherited language. “Zulf, what did you say?” When Zulf just looks back at her, jaw set, she looks at Rucks instead. “What did he say?”

Rucks feels sick. “Never mind,” he says. “Stay out of this.”

“But—”

“Forget it, Zia,” Zulf says, speaking Cael once more.

“You’re talking about my father—”

“Stay out of it!” Rucks and Zulf snap, almost in sync. Zulf glares at Rucks as if angry that he, too, cares to protect Zia from despair.

Rucks tries to find the words. “Zulf,” he says, “no one wanted this—”

Zulf sneers. “No, you just wanted my people safely disposed of!”

“That wasn’t the point!” Rucks retorts, but it’s a poor defense and he knows it. He swallows hard and makes himself say, “Listen, the peace project was—bad. Ain’t a single good thing that’s come out of it. But that’s what the Bastion is for, all right? To keep people safe. And if you go destroyin’ it—”

“Then the Cael will fall once and for all!” Zulf finishes for him.

Mother, he’s righter than he knows. “You don’t understand what the Bastion’s capable of—”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly keen to find out,” Zulf snarls. “You, and your Bastion, and your entire damn City can go to hell. If I have to—”

But the shattered stone at his feet takes on a blue sheen suddenly, just before the Bastion shakes with an impact. The kid. He’s back.

Zulf’s eyes dart towards the skyway and he swears under his breath. He’s afraid of the kid, Rucks realizes, and some vindictive part of him feels smug at the realization. Zulf deserves to panic after what he’s done to the Bastion. The core won’t be enough to fix this.

But Zulf only grimaces and throws the hammer down at Rucks’ feet. “I’m going home,” he says in Ura. “If any of my people are left alive, you’ll see them soon.”

Rucks’ smugness falls away and it’s his turn to feel fear. “Zulf, what are you thinking?”

Zulf sends a long glare his way as the kid runs up, baffled.

“Rucks? Zia?” The kid looks at Zulf like he doesn’t want to believe what he’s seeing. “Zulf, what’s going on?”

Zulf’s eyes pass over the kid once, and then he turns away. “The Calamity failed,” he says in a low, trembling voice. “But I will not.”

He storms towards the skyway, and the kid doesn’t even grasp the situation well enough to try to stop him. He hurries to Rucks instead, to help him up. He and Zia get Rucks to his feet together, and Rucks thanks them for their attention.

But his heart is still racing, and even with his cane back in hand, he’s never felt so unsteady.

[nivrad00]

The Pyrrhian Peace Summit

Marsh’s Epiphany

“The SeaWings are prepared to open up discussions of reparations,” said Queen Coral, “so that we may all begin to move on from this tragedy.”

Queen Ruby put on a dubious expression. “And which tribe, do you suppose, would be paying the reparations to the others?”

“I think there is no doubt in the minds of anyone present,” said Queen Coral, “that by massacring the civilians of the Summer Palace, the SkyWings have overstepped the bounds of war and committed an unforgivable crime.”

“I feel deeply for all of the bystanders that were harmed in Scarlet’s attack on the Summer Palace,” said Queen Ruby, carefully. “If I had been in power at the time, the attack would have never happened. But the Sky Kingdom, being located in the center of Pyrrhia, has been the target of attacks of similar scale for many, many years, between the guerrilla campaigns of the SeaWings and the dragonflame cactus bombing of the SandWings. I challenge any of those present, save the RainWings, to defend their tribe’s innocence in this matter.”

The crowd gathered in the Sky Ampitheater murmured quietly. It was the first day of the peace conference, and Coral, Ruby, Thorn, Moorhen, Seigla, and Glory were all seated onstage, as well as Sunny, who was acting as the moderator. Attendants, scribes, and royal advisors stood by. The stage had been decorated with seven tapestries, each emblazoned with the colors and symbols of a different tribe, while the royal representatives sat in a semicircle below.

Marsh squeezed through the audience to where the rest of the Copper Winglet was sitting. “Guys,” he said, out of breath. “Have you seen Coconut?”

“I thought he was with you,” said Snail.

“Where have you been?” said Mindreader. “The first day of the debate has been crazy. Did you hear Seigla chewing out Trueflier on the murder of the IceWing prisoners?”

“I heard Seigla is Queen Snowfall’s sister,” whispered Pronghorn. “They sent her instead because they were afraid the queen would get assassinated.”

“Don’t spread rumors like that,” snapped Snail. Alba looked away uncomfortably.

“Um, I’m worried about Coconut,” said Marsh. “I’ve barely seen him all week.”

“Check the tadpole pond,” said Snail. “Or the prey center.”

Marsh nodded, licking his lips nervously. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry!” said Mindreader.

Marsh did hurry, swooping over the pine forest as fast as his stout wings would take him. Logically, he knew that Coconut was probably okay. He might just be… having a late sun time, or something. But the longer he flew, the more nervous he felt. They’d been nearly inseparable since the day Coconut first invited him to sun time. Why was he suddenly acting so distant?

To his surprise, Marsh found his clawmate in the corner of the library. Several scrolls were open on a desk, and a dictionary was lying face-down on the floor. Coconut held a quill loosely in one talon, but his head was drooping, his eyes half-closed.

“Coconut,” said Marsh, urgently.

Coconut raised his head, blinking sleepily. “Huh? Oh, hey, Marsh.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just working on a paper.” Coconut gazed blankly at his scribbled-over scroll.

“What about?” said Marsh.

“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be on the peace summit or something.”

Marsh frowned. Coconut was always sleepy, but something about his expression and his dull, indigo scales made him seem less drowsy and more exhausted.

“I could really use some smokeberries right now,” muttered Coconut.

“Are you okay?” said Marsh, nervously. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t know. I feel like you help me with everything.”

Marsh hesitated. Did Coconut want him to stop helping with homework? Was he being overbearing?

“What class is this for, anyway?” Marsh said. “I didn’t know anyone was writing papers about the summit.”

“Oh.” Coconut scratched behind his horns. “Well, I guess Tsunami told me she’d have to kick me out of JMA if I didn’t start doing better in my classes, so I’m doing this project for extra credit or something.”

“WHAT?” yelled Marsh. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Coconut seemed taken aback. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“This is a huge deal!” said Marsh. “What if they send you back to the rainforest? We’ll never see each other again!”

Marsh felt like his insides were flying jittery loops. Why was Coconut so nonchalant about this? Didn’t he care? Marsh didn’t know what he would do if his clawmate left, if he was forced to sleep alone in his cold cave every night. Sora and Umber were already long gone, and that left only Clay that Marsh could talk to. And Marsh felt horrible for thinking this, but Clay wasn’t really his bigwings, because Clay hadn’t grown up with the rest of them, and he didn’t understand Marsh the same way the others did.

“Oh,” said Coconut, his frills drooping. “You’re worrying. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Of COURSE I’m worrying!” blurted Marsh. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to you! We have to go talk to them, or something. I bet Clay could change Tsunami’s mind if we just talked to him. Or maybe this is just a misunderstanding!”

“I just feel like you worry about everything,” muttered Coconut. “You’re always doing things. Doing that much stuff can’t be good for you. Sometimes you should just let things happen, you know?”

Sometimes you should just let things happen.

Marsh stared at Coconut, still breathing hard. He could remember every moment in his life when he had just let it happen. When he had let himself be drafted into the war. When he had let Reed lead them into battle for the first time. When he had let Crane die in front of him. Maybe if he’d had a scrap of courage back then, if he had convinced his sibs to desert the army instead of just talking about it hypothetically every night, things would have turned out differently.

And now, his only friend in the world was about to be snatched away. How could he just let it happen?

“I’ll talk to Tsunami,” said Marsh. “I’m going to make things right.”

“Oh,” said Coconut. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Marsh. “I’ll be right back. Maybe you should just take a nap and let things happen, since you’re so good at it.”

“Oh,” said Coconut, again. 

Marsh couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if he was grateful or resentful. Marsh could never tell what he was thinking. When they’d first met, Marsh had found his attitude calming, like sinking into a pool of mud and emptying your mind of troubles. He’d never had to wonder if Coconut was talking behind his back, or if Coconut was secretly angry at him, or whatever. But right now, he just wished Coconut would talk to him.

Marsh spun around and marched out of the library, pushing aside his conflicted thoughts. There was an unexpected determination inside of him, an exhilarating feeling that he could do anything at that moment if he really wanted to. Maybe this was an epiphany. Maybe this was how he turned his life around.

When Marsh returned to the ampitheater, the forest was busy with wingbeats. The conference had broken for dinner, and the royal entourages were just now returning to the stage. He soon found Tsunami among the trees, engaged in a heated debate with a gray-green SeaWing official for one reason or another. Marsh was starting to suspect she just enjoyed arguing.

“The point is to prevent future attacks of this scale, Princess,” growled the official. “Military expansion is the only way to intimidate the other tribes and ensure that they never try something like this again. There would no need to actually use our military power, of course, unless the situation demanded it.”

“With all due respect, Commander Shark,” said Tsunami, “That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Tsunami,” said Marsh, trying to catch her attention. “Principal Tsunami.”

The blue SeaWing gave him a cursory look. “Marsh, can’t you see I’m busy right now? Ask Sunny to help you.”

“Actually, I, um, wanted to talk about Coconut.”

He was cut off by the sound of the academy’s gong, which had been moved to the ampitheater for the duration of the peace summit. Tsunami gave an aggravated sigh. “We’ll continue this discussion later, Commander,” she said. “I have to moderate the last session of today.”

“Wait, Tsunami!” said Marsh, but she was already gone. Shark huffed and flew toward the rest of the SeaWing Council.

Marsh stood indecisively in the forest, watching the rest of the congregation move to their places. He knew that if he didn’t act now, he’d never work up the courage again. But how could he get Tsunami’s attention before the conference started?

His eyes drifted to the giant tapestries he’d helped hang just a week earlier. He knew that they were only supported by a pair of ropes tied to trees trunks in the forest, ropes that could be easily burned or sliced through without anyone seeing. And the tapestries were large enough, and the golden bars holding them up heavy enough, to disrupt whatever was going on onstage. The staff would probably delay the session for a few minutes at least to clean up the mess. And then he could steal a moment with Tsunami to convince her that sending Coconut away was the worst decision she had ever made.

Part of Marsh was terrified. Taking risks was still a new concept to him, making a decision by himself even when he wasn’t certain of the outcome. But he was certain of one thing. He was done just letting things happen.

[universetwo]

[Monday to Saturday] Chapter 1. - Wonwoo Needs to Fall in Love

Warmup Post ✧ Masterlist 

"She walks into the room, she looks at him, and says, I regret dating all of those guys before you, I regret making fun of you when you were just a simple nerd playing games for hours at one sitting, now I realize you are the only one I love. Then he stands up, slowly walks to her and says, You only love me now because you figured out my father is a CEO, you only love me for my money! He shouts then he walks out from the room and slams the door!"

Everyone in the room, including me, is silently blinking and processing what just happened. Seungcheol hyung is standing passionately on the couch while holding my script up high.

"Hyung, I think that's a terrible idea. We are not going to win this competition with such a cliché storyline," says Jihoon with his arms crossed, which makes Seungcheol hyung get off the couch with a deep sigh.

"You are such a party pooper. People love drama scenarios, we should do something similar," he still pushes and Jihoon rolls his eyes.

"But we are not doing this for average people! A strict professional film community will judge every submission so we have to come up with something more creative," adds Jihoon and he grabs my script and looks through it again.

"I quite like what Wonwoo wrote… I think that's pretty exciting and they might like it," shrugs Soonyoung and I shake his hand.

"Fine, but there is some stuff where you should add more emotions," Seungcheol hyung says as he turns towards me and he pats my shoulder.

"Yes, sir."

We started to work on this movie project back in January when we were all on winter break. Even if we could have gone home to spend some time with our families, most of us stayed on the campus to take some extra classes or continue our part-time jobs.

I was passing by the film lab while I was sorting out some documents for the film department, just to earn some money, and I saw this flier with a competition on it. It said, make a short movie, maximum twenty minutes, of an original story and you can win up to ₩5,000,000 for each crew member and a trip to France for the International Young Adult Film Makers Festival.

We never thought about making a movie but this seemed like a great opportunity. In our group, many of us are talented in multiple fields. We have Seungcheol hyung who likes to be in charge of things, we have Mingyu and Minghao who are good with designs and know how to work a camera, we have actors like Seungkwan, Seokmin, Chan, and Junhui, then Hansol who is good at editing, and last but not least our Jihoonie who is good at everything related to sound and music and he is also serious about these kinds of projects. But I'm also here who is sort of good at writing stories, at least that's what my minor is. And with all honesty, now at the beginning of the project, I have the most pressure on me.

"There are some parts that need to be stronger in the dialogue," says Jihoon as he is holding a red pen in his right hand and starts drawing lines around some parts of the script. After most of the guys left, some of stayed behind in our dorm room to go over the script. Jihoon and I were sitting at the table next to each other. He was really focused on looking over the script all over again and trying to give me good feedback and advice.

"Yes, I agree… but the thing is, you all want some romance in the story but I'm not good with it," I say while I'm looking down on my hands, ignoring his eyes that filled with confusion. I feel a bit embarrassed.

"Then go and fall in love," laughs Mingyu who is leaning back on the kitchen counter.

"As if it would be that easy. None of us are good in relationships," defends Soonyoung and he is right in a way.

"Speak for yourself hyung," retorts Chan and he raises his hand to show off his promise ring which we all know so well by now. That cocky smile of his cannot be erased. It's annoying that the maknae among us had a girlfriend in college before any of us. I mean, we have three guys who are seniors but they never dated in the past four years.

"Okay, you don't have to remind us how miserably lonely we are," sighs Mingyu and he walks away while shaking his head.

"Why doesn't Chan write the story then or at least the romance dialogues?" I ask and Jihoon starts to laugh.

"Have you ever seen his writing? This kid can only write business reports for his classes and other than that I heard him talk to his girlfriend and I thought he is talking to his mom," laughs Jihoon and I look over to Chan to see his reaction. He is about to blow up.

"Jihoon hyung! Why do you have to be so mean?" He whines then he stands up from the table and walks away. Now I'm only left with Soonyoung and Jihoon. Everyone else left.

"Okay, here is the plan. You get one week to look over it, watch as many romantic movies as you can, even the most cringy ones. Write over the dialogues and then it is ready. I think plot-wise it's pretty good," compliments Jihoon and I thank him with a nod. Soonyoung, who has been sitting in the armchair slowly stands up and walks over to us. He puts his hands on the table and leans over with a serious face.

"Not to ruin the mood, but I think even after watching ten million romantic movies, emotionless Wonwoo will not be able to write any sweet cheesy love dialogues. He is just incapable of human emotions," teases Soonyoung while holding his poker face. I pick up my pen and throw it at him.

"Just because you haven't seen me cry in front of all of you that doesn't mean I don't have emotions," I say with a sharp voice and Soonyoung shakes his head.

"It's not about crying though but have you ever been in love?" He suddenly asks and I gulp. 

"I don't know…"

"You see Jihoon, a writer should have experience in life. I think Wonwoo is good at writing crime stories and such but when it comes to emotions…"

"Okay cut it out, I trust Wonwoo," sighs Jihoon as he interrupts Soonyoung and he firmly closes the script. 

"Besides, you said I can write crime stories well, but I have never been a detective before," I shrug. 

"We just don't know that. Every night you disappear from seven until ten. What are you doing then?"

"I'm in the library damn it! I work there and I study there."

"We don't have witnesses to that," shrugs Soonyoung and he makes me want to hit him.

"Okay Soonyoung I think you should leave, I still have things to talk about with Wonwoo…"

"I live here for god's sake!" Soonyoung shouts then he takes out some milk from the fridge and disappears into his room.

"He is like this with me because I always annoy him so now he feels good that he can do the same with me," I sigh and I take the script from Jihoon to look over his notes.

The sun is slowly setting and we are getting closer to seven. I have to leave soon.

"Do you think it will work out?"

Jihoon looks down at the table and sighs. He thinks for a few seconds and then raises his head to look at me.

"I don't know… I can't predict it. It's all new for me too. It's not like producing songs, this is more complicated," he says and I nod. Although it's quite funny how easy song producing is for him, but I agree that this project seems to be more challenging than we thought it would be. We have been working on it for more than a month now… and we have until June to finish up everything. It should sound long but when we think about the whole process, those months will go by too quickly. But in our dictionary the words 'give up' don't exist.

"I have a present for you, though…" says Jihoon and puts a set of keys on the table. "I figured it would be good for you to watch some movies on the big screen. I have a high school friend who works at the local cinema and I borrowed this key from him. Every night you can go in the cinema, go to the screening room #10, they barely use that one, and on the computer, they have a selection of movies and then the whole room is yours," says cheerfully Jihoon and I just can't believe all the connections he has. I take the keys in my hand and I’m speechless for a second. 

“So I should just go into the room and watch some romance movies?” 

“I guess that might help...” He shrugs then he suddenly stands up. “I should leave now, you have to go to work soon.” 

Every night at the library is the same. The building is located in the middle of the campus. It’s five floors tall and filled with thousands of books. They are mostly scholarly books for studying and research but there is a section on the fifth floor that is for recently published fictional books and classic literature. I spent most of my time there when I was a freshman, sometimes even fell asleep there. That’s when the main librarian offered me to work there. 

The job itself is easy. I have to help students find books either on the shelves as a physical copy or online in the university’s database. Then I have to organize the books that are dropped down at the main desk after the loan time is over. And when I’m done with all of these I either study or borrow a book from the fifth floor and read for fun. 

But these days I spend most of my free time even at my job by working on the script. I have fifty pages so far and I feel that I’m close to the end, but the others keep find problems with the dialogues. I don’t know what can be the problem because I read a lot of books that have romance in it... but it’s just not working out for me. 

Tonight I’m thinking about the boys’ words. I have to fall in love in order to be able to write more emotion filled conversations between two characters. As if that would be so easy... I’m good at writing deep, meaningful words and interesting scenarios but when it comes to emotions, I get stuck. 

“Wonwoo, what are you thinking about?” A sudden voice stops me from my chain of thoughts. I look up from the blank paper I have been staring at for minutes to see my boss standing by the desk. I quickly stand up and bow to greet her. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking about the script, you know the one I told you about,” I say with a weak voice and she smiles warmly at me. She takes the paper but there is a sudden disappointment in her eyes when she sees it’s completely blank. 

“Oh, but you haven’t written anything yet,” she observes and then she puts back down the paper. 

“It’s not going so well...” I confess then I sink back in my chair with a deep sigh. 

“I understand it but please try to continue your work without a problem,” she says then she points at the stack of unorganized books that are waiting for me. I say sorry and as she leaves I get up from the desk. I put all the books in the small cart that helps me push these heavy research materials back to their right spot. 

As I’m going through different aisles, I feel something is not right. I keep hearing crying noises but the problem with that the sound is just too familiar. I try to look for the source of the sound and follow it. That’s when I see Junhui hiding away in one of the small study rooms. The lights are off but I can recognize him by the way he sits and lowers down his head on the table. I have seen him like this a couple of times... 

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask him which makes him jump a little. I leave the cart behind and I go towards the tiny windowless room. In fact, there is not even a door on it. It’s really just for people to feel a bit more secluded when they want to get ready for the exams. 

“Ah, Wonwoo. I’m just- I’m,” he is trying to look for the right words but they don’t come out well. I sit down on a chair next to him and pat his back a little. Around him, there are some Chinese textbooks laid out on the table. He was tutoring again. 

“Did someone insult you again?” I ask, feeling my head starting to boil. Junhui silently nods and wipes away his tears. Usually, the others don’t really know when something like this happens. The only reason why Junhui shares his concerns with me because not once I found him like this in the library. “Those bastards. I told you, you should tell Seungcheol and he will beat them up for you.” 

“I don’t want anyone to get beaten up because of me,” He says and closes all the books and shoves them in his backpack. “I’m fine. I can take it. I’m just a bit more sensitive because I haven’t seen my family for almost a year,” Junhui hurridly stands up and leaves the room. I want to say something to him, but the right words don’t come out. Again... those damn emotions. 

When I turn on the lights to see if there is any trash in the room that should be taken out, I see a piece of paper lying on the floor. There is Korean and Chinese writing on it. The Chinese one I can’t understand but the Korean one is pretty clear, “Stupid Communist”. 

I feel even more down after this situation. I finish packing the books back to the shelves and then my shift is finally over. I’m ready to head back to the dorm but when I want to put my phone in my jeans pocket, that’s when I find the keys that Jihoon gave me. I decide to visit the cinema even though I feel like just going home and playing some games until I fall asleep. 

It takes me fifteen minutes from the campus to get to the local cinema. For my luck, it starts to rain and the cold wind doesn’t make the situation any better. I finally reach the cinema but I have no idea where I should go in. I send a short text to Jihoon and I’m worried what if he is in his studio. Because if so, then there is no way he would answer his phone. But fortunately, he texts me back after three minutes. 

“Look for the back door” says the text message. The building itself is not so modern compared to the buildings around it. It seems pretty old and it’s hard to imagine that there are at least ten screening rooms inside. I go around the building and at the back, there is a little grass filled yard where they have huge trashcans and some garbage caught up in the bushes. I find the door and try one of the keys inside the hole. After a few tries, one of them finally works. I open the door and find myself in a dark hallway. I decide to not turn on any lights, just the flashlight on my phone. I don’t want anyone to find me there. 

I pass by a couple of doors but none of them are labeled as screening rooms. Just a bunch of staff rooms and empty rooms with traces of popcorn on the carpet floor. The whole atmosphere feels like as if it has been so long since any human entered this building. But when I hear some muffled voices from upstairs and even farther a movie is playing, the building feels less abandoned. 

I’m close to giving up the search when I notice a bigger and fancier double door. Above the frame, there is a small plate placed on the wall that says Screening Room #10. I slowly take out the keys to not make any sounds and the first key I try opens the door right away. 

Inside it’s pitch black dark and smells moldy. I put up my phone high to light up the room. It looks like an ordinary cinema room with about fifteen aisles and a huge screen at the front. I guess to put in some movies, I have to go up the stairs and get into the back room. 

I trip a few times before I get up then I try the keys again. Next time for sure I should label which one of them opens which door to make my journey easier. When the door klicks open, that’s when I notice a person standing behind the computer. I realize it’s a girl and she has headphones on. Her back is to me so I don’t know what to do. I should run or I could talk to her... but then she would ask me why I’m here. 

As I’m thinking about what should I do next, suddenly the screen lights up and the typical Fox Searchlight Pictures intro starts following other company intros. I’m still frozen in the door but when the girl starts to move, I suddenly jump to the upper seat and down in the aisle. I shuffle back while I’m crouching so she won’t notice me. I don’t know where I could find an escape route other than the one I came in. So I just stay low between the seats. 

For my luck, when she comes out from the room, she sits down only a few seats from my hiding spot. If she would look to her right, she would immediately see my stupid-self crouching down, looking scared as hell like a creepy cockroach. But she is entirely focused on the movie. I don’t know what movie is it. I can’t make it out from the beginning. 

I try to observe the girl if I know her or not. She seems like she is around my age. She is wearing a light colored sweater, perhaps yellow, it’s hard to make it out from my position. She is wearing a denim skirt and black tights with sneakers. I can’t really see her face but I can tell she is wearing glasses. Her hair doesn’t seem so dark colored, probably dyed to some lighter shade. 

The movie starts very quietly but then suddenly a woman speaks up in English, which makes me jump. The girl still doesn’t notice me. The woman in the movie keeps talking and I make it out that her accent is more British than American. After a while, I guess the scene changes, and children are singing. It kind of creeps me out, especially because I don’t see what’s going on. My legs are starting to go numb and I really don’t know what to do. 

When the children stop singing suddenly my phone starts to ring. This brings an end to my hideaway spot. As soon as I try to decline Soonyoung’s call the girl stands up with a slight scream. 

“Who the hell are you?” She shouts at me over the dialogue in the movie. I finally stand up, feeling my back bones crack a little. 

“I can explain, just give me a second,” I say and I start to go closer to her so I don’t have to shout over the movie but she is keeping her distance. 

“Don’t come closer, you creeper!” She shouts again then she runs into the back room. I try to go after her but she closes the door on me. The door has a glass window so I get the chance to look into her eyes. I can see she is scared and I feel so pathetic. But I can also see some kind of realization in her eyes. Does she know me? 

“You!” She mouths. “How did you get in here?” She asks as she opens the door. In the back, I can hear children talking and playing in the movie. 

“I got these keys from my friend,” I raise them up so she can see them. 

“From what friend?”

“Someone...” 

“Come on, I need to know!” She yells and I shake a little. She is a bit more fierce than I thought she would be. 

“Lee Jihoon,” I answer quickly and she looks confused again. 

“Why would he have keys to the screening room?” She asks but this sounds more like a question to herself, not to me. 

“I don’t know, he said he has a friend in here and he said people don’t really use this room so I can come and watch any movies. I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” I confess and the girl sighs. 

“Listen here Jeon Wonwoo, this is my place here, okay? I come here every second day for various reasons. I don’t why your friend Lee Jihoon or his friend think no one is using the screening room. I am using it! So please leave now,” she says with a firm voice and I feel like I don’t have another choice. I start to slowly walk away and while I can, I take a look at the screen. It is really a movie I haven’t seen before but I can’t really make it out if I know anyone in it. 

“By the way, how do you know my name?” I ask her but she is not behind me anymore. She closed the door and went back to the computer. I can see her rewinding the movie to watch what she missed. I decide to not bother her because I don’t want to get into trouble, so I just leave. 

When I get back to our dorm room, I find Mingyu in our kitchen while Jihoon is sitting on the counter. Junhui and Joshua’s room door is closed so I assume they might be sleeping already. I can hear Soonyoung singing in the bathroom so he is home too. I wonder why did he call me. 

“You are back so early,” Jihoon says as he looks at his watch. 

“I met a girl,” I sigh and I drop myself down on the couch. Both of them look at me as if I said I met with a ghost. 

“Wow hyung, that was really quick. When we told you to fall in love, I didn’t think you will take it this seriously,” says Mingyu and I don’t know if he is serious or just teasing me. 

“It’s not like that. There was a girl in the screening room. And she chased me out. Well, not literally but she told me to get lost basically,” I say while I stretch out on the couch. Jihoon looks surprised, so he didn’t know about it. 

“Okay, that’s weird. My friend said nobody uses it,” replies Jihoon and he takes out his phone. I guess he is calling his friend. 

“Do you want some ramen?” Suddenly asks Mingyu as he is standing by the couch. I look up at him and silently nod. 

“It was so weird though...” I say as I follow him into the kitchen. “The girl knew my name... it felt like she knows me and maybe even Jihoon. It’s just so weird.” 

“Well, you are not really the popular type so I wonder too why does she know you. But wait, are you sure she wasn’t just a ghost?” He asks and I roll my eyes. 

“I don’t believe in ghosts and she seemed pretty real to me.” 

“Or maybe she really was a ghost,” Jihoon suddenly says. “My friend has no idea what kind of girl you are talking about. He doesn’t know anyone who goes there. Especially not a girl...” announces Jihoon. My head is slowly starting to ache. 

“But I’m pretty sure she was real...” 

“Oh did Wonwoo get an imaginary girlfriend?” Soonyoung, with a towel wrapped around him, appears in the kitchen. Of course, he cannot miss the chance to tease me. 

“She is not my girlfriend and she is not imaginary!” I shout which makes him take a few steps back. 

“Okay, calm down Romeo. But I think it’s quite funny how no one knows about her.” 

“Wait and see... day after tomorrow I’m going to go back,” I declare even surprising myself but I try not to show it. “And you are coming with me!” I point at half-naked Soonyoung who looks at me with a puzzled expression. 

“Listen Wonwoo, I’m not really into ghost hunting,” he says while holding his hands up in protest. 

“She is real and I will prove it to all of you, but you are coming with me as another witness!” I say again and Soonyoung sighs. Mingyu and Jihoon in the background are just laughing at us. 

“But wait, why the day after tomorrow?” Soonyoung asks suddenly. I calm myself down before I answer. 

“She said she is there every other day. So she won’t be there tomorrow...” I explain and I can still see the doubt in his eyes. “Just wait and see, wait and see.” 

Chapter 2.