#but they only do it twice a week and both times overlap perfectly with my work schedule

[litlecreacher]

in agony because my local art gallery that regularly does community stuff and has really affordable workshops/resources only ever schedules stuff at like. the exact times im working.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Okokok here this: april, reader and casey try to prank the boys. How does it go. With who does it fails/success, what was the prank, do they get caught? Do the boys get revenge, and if so, how?

Also, splinter sees it all unfolds, does he just gets himself a snack and watch, or does he tries to subtly join in without getting caught? (We all know hes got a playful side cmon)

Bonus: they try to prank vern too, maybe the boys join in to prank him? What do they do? Does he retaliate?

Okay so I admit I let my brain go nuts on this one, so it's a little long but I was cackling the entire time I was writing it.

TMNT Headcanons

Prank Wars

Leonardo

In your complete and utter defence, Leo had 100% started this

And also in your defence, you did tell him not to

Twice

But he tricked you into watching a horror movie and ended up dying your hair green

This meant war

You'd even wrapped up April and Casey into it

Their problems were your problems

Which meant that April was the one who convinced Splinter not to say anything to his sons

He was perfectly happy to oblige

Casey was just there to help set things up

And you liked the way his mind worked

The objective wasn't to go unnoticed, there would be no point in doing it and having no proof

You were doing this to prove that you could

Leo had emphasized that he couldn't be distracted

That you were to obvious and clumsy to prank him without him noticing

Challenge fucking accepted

And that's how you ended up at the kitchen table eating lunch with April and Casey when the boys were coming back from meditating with Splinter

April kept having to shove food in her mouth to hide her laughter

Casey just decided to wear sunglasses

And you kept overpowering the urge to smirk

"Hey guys, good to see you. Y/n have you seen my katanas?"

With the obstruction of water in your mouth you just nodded at him, pointing to the other room

He sauntered off, none the wiser to your victorious grin

When he came back in only a moment later his expression had done a complete 180

Leo made direct eye contact with you and you held that stare like a wolf cornered in its den

"does someone want to explain why my katanas are encased in blueberry jello?"

You raised your hand like a child in class

"hate to break it to you, but it's actually berry blue you uncultured bitch"

Raphael

Ohhhh you were so undeniably dead

A whole other level of six feet under

It wasn't a surprise that April and Casey had backed out on this one

It also wasn't a surprise that Splinter had offered to stand up for you if things went sideways

Donnie even gave you a sheet of paper with a list of hiding spots before hand

All of this went completely unnoticed by Raph, the target of your latest scheme.

And that was fine, you had only one objective here-

Make it out alive

But it was amazing what 1 person could do with some extra cash and internet access

So that's what led you to your current position.

Cross legged on the bench, watching the large red terrapin get ready for his first set, that in itself wasn't unusual, you always watched him lift just in case you needed to run and grab someone if something went wrong

Raph was none the wiser to your plan

At least that's what you thought

Your book was in your lap and you were calmly scanning your pages, somewhat comprehending the words but keeping a very close eye on the turtle across from you

"Hey y/n?"

You peeked over the edge of your book to meet his eyes

And your heart sank to your stomach

"Yeah Raph?"

He smirked at you, taking a lumbering step forward

"You ever seen that episode of the Office where Jim fills Dwight's phone with nickels so when he takes 'em out Dwight punches himself in the face?"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit-

"Uh... No, can't say that I have, why do you ask?"

That damn smile got even wider and all of your muscles tensed, you were ready to bolt

"I'm giving you a fifteen second headstart. Starting right now."

You flew to your feet and sprinted out of the weight room

"DONNIE WE GOTTA CODE RED!"

Your lungs were ready to burst by the time you made it to your decided hiding spot. Heavy footsteps went right underneath you and you held your breath, you wouldn't dare move.

You didn't come down until hours later when Splinter came and coaxed to you out of hiding

But deep down you knew you'd started something you couldn't finish.

Vern Fenwick

You didn't even have to convince the guys to partake in this

You didn't even get the chance to tell them what you were planning

They were already brainstorming

None of you let a word of it slip to April, she would've shut you down faster than you could blink

A complete buzz kill

But fake blood was relatively cheap and all of Vern's flooring was tile (meaning extremely easy to clean and bleach)

Donnie had really been the mastermind behind the execution, none of you had any idea how he'd rigged the apartment plumbing

But he'd assured you it would only affect Vern's suite and no one else's so you didn't concern yourself with it further

And after the fact you had to wonder what exactly the former cameraman was planning on the date he'd been in the middle of

All you knew was that you got a very frantic call from the falcon himself yelling about blood coming out of his tap and the sink wouldn't shut off and it was everywhere and what the fuck was happening?

You all knew that Splinter thought it was hilarious, he'd never been particularly fond of Vern

But he did make his sons assist in the clean up and bleaching of the victims apartment floor

You went too and offered moral support

Vern had hit on you one too many times, so there was no way you'd feel bad about this

Michaelangelo

As far as pranking went, you and Mikey were partners in crime

He always had great ideas and you always came up with the best ways to execute those ideas without getting caught

But when you separated those two chaos was guaranteed

You weren't entirely sure how you had been pitted against each other but you weren't entirely mad about it

You couldn't say the same for anyone else though, the others had been on edge all week.

Pranking Mikey was a challenge, he knew how you worked and vice versa

You'd been brainstorming with April for weeks now, maybe a new perspective would help

That's what the two of you told yourselves anyways

Much to your dismay, Mikey and Casey had been plotting against you as well, the traitor.

And perhaps even more unfortunate was the fact that both of your pranks somehow overlapped and backfired on the rest of the family

Because Mikey and Casey may have replaced the family tea set with a edible sugar replica that looked identical to the original

So that when you were asked to make tea for Splinter and Leo it would dissolve the second you poured the hot tea

But they didn't tell anyone else so Leo was left with an impromptu anxiety attack when he made his own tea before sitting down to meditate and it melted into sugary leaf water

And you and April had planned the 'cutting off your finger in the kitchen' with the knife, fake finger, and fake blood

Which in theory should've worked because Mikey was in the kitchen the most, that was his territory

However once you'd started your plan you couldn't stop it

so when you 'cut your finger off' and screamed for Mikey you didn't have time to yell "wait it's a prank!" before Donnie caught a glimpse of the scene and fainted

In your defence you didn't know the purple turtle could move that fast

And to Mikey's relief he was going to throw that cutting board out anyways

Splinter explicitly banned the two of you from pranking each other after that incident

Donatello

Per your own common sense you had come to the conclusion that pranking the families resident genius was a horribly stupid idea

So for once, you'd practiced some self control and refrained from any pranks involving Donnie

Now that's not to say that the turtle vowed from aiming any pranks towards you

He had morals but messing with you walked the line separating adorable from batshit crazy

And he was all for it

April advised against it severely and even Splinter seemed to think it wasn't the best idea, but that was a lesson his son had to learn on his own

On the flip side, the second Casey heard about Donnie's plan he was all for it

So when you came over for dinner they both had to hide their excited smiles as Casey passed you your spaghetti

He knew it was your favorite

Everyone else was oblivious, which looking back on it was a very bad thing

April had her suspicions that Donnie was pulling something this evening, but she couldn't put her finger on it

That wasn't until you swirled a mouthful of noodles around your fork and shoved it into your mouth, you were starving

Here lies your predicament-

You swallowed thickly and blinked like you were in pain, your hand went to your throat and you reached for your water, ending up chugging almost the entire bottle.

Your eyes met Donnie's in a serious type of concern

"Is there hot sauce in this?"

April choked on her breadstick and quickly covered her mouth

Casey hadn't picked up on it yet

"Awh yeah- how'd you figure it out so quickly?"

You erupted in a coughing fit that sent April rushing to your side before you could tumble to the floor

"You fucking assholes! Y/N has a capsaicin allergy! Casey go start the car we need to get them to the hospital!"

On the bright side you were fine after you were rushed to the ER

But you didn't speak to Donnie or Casey for two weeks following the accident

You eventually forgave them for it and they haven't targeted you since

Sorry if it got a little dark at the end, but I felt like it was more realistic. Also that has actually happened to me but it was a nut allergy (and that's how I found out I was allergic to cashews) But I feel like the ending was a good example of how pranking someone can go horribly wrong, you should always consider the possibilities before doing something that could cause harm to a person. (Unless they really really deserve it)

I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you guys like it as much as I do! 😁🧡👍

-Mars 🌠

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Nie Huaisang goes home, tries to deal with missing his friends, and gets a visitor

Nie Huaisang’s last month in the Cloud Recesses passes so fast that he hardly has time to register it. 

Much against his will, he gets roped into joining Jiang Cheng’s study sessions. Those turn out to be rather intense, and Jiang Cheng might be a more severe teacher than even old Lan Qiren. It pays off though, because everyone passes their exams with flying colours. Even Nie Huaisang ends up with a pretty decent grade, in spite of his refusal to put any effort into this. 

Lan Qiren congratulates him on actually putting some work into this at last, in answer to which Nie Huaisang just laughs to his face, too stunned to even get angry. He is still in a daze when he leaves the teacher’s office with his diploma in hand. He had honestly prepared himself to have failed again and he wouldn’t even have cared, but apparently he had underestimated Jiang Cheng’s determination to see everyone succeed.

“Come on, try to at least look a little happy!” Jiang Cheng scolds him later, when they all get to the Jiang cabin to celebrate. “What, did you want to stay here another year with Lan Xichen?”

Nie Huaisang scoffs and shoves him away before stuffing a handful of dried nuts in his mouth, pointedly refusing to answer such a stupid question.

He hasn’t seen a lot of Lan Xichen this last month. They’ve both been pretty busy, and Lan Qiren cancelled their last two compulsory meetings to give Nie Huaisang a better chance to study. But what little time they spent together has been… not so bad. They’ve managed to chat a little when they met in passing, and the meetings they did have were… fine. The first one was spent painting together, with Lan Xichen still exquisitely awful at Nie Huaisang’s style. The second they played Go and Nie Huaisang won, though it was a very close score. Both times, they actually ended up staying together after the incense stick had finished burning. It’s not even that Nie Huaisang hadn’t noticed. He was just having enough fun to allow it, just that time. And then again the time after.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes Lan Xichen any better than before. It’s not even that he’s stopped hating him. But what’s fun is fun, and to his surprise… Lan Xichen, on occasion, can be rather fun.

Nowhere near as fun as Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, of course. The two of them make Nie Huaisang promise that he'll write to them and come visit. He extracts the same promise from them, and even gets them to grudgingly agree they might tolerate some overlap in their visits, if he so badly wants to have them around at the same time. 

More surprisingly, Lan Wangji also comes knocking on the last day Nie Huaisang spends in the Cloud Recesses. He too offers a correspondence, which Nie Huaisang readily accepts. He doesn't say, but he's already plotting to invite Lan Wangji to Qinghe, and perhaps by some planning on error on his part, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian will be there at the same time. 

More surprising, Lan Xichen also comes visiting a few hours after his brother. For a moment Nie Huaisang half wonders if he too will ask if they can write to each other. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to say a few empty words about being proud of his fiancé's well deserved success. Nie Huaisang, who is not disappointed by this, ends up sending him away so he can finish packing. 

-

Being home again is the best.

Nie Huaisang's first week back in the Unclean Realm is, without a doubt, the happiest time of his life. He tells Nie Mingjue everything he's done while he was away (everything he can share, anyway). He visits all his favourite spots in the Unclean Realm, in Qinghe, and in the countryside around. He checks on his surviving birds and dotes on them. He sleeps in as late as he can, and refuses to do anything even slightly useful. It's paradise. 

By the second week, paradise loses some of its glow and boredom settles in. Doing nothing at all is only fun for a short while. More importantly, Nie Huaisang soon finds himself kind of lonely. Now that he's had friends, the company of his birds doesn't quite satisfy him the way it used to. His myna can speak a few sentences, but that's just not the same as chatting with Jiang Cheng or arguing with Jin Zixuan. Nie Mingue is there, but he's far too busy, as are most of the disciples. Nie Fangjie rose in rank after his time in Gusu and is rarely free, while He Zimu had to go home to meet the fiancée his parents picked for him. 

Nie Huaisang writes to all his friends, but it'll be a long while before he gets an answer, and that depresses him further. He doesn't quite fall back to the sort of moods he was in during his first year in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so far off either. 

The difference is that this time, Nie Mingjue notices. 

It's a right pain in the ass at first, because Nie Huaisang wants to wallow in his misery while his brother is determined to drag him out of it, even kicking and screaming. It sparks quite a few arguments between them, which is rather new. Nie Huaisang never really had the guts to argue with his brother before. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to mind, anyway. If anything, he seems pretty happy to find that his little brother won't let himself be pushed around so easily. 

By the end of Nie Huaisang's first month back at home, they've reached a balance of sorts. Nie Huaisang has to train daily, both with the sabre and in hand-to-hand combat since he definitely still enjoys that. He also has to learn how to help Nie Mingjue deal with sect business, which is even more boring than the lectures in the Cloud Recesses, but gives them a decent excuse to spend time together. Nie Mingjue doesn't say, but Nie Huaisang suspects it's also a way to prepare him for the role that will be his in the future. Qingheng-Jun is a healthy man with many years ahead of him, but someday Lan Xichen will have to succeed him and Nie Huaisang will have to step up and help him. 

With all this piling up, when Nie Huaisang does get a bit of freedom, he rarely mopes around. There are too many things to paint, too many fans to decorate, and his birds to train, and that shop in Qinghe he wants to visit, or that new book of poetry he found in the library. 

Which isn't to say there are no bad days anymore. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get out of bed. Nie Mingjue doesn't get it, even if he tries, and seems to think that on those days Nie Huaisang needs to be kept even busier than usual to push away any bad thoughts. After it happens once or twice, Nie Huaisang gives up on explaining why that doesn't work. Instead, when a bad mood strikes, he just hides. It's easy enough, in a place like the Unclean Realm. 

The best place to hang out undisturbed, Nie Huaisang figures out, is a little alcove hidden behind the throne room where his brother conducts his meetings. Nobody ever goes in there, and he's half sure nobody even remembers it exists. He's done some research, and it was built alongside the main room so the sect leader's wives could listen in on important business without being seen by guests. It's not very big, but it's comfortable enough that he can lounge around and paint, or read, or just listen to his brother's increasing frustration over not finding him. It also means that if something really does require his presence, he can know and appear quickly at his brother's side. 

It's Nie Huaisang’s second favourite place in the Unclean Realm, right after the place where he keeps his birds. 

It's a little under two months after returning home that Nie Huaisang, hiding in his alcove and slowly recovering from a bout of depression by snickering over some very bad poetry, is startled to hear a familiar voice conversing with his brother. 

"I'm really sorry for dropping by unannounced," Lan Xichen is saying. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But since I was in the area, I thought it'd be ridiculous not to say hi." 

Even perfectly hidden as he is, Nie Huaisang can't help but tense. This is the first time he's anywhere near Lan Xichen since graduating a few weeks ago. He's not nervous, of course he's not, but he's also. He's not quite comfortable. 

"Well, you know I'm always happy to see you," Nie Mingjue replies. "I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting…" 

"Actually…" 

There is a moment of silence. Nie Huaisang is tempted to check what's happening through one of the small openings that exist for that exact purpose, but before he gets to that, Lan Xichen speaks again. 

"Actually, and I hope you won't mind," he says, sounding oddly uncertain, "but the person I was most hoping to see is your brother. I'll be happy to chat with you as well of course, but if he allows it I'd like to spend time with him first." 

Nie Huaisang feels punched, but in the main room, his brother just laughs. 

"What, you didn't get enough of that brat last year? After how much you complained that he doesn't like you, I'd have thought you'd be glad not to see him until the wedding." 

"Mingjue, don't tease me." 

"Why not? I don't get the chance often. Oh, fine, I won't. I will survive this betrayal of seeing my brother's company preferred over mine, so go chat with him if you like. You'll have to find him first, though. He's gotten a little too good at hiding." 

"Then with your permission, I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll let himself be found if he wishes to be, and otherwise… I'll just wait for you to be free." 

Lan Xichen sounds so resigned, as if he dares not hope for the first option but the second would make him sad. 

It's just so awkward to hear him be like this. Nie Huaisang almost miss the days when Lan Xichen was nothing but cold and insufferable. It made it easy to hate him, and at least Nie Huaisang knew where they stood. Now though… he just doesn't know what to make of his fiancé anymore. He's starting to wonder if maybe Lan Xichen wasn't sincere every time he's said that he wants them to get along, when he promised to improve and that's absolutely awful. It makes everything too complicated. 

So Nie Huaisang discreetly escapes, and takes hidden paths to go be with his birds. It's not as good of a hiding place, but their company always calms him down, which he badly needs. Luckily it's even cleaning day, so that's a good hour of hard, gruesome work to distract him from the perspective of maybe facing his fiancé later. 

There's only a few birds left, which still takes Nie Huaisang by surprise every time even though he should be used to it now. That incident really decimated them, and he can't even get new ones. In little more than a year, two at most, he'll have to leave them behind for good, so it'd be pointless. Usually it doesn’t bother him too much, but on a day where his mood is already so near to collapsing... As he cleans the cages and checks on food and water, Nie Huaisang finds himself focusing on that future loss. If he thinks of everything that he'll leave behind, he can make himself hate Lan Xichen again, almost, and he’s in a bad enough state that feeling hatred is better than not feeling anything at all.

"Good afternoon, Nie gongzi." 

Nie Huaisang startles at the sudden appearance of Lan Xichen in this private space, and nearly drops the seeds he was carrying for his pair of parakeets. He quickly recovers though, and bows to his visitor. 

"Lan gongzi, what a surprise! I had no idea you were coming to the Unclean Realm. If you're looking for my brother, you might want to try the training grounds."

"I've seen your brother already, and told him you were the one I was visiting this time," Lan Xichen explains. Even though Nie Huaisang already knew that, it sends his heart racing to hear it said so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mingjue was not sure where you might be," Lan Xichen continues, "so he allowed me to look for you while he handles other business. This seemed like a good place to start, and I was right." 

His heart still beating too hard in embarrassment, Nie Huaisang turns around, ostensibly so he can continue feeding his birds. 

"Lan gongzi must find me very childish, still so obsessed with my pets." 

Lan Xichen does not reply right away. Nie Huaisang hates how careful he has become, just as much as he is grateful for it. 

"If I have accused you of this, and for that reason, I'm sorry," he says at last, sounding painfully earnest. "It was wrong of me. From what your brother says, you are very diligent at caring for your birds and except when forced to go away, you always take full responsibility for them. There's nothing childish about that."

Nie Huaisang's heart squeezes at the words, so painfully he almost feels like he's dying. He hates this. He misses the days when he could just tell himself it was all fake, that Lan Xichen was either forcing himself or subtly insulting him.

"You're always trying so hard to say the right thing," Nie Huaisang accuses, with far less venom than he intended.

"I hope I can do the right thing as well. Just saying it doesn't do much good." 

Nie Huaisang sighs. This is annoying. He hates that his heart beats so fast, he hates that his cheeks feel warmer, he hates that he desperately wants Lan Xichen to be sincere. He hates that he's certain Lan Xichen is sincere.

"Listen, just… give me a moment to finish this," he mutters. "Then we can go back and have tea or something. We have actual, nice biscuits here. They even taste sweet, if you can believe that." 

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckles lightly. It's not an unpleasant sound, as Nie Huaisang has discovered during his last few weeks in Gusu.

"If you tell me what to do, I can try to help you," Lan Xichen offers. "Though I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't." 

"You'll get messy." 

Another soft chuckle, making Nie Huaisang’s heart beat too hard. It's stupid, and he hates that like he hates all the rest, but he likes that Lan Xichen stopped trying to be controlled and perfect with him. He likes it too much. He hates it. 

"I can survive a little mess." 

"Then grab that bucket and bring it near that big cage." 

"The one with the myna?" 

"Hm." 

Nie Huaisang hates that Lan Xichen apparently knows a little about birds. He hates that Lan Xichen doesn't complain as he grabs that bucket filled with filth and carries it as if it weighs nothing. He hates that Lan Xichen smiles at the bird inside and comments how pretty it is. Nie Huaisang hates Lan Xichen because that's what he's done for so long now, and he's not ready yet to face the new warmth in his chest when he looks at the other boy. 

He hates everything today, and wishes Lan Xichen had chosen another day to visit, one where Nie Huaisang is capable of feeling emotions in a normal way so he could try to sort this out in a rational way.

When the birds’ cages are spotless and they all have clean water and fresh food, Nie Huaisang has no choice but to suggest it’s time to return toward the main buildings. Lan Xichen readily agrees and they start walking side by side. It doesn’t take long for something to bother Nie Huaisang, partly because it’s that sort of a day where everything is annoying, but also because a certain detail is becoming hard to ignore.

“How come your clothes are still spotless when mine are filthy?” he complains.

“I must have been more careful,” Lan Xichen replies with a small smile.

“You were not,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I saw you step in several puddles of dirty water. Your robes have no right to still be this white!”

Lan Xichen chuckles, but says nothing.

“I’m going to have to get changed,” Nie Huaisang laments, annoyed that he is actually upset by that idea. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on having a guest today, so I wasn’t exactly well dressed to begin with. I just wanted something comfortable. But now seeing the two of us together, we look like a great lord and a peasant!”

“Nie gongzi is too handsome to be a peasant.”

Hearing this unexpected compliment, Nie Huaisang stumbles and almost falls face first on the ground, only for Lan Xichen to catch him just in time.

“This is… you’re just trying to distract me from your clean robes!” Nie Huaisang sputters, escaping his fiancé’s grasp so quickly that he almost falls again. “I demand to know how you did that!”

“It’s a Gusu Lan secret,” Lan Xichen retorts, smug enough that it almost feels like teasing. “In due time, I will share it with you, but at the moment, it’s impossible.”

“But there is a trick.”

“Obviously. Can you imagine how many servants we’d have to hire for laundry otherwise? We make children wear white, and people going on Night Hunts as well. Of course there’s a trick.”

It might be the way Lan Xichen says it, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, or the sheer ridicule of imagining Lan disciples in stained robes, but Nie Huaisang finds himself laughing. It's never easy to get that on days like this one, and he’s suddenly glad that Lan Xichen came. His fiancé is proving a more efficient distraction than what he’s tried so far.

When they reach the more frequented areas of the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang catches a servant and asks for tea to be served in his room. He then takes Lan Xichen there, inviting the older boy to find somewhere to sit. At first Lan Xichen appears torn between amused and mildly horrified by the mess (Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting guests, and Nie Mingjue gave up on that particular fight years ago) before gaping in shock when Nie Huaisang removes his outer robe in the middle of the room and throws it in a corner for the servant to pick up later.

“Nie gongzi, are you really getting changed?” he asks, sounding so worried that Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing again.

“Lan gongzi, I’m covered in bird poop and mud, of course I’m getting changed. Ah! Don’t worry, I won’t remove the rest in front of you,” Nie Huaisang adds when Lan Xichen looks like he’s about to have an attack. He motions at a modesty screen. “I’m just removing my shoes and grabbing something clean to put on and then… I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I leave the room?” Lan Xichen protests in a strangled voice, his face completely red.

“No need, that’s what the screen is for, and I’m not bothered. Just sit down, grab a book, and wait for me.”

Without paying his fiancé any more attention, Nie Huaisang selects some nicer robes and clean under layers. Once he starts undressing, he realises that he is dirtier than he initially thought, and is forced to give a quick wash with some water and a towel so he doesn’t ruin his clean clothes.

“I thought you were just getting changed?” Lan Xichen notes when he hears water being poured from its jug into a basin.

“The situation is worse than I thought. Cleaning is dirty business.”

Lan Xichen chuckles at that. “I’ll need to wash my hands as well, come to think of it.”

“Well, you can join me if you’d like. I’m mostly decent, if you’re loose enough on your definition of the word.”

“And what’s your definition?” Lan Xichen asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ve got trousers on.”

A moment of silence follows this.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done,” Lan Xichen says after a moment, and Nie Huaisang grins to himself imagining how uncomfortable his ever proper fiancé must look.

Still, it’d be rude to keep Lan Xichen waiting, and Nie Huaisang’s mood has improved enough that he doesn’t want that. He washes quickly, and gets dressed as fast as he can. His hair, as messy as the rest, is dealt with by tying it into a quick braid. It’s not the most refined he’s ever looked, but it’s not the worst either. When he emerges from behind the modesty screen, Lan Xichen stares at him with an odd expression, his cheeks dusted with red and his lips slightly open.

“Nie gongzi… this suits you well,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Trying too hard again,” Nie Huaisang teases. “Go wash your hands, the tea should be here soon.”

Lan Xichen nods and gets up from the table. He takes a few steps toward the screen, then stops himself and looks for something inside his sleeve before handing it to Nie Huaisang.

“A letter?”

“Since Wangji knew I would be in the area, he asked me to give you this.”

Fidgeting with the piece of paper, Nie Huaisang feels something shifting inside him, as if the good humour he only just got back were already melting away.

“Well, that’s nice,” he stills says. “Do you mind if I start reading it?”

“Not at all.”

And so while Lan Xichen washes his hands, Nie Huaisang gets reading. It’s a short letter, clearly just written because the occasion was there (Nie Huaisang only answered Lan Wangji’s latest missive a few days ago, it wouldn’t have reached Gusu yet). Most of it is about the rabbits, though Lan Wangji notes that they are preparing for the next batch of guest disciples to arrive and he’s hoping they’ll be a quieter bunch this year. It’s only an innocent comment, but reading it makes Nie Huaisang ache for the company of his friends in a way he thought he’d learned to manage. It was so much fun to be all together in the Cloud Recesses, completely carefree. If he had known that he’d have to start behaving more grown-up upon getting home, Nie Huaisang would have gotten up to far more mischief, and he would have tried to enjoy his fun even more.

Just as Lan Xichen is done tidying himself, servants come in with the tea and some very fancy biscuits. Nie Huaisang gave specific orders regarding what’s to be served, amused at that moment by the idea of forcing his fiancé to enjoy something once in a while. It doesn’t seem so funny anymore, not even when Lan Xichen is looking at the biscuits with a mix of gluttony and worry.

It must show that Nie Huaisang’s mood is vacillating. When he’s done pouring tea for both of them, Lan Xichen has stopped staring at the treats and shoots him a concerned look instead.

"I hope the letter did not contain bad news?" 

"No, it did not. I'm just distracted." 

Lan Xichen sips on his tea and hesitantly picks up a biscuit, but does not eat it. 

"Speaking of letters… I have to admit I envy my brother," he says in that cold, careful voice that still annoys Nie Huaisang with how controlled it sounds. 

"How so?" 

"When Wangji told me you agreed to a correspondence with him, I wanted to obtain the same from you," Lan Xichen admits, distractedly playing with his biscuit. "I even went to see you to ask for it, but in the end I wasn't sure if I should, so I said nothing. I didn't want to overstep some boundary." 

Nie Huaisang thinks back on Lan Xichen's brief visit on the last day. He'd been disappointed when his fiancé didn't have anything to say to him that time. He doesn't exactly miss their excruciating weekly meetings but they were still part of what was clearly the best year of his life, and maybe he wouldn't have hated keeping in touch. 

"You can always ask me now," Nie Huaisang offers. "We'll see what I answer." 

"Very well. Nie gongzi, would you be willing to exchange letters with me?" 

Nie Huaisang, to his own surprise, doesn't even hesitate. 

"I'd like that, yes." 

The smile that breaks onto Lan Xichen's face is nothing short of radiant. It's unfair, really, how gorgeous he gets when he's genuinely happy, and Nie Huaisang doesn't know how he feels about being the reason for that happiness. He doesn’t hate it, he supposes. He doesn’t hate Lan Xichen in general, in fact. It’s an odd thing to realise.

Nie Huaisang picks up a biscuit and bites into it, hoping to encourage his fiancé to stop being stupid and have a little fun. It works. Lan Xichen gives in and nibbles at his own biscuit. His eyes widen slightly as the flavour hits his tongue, and in a moment he devours the rest of it. Nie Huaisang snorts, more endeared than he’d prefer.

“So, do you want to talk about something?” Nie Huaisang asks, refusing to linger on the thought that his fiancé can be a little cute at times.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but never found the right occasion yet,” Lan Xichen announces. “I would like to suggest some arrangements for when we are married.”

Nie Huaisang freezes and stares at him. As a rule, they don’t talk about their future marriage. They never have, except sometimes when arguing. Even in a good mood, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t want to breach that subject, so today, when he’s fighting the need to go hide until everything stop being so much…

“I don’t think I want to talk about that,” he replies, toying with his half eaten biscuit. “Lan gongzi, I don’t believe there’s much to be said on that topic.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty to tell you,” Lan Xichen insists. “I think it would please you to…”

“Not today,” Nie Huaisang cuts him. “I’m having the sort of day where nothing could please me, and quite frankly, that topic… it’s not something I want to think about at all. Can’t we chat about something less distressing?”

Lan Xichen frowns at that reaction. Nie Huaisang braces himself for his fiancé to insist, perhaps even for an argument to happen if Lan Xichen decides he’s tired of being nice without getting anything in return. Neither things happen.

“Of course I won’t force you to speak of this if you don’t want to,” Lan Xichen says with surprising gentleness. “I do believe we should discuss it while we have time, but if you’re unwell today, then the time isn’t right for it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Not unless you can magically change my mood,” Nie Huaisang scoffs, uncertain how to react to kindness when he hasn’t prepared for it.

“I could try to do that,” Lan Xichen offers, startling him. “Or something to that effect. There are a few Lan songs that can calm an unquiet mind. I could play one for you, if you’d like.”

Nie Huaisang drops his biscuit on the table.

“I thought the Lan songs were just used for battle?”

Laughing softly, Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Those would be the one most people know about, but we have many other sorts. To calm the mind, to help the body heal, to improve the quality of meditation… we’re a musical sect, and we take that very seriously. Even now, some members of the sect still try to come up with new techniques.”

“I had no idea,” Nie Huaisang admits. “I didn’t really try to learn about Gusu Lan, aside from all your stupid rules.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Ask any cultivator what Gusu Lan does, they will tell you that we invent rules faster than the flowers bloom in spring, and that we’re deadly with a guqin. We’re more than that, though, just as Qinghe Nie is more than brute force and sabres.”

“Uh. Guess I’m learning a lot about your sect today,” Nie Huaisang muses. “Secrets to keep your robes clean, and healing songs… Lan gongzi, your people are more surprising than I’d have thought.”

"I'm glad if you feel that way," Lan Xichen replies, his smile warm and soft. "I hope you'll want to continue learning more about us. For now though, would you let me play for you?" 

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and nods. If this works, his mood will be improved. If it doesn't… Lan Xichen is a skilled musician, so he'll have that pleasure if nothing else. 

It takes a little more preparation than Nie Huaisang would have expected to hear a Lan healing song. He can’t help a slight grimace when Lan Xichen explains he’ll have to get into a meditative state, never an easy feat for him, but apparently the melody itself is meant to help with that. Nie Huaisang grumbles and mutters and struggles to find a comfortable position on his sitting mat, but once he’s somewhat settled, Lan Xichen starts playing on his xiao.

At first, Nie Huaisang is certain this won’t work. His brain is still jumping from one thought to the other, aching with the way he misses his friends, and how he can’t seem to enjoy being home even when he should enjoy it while it lasts because soon, in some months now, even if there’s no clear date yet…

But as the melody goes on, Nie Huaisang finds that it envelopes his thoughts and pacifies them. The fears and worries are still there, but their sharp edges which were hurting him are rounded off by the music, making them less distressing.

When the last note drops, Nie Huaisang takes a moment before opening his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling inside his heart. It had been a while since he felt this calm. In fact, he’s not sure he’s felt like that before, not since his mother's death.

“That’s a very efficient song,” he sighs when he finally opens his eyes, slow and deliberate. “Thank you, Lan gongzi.”

“It’s my pleasure. Did it help?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He feels oddly light, in a very pleasant way. “Lan gongzi, you’ll have to play it again for me next time we meet.”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with joy. He really is handsome like this, and Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at his fiancé. If Lan Xichen asked again to talk about their future marriage, Nie Huaisang would agree because for the very first time, the idea doesn’t fill him with dread. There are worse people to marry out there, and Nie Huaisang is starting to feel he might be as lucky as people have told him he was, all those years.

But Lan Xichen doesn’t bring up that subject again. Instead they end up chatting about Lan Wangji’s bunnies, and how much he dotes on them, which in turns makes them talk about the younger boy’s crush on Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang is just starting to share his cunning plan to bring both of them to Qinghe when there’s a knock on the door. Before Nie Huaisang can invite the person in, Nie Mingjue barges inside the room and unceremoniously comes to sit next to his brother.

“Very rude of you both to have tea and not invite me,” he comments, snatching a handful of biscuits and shoving them in his mouth.

“Gross!” Nie Huaisang gasps, wishing he had a fan to hit his brother with. He has to slap him with his hand instead, which is a lot less refined. “If you’re not invited, then why are you still here?”

“I can’t let my brat of a brother try to steal my friend,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Besides, you always have the best biscuits when you’re having tea. How come I can never get them when I ask for them?”

“Because I hide them from you, having paid for them with my own money,” Nie Huaisang retorts, grabbing the plate and holding it out of reach when his brother tries to grab a few more. “Don’t! They’re not for you! Lan gongzi, help!”

Of course Nie Mingjue, being the tall, long limbed monster that he is, can almost grasp the plate even when his brother is trying his hardest to keep his precious biscuits out of reach. They are both stunned and nearly lose their balance when Lan Xichen snatches the plate away from Nie Huaisang’s hands, looking a little lost about what his next move should be.

“Run with them!” Nie Mingjue enthusiastically orders. “We can share them!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes jump between the two brothers a few times before he shakes his head.

“He said he paid for them,” he softly protests. “If you want some, ask him nicely.”

Nie Mingjue gasps at that betrayal while Nie Huaisang, after the first moment of shock, starts laughing so hard he can hardly breathe.

“Xichen, you turn against me like this?” Nie Mingjue complains. “Aren’t we friends?”

His tone is so falsely pathetic that Lan Xichen chuckles and grins.

“We’re friends, but he’s my fiancé. I’ve got to take his side when it's needed, don’t I?”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter dies in his throat, stunned for a moment by that simple declaration, the way Lan Xichen says it as if it’s the most evident thing ever. Something shifts inside his chest, something big, something so soft it is nearly agonising.

The moment passes quickly because Nie Mingjue, not one to accept betrayal so easily, turns against Lan Xichen and tries to steal the biscuits from him instead. This in turn forces Nie Huaisang to team up with his fiancé so they can protect the precious sweets from being eaten in an uncouth manner. All three of them laugh when, after some struggling and a movement too quick, the biscuits end up falling on the floor. Nie Huaisang pretends to be heartbroken until the other two both promise they’ll buy him new ones, at which point he just joins them again in laughing.

He’d never thought the three of them would ever have fun like this someday, but he’s glad to have been proven wrong.

[writingbakery]

“the ballerina & the nutcracker”🩰

this is a work that’s very dear to my heart that i’m finally releasing to the world! i abandoned it for a while, but my heart has returned - as has my love for the story. loosely based on several versions of the nutcracker, and heavily inspired by the ballet classical soundtrack; i highly recommend listening to it as you read. if there’s enough interest, this will become a chaptered fic!

wherein reader is a lonely, lost ballerina, thrust into a world where rats don’t only talk, but wield swords - and is that their toy nutcracker, alive and fighting? this adventure has only just begun, and the reader will go on a journey of love, friendship, tears, and laughter to find out just what the meaning of courage is ✨

[pairing; nutcracker!kirishima x gn! ballerina!reader]

[warnings; violence, magic, rat soldiers, flowery language, crude language, implied child abuse, implied bullying, romance]

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

chapter one; an enchanted evening ✨

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

┊ ┊ ┊ ✫

┊ ┊ ☪︎⋆

┊ ⊹ ┊

✯ ⋆ ┊ . ˚

˚✩

┌────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┐

“after you, clara.”

“oh nutcracker, stop bowing. we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“always, clara. always..”

The Nutcracker Prince (1990)

└────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┘

snow falls delicately outside the large, frosty window, rivulets of ice clinging to the outside wooden frame. the streets are quiet with winter emptiness, piles of glistening white snow covering everything within sight & softening the normally bustling street corners. inside, just beyond the twinkling glass, a person sits, hand tucked under their chin as they watch the snowflakes grace every available surface, eyes a little sad.

you sit so still that for a moment, any passerby making their way through the cold that chanced for a moment to peer up at your frosty window would think you were a doll. you were delicate looking from the waist up, features rosy & small, handcrafted in glass. the only part of you that seemed alive were your eyes, dancing amidst the snowflakes as they made their slow waltz to the ground.

your name is [y/n] [l/n], & your adventure is only just beginning.

leaning back from your perch along the windowsill, you let a gentle sigh escape, cold fingers carding through tousled hair as you set about to begin your day.

you work your way through a half hours worth of gentle stretches, ensuring you’d shaken off the lingering silks of chill deep in your bones before dressing hurriedly & making your way to the academy.

the treasure academy for gifted persons was a dance academy first & foremost, one you had been attending for most of your years. you’d known you were in love with the art the first time your parents had brought you to the ballet, the soaring dancers trapped behind your eyelids whenever you so much as blinked. you’d sat stock still in between your mother & father that night, enraptured by the graceful, yet powerful movements. afterwards, you’d stood amongst a small crowd as the ballerinas poured out one by one, special praise being heaped upon the male lead for his incredible strength in lifting so many of the others through turns & spins. it had confused you greatly at the time, rose clutched between small hands as you told the female lead that you’d thought she was twice as powerful. she’d done pirouettes & leaps twice as fast as the others, pushed her body beyond its limits & you couldn’t understand why no one would acknowledge it. the pretty ballerina had simply laughed, kneeled down to your level to accept the rose. “not everyone sees strength the way you & i do, dear,” she whispered to you before making her way out of the crowd, leaving you with a fluttering heart, a kiss pressed to your forehead, & the urge to dance hollowing out your bones.

that night had transformed you, sending a lithe little child soaring through the air in poor imitations of pirouettes & plies, tumbling over two left feet until your mother had relented, & enrolled you in ballet. your father had been disapproving, as always; always worried about what the neighbors would think. the [l/n] family was well off enough that they could bend the social status quo to their liking, but your father had always been fickle, a perfectionist. he couldn’t bear the thought of being seen as lower in any way, & a child that preferred ballet slippers to books and studies was shameful in every way.

until you danced.

even as a child you’d had incredible skill, raw talent in your every movement & it was breathtaking to watch. every dip & turn was fluid, marked with a steady gracefulness that usually came from years of study. exercises that took even the most skilled of dancers weeks took you days; by the end of your first year, you’d landed the lead ballerina role.

you hated it.

your instructors see you as nothing but talent with too much time to think, absurdly harsh on you; they demand perfection, take every scrap of effort you give & hungrily scrape your bones for more. you’re nothing but a means for them to succeed, a way to relive their own glory.

the ballerinas are kinder, more gentle. but they themselves are a beast all their own, wound up in tight insecurities & tighter diets, something your toned, strong thighs cannot sympathize with. they must be fragile as glass with the strength of concrete; a constant push and pull. the ballerinos get slightly more lee-way, less pressure, but you’re caught between both worlds, & so you bear both of their weights on your shoulders.

you are alone, but not lonely. so long as you can dance, you will never be lonely.

the music rushes towards you with every arching step, the melody whittled from your bones & thrummed from your skin. they become one, perfectly intertwined, two halves of a whole not yet separated. it’s where you feel complete.

most days, it takes a heavy combination of overwhelming exhaustion, late hours, and concerned fellow students to get you out of the studios. today, since it’s christmas eve, you’re out by lunchtime. you don’t want to disappoint your mother by being late, and you’re sure to take a long soak in the bath to wash away the residual stink of sweat and never being good enough.

you dress comfortably for the evening, simple trousers and a warm, red knit sweater. as you dress you can hear the loud, overeager shouts that can only come from children at christmas time; your cousins have arrived, their noisy cheer infecting the quiet house. it brings a smile to your face, makes facing your family a little easier.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

dinner is early, a simple affair when the clock strikes four and everyone’s made it to the dining room. you push roast potatoes and chicken around your plate slowly, soak in the bragging speeches and subtle jabs. you just want it to be nightfall already, curled up alone in your living room and watching the snow pile up as the clock strikes midnight.

after dinner everyone crowds into the parlor, your cousins bouncing around the tree excitedly - they want to open their presents, and no one can deny them. your uncle carefully hands out each prettily wrapped gift, the shine of their ribbons almost hypnotizing in the firelight. each child gets a small pile, full of little tin men and wooden trains, glossy eyed stuffed dolls and hair ribbons. you’re content to watch their enchanted smiles, curled up on the far sofa, and so your surprise is evident when your uncle places a small, delicately wrapped box in your lap.

uncle had always been a tad eccentric, your mother’s brother’s wife’s brother, or something along those lines. he was a toymaker by trade, careful hands crafting the most beautiful painted dolls and puppets, casting little fierce soldiers from tin molds. your father hated the man, but indulged his wife, as he was the only relative on your mother’s side that lived close enough to visit for holidays.

he handmade every child’s present, spending months before the holiday painstakingly crafting every toy to perfection, and he’d done so for as long as you could remember. it was sentimental and sweet, but you had been too old for toys for several christmases already.

still, you’re intrigued by the prettily wrapped present, taking it with careful hands and working open the ribbon. you gasped at the cherry wood box, poking through the tissue paper to reveal a handsomely painted nutcracker.

it was about the length of your forearm, built of sturdy wood and richly painted, glinting in the firelight. it was almost handsome, a hand stitched uniform covering its wooden form - it almost looked regal, like the little nutcracker was royalty.

“thank you so much,” you whispered, looking up at your uncle in awe. you’d never owned something so sentimental, so carefully crafted. it made you feel warm somewhere deep in your chest, blossoming through your body as you stared at the elegant nutcracker.

the moment is shattered immediately; it’s almost expected.

“and what use do you think [y/n] should have for that?” your father asked crossly, leaning over to rip the nutcracker from your hands. “they’re no longer a child, you foolish man. or have all the paints in your shack of a shop finally corrupted your mind?” he twisted the little nutcracker back and forth, digging a fat finger into the wooden jaw. it comes apart with a sharp crack, and so does your quiet patience.

you snatch the nutcracker back with a panicked gasp, anger building low in your stomach. after ensuring that all your father’s done is pop out the nutcracker’s lower jaw, you turn on him with a furious expression.

“why must you always ruin things that make me happy!? why can’t you ever let me be happy?” you shout, the parlor deathly silent. running up the stairs, you can hear your mother’s angry scolding and your father’s flippant excuses, overlapped with the whispers of your cousins.

you ignore them in favor of searching your room, letting out a triumphant little yell when you find it; a frayed ballet ribbon, torn from your old pointe shoes. carefully holding the nutcrackers jaw in place, you lace the ribbon underneath its chin and tie it into a little bow atop its shiny wooden head.

“there, aren’t you handsome again? nothing a little ribbon can’t fix,” you say softly to the doll, smiling warmly. you can’t help it, you almost feel like… it’s listening to you, encouraging you with a hidden twinkle in its painted eyes.

“father’s always so brutish. he breaks everything he touches, physically and verbally. don’t expect an apology from him either, my little nutcracker prince. he’s insufferably stubborn,” you continued, fixing its gold stitched jacket as you spoke.

“i hate him, sometimes. i must love him, of course - he’s my father. but i do not have to like him, and i won’t, not as long as i live. he’s always ruining things.” you let out a weary sigh, adjusting the little ribbon carefully.

“sometimes, i wish i was a bird, so i could fly far, far away,” you confess to the little nutcracker, eyes suddenly a little wet. “far away from father and the instructors and everyone.”

you set the nutcracker down next to you on the bed, curling up to wait until everyone’s gone to bed. “far, far away,” you hum, pulling the duvet over yourself.

next to you, the nutcracker shines in the lamplight, a mischievous glint to its eye.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

as the clock neared twelve and the house grew silent once more, you crept down the stairs, tiptoeing into the empty parlor. sighing a bit, you rest your little nutcracker at the base of the christmas tree, sitting amongst scattered tin men and abandoned dolls - your cousins leaving their toys long forgotten on the wood floor.

for a moment, the room stands completely, utterly still, silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the dying embers of the fireplace. everything is peaceful, the room sparkling from the christmas lights and the flickering, fading flames.

you smile, content.

the sharp, heavy banging of the clock striking twelve jolts you from your stupor, and as you glance back at it you can see the looming shadow of your uncle, smiling in the dim light. “uncle? what’s happening?” you try to ask over the din of the clock, but it feels as though your voice is getting smaller and smaller, the room beginning to spin in a dizzying display of christmas lights and shaky flickers. everything seems to grow larger and larger, the soothing voice of your uncle surrounding you at all sides. “relax, my child. your present reveals itself,” he says, a fond smile to his lips before he disappears into the shadows.

when you open your eyes again, the room is massive. the tree towers over you on one side, the grandfather clock looming on the other. for a moment, you think that you’re dreaming, shaking your head to clear it.

this time, when your eyes open, you’re in the middle of battle.

tin soldiers yell from all sides of you, slashing their bayonets fiercely into the darkness. dolls swing their fabric fists at an unseen enemy, discarding shoes and capes everywhere.

you also realize you’re naked, shrunk into a pile of your now too big clothes. you scream.

around you, the battle rages on, the enemy becoming clear in the dim lamplight; rats, dressed in military uniforms, fighting with rusted swords. you’re confused and terrified, watching as they fight in dizzying displays of violence.

a tin soldier strikes down a squealing rat, moving from your line of sight, and in the newly exposed space a familiar face emerges. you gasp, recognition flooding your features; it’s your nutcracker.

only now, your little nutcracker is taller than you, broad shouldered and snarling as he battles a large, fierce looking rat. it has a crown perched atop its unsightly head, the clanging of swords overpowering every other sound in the room. as you watch, the rat gains the upper hand, slashing the sword from the nutcracker’s grip - he is defenseless.

you move before you can even think, reaching down to pick up a stray doll slipper and lobbing it at the dirty rat’s head. you immediately regret that decision, the shoe smacking the rat directly in the face - and focusing its attention on you.

just as he’s stepping towards you, malice in his face, the nutcracker lunges, holding a sword to the rat’s neck.

“leave, rat. our battle will not end here,” he commands, voice rich and deep. it has the authority of a leader, the cadence of a king.

“this won’t be our last meeting, nutcracker. you will not win,” the rat growled, before letting out a shrill, low whistle; the fighting rats immediately still, before racing into a tiny, unnoticed crack in the wall. the leader shoots one last venomous, poison glare at the nutcracker, before following after them.

suddenly, the room is quiet, the dolls and soldiers regrouping and collecting themselves. you watch as the nutcracker makes his way through the mess, a smile on the - interestingly handsome - wooden face.

“now that, little ballerina, was quite brave.” in the lamplight, the nutcracker looks human, warm and familiar.

you manage to stammer out a weak “thank you”, shyly yanking up the collar of your sweater to cover your naked form. it’s more than a little embarrassing, meeting the very doll you’d ranted to a few hours earlier. you’re still not convinced this isn’t all a dream.

“i am kirishima eijiro, the prince of the southern isles. the creature you just saw was the rat king, forceful overtaker of the southern isles. my isles. he cursed me into this wooden form, to prevent me from taking back my throne,” the nutcracker explains, leaning down to gather a few stray garments. he hands them to you with a wry smile, giving a sly glance to your sweater covered form. you blush brightly, snatching the clothes and waiting for the nutcracker to turn around to tug them on. a silky, short sleeved leotard, silk shorts, and a tutu, all in a pretty blush pink. there’s even a matching pair of little pointe shoes, and you’re surprised at how well it all fits. you feels rather like you fit now, in this wild fever dream that has no end.

“how was he able to do such a thing? surely there’s some sort of….. actually, never mind.” you’re beginning to realize that nothing about this is normal, and you aren’t sure how to feel. the nutcracker sighs, running a hand over his face. weariness seems to haunt his every action, and your heart softens.

“i was a fool then, full of reckless youth and insufferable invincibility. i thought i could defeat him all on my own. my only hope now is to find the sugar plum princess, and enlist her help to break my curse. but in order to find her, i must travel back to my kingdom, and find the sugar plum fairy. she is the only one who knows exactly where the princess is. she also may be able to… fix this little predicament of yours.” despite the heavy words, there’s a teasing lilt to his tone, and you can’t help but find it endearing despite the circumstances.

for a moment, you’re filled with a flurry of panic, uncertainty. part of you wants to run, hide away in your bed and hope for it all to end. but you steel your nerves, shaking off the fear in your heart. you can’t show weakness now, not here.

“well, if she can make everything as it was before, i suppose we’ve got some traveling to do,” you say with all the confidence you can muster, holding your head up high. the nutcracker smiles, holding out his hand; you take it carefully, sealing your fate in this new adventure.

together, you both step into the crack in the wall, and you can only hope you make it home in one piece.

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Reviews: The Forbidden Fountain of the Foreverglades!

Here I am a day late and 7 dollars short.. because I just bought the lost boys. Scrooge and the kids find themselves in America’s own personal circle of hell Florida to track down the fountain of youth. But with Goldie arriving for the same reason and swiping Finch’s diary, Scrooge and Webby are forced to take off without the boys in persuit while the boys enjoy themselves.. well Louie does, Dewey and Huey fight over whose the older sibling. Meanwhile Scoldie find themsleves magically younger, Webby finds herself crotchety and Rockerduck finds all of them in his quest to get the fountain for himself and be carried around like a baby like Jeeves. Full review with spoilers bellow. 

Yes this is a day late, as I had to stop writing yesterday to do other stuff and to help stablize mom’s internet while she worked, and then had a full day with my best friend watching the bizzare but enjoyable double feature of Hubie Halloween and Tales from the Hood. But i’m back and with a LOT of other reviews to get to this week, two more for regular coverage, a review I didn’t finish sunday due to being really tired, and some reviews in time for next week’s episode, no more time for a big intro. Let’s go. Thankfully did get some of this done yesterday soooo...

It's spring break in Duckberg. So while Violet does her vacation research, Lena throws some things into the local ditch and misses webby, Boyd goes on family vacation with his adopted parents, birth creator parent, and Anthony Fremont without the powers thank god, Beakly goes on her annual grannies gone wild vacation, Donald goes on a boat trip with Daisy with his boys crashing, Della tries to party wtih the young people to show she still has it, Launchpad joins her because he is the young people. Fenton works and Penny.. triest to  reign her girlfriend in because it’s Donald’s week off from trying to get the non-beakly adults to be reasonable. It’s her curse now.

In the actual episode Scrooge has taken the niece and nephews to Florida, the land that gods forgot.. yes gods forgot. They all did. Except maybe Loki because the god of chaos and storytelling really can’t ignore his people. Much as he’d like to. Sadly we don’t get Scrooge and the nephews on jetskis outrunning alligators iwth guns also on jetskis.. both anthro gators and regular animal gators, that still have guns mind because florida. And yes that is a recycled script from my failed Calvin and Hobbes spinoff pitch, Calvin and Hobbes: Miami Nights. Hobbes has a serious coke problem. Also Opus from Bloom County is there.. I mean hew as just supposed to be a guest star but the execs loved him and Berke was like “whatever can’t be worse than the Garfield movies throw bill in too”. But obviously coked up gators, tigers and bill the cat are not what you came to see so let’s move on. Though if it is hit me up. I think we’d get along great.

Anyways instead of Cokehead and Hobbes, we get a bunch of partying college kids, which given Scrooge already hates young people, this is indeed his own personal hell.. much like everyone whose not young or old going to florida. But spring break hotels are super cheap so Scrooge’s need to save money outweighed his need to not be surronded by young hot morons blowing off steam. Though Webby being webby points out the blowing off steam part.. which is nice of her but is probably only like.. half of them the other half being young dumb rich people looking to get laid. Which is also the mission statment MTV’s had since 2000. 20 years of not being about music and counting!

Anyways, naturally their here for a quest, with everyone else gone for the above reasons I made up but sound plausible and entertaining, as Finch’s diaries put the fabled fountain of youth here. As does a cheesy video from the lion owner of the result played by Nestor Carbonell. If that name dosen’t ring a carbonbell, which fair enough it iddn’t for me at first either, his voice probably will for disney fans who grew up around the 2000′s like me. It’s Senior Junior! From kim possible.  

The Late Great Ricardo Montalbon, who I dearly miss to this day,with Nestor as his son, Senior Senior Senior and Senior Senior Junior, which are great names already. Their easily my favorite Kim Possible Villains (Yes I still love Drakken and Shego now hush), and it’s in part because the concept is brilliant: Senior was just a rich man accidently taking all the power in France. Kim showed up to stop him and Ron, her best friend sidekick and later boyfriend and presumably now husband, casually mentioned Senior’s home was the perfect villain lair, and that Senior had the talent for it. Senior took that to heart and spent the rest of the series trying to be the best classical arch villain he could be, trying to adhere to the tropes of one warts and all while his son just wanted to loung around and be young and rich. It was a great dynamic and the two really played off one another beautifully. Hopefully if there’s another reboot nestor can pick up where Montalbon left off with some new hot idiot as his own son. Even if it’s just for the intro you have to admit it’d be great.

So yeah I was happy to have him on board once I realzied this, More on him later I keep getting sidetracked this review and we’re, no joke not even past the intro. But Scrooge needs ice for his back, so the boys have the afternoon off while Webby helps him, because she’s a sweetheart, and Huey’s in charge because oldest.

Thus we get their subplot for the episode.. or most of it but more on that in a bit: Dewey is annoyed Huey is ALWAYS in charge and always overscheduling, case in point he has an afternoon schedule down pat MOMENTS after they arrive. However given Huey later did his research and has a super analytical and regimented mind, it isn’t a stretch to say he spent their time on the plane planning out things just in case. or that he always doesn’t do that when they have to stay overnight. But what makes it work is Dewey’s frustration is understandable. Despite being barely younger he never gets put in charge, Huey while a good kid can be bossy as we’ve seen as early as season one and has even been condescending with it once or twice. So as a younger brother myself I understand chafing under an older brother all the time.

However, Huey being in charge.. makes the most sense. Scrooge , and i’m HEAVILY betting Donald on the boat to present day and every other adult, uses the oldest excuse as something the kids will follow easily without starting a fight over the simple truth that Huey’s the most responsible and organized out of the three. And by that I mean Dewey fighting over it or being hurt at his mom saying it , Louie would probably be hurt but would probably be fine just fine with having no responsibility or effort to put in. Huey makes plans, looks after his siblings even when not in charge, and thinks things through the most of his three brothers. Sometimes overly so, which I can relate to, but point is he’s the best boy for the job, though I could also easily buy that at least for Scrooge, he genuinely buys into oldest is in charge because he was raised that way. Also this episode didn’t explain how he’s immortal but I’m betting “Battle for Castle McDuck” does so no harm done.

Back on point, Dewey is governed almost entirely by his impulses, which does work sometimes as seen with the season premiere, but has also lead to him nearly being sacrificed 74 times, while Louie can lead, he just doesn’t wanna half the time and would likely weasel out of it. And the episode bears this out with Louie being more bothered with the power struggle interfering in his being lazy time and generally being outside it. He just doesn’t care whose in charge unless it benefits him in some way and right now it doesn’t.

I’ll go ahead and cover this plot since, surprisingly, it ends up dovetailing into the main plot, and it’s easier to get it out of the wya here and cover where they start to overlap when the main plot catches up. So Huey leads them around starting with Lounging which goes well: Louie’s naturally on board and while well bored, Dewey sleeps when he can’t just impulsively jump into he pool.

The tide turns however when after his short dip, Dewey seemingly has a growth spurt and is taller and thus takes overa s big brother and forces them to go ahead and lunch.. which runs into both the old people and the old people menu. It backs up what I thought from the start: huey likely knows what he’s doing, which he does; Obviously in Florida old people eat earlier, so Huey’s scheduling wasn’t just his normal OCD flaring up, but using it to strategically plan when to have fun so they could in a packed resort. It also shows how clever Huey is, as even for something so mundane he plans perfectly. He’s my faviorite for a reason.

Huey eventually gets fed up with it and plays Dewey, but Louie, suspcious of the head of the hotel, instead starts piecing things together... and i’ll save that reveal for when it ducktails into the main plot..l because I couldn’t resist that pun and you know it. Not a bad plot, mildly slight but it sets up it’s connection to the main plot well and has a good conlict.  Moving onto the real meat of the episode, turns out the race.. isn’t that much of a race as Webby outspeeds both Scrooge and Goldie, who bicker over a canteen and their long history of her betraying him and him betraying her for betraying him etc etc. Webby is delighful here as she’s both understandably awkward playing third whell and not at all fond of Goldie which.. yeah you would be too if she locked you in a closet. It’s nice to see the two interact if not by much.  However things soon change when Scrooge and Goldie seemingly get tranformed by the river into younger 18-20 something versions of themselves. Admitley Tennant’s voice for younger scrooge is.. eh, but he still does well enough that you soon stop carring. The designs are great.. and damn if young scrooge isn’t delcious. Seriously it’s only thorugh the magic of network standards that Jodeci’s freak n you isn’t playing over half his scenes. Damn. Him around this age in the comics just looked sorta like donald with sideburns god damn Frank thank you. 

Speaking of thirst with their hormones in place it’s naturally not long before the twos old spark that was smothered under decades of betryal comes roaring back, and the two even almost make out before Webby interputs, getting increasingly injured by the everglades.. as most people do by florida itself really. It won’t let you leave in one piece.  

But things get interesting when Goldie makes a proposal.. ditch Webby for a bit and go find the fountain. As Goldie brilliantly puts it youth’s wasted on the young.. but not them. This is a second chance. While I heard people comment on “why is scrooge’s age suddenly affecting him now”... honestly it really probably isn’t. While he’s likely been old for some time, we’ve seen his back hurt him once or twice, just faking being hunched hurt him. And while it is played up a bit much in this episode, it’s perfectly realistic that his body has good and bad days. My mother does, I do, most people do as they get older. The parts of you that ache and don’t work right tend to wax and wayne in how much they hate you. 

TO me it works to sell why this is tempting for Scrooge: A chance to start over, not abandon his family obviously, and given how much nonsense is around his life and how old he is, it’s not a stretch for duckberg to accept he’s younger than his own son and daughter now. Scrooge can buy or earn anything he wants and really is the man who has everything: He has a loving family, a repaired relationship with Donald, Della back after loosing her, a nice and nephews to carry on his legacy, tons of friends, a thriving empire, and tons of mysteries to track down, including recently ones his own idol never could find. He has everything he could want and tons more adventures to go: Bold New Discoveries, old ones to show his grandkids for the first time,  and a cozy mansion. There’s really only two things missing: more time, as even with him and goldie having worked hard magically to stay alive as long as they have, as while they’ve found ways to stay alive, they haven’t been able to stay YOUNG. Sure they’ve added years and years, hell 60′s scrooge only looks somewhat older despite decades having passed, but while they can probably go on for a few more decades, there’s only so much they can do before their time runs out. And the other thing missing from his life quite obviously is goldie. The two clearly love one another.. but scrooge very justifably can’t trust her and can’t have her in his life until she tries to change, and she dosen’t want to.  This.. offers a chance to turn back all of that, to cast aside their bitter history and start over as better people than they were before. Scrooge can have time with his family, time he would likely loose eventually to see THEM grow old. Raise their own families he might not get to see. To see those kids grow up and take on their own parents legacy. And to share it all WITH Goldie. TO have her in his family at long last. Sure he’s leaving Webby behind but he’ll come back and as we see she’s fine if understandably upset. Granted I think they could’ve done more with her leaving her, but the sheer brilliance of this plot I didn’t see coming, the sheer pathos of Scrooge’s second chance makes up for it.  They find the fountain.. but it’s dried up and unconnected to the river. They also find Rockerduck, out of the amber with his frakenstein butler whose clearly now just a mindless monster. which means whoever did his work really did it shoddy as even frakenstein had some intellegence. He’s also being carried around like a baby which I enjoy throughly. Rockerduck does not look plesant, and i’m happy to have him back as I was upset this character only got adapted for seemingly one episode and was pleased to see him with fowl.  They also find a good angle for him: Beisdes the old timey rober baron thing, and looking like Rene Belloq.. he even gets to do the nothing you can’t posses that I can’t take away line which is great and Hodgman is amazing as ever. But yeah besides that, he also gets his comic versions tendency to throw money around and do none of the work himself. The throw money around thing while neat in the comics did need to be reframed, as Glomgold now does it, and so does beaks. But with Rockerduck they found a  nice medium for the two: like both he’ll spend massive amounts of dough. Like Glomgold he likes a good scheme, but dosen’t go to the sheer lunatic lenghts Glommy does: His schemes are more practical, stealing a deed from some unsuspecting trusting townsfolk, or finding some youth water to shore up his plan to freeze himself by getting his apperance back. While no longer young like Beaks, he shares beaks laziness and again tendency to spend money..  but still contrasts the guy: Rockerduck is ambitious in his cons and plans, Beaks is not. Rockerduck has money already to tap into, Beaks is new money and clearly burns through it on a daily basis. The show brillinatly kept what made the mallard a great villian, while reframing what no longer worked.  But yeah Scrooge realizes that if the river didn’t help them what did, and now it’s time to get back to Louie: Whose figured out that Ponce De Leon, mentioned earlier, and the hotel manager are one in the same! Also props for making Ponce an actual lion. Nicely done. Yeah turns out Ponce diverted the water from the fountain to the resot: The tap water there is actually the restorative water, with Scrooge having filled his canteen with it without realizing. As for the old people turns out the fountain runs on equilvent exchange: Some of it’s waters drain youth to create the youth creating part of it. As such the seniors.. are actually the spring breakers, drained of youth and too senile to fight back. And Dewey’s sudden growth spurt was just him being in the pool for two seconds draining his youth.  Naturally though Louie made the mistake of blurting this out and the boys get captured by Ponce who explains why the resort scheme: At first he just lured gullible minions on expeditions but eventually that scheme dried up so he simply modernized by building the resort and diverting the fountain to it., having gallons of youth restoring water stocked up. He traps the boys with a pool ring and while I expect more from them I get leaving them out of the climax. While Mildly annoying.. this really isn’t their story anymore, and the scrooge and Goldie stuff is where to focus. I can let a story slide on some weaknesses if it’s for good reason and really, focusing more on the more engaging main plot with Scrooge and Goldie was the right call. That said the nephews could’ve fought Jeeves or something but i’m getting ahead of myself. This twist is utterly and a great surprise. No notes. 

Back at the fountain having realized what’s going on now, if not the youth sucking part just yet, Scrooge and Goldie race back with Rockerduck and Jeeves in persuit.  Scrooge and Goldie arrive to find De Leon, revealing their on to them if being confused for springbreakers. But once he realizes what’s going on De Leon.. actually offers to cut them in. After all while it means sharing his water as shown the man has gallons of it, and even off spring break likely still has no shortage of young idiots to drain because it’s Florida and he runs a cheap hotel with a pool. But while Goldie’s naturally tempted.. Scrooge isn’t. He’s fine with a second chance.. but not at the cost of other people’s first ones. Sure they might waste it.. but it’s not his life to steal. Naturally a swordfight insues while Goldie darts off to find the water and Scrooge finds himself fighting both De Leon and Jeeves, as Rockerduck cheerfully admits he has ZERO issues with stealing other people’s youth and while he and De Leon don’t formally partner up, it’s not a stretch to say De Leon would be happy with a rich billionare joining in his operation providing both fincial backing.. and possible room to expand and steal MORE youth. 

But before Goldie can run away with the water she finds the boys.. and in a nice callback her previous bond with Louie gets her to crack.. and she realizes she can’t just run out on scrooge again and repeat their history. So she frees the boys,k who are a bit dazed to help, and shoves the bit of water she got down jeeves throat. Though Rockerduck still got some, so he’s back to peak shape, if now having to carry around a baby frakenstien. He exits, and I loved him in this one clearly, even if i’m STILL annoyed it’s taking till next week for FOWL to do much of anything. I mean it’s obvious FOWL told him about the fountain but still, while they’ve set up the members well for the second half, we still haven’t seen much of the actual orignization and it’s grating. But again the rest of the episode is good enough that it swoops over this. This episoide has some minor flaws.. but the core story, big twist and everything is so good and the upcoming climax so emotional, it’s easy enough to forgive. 

So speaking of that climax we get one hell of a swordfight with Scrooge and Goldie versus Ponce before Ponce ends up in the pool as he deserves but is determined to take Scrooge with him. So we get Goldie’s moment of truth: She could leave scrooge the drown, go about her day and take the water for herself.. or decide it’s not too late.. that even with her clean slate gone.. she can still change and still have a future with scrooge, stop betraying him for his own gain and start enjoying their time together instead. She makes the obvious choice, diving in in a beautifully shot sequence to save him. Ponce withers to death which is sad, as I really would’ve liked to see him again, but fitting.  With the villian gone it’s time to wrapup loose ends! The ducks hand out the youth water, using up all but a few drops left to restore the spring breakers and hte natural order, Scrooge happy in his decision. Dewey decides to cede being the bigger brother back to Huey , and offers Webby some and in a great gag, she explains she just had a bad day she didn’t get her youth sapped.. though I feel she did in an earlier draft, but a quick pop of her back gets her back to normal. Though having her be an old lady was hilarious and it was nice to have a youth swap plot that didn’t have a roll reversal.  To close things out Scrooge laments Goldie probably ran off again and leanred nothing.. only to be plesantly suprsied when it turns out while she is leaving for more adventure, she didn’t want to say good buy.. and it’s clear she’s changed. While her last apperance showed some cracks forming, while she did take the loot she did go back to save Louie and vice versa, here we see a genuine change. She’s realized, and it feels entirely plausable, that even if she can still scam other people and probably will.. she shoudln’t keep hurting scrogoe like this and her feelings for him outweigh any beinifit from treating him like garbage. Having a clean slate for a moment gave her a persepctive, and even if the slate’s back to full.. it’s not too late to fix things. So she kisses him passionately he happily reciporcates and i’m totally on board. I only didn’t ship this version fo the two because this goldie.. was not a godo person.  Granted I do like her better than the comics version. While Comics Goldie is not BAD persay, she lacks some agency. She’s still cool, what with her shotgun and take no fucks attitude especailly in her youth, her just.. waiting for scrooge instead of getting after him feels.. weird to me. Sure the man’s stubborn but it didn’t fit her personality to just wait for it. Here there’s a valid reason they aren’t together despite a clear attraction: Goldie is out for herself. She’s the catwoman to his batman, which was a good metaphor really: Scrooge too is a grumpy guy who fights evil and has traveld the globe and has a massive extended family includling children he teaches to fight crime and his own adult children and is richer than god. But more than that Goldie is selfish, untrustworthly and loved money more than Scrooge.. here.. she realizes while she’ll likely still be stealing shit, because hey it’s her calling, she loves him more than doing crimes and that it’s not a clean slate they needed. .it was abetter her. I didn’t support them because frankly she wasn’t in a good place for an actual relationship. Now she is, he is and it’s sweet to see. A good note to end the episode

Final Thoughts:  This ep was a bit uneven in places, not knowing what to do with the kids at times but as i’ve made clear i’ts excellent with the scrooge and goldie core really working well and Janney and Tennant bringing their absolute best to this one. Easily one of the season’s best. Not much more to say. If you liked this tune in each week for more ducktales coverage, and I intend once the hiatus begins to try and do one episode a week still to catch up as hopefully this isn’t the last season it might very well be. Next week Darkwing owns the night! I had planned a full darkweek.. but my busy monday and some other stuff got away from me. Still I have two darkwing themed reviews planned: Drake’s introdcution in the reboot with “Duck Knight Returns!” and the very first darkwing episode, chronlogically anyway, “Darkly Dawns the Duck.” Until next week, Let’s Get Dangerous!

[makomori]

SIX | CONSIDERATIONS

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI x OC

Nishimura Yua has to take her nephew to his first rep practice with the Tohoku Tigers at Shiratorizawa Academy. Ushijima Wakatoshi is filling in for the assistant coach on said team.

She’s recovering from a nasty breakup and he’s reeling from a stunning finals loss against the Jackals.

Yua’s drawn to his composure and honesty.

Wakatoshi finds her warmth and tenacity intriguing.

It’s the start of a Brand New Story; can they heal from past hurts and endure new challenges in order to help each other trust and love again?

CHAPTERS

ONE | NEW TERRITORY

TWO | FAMILIARITY

THREE | INTRODUCTIONS

FOUR | OBSERVATIONS

FIVE | THE OFFER

Length: 4.1k words

Wakatoshi finally has dinner with his mom after ignoring her for almost a month. Will he make it through the appetizers without getting lectured?

That's the problem with being the strong one. No one offers you a hand.

Wakatoshi knew he was in trouble.

When he called his mom to ask if he could take her out to Fuki Sushi, she answered with a suspiciously cheerful, "Absolutely; I'll meet you at 8 PM on Wednesday."

He hadn't spoken to her in almost a month— not since the day the Adlers lost to the Jackals. The nervousness he felt made the 15-minute drive feel three times longer. When he arrived, she was already comfortably seated in one of the booths. He hesitated. Her dark gray eyes narrowed when she spotted him.

Yeah, he was in trouble.

She sipped on her water while he settled into the booth. Most places weren't built to accommodate someone as tall as he was, but this was one of the few restaurants that wasn't too bad. He could sit without having to fold himself completely in half. His knees didn't bang into the table either. When he finally looked at his mom, her expression was unreadable.

Ushijima Izanami's dark brown hair was set it its usual immaculate bob. The sharp angles of her hair were reflected in her cheekbones, brows, and eyes. Wakatoshi felt like he was in one of her business meetings. She was the current head of the prominent Ushijima household, and a formidable negotiator. He swallowed. There was no use in prolonging the unavoidable.

"Okaa-san," he began cautiously. "It's good to see you."

Her expression remained inscrutable, and he fought the urge to fidget.

She then folded her hands on top of the glossy menu. When she spoke, her tone was clipped. "Is that all you have to say? 'It's good to see you?'"

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she didn't give him a chance to speak. "Mom—"

"You haven't called in a month."

(He thought about telling her that it's been more like three weeks but thought better of it when he saw the warning look in her eyes.)

She lifted one elegant finger and wagged it in his face. "And you've been ignoring my texts." Another finger joined the guilt trip. "Your dad called, too," she huffed. "He was worried."

Guilt wormed its way into his gut. He had spoken to his dad after the finals. However, the disappointment of his performance still weighed heavily on his mind, so their conversation was brief.

"Oto-san called you. Really?"

"Twice last week." She flipped the menu up and scanned over the appetizers. At least she was still talking to him. It would've been worse if she were giving him the Ushijima silent treatment, which started with a hard stare and ended with a demoralizing statement. He had often been accused of dividing people with his honesty, but he learned from the best.

"How is he?"

"He sounded tired. But he did say that his team is one win away from making the playoffs, so I'm sure he's been busy." Her eyes softened as she tried to hide her smile, but Wakatoshi saw it even in the dimmed atmosphere. It seemed like she had enjoyed speaking to her ex-husband. He made sure to file that away for future use.

"I promise to call him." He missed his dad. Looking back on it now, he's one of the few people who would've understood what he was going through. He'd apologize for his selfishness tomorrow. Right now, he had to put his mom at ease.

"Mom?" He pulled the menu away and gripped her hands gently. "I'm sorry."

She returned his gesture with an assuring squeeze. "I know," she sighed. "I was just worried. Both of us were."

Wakatoshi smiled gently. She had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior. "Moms worry a lot."

She quirked a brow at him. "Because they have stubborn sons."

"Where do you think they learn that from?" He pretended to duck when she swiped at him playfully.

"Don't push it, Toshi."

Okaa-san and obaasan were the only ones who called him that, and it was only when they were truly irritated with him. He felt like he was 10 years-old again and being scolded for taking too many candies from the jar, but he didn't mind. He puffed his bottom lip out and looked at her earnestly.

"Oh, stop it," she sniffed. "I can't stay mad when you do that."

Wakatoshi chuckled. At least he knew he could pull that out as a last resort against her. "I still can't believe that works."

"It won't next time," she threatened. The laughter in her voice told them both that wouldn't be the case. After looking over the menu, they called the waiter over and ordered three servings of the assorted sashimi platter. His mom initially fussed and said that it was too much food, but he assured her that he'd eat what she couldn't finish.

"Will you be home until the season starts?" She sounded hopeful; he didn't get to spend much time in Sendai during last year's off season.

"Yes. I won't be moving back to Oita until the end of September." He was on the road often for away games, but even then— Oita was nine hours south by train. When he wanted to visit, he opted to fly since it was only a three-hour trip. "And Saitou-sensei asked me to help coach a local rep team."

Izanami looked at him in surprise. "Coach?" She echoed.

He nodded. The timing worked out almost perfectly. The V.League season started in October and the rep season would be well into the playoff bracket. The schedules would overlap at some point, and the other assistant coach would be able to take care of things if he were away, but he would do his best to accommodate both. The Tigers had the talent to win, so he hoped they'd make it to the end.

"I've always liked Saitou-san," his mom praised. "He complimented Washijou-sensei's style."

"He was certainly the voice of reason among the two of them." Saitou-sensei tempered the Demon Coach's hardline way of teaching. Their combination of tough love and positive reinforcement was proven to produce championship teams.

"I thought you weren't going to think about coaching until the end of your career."

"I thought so as well," he murmured. "But I couldn't say no to sensei." Indeed, many people found it hard to say no to sensei simply because he was so earnest and passionate about whatever task he set his mind to.

Izanami smiled. "You'll be in your thirties before you know it. Thinking about the future is never a bad thing."

Wakatoshi rubbed the back of his neck. Mom was right; he'd be turning twenty-six in August. He'd always known that playing at this level wasn't something he could do indefinitely. Anyone who played professionally only had a small window to maximize their youth and talents before their bodies eventually started to slow down.

"Losing the finals made me consider a few things." His mom didn't force an answer from him when he paused, as she understood that it wasn't always easy for him to express how he was feeling. "I took the loss harder than I had anticipated. I let my team down." He frowned; embarrassment and remorse laced his tone. "That's why I haven't visited. Or answered your messages. I was disappointed in myself. I needed time to understand how I was feeling."

Izanami's heart ached for her son. Even now, expression was contemplative as he rubbed the pad of his right thumb back and forth along the table's polished surface. The Ushijimas were one of the oldest families in Sendai, having been a part of the ruling class during the Edo period. Along with their reputation for philanthropy, they were heavily involved with many businesses within the city.

For better or worse, they were in the public eye.

Over the years, excellence became synonymous with their name. The pressure could be unbearable at times. That's what drew her to Utsui when they first met; he was free from expectations and it showed in the ease with which he carried himself. She hoped that sense of freedom would rub off on herself and their son, but life had different paths in mind for their family.

Neither of them was faultless in the events that led to their eventual divorce, but she regretted that Utsui didn't have the chance to have a say in how his son was raised. Izanami lived with that regret for years, but she slowly began to grasp that the future didn't have to be like the past. When she placed her hand over her son's, and he looked up at her curiously.

"Wakatoshi— any person would be disappointed after a loss like that. You're human. But our family has always been in the public eye. You've had to deal with pressure and expectations from a young age. And eyes are still on you in that career that you've chosen. You've never complained once. You've worked hard and excelled at everything you decided to try. I couldn't have asked for a better son."

A soft smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She had little trouble raising Wakatoshi; most of his time was spent studying or playing volleyball. When he first started playing, she often wondered what drove him to practice and play so diligently. But she realized that it was his way of staying connected to Utsui. Despite not being present physically, he was still an influential part of their son's life.

Izanami shook her head. "In hindsight, there was no room at home for you to express any frustration; I should have done a better job at providing a space for that. I'm sorry you felt like you had to go through this loss alone."

Wakatoshi couldn't help his bewildered expression. The last thing he expected from his mom was an apology. If anything, he was the one who needed to apologize for his selfish conduct. He couldn't remember the last time mom had spoken with him like this. Her unwavering work ethic and loyalty were things he always admired about her. She was frightening to everyone outside their family. But he had always been aware of her softer side; she loved deeper than anyone he knew.

Another gentle squeeze from her pulled him out of his thoughts. "I'm getting older, too," she teased. "I've had time to consider some things as well. Please, come to me if you feel like that again. I might not be able to fix all your problems, but I'll do what I can to help."

Wakatoshi was silent as he tried to process what she was offering. He needed people like his mom and sensei in his life to help him understand that he wasn't meant to do everything on his own. He learned confidence and discipline from observing and listening to her throughout the years.

When he searched her face, he suddenly saw the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, along with the strength that still shone vibrantly in her eyes. They were a testament to the life she had led. Being a single mom was difficult. People either looked at you with pity or loathing. She shouldered that negativity and protected him from it so he could live his life without having to worry about what everyone else thought. He owed her everything.

"I will mom— thank you."

She gripped his hand firmly and nodded. Those two words were genuine. They had never needed to say too much to each other to come to an understanding. The reality was that they wouldn't get to spend as much time together as they used to. That was part of the reason why she was upset with him not communicating or visiting. He was living his own life and making something of himself in this world, and she couldn't be happier for him. They would just have to be more mindful about making time for each other in the future.

"So, are you enjoying coaching?"

Wakatoshi grinned and nodded. "I wasn't sure if I would be good at it, but the first practice went well. The team is incredibly talented."

"Excellent," she stated. "You sound excited about them. I've always thought that you'd be able to use your instinct when you started coaching."

He tilted his head. That was interesting. "Why do you think that?"

Izanami folded her arms. "You have a unique perspective as a top player. Yes, most coaches are former players, but not all of them played at the level you're at now. You'll be able to connect with your students personally because you've been in their position. But I think you'll also find a way to explain the thought process behind your talent."

Wakatoshi mirrored her and folded his arms. The reasoning behind her explanation was solid. "I've always been told that I'm unnaturally talented at volleyball."

His mom laughed. "That would be an understatement, my dear."

"I think it's a combination of dad's talent and your discipline." He said after a few moments. His eyes warmed and his voice was gentle. "I wouldn't where I am now if it wasn't for the two of you."

Izanami's breath caught in her throat. She felt guilty for so long about the way her marriage ended with Utsui. He loved her enough to marry into a family that was the opposite of who he was as an individual. But in the end, she couldn't protect him from her family's expectations and strictness. She knew Wakatoshi wasn't resentful about not having Utsui in his life, but she still carried that responsibility with her. Hearing him say that they were able to accomplish something positive in his life despite their divorce— that was enough for her to let go of that weight.

"Wakatoshi that's— I've never thought of it that way. You were so happy every time you played with your dad. I knew that you'd do well in volleyball from the start." She rubbed at the corners of her eyes to stop herself from getting too emotional. "And I didn't understand it at the time, but he was correct in protecting your left hand. You were able to stand out and excel because of his decision."

Wakatoshi agreed. Being different had always been his best weapon. "I'm grateful. Not everyone is able to choose a career they love."

"That's very true." She gave him a pointed look before she spoke again. "But please do everything you can to stay healthy. You're not getting any younger."

He was fortunate that he hadn't suffered any serious injuries since he start playing in elementary school. He couldn't bear the thought of sitting on the sidelines. "Always. Injuries mean that I won't be able to play, and that's unacceptable."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Otherwise I'll start worrying again."

"Worrying is a part of your job," he joked. "But I should've spoken with you sooner. I truly am sorry."

Izanami shook her head and waved him off. "I am, too. We'll be learning more about each other as we go along. But it's good to have you home."

They were starving when the sashimi arrived. Mom helped negotiate a better lease with Fukase-san's landlord, so he always wanted to give her free food whenever she ate there. But she was stubborn and insisted on paying because she wanted to support his restaurant in whatever way she could. It was good he wasn't working tonight because the two of them usually got into an argument over comping her meal.

When Izanami updated him on what was happening with obaasan, he remembered the Boswellia supplements sensei gave to him at the end of practice on Saturday. "Could you give these to obaasan? Sensei said it might help with her arthritis."

She took the pills and stashed them away in her purse. "You need to come to the house and convince her to take her medication consistently." He tried not to laugh at her exasperated tone. "She barely listens to me anymore. And then she complains that everything hurts too much. But I'm sure she'll do anything for her grandson."

Wakatoshi smiled at the image of mom and obaasan clashing over this. She was even more stubborn than her daughter. "In that case, I think these might help." He pulled out two bags of sweet and sour Hi-Chews from his coat pocket. "Tell her it's from me. Maybe then she'll feel better about taking her medicine."

"You have a good heart, Wakatoshi," she said with affection. "That's one of the first things I noticed about your dad. He was always helping people in some way."

During the few times they went out as a family, dad usually ended up helping people carry their groceries or helping older ladies across the street; there was something universally appealing about his kindness.

"He said he never understood how people think you're intimidating or unapproachable," his mom continued. Then she sighed. "But that's an Ushijima trait."

"Yua-san said something similar." The back of his neck warmed when he remembered how shocked he felt when she described him as sweet.

"Yua-san?"

"Our team manager," he clarified. "When I met her last week, she said I was sweet."

Izanami's eyes flickered with curiosity. Any mention of a woman in her son's life was always interesting, especially now that he was older. She hadn't been impressed with his last two girlfriends, and she didn't say that out of spite. They were only interested in Wakatoshi's looks, not who he was as a man.

"Her nephew is one of my students. I helped him understand that losing isn't always a bad thing." Wakatoshi continued, unaware of his mom's protective thoughts. "I've never seen anyone react so positively to something I had to say."

Izanami leaned back against the booth. She liked what she heard so far. "Yua-san is a wise woman. There's always more to a person than what they present on the surface. But not everyone is willing or able to take the time to know someone on that level."

Wakatoshi nodded. "Still— she surprised me. No one has ever described me as sweet."

"Like I said, she sounds wise," Izanami mused. "Unlike that last woman you dated. What was her name again? Aoi-san?"

He nearly groaned. He hoped his ex-girlfriend wouldn't come up during their dinner. Or at all. "I'm surprised you remembered her name. You and obaasan took an instant dislike to her."

His mom rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Well, we weren't wrong. She was only interested in your looks. No wonder you two lasted only lasted three months."

"Okaa-san." He admonished. She was unfazed by his warning and gave a look that dared him to oppose her. "The season was grueling last year. I couldn't give her the attention she deserved."

Izanami leaned forward. He did not just try to justify her actions. "You mean the attention she thought she deserved. You said to me several times you felt that you were the only one contributing to the relationship. I heard you say never heard you say once that she reciprocated your actions."

Wakatoshi stared at her. His mouth gaped slightly when the truth of her words finally hit him. In the end, Aoi only wanted to talk about him when it was beneficial for her. She was only interested in flaunting that he was superstar player in the V.League. The fact that they were constantly travelling for work didn't help either. She was a rising model and had an even more hectic schedule than he did. And when they did finally get together, he was usually tired from training or playing games. She was always rearing to go out while he just wanted to rest.

When he looked back his mom, fury was written on her face, but it dissipated after a few seconds. "Forgive me," she said on an exhale. "You're a grown man now, but you're also my son. It's hard not to get emotional about your relationships."

"I understand," he soothed. "You worry because you love me. You're right. Our relationship was shallow. And it was bound to end with how frantic our schedules were."

"Well," Izanami huffed. "I'm hardly qualified to give you relationship advice considering how things ended up with your dad. But I can sniff out a shameless social climber from a mile away."

"I'll keep that in mind." It was his turn to sigh. "But my schedule doesn't seem to be compatible with dating since I'm on the road often." That was something he was concerned about as well. Depending on how his career went, he could end up playing for volleyball leagues in different countries. His family would have to relocate with him when the time came. Being married to a professional athlete wasn't going to be easy.

"That's not true," his mom said declared. "If you're interested in someone, you'll make time for them. You just haven't found the right woman yet."

Wakatoshi shook his head. "There's also that to consider. I don't know what the right woman looks like." That's not true, either. An image of Yua-san and her bright smile flashed in his mind while the intense feeling of their connection snaked up his arm. He could say with certainty that he hadn't felt this way with Aoi or anyone else.

"All you need to do is look out for one thing."

A knowing smile graced her lips. That usually didn't bode well for him. He was hesitant to ask, but he was also willing to take any advice when it came to this area of his life.

"And what is that?"

"Look out for the woman who becomes more important than volleyball."

Wakatoshi blinked. More important than volleyball? It was a part of who he was. Could it be that easy to find such a woman? He rubbed the back of his neck again. "With the way my life is going right now, I don't think she'll show up anytime soon."

Izanami laughed. Now that the challenge was out in the open, it would be interesting to see how things would turn out. "Be careful what you say, Wakatoshi. The universe just might take you up on that."

An hour later they pulled into the Ushijima ancestral manor's expansive driveway. Nothing had changed since his last visit, and he doubted that anything would. This was his childhood home, but he wasn't sure he wanted to raise his own children here. Anyway, he was getting ahead of himself. He opened the car door for his mom and helped her out.

They chatted comfortably until they reached the front door. Wakatoshi wasn't prepared for the warm, giant hug his mom gave him. She was shorter than Yua-san, so he took care not to crush her when he hugged her back. After pulling away, she straightened the patted down the non-existent wrinkles in his overcoat. He grinned. She would always see him as her little boy in some way.

"Please don't be a stranger to your own mother," she scolded lightly.

He tapped his chin. "I can't make any promises now that I'm a coach. The season is going to be terribly busy."

Izanami raised her brows. "I'm sure Saitou-san would agree that your family takes priority," she said dryly. "And you're lucky obaasan sleeps early now. Otherwise I'd make you come in and say hello. You know she loves telling stories."

Wakatoshi grimaced. "Then I'd be obligated to sleepover."

"You can do that next time," she promised. She slid the front door open and moved to go in but paused and turned to face him again. "You're always welcome to come home. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely."

"It was the least I could do. Oyasumi."

Wakatoshi walked back to his car after he made sure she was inside. The drive this time was peaceful. Okaa-san was right.

It was good to be home.

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 31

AO3 link here

The winter Emma turns thirteen, her childhood roundness starts turning into curves (rounded curves, but still), her clothes draping around her in new ways. She’d known that these sorts of changes were meant to be coming - Mom is always very straightforward - but to actually experience them is a different matter.

She manages to conceal things for the most part under some of the heavy sweaters that Nana Barnes had once made for Rosie. She pulls them out of the boxes in the basement where Dad stores the old, outgrown items of clothing that he can’t seem to make himself donate, and adds them to her own wardrobe. The sleeves come only just to her wrists (she’s already taller than Rosie now, and it’s a good thing her sister has long arms), which looks weird, and Mom asks about them because Maryland winters aren’t really cold enough for Nana’s thick Brooklyn wool. But wrapping them around herself feels better, easier, than to try to figure out something else.

Except Emma loves spring, and on the first really warm day, she can’t help but put on her favorite dress from last year, yellow with flowers and a pleated skirt, even though it’s tight in strange places. She wears a sweater over it when Dad drives her to school, keeps holding her books against herself and avoids stopping to talk to her friends in the hallways, and she can’t tell if the tradeoff was worth it.

Mom and Dad don’t say anything at dinner, but there is a glance traded between them in the overlap of Drea’s story about her science teacher and Nate asking if they can go to the library tomorrow because his friend Arnold told him about a book about a mother mouse who goes on adventures that’s apparently very good. The other two don’t seem to notice the way Mom tilts her head from her side of the table and Dad nods from his, but Emma sees.

(That would never have happened when Rosie was still there, because their biggest sister would have seen the way Emma kept picking at her plate, and suddenly everyone would have been focused on a very involved recounting of everything that was happening with the drama club that week. And then later, Rosie would have come into Emma’s room to sit on her bed and explain everything, even how they were going to fix it, and would have made her laugh too. But Rose is 500 miles away, having a great time at college, and so there’s no one to get their parents to look away from Emma.)

That night, she’s in the kitchen baking with Dad. It’s a ritual with them, at least twice a week. He used to make a cake or cookies in the afternoons when Emma was little, but she joined him one day and never looked back, not even tonight.

Tonight they’re making cupcakes, vanilla with pink frosting on top that they’re shaping like spring flowers with their new piping bag set, just like they’d planned. It’s so normal that Emma forgets about that traded glance, stops thinking about how the apron she’s always used doesn’t slip on quite the right way anymore.

Dad waits until she’s finished frosting one of the cupcakes and set it down before he taps the top of her arm for attention.

“Mom - she’s not working on Saturday,” he says, his signing taking on a hesitant quality that she associates with topics much more awkward than her mother’s weekend plans. “If you want to go shopping with her - you might find some new spring dresses. I think you might be a little old for me to pick out your clothes.”

She doesn’t know how to thank him for not making her ask, for not making it strange or shameful. “You got me all of my favorite stuff,” she offers shyly, and gives him a hug around the waist.

Mom does take her shopping over the weekend (on Sunday in the end; Mom sometimes has to work even when it wasn’t planned) and they find things that actually fit, that make her feel like herself again, even if herself is still changing.

“Come to the yard,” Mom says once they’ve put the bags away in Emma’s room. Emma sighs, the movement involving chest and shoulders and puffed out cheeks. She knows what that means. Their house in New Jersey had a high fence to discourage neighborly prying, and when they’d moved to Maryland, they had a big yard far away from other houses: useful when the children had each taken their turn learning to throw a punch.

"You never know when you'll need something like that," Dad says. They all know that part of it has to do with Mom's work, and part of it comes from the way Dad grew up, but Emma’s never run into either, really.

Mom starts with a bit of a refresher. Making a fist with the thumb on the outside and wrist straight still comes naturally although Em has never really liked the idea of actually punching anyone. But then they move onto other things, moves with her legs and something about using her own weight and leverage to flip a big stuffed model over her shoulder, what to do if someone tries to hurt you when you’re sitting instead of standing. They’ve never done anything like that before. Nate watches from the back window, confused, but when Drea sees what’s happening, she only makes her slim shoulders even smaller and walks away.

"Why are we doing this?" Emma asks when she is finally sweaty enough to have earned a break. She watches carefully for the tiny tics of a lie, nearly impossible to spot on Mom's face, as she takes a drink.

"It's a good skill for a growing girl to have," Mom says, and that her face is entirely truthful just makes Emma feel more out of sorts as she goes in to look through the cookbooks for something that she can bake tonight to make herself feel better.

At dinner, Dad tells a story about a time when he and Uncle Bucky had to fight four bigger boys. It’s funny, the way he shows Uncle Bucky looking down at him because Dad was littler then, the way he shows everyone squinting at each other like a standoff. But he catches Emma’s eye when he talks about pulling hair or kicking up between the knees if necessary, and she knows that he’s trying to train her in another way.

(The next time they go to bake, there’s a new apron folded on the counter, her name embroidered across the top. When she puts it on, it fits perfectly.)

Mom and Dad are being weird, she writes to Rosie. They keep talking about how to fight if I need to.

Mom and Dad are just being Mom and Dad, Rosie writes back. The rest of the family does phone calls every week or two, but since Rose moved into her dorm in September she’s said that she loves getting Emma’s letters. Emma likes writing them, likes seeing her thoughts organized on paper, and likes getting Rose’s back, the Massachusetts postmark on the replies and the little creases that represent how far its traveled to her. They know the kinds of things that can happen in the world, so sometimes they can be a little protective.

That hasn’t been Emma’s experience with her parents. She’s been trusted to use the oven by herself for years, and no one checks to see that she’s reading “appropriate” books, the way her friend Rachel Clarke’s mother does. When she’d had strict Mr. Farrell in fifth grade, Mom had told her sternly not to let him intimidate her and Dad had helped with her reports and packed the best snacks in her lunch bag, but neither of them had stormed into the principal’s office and gotten him fired. But things have been different for Rosie, and not just because she’s older, so Emma assumes that in this she’s gotten it wrong somehow.

The day after school lets out, she and Drea walk into town to get ice cream. It’s so hot out that their cones are melting as soon as they start back home, and keeping control of the dripping takes attention and agility. It’s too hard to hold a conversation, but Emma notices when Drea jumps and glares over her shoulder at the car speeding around the corner.

“Did it get too close?” she pesters, her hands sticky but finally empty as they approach the house. “I would have noticed if they drove so close.”

“No,” Drea says slowly, finally answering, though her fingers drift slowly shut and linger on the word for a strangely long time. “They didn’t get too close. They just—They were shouting at us.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sometimes,” Drea tells her, a peculiar look on her face, “a girl walking - that’s enough.” Seeing the confusion on Emma’s face, Drea wraps an arm around her sister. “We’re okay. The wrong ones - that’s them. We should be able to walk down the street looking however we want.”

Emma looks down at her peachy pink blouse and the striped skirt that matches it. She had bought them only a few months ago. The buttons running up the center of the skirt had seemed a cute touch, fun. She hadn’t even really considered them when she left the house that morning, but now they seem awkward, a mistake.

She starts to have an inkling of why Mom keeps taking her to the backyard even though she still refuses to put in much effort there. Maybe next time she’ll try to be different.

The following Saturday, Emma wakes up to a sweet-smelling breeze blowing through her open window and knows that today will be a gardening day. A few hours later, they are all outside.

(Not Rosie - she was invited to go on a trip with one of her new friends and now she won’t be back until almost August.)

Over by the new flowers they are planting, Dad playfully adjusts the sun hat Mom is wearing, even though it would make more sense for her to do it herself - she has on her gardening gloves as usual, but Dad always sticks his hands directly into the earth and already has dirt under his fingernails and in the creases of his palms. As they both kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, he puts his fingers to Mom’s cheek as he kisses her and it leaves little streaks against the cream of her skin. He brushes it away with the edge of his wrist and says something that makes Mom laugh.

She knows that Drea, checking for bugs at the other end of the bed from Emma, is saying something. Nate, who already finished the small bed he was working on, has gone to get his pad and drawing pencils. He sits with his mouth open slightly and tongue poking out, listening to their sister. When he sees Emma look up at them, he raises an eyebrow to ask if she wants him to interpret, even goes to put his pencil down, but she shakes her head and runs her finger over a soft leaf. She doesn’t need chatter right now, just the blue sky and the warm sun, her family around her, her hands busily working on a task they already know exactly how to do.

Later, after they have finished with the flowers in front and then the vegetable garden in back, when they have made sure the peach trees are thinned enough and then cleared or collected the June drop fruit (Dad will try to ripen them up and use the best of them to make jam and cobbler in the next few days; she has an idea about adding raspberries to their usual cobbler recipe that she thinks he’ll like), once Nate has convinced Dad to make a little peach syrup to try with lemonade and they have decided that they’ll try again with the more flavorful crop later in the summer, after Emma has had a bath, put her capri pants with their muddy, grass-stained knees into the laundry room, eaten dinner in her cotton pajamas with the still-warm breeze playing against the kitchen curtains...later, she asks Dad to come read with her.

He doesn’t chide that she’s too old for it, a teenager now, doesn’t remind her that they slowly dropped off with such routines years ago. Instead, he picks up his book and swings a hand toward her: “Come on.” Though she can’t catch the title as she makes her way upstairs, his book is pretty, with brightly colored trees on the front; it’s been a while since she saw Dad not reading notes or textbooks or something for a class assignment and she realizes that this is summer vacation for him too.

She hasn’t actually been read aloud to since probably third or fourth grade, when the chapter books she was picking made it harder and harder for her dad to sign the stories to her; she kept peeking over his shoulder, eager to know what happened next, her eyes racing over the words faster than he could convey. For the next few years they compromised instead, each reading their own book together in the evenings, until that eventually stopped too.

Curling up beneath his arm is still so familiar, even if it’s not routine anymore. She opens Up a Road Slowly and starts to read, but she has barely even finished a chapter before her blinks are pressing long, the book drooping over her chest. Vaguely, she feels Dad kiss her hair as he picks the book up from her chest. She knows that in the morning she will find it bookmarked at her page, resting on top of the copy of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, that Tina Lasko gave her for her birthday because all the girls in school were talking about it, but that Emma stopped reading (the beginning was okay, but then she heard what was going to come later and put it down).

Just before she falls asleep, she thinks that she would like to live in this day forever, never grow up, just have this day and this day and this day...

A few nights later, she sets the table fresh from her bath, her curls still long and darkened down her back, dampening her nightgown. They were out in the garden again today, just doing a brief check of things, before she and Nate rode their bikes into town to go to the library - she hasn’t finished her book yet, but Nate wanted company and she was bored enough to agree. Mom’s just come home and they will eat soon and it has been another wonderful day.

She isn’t sure how it starts, really. Dad sets the platter of meatloaf on the table - his is better than most, not mushy and with vegetables and a sauce that isn’t just ketchup; Emma would rather have chicken if he’s asked her, but Dad likes to make it for Drea sometimes, special - and before he turns to get the potatoes, he asks if she is going to try out for the basketball team this year. Eighth graders are allowed to be on the team at her school, even if it’s pretty rare for them to make it.

And even though the answer could easily be yes (she’s not really tall, but her aim is good and she and Drea are pretty well neck and neck for wins at H-O-R-S-E) somehow she finds herself getting worked up over just that question. Before she knows it, even as something inside her says that this doesn’t make sense, that she should calm down, she has slammed down the knives she is holding so she can use both hands. And ignoring his gentle responses, looking away from the steadiness she has always loved, she tells her father that he never stops pushing her, he and Mom are so bossy, they never just let her be, why can’t she just enjoy her summer, why is he always asking questions, he doesn’t understand, she hates him.

She closes her bedroom door hard, then opens it again to give it a real slam that she can feel even through the thick wood of the frame and floor. Face down in her pillow, she screams, the feeling grating and growling its way up her throat, then cries for a while even though she doesn’t understand why.

Later, she sits up against the wall, her pillow hugged against her chest. She has her book open in her lap, but she has barely turned a page.

The light flips off and then on again, off and on, then twice more. She knows it’s Nate - he’s the only one who flicks the outside switch for her room four times instead of three to let her know he’s there - but she doesn’t move or make a sound. He pokes his head in anyway. Seeing her on the bed, not crying anymore, he comes in and sits at the foot.

“We ate, but Dad says there’s a plate for you. You can get something from the fridge, maybe.”

He says it exactly like normal, as if she hadn’t just exploded downstairs, as if she wasn’t just awful to her father.

“Is he mad?” she asks, and even the angry face she puts on for the sign is tentative. “Does he hate me?”

Nate shakes his head. “Rosie slammed a lot more doors than you. Dad loves her. He loves you.”

When she goes downstairs, Dad is washing the dinner dishes. She sits at the table looking down at her plate and he gives her a little smile over his shoulder before he turns back to the soapy water. It makes her want to cry again, but instead she stands up and goes to tap him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she signs, the circling on her chest reminding her of the times he rubbed her back to help her sleep or when she had a cough or as she cried because someone had made her feel bad. Now, the tears do come, filling her eyes. “I was mean to you. I hurt you.”

Dad wraps his arms around her, his chin atop her head. His hands are wet against her back, against her bare arms as he gently moves her away so he can speak.

“It’s hard - I know,” he says. “Kindness is hard work sometimes,” and his understanding, the way he doesn’t reassure that she has not hurt him, just makes her want to keep ahold of herself so she never does it again, even though she knows that he would forgive her then too.

Mrs. Walker calls asking if Rosie is back to babysit the next afternoon. She used to watch Brian and Sandra every few weeks when she was in high school. When Drea tells her no, Rose won’t finish her trip for another few weeks, Drea gets offered the job instead, and when she says that she has plans, Mrs. Walker suggests Emma.

As she gets her book and a sweater so Mom can drive her over, she asks Drea, “Are they desperate?” She’s feeling as if she must have been desperate in order to agree to do this in the first place. She was only looking for something new to break the monotony of the days because her school friends don’t live in town and she had turned down the offer of day camp or the school’s summer program. Plus, she was eager for the forty cents an hour that she had been offered. (She knows that Rose would sometimes hold out for up to seventy-five, and she charged a dollar after midnight , but that’s Rose.)

Drea, leaning against the doorframe, shrugs. She isn’t busy, she just didn’t want to go. “Husband on a business trip - she wants a break, time alone.”

That’s obvious once Emma has waved to Mom and knocked on the door. Mrs. Walker opens it right away, her handbag already over her elbow. She has a little notebook out and tears off the top page, handing it to Emma and waiting - foot just this side of tapping, but still - for her to read it.

Brian is apparently staying with his grandparents in Delaware which leaves her only watching Sandra, who is just a toddler and meant to go to bed by half past six anyway. That’s a relief: Brian is seven and bossy, and one reason Rose is such a popular choice for the Walkers is that she’s bossier. Sandra is content to dabble her feet in the inflatable pool for a while before coming inside to play while Emma warms up the pasta bake that Mrs. Walker left in the refrigerator. Getting Sandra for bed makes her feel simultaneously brilliant (no one had to tell her to save bath time for after dinner - she’d figured that out all on her own even before she saw all that drippy red sauce and Sandra’s preference to eat with her hands) and entirely foolish (apparently babies do not stay still when you’re trying to put a diaper on them - even when there are pins involved!).

It’s still light out when she sits down to read in the big armchair facing the street. The drapes are open and when she looks up every so often, she can see parents getting home from work, then families taking walks and visiting neighbors, kids running and biking in the street, narrow columns of barbecue smoke that she can nearly smell. She gets up to check on Sandra every ten or fifteen minutes though she seems to be sleeping fairly deeply just like Mrs. Walker had said she would, the room dark and warm.

When she comes downstairs again after peeking into the baby’s room, Emma notices a car coming slowly down the street. It’s a white Ford Mustang, fairly new looking. (Mom was always having them play different “spot the car” games when they were driving to Maine or Brooklyn, finding certain license plates or keeping track of which car had been on the highway with them for the longest amount of time; they got really good last summer.) The driver waits for the kids to run to the sides of the street, then keeps driving.

Five minutes later, Emma looks up from her book to see that the car is back again, circling the block in that same slow manner.

She checks the clock. Mrs. Walker was supposed to be going for a hair appointment and then to a movie with a friend. She told Emma that she wouldn’t be out later than 8:30. It’s quarter to now.

Her book is pretty good, and she’s getting close to the end, but she finds herself losing focus, glancing up as the car circles another time. The bugs are coming out and the sun is going down. Lots of people are inside now. The driver doesn't have to wait to drive along. None of the neighbors brush their curtains aside to watch the next slow slide down the street, the way the passenger side window rolls down and Emma thinks she can see someone leaning over the seat, staring toward her, though the inside of the car is so dark and she can't tell for sure.

She goes to check on Sandra, and even though nothing is amiss there, she finds herself sitting against the crib, the slats propping her back up. She tries to think through a plan.

She doesn't want to leave Sandra, doesn't want to wake her to go over to a neighbor's house to ask them to call. They don't seem worried, and besides, she can call herself. When they moved to town, Mom had taken Emma to the police station and introduced her to the officers. She remembered being in an office, tall men all around, watching her from very high, and a few women with big hair.

"In case of emergency," Mom had told them, as if she was able to give them orders, which apparently she was, "Emma knows the number of the station and, if possible, will tap out her name in Morse code against the receiver rather than a simple SOS to help you identify her." They had practiced it at home - a short tap, four long taps, a short, one last long - and even once with the agreement of the local emergency workers. A firetruck had come to their house and the firefighters had waved at them. Nate had drawn a picture of it that hung on the fridge for months.

She could call them now. A policeman would be here in only a few minutes; they would be able to find where she was using the phone line, and the Walkers lived much closer to the center of town than her family did. But what if it is only someone from nearby out for a drive in the warm summer air? Does she want to call the police for that?

A real babysitter would know these sorts of things. A real grownup would know when the right time was. Emma just wants to ask her parents, wants them to take care of it all.

Downstairs again, she sets her jaw and finds the phone, stretching the cord so it sits on the table beside her chair just in case. Then she goes to find a pad of paper and when the car returns, she writes down everything she can see about it: the make and color, her estimation of the year, the license plate number, the sort of scratch on one door. She lists how many times it has driven by already and approximately when. She thinks it is what her mother would do.

And then another car pulls up beside the strange one, this one her own familiar station wagon, drives around and parks in the Walker’s driveway. Mom steps out and goes over to where the car is still meandering, bends her head toward the driver's window and speaks for a moment.

The car drives away. When Mom comes up the path to wait for the last few minutes before Mrs. Walker returns, Emma opens the door and steps out to hug her tightly.

"Why was the car waiting around?" she asks as they walk up their own driveway. Mrs. Walker had come back smiling and paid Emma an extra ten cents.

Mom answers, "The driver wanted to find Oakdale Drive, but was confused and lost on Oak Way. I gave directions." In the moonlight, she peers over at Emma and stops her with a hand to her wrist. She brushes Emma's hair back from her face with gentle fingers. "I know you must have been scared," she says. "But you noticed and made good choices. You were smart, careful to protect yourself and the baby." She runs a finger over where Emma’s torn off list sticks out from the top of her book.

When she has trouble sleeping that night, imagining eyes looking out at her from within darkened cars, she thinks of Mom's words and tries to remember that she is brave.

On the Fourth of July, it doesn’t get dark until late. There’s plenty of time to go for the party at the Deaf club in D.C. and still be able to find a spot to watch the fireworks.

Emma watches Dad out of the corner of her eye. There are kids at her school whose hearing parents never come to these sorts of events, who won't even drop them off, so she knows that she should be grateful that her whole family is here. Drea and Nate stand in a group of kids they’ve met before, Mom over in the corner with Eric Blanchard's father who is the chapter president, and Dad signs with some other parents. No matter what she tries to tell herself, she feels a little embarrassed watching him. The other parents are Deaf, and even though Dad's pretty good at ASL, he's not exactly a native speaker.

At least he's not trying to make everyone watch the slides from their trip to the Grand Canyon last summer again. (People did seem pretty interested when he had brought them a few months ago, but still.)

Her focus is broken by a wave in front of her. She brings her eyes back to Albie Duncan, who is grinning at her so that she can see the chip in his canine tooth.

"Question," Albie starts, and she tilts her head to allow it, even as his grin turns nervous. "Want to go on a date with me?"

She considers. Albie's a year older than she is, but sweet and he does good impressions of the teachers. She's never really thought about him being handsome, but she guesses that his hair is good, thick brown and swooping up in the front, and she does like his smile.

"Okay," she nods. "My parents - I'll check with them. Where do you want to go?"

Albie lives a couple of towns over, but finally they agree to get ice cream at a place in the middle. Emma hopes they'll be able to find it without too much trouble.

When she looks away from Albie, she finds Dad still standing with his group but looking at her. The smile he gives her is one she has never seen before, sort of sighing and twisted at one corner, even as his eyes look the same as they always have.

Drea drives home from the fireworks with Mom in the front guiding her. Nate falls asleep pretty quickly, curled up against Dad in the backseat.

Emma, on Dad's other side, watches out the window for a while as the other towns nearby celebrate Independence Day too. Before long, her head drops against his shoulder.

He angles his hands toward her, and as they pass beneath the streetlights, she can just make out what he is saying.

"Don't grow up too fast, okay?"

She closes her eyes and gives a little nod into his shirt. She plans on growing up at exactly the right speed.

More chapters here

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Shifting Intentions (baon)

Summary: Edge knows his brother very well and he doubts that Red came over for a coffee and a heart to heart.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Brotherly Bonding

Notes: The urge to write the Underfell brothers was overwhelming. Sometimes we get a little reminder that while Edge is a sweet, loving husband and friend, he also grew up in Underfell and some things are difficult to leave behind.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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The leaves were mostly fallen from the trees, torn down by the wind and leaving behind bare, creaking branches. They were layered atop the ground, crunching underfoot and scuffed up in rustling bunches beneath his boots as Edge moved around the chicken coop.

With the growing cold, it was time to check over the squat building to make sure it was winterized. No cracks to allow in a chilling breeze, no loose roofing to drip snowmelt down on their sleeping ladies.

And no gaps in the fencing to allow one small, sneaky chicken to escape in the night.

“There it is,” Edge murmured in satisfaction, fingering the small hole in the wires. Twice now Nugget had escaped and found her way into their house. The second time, Edge didn’t bother to wake Stretch. He carried their wayward hen back to the coop himself while she clucked unhappily at losing her place on their bed. That was last night and today Edge vowed to find her method of escape, as Stretch’s suggestion that she was learning to teleport was very low on the list of possibilities.

The gap in the wire was caused by two overlapping sections and wasn’t really visible from any angle. It was a surprise she’d even discovered it, but then, Nugget was surprisingly clever for a small chicken. And troublesome. And frankly charming, scuttling around Edge’s boots, clamoring for attention even as he sealed off her method of escape. She reminded him a little of a skeleton he knew, not that he’d name unnecessary names.

Edge mended the hole carefully, making sure to trim the wire ends closely, and he managed to not clip off the tip of his own finger when a loud voice came from above.

“playing a little handyman today, eh, boss? hope you nail it.”

It came from far over his head and likely meant Red was perched in the overhanging tree branch. Edge didn’t look up, only finished patching the hole. “Is this where I’m supposed to say screw you? I think I’ll pass, and I believe you were the one who taught me about the importance of home security.”

“ehhhhh.” But Edge knew he didn’t imagine the pleased note in that dismissive tone. “didn’t think you’d be applying it to a flock of unplucked dinosaurs.”

It took considerable poise not to flinch when his brother was soundlessly and abruptly at his elbow, crouching down to give Nugget a scratch. The gentleness of that petting was almost as disconcerting.

It was also suspicious, and Edge wondered with no little trepidation why his brother was even here, especially considered Sans’s visit the other day.

He sincerely doubted it was for same reason and still had a lingering regret for refusing Sans’s sidewise attempt at a heart to heart. It was honestly for the best. He couldn’t be the confidant Sans needed, not where his brother was concerned; Edge was the furthest thing from a neutral party. Stretch wasn’t much better, his opinions were colored as well simply by their marriage. He did hope Sans found someone he could speak to, even if it was his therapist. Stars knew Red had probably driven people he wasn’t sleeping with into counseling.

Red was not likely after a coffee and a chat, but so long as his brother was here—“Quit letting her into our house.”

Leaves rustled as Red moved somewhere next to him. He was on Edge’s wrong side, where the crack in his socket interfered with his vision. More than a minor annoyance; it agitated him to have anyone deliberately out of his line of sight and it was always better to assume everything Red did was with intention. “me? why would i do that?”

Hardly a denial. Edge continued with his repair, twisting the wires roughly. “The only reason I can come up with would be that you’re an ass, though I’m sure you believe it’s for some deeper meaning.”

Red scoffed, harsh and low in his throat. “don’t give a shit one way or another about chicken little here.”

Another crunch of leaves, vague footsteps along with ecstatic clucking and still outside Edge’s limited vision. Red was lingering in his blind spot while Edge refused to give in and move, only listening closely enough that the sharp fingertips scraping lightly over his skull weren’t a surprise. “but if i did do anything like that, might be to remind a certain shepherd to keep a better watch over his flock, little brother.”

There was a deeper meaning layered beneath that, a warning. It stung almost as much as the faint scratches left behind by his brother’s touch and Edge silently accepted both. His brother wasn’t wrong, Nugget’s escapades should have been investigated more closely from the beginning. If she’d been hurt or lost, perhaps even hit by a car, Stretch would have been devastated.

That knowledge did not make Red’s admonishment sting any less. He could feel the weight of his brother’s gaze, silently measuring Red’s current mood and weighing the correct path to take. Edge chose the route that allowed him to ask lightly, “How is Ozymandias?”

It was a distraction and his brother knew it, but he answered with a ready laugh, “he’s a shit. chewed off the heel on my favorite boots. he and sans ain’t gonna be best buds anytime soon, either, not with both of ‘em fighting over a little pettin’” Edge barely shuddered his disgust at that insinuation when Red added, slyly, ”if you’re worried about the kitty cat, you and stretch could come see him.”

That needling hit its target and it was enough for Edge to whip around and glare hotly at his grinning brother, “Don’t you dare offer him that. He’d do it to prove he could and be a mess all night for it.”

A sleepless night he did not need. Stretch was upstairs napping right now as it was. Curled up on their bed as he rarely did during the day, holding a strange new stuffed creature in his arms that was perhaps an octopus? The visible curling tentacles suggested something of that nature and Edge hadn’t the slightest idea where his husband even acquired it, only that Stretch seemed to have taken to it as an impromptu pillow. It was strangely enchanting, enough to be worth snapping a quick picture even considering the faint, worrisome shadows lingering beneath his sockets.

Checks still showed his HP as four, but Alphys stopped in about once a week to run a couple quick tests. She’d offer as much with nervous kindness, texted to Edge alone that perhaps it would be easier than forcing Stretch to come to the lab. She and her equipment both assured them that it was still rising, steadily if slowly. A few extra naps here and there would only help and Edge was happy to encourage them. And to not allow him to rise to the bait of any ridiculous challenges from his brother that would cause him to wake in the middle of the night from preventable nightmares.

To his astonishment, his brother’s grin softened. No more than a fraction, hardly visible to anyone who didn’t know him. Edge might not always understand his brother but he knew him, very well, and struggled to keep his shock hidden as Red admitted, “nah, bro, i wouldn’t do that to the honey bun.”

“See that you don’t or I won’t be the only sleepless one.” It was difficult to force the correct amount of cool sternness into his voice, but his brother would be expecting it. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“sure, why not?” Red said easily. That alone was somewhat surprising. His brother was perfectly content to raid his refrigerator at any hour of day or night, but rarely joined them for a meal.

It would either be a terrible mistake or just possibly a reasonably enjoyable meal. Red and Stretch usually got along very well…until they didn’t. Then they could squabble viciously, their insults chosen with deliberate care to draw the most blood. Worse, Edge couldn’t say that the two of them didn’t enjoy those nights just as much. His love had a disturbing cruel streak at rare times, much the same as Red, only Stretch would have regrets about it later and harsh self-recriminations.

What Edge knew without doubt was that he did not personally enjoy being in the middle of their brutal comedy routine. But the possibility of a perfectly nice (normal) meal with his brother and husband was too much to resist.

Edge gathered up his tools, shooing the chickens back into their newly repaired coop. “Come on, then, I need to get started.”

Red fell in at his heels, disturbingly familiar, as was his, “sure thing, boss.” Like falling through a thin crust of repression into bitterly icy memory. Red added on, relentlessly, “the honey bun is waking up, anyway.”

That statement was already an argument waiting to happen. Edge didn’t comment on it, though, let it go.

Because wasn’t there a dark, buried part of him that was grateful that his brother was watching out, pleased that his brother cared enough about Stretch to want him safe? In moments like these, Edge knew himself for the hypocrite he was, irritated with Blue’s incessant overprotectiveness while being comforted by the knowledge that if anything ever happened, his brother’s watchful eye would be over Stretch. Keeping him safe if Edge couldn’t.

It was better to simply not acknowledge that desire; he kept it back, lurking in the secret recesses of his soul where faint voices sometimes whispered slyly that the ring on Stretch’s finger was lovely, but he would be enchanting in a collar, marked with Edge’s colors and name, a bold declaration that none could mistake.

The words were strictly Underfell, whispers that Edge could never entirely banish, hidden ideas he never, ever wanted Stretch to glimpse. He never wanted to try to explain that he truly did understand that this world was different and the meaning behind it was not the same. It wasn’t about ownership, not the way Stretch knew it.

Anyone from Underfell would look at that collar and know that Edge was Stretch’s entirely, utterly devoted to his wellbeing and protection. A warning and a promise of dust to any who did not heed it, and not the illusion one that Red once wore for him.

But what those internal whispers refused to understand was that Edge didn’t need a collar for it to be true. His certainty of love was more than enough and it only took thinking of Stretch, of every treasured memory Edge possessed of his delight, and of his quiet, trembling voice promising to love and cherish to banish those voices back to the darkness where they belonged.

But not before they wondered with unholy glee exactly what his brother’s thoughts were on the subject, and did they concern Stretch or Sans.

Enough. Edge paused at the sliding glass door, taking a deep breath and shaking away those old, unsettling thoughts. When he pulled the door open, he held back, gesturing impatiently for Red to go in front of him.

For a brief moment they stood there, neither of them moving and his brother cast in shadow from the artificial light that spilled out from the doorway. Then Red stomped in ahead of him, the steel tips of his boots ringing against concrete and then kitchen tile. He hissing out as he passed, “there better be fucking chili dogs for dinner.”

The slight shakiness in Edge’s exhale was ignored, gone in his next breath as he followed his brother, closing and locking the door behind them.

-finis-

[takaraphoenix]

(This is a relatively long post, so here’s what it is: It’s a love letter to Haikyuu!!, the TL;DR is literally: I love Haikyuu!!)

I love this story a whole lot. I never expected to love it as much as I do now. It’s tied for my favorite all-time anime with my two other favorites (there is no picking the ultimate because these three stories and genres are too different to find a definite one that outdoes the other; all three fill certain needs I have in an anime).

But this one was... unexpected. You see, my other two favorite anime are One Piece and Sailor Moon, both anime that have been with me since the 90s, anime that I grew up with.

Haikyuu!! is different, because I got into it during season 1. Back in 2014. It’s... It’s a baby anime - in that it is still so young, compared to the other two. The same can be said about the genres; both magical girl and adventure/fantasy were basically the two types of anime I’ve been enjoying since the 90s.

2014 was the year I first got into the sports anime genre. In fact, Haikyuu!! was the second ever sports anime I watched (my first being Kuroko no Basuke). I never really took that genre seriously or cared to even check it out, because well... sports. Sports aren’t my thing, so what could possibly be the appeal of watching an anime about them...? But a friend of mine was very deep into KnB and after one convention where she cosplayed Kuroko, I figured I’d give it a shot and I really ended up loving it. And yes, I admit, the main thing that made me pick HQ!! next was Hinata’s hair; the bright orange really jumped out at me when helplessly browsing for a successor.

I watched the whole thing - well, there wasn’t much of it at the time, only the first season - and I literally immediately watched the whole thing again. I started my rewatch the same day that I finished my first watch. I’ve never done that before.

And after I finished the first rewatch, I started reading the manga. I don’t... do that. I do own two shelves filled with manga, so yes I read them, some of them are in fact corresponding to anime I enjoy, but usually when I watch an anime I don’t feel the need to also read the manga. (I don’t like reading much.)

In this case, I just needed to know. I needed to know how it continued, I needed more. The only anime that ever happened with is One Piece. And, much like with One Piece, I am horribly bad at actually keeping up. After a couple of weeks of being caught up and waiting for weekly releases, I drop the manga again so it can... gather more chapters for me to read. And usually I forget about picking it up again, tbh.

I rewatched the first season once more when the second season hit. And rewatched both seasons before the third, shortly after the second season had ended. And, after the third one ended, another obligatory rewatch of it all.

We’re in 2016 now, at which point I was pretty deep into sports anime and had started watching multiple ones with multiple sports and was so busy discovering new news that, admittedly, in the following years there was no rewatch. I was falling down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of new anime and the appeal of the shiny new beat out watching something for what would be the sixth time.

Only when 2020 hit with that fourth season did it happen again. At first, I only really wanted to watch that last episode of season 3, because well the release had hit me a bit out of left field and actually I’m kind of busy and there are so many things I’m already watching and supposed to do I can’t possibly watch 75 episodes of something I already know by heart. But mh, that final episode, how can I leave it at that? At the very least that final match, right? That third season. It’s only 10 episodes. I’ll just... skim through it, skip around it and watch the highlights - and oops, I forgot to skip anything. Well, now that only made me want more. I could maybe just--

Yeah, I watched the whole 75 episodes in a week. Which, admittedly doesn’t sound like much considering they’re only 20 minute episodes, I mean come on that’s ony 25 hours of TV. However it’s subtitles so it’s something that requires my whole entire attention and that’s not how I consume other media; I always write while watching TV. Anime is special, because no dubs for me. So it requires more time, in a way. And I usally only carve out time for maybe an episode or two a day when I watch an anime. With HQ!! it was that I accidentally kind of binged season 3 in a day like I didn’t mean to watch 10 episodes in a row but how do you stop? And it continued much the same (logically, if you look at 75 episodes over 7 days. That’s literally just math).

I had finished the rewatch and was left with the weekly wait and it is slowly killing me. My fingers are itching to just rewatch the whole thing again but I now have this girlfriend and like she’s super adorable and also loves anime and she made this whole list of recommendations so I’m kinda working through that and come on you can’t just watch one thing on a loop that’s ridiculous.

So I picked up the manga again, two weeks ago. I had left it off and bookmarked it on chapter 161. I’m currently on 311. That’s... 150 chapters in two weeks. That’s a lot for me.

That’s all a very long way of trying to express just how much I love Haikyuu!!, because I just... genuinely can’t stop? I’m so thoroughly enjoying this whole thing that I just wanna consume it again as soon as I’m done because it’s so good.

I love the character, I adore the characters. Hinata Shouyou is in my top five favorite male characters of all time. I love him so much. But not just him. Not even just his team, aka the main characters? This one just completely makes me love even the other teams - yes, naturally the main rivals the most because that is by design, but usually sports anime fall short on making me invest in anyone beyond the actual main team, it is very rare that the main rivals get some baseline investment from me. Usually I’m just in it for the main characters, why should I care about those... stepping stones? The teams they defeat on the way.

Haikyuu!! has me squeal and point stupidly when my big dumb owl shows his face (Bokuto ily). It has me excited for them all. Invested to a certain degree (naturally, I don’t want the other teams to win when fighting Karasuno, because duh).

I even love the female characters in it! I very rarely can even stand female anime characters because like... 90s American stereotype female characters be cringey but anime stereotype female characters are the bane of my existence. Here, I love them, I find them wholesome. They’re not being exploited like in certain other male-centric franchises where they need the biggest tits possible and the thinnest waists imaginable and only exist for the male gaze and for the male characters to be perverts about them.

Hinata isn’t some super gifted chosen one but he has to work hard, really hard. They all do. And they all get their growth and just the pure excitement whenever they do learn something new, whenever they do improve? Not to mention his character design, that short ball of sunshine and fluff. His hair kills me. Seriously, that orange fluffiness. He’s so smol but so energetic and so bright in that contageous anime protagonist way - meaning that he just makes everyone around him like him and cheer for him and smile with him (well, not everyone *side-eyes Tsukki*).

Tsukishima has such a great arch. He starts out as such a stereotypical bully who is just put into the way of the protagonist to create some tension, but then he actually gets fleshed out fully, gets his own arch and growth and I genuinely never expected to care about the damn bastard??

The humor in this one also kills me. So much dry-witted sarcasm and snark, so much of the humor lays in the facial expressions of the characters too! It’s a joy to watch and to read.

The pacing just works. There are some sports anime that rush too much through games and some that drag them out too long - but in boring ways. This anime turned one volleyball game into a 10 episode season and manages to convey so much tension and excitement that even after I had already seen it twice and absolutely knew the outcome, I still couldn’t even pause and had to watch the whole thing because I needed to see how it continues.

They manage to convey all this excitement and also the joy - the joy of the characters whenever a play works out - and the surprise when something new happens in ways that have me excited all over again, even when I really shouldn’t be because I already know exactly what happens.

And then there’s the animal theme. I love a good animal theme. The fact that basically all the teams have an animal associated with them. There are such great visuals given with the animal themes too.

Naturally, there is also always the component of shipping for me. Such great ships that I love so dearly and... honestly, nothing has ever made me ship an OT6 before because I’m over here, juggling all these overlapping ships and loving and cherishing them all.

I don’t know, on the greater scale of things and the vast, endless landscape of anime, this may just be one of many, but to me personally...? It is... It’s like this one was just perfectly tailored to me, specifically, in a manner I experience very rarely. TV shows are always about compromises. Sure, I like plotlines A and C and D but man do I hate B and yeah I love the main character but urgh X member of the main cast I just loathe and then there’s the unnecessarily forced canon romance that’s making me cringe - these kind of things.

With Haikyuu!! I just... enjoy everything. Every aspect of it. Every character of it. Every interaction between characters. The writing, the art-style, the animation, the pacing, the characters, the plotline, the execusion. I just love the whole damn thing.

[lady-plantagenet]

A Bygone Era - Chapter 6.

A fictional account written by me of Lady Isabel Neville’s life told through the points of view of her and those who knew her.

Points of views so far include: Anne Beauchamp Countess of Warwick, Lady Anne Neville, George Duke of Clarence, Lady Isabel Neville and Richard Neville Earl of Warwick

R&R, if you please<3

Chapter Text

15th August 1469

The Ladies of Warwick would grow tired in the coming days. Anticipation layed claim to their blood like a merciless tyrant, confounding all senses and transfiguring the muted colours of the garden into short sharp bursts of violets and reds unfolding their eyes, as their imaginations were left to run wild.

No woman was more well-versed in the practice of biding one’s time in dignity than the Countess herself. Her hands would be bound to the busy business of adorning her daughters’ sleeves. The mind would set itself upon matters of feoffee to uses . As a young girl, the needs of the heart would be met through the valiant deeds immortalised in The Grail Stories, her tired index finger tracing each engraved line for semblances of her husband’s character in De Boron’s poesies. Fodder for girlish fancies that now lay in the shallow grave of her youth, made colder with each miscarriage wrought on her person.

Her daughters trailed behind her as they left the resplendent terraces for the vaulted chambers, just as the sext sun began to claim its highest throne. The silks from their gowns flashed behind them like straggling snakes made subserviant footmen, occasionally overlapping in clashes of colour. Fresh bristol silk as red as the maiden’s hair, somber foliage patterned on crane-coloured satin for the mother and Indigo brocade dripping in richness and detail for the Duchess who would not deign it any other way.

Isabel’s boudoir at Warwick possessed an inverted ceiling, which made it a favourite backdrop for her daughters when they played at castles. It was their third place of repose for the day already, and one that would well shield their complexions from browning.

Anne was sat close to the oriel window, busily attending to the wrinkles of her labour - a baby’s smock. The green and murrey stitches, straighter than any stitches that had ever preceded them, glistened in the summer sun like cool jewels against the fire of her hair. She smiled gleefully.

Isabel, congruous to her usual character, made her pace slow and when finally appearing before them, had her hand placed visibly over her flat stomach as if two days shy of confinement. Her long dark hair shifted freely under the bare confinement of a frontlet emanating the carriage of the Virgin herself.

Anne eager to please held out to Isabel the flimsy cloth ‘Issy, tell me you like it, there you may have not noticed I added a little bear cub, can you make its likeness?’

Isabel propped her feet upon their father’s stool with a flourish before accepting the offering with delayed movement. She held it against the sun, nails critically grazing the handiwork for fault.

A daughter dark and pale with fashionable sadness in sage eyes, another with skin of honey and milk and hair like copper, full of vitality and goodness, as she. Had I not known them better I would have thought Isabel fit for mother’s old title of Gloucester and Anne, a bride for Clarence. They once seemed like the sun and moon. Annet felt a certain fondness for her new son-in-law, as much she would begrudgingly admit if held to question, but now that Isabel was free to take to him as a lawful wife, she started seeing vestiges of his hopefulness and flamboyance take root in her.

‘Daughter dear, how sure are you of your being with child?’ asked Annet ‘Only a week passes since your monthly course was due’

Isabel retrieved the smock to Anne, a brief inclination of her head conveying enough gratitude to inspire reassurance in Anne, just. The frock did little such for the Countess. ‘As to your knowledge, father and George tarried in Calais near a week after we were wed. I can assure that the nights we had as man and wife were spent most fruitfully. If a child had not been begotten already, it would defy the workings of god and nature’

Annet shot a look at Anne, who was desperately trying to trap the giggles in her throat, but with little success. ‘Isabel, you need not blaspheme and above that, being a woman wed does not entitle you to such vulgarity’.

Isabel stared back at her and redness took root over blanched features. She was once again her teenaged daughter, who would not have dreamed of retorting back to her mother.

‘What have you taken to amuse yourself with today?’ asked Annet willing a motherly warmth remedy her tongue.

Isabel produced some papers, the wax of the scarlett seal bearing two crows and a lion was unbroken.

‘Are you truly planning on reading George’s letters to us for the third time?’ Jested Anne. Annet smirked in hidden gratefulness for the opportune timings of Anne’s defiances when they rarely did arise.

‘This is new news. Fresh news. A messenger brought it some hours past. If you both determine to be this way then I see no reason to share its contents’ she said with newfound boldness.

‘Go on then Isabel’ prodded Annet patiently

‘ Dear Heart,

I write to you a jubilant husband eagerly bequeathing unto you the bestest of news. Your father and I have captured Edward and are but a day’s ride from Warwick. Edgecote Moor is proof enough that God smiles upon our work and your uncle at Olney has now given us my brother. I think it would amuse you much to see our Edward fallen into the guise of our prisoner, his hands bound and unable to wright any more mischief upon this kingdom. I have mentioned to your father that the Oubliette would do perfectly, but he thinks me jesting and will not entertain the suggestion.

I once again say that my only regret is that you were not there beside me to witness for yourself the cries of ‘A Warwick! A Clarence’ as we rode through Kent and even London, though they say the South loves Edward. As you know Sir John Conyers was slain in the melée, which may be the only regret I carry with me, having found the northerner rebel’s loyalities most touching. Withall, it is now more certain than ever that you will be Queen. Engage in your revelries as you ought to as you shall be the finest and most beloved’

Isabel pressed the letter to her chest and drew a deep breath smiling blissfully . The theatrics of the gesture ran deep and true, even Annet admitted to herself, seeing an unusual raise in her daughter’s hooded eyes. They were now the Despencer green. Annet noticed from a wandering shimmer that escaped the window, how sprightly a new wife’s eyes could be.

The reminding realisation of her daughter’s youth once more hit her with a blunt fervour. She thought that perhaps, innocence indeed trumped experience in virtue, for the latter’s lesser value never stilted the joy of the former. She remembered all too well the pangs of emotion she felt when reading her husband’s triumphant war letters in what felt like another era, however, it was never like this.

She only saw the children who a season past were sneaking bonbons from the pantry now playing at war and crowns. Unjaded and unfortified hearts are liberal in their joys which, however much they rival the shallowness of a horse trough, also have it in them to overcome the Pennines with hope alone.

‘Ah Anne, when I am Queen you shall be joined in the second to the best match in Christendom’ Annet heard Isabel say and knew better than to ask who Isabel in fact considered the foremost eligible suitor.

‘Oh truly Issy?’ Asked the hopeful child

‘Yes. Gloucester’s cowardice will be forgotten like a dandelion would readily its pappus’ Isabel passed to Anne her unguent so that she may too pride herself with soft hands, within lay crushed amethysts among a cornucopia of older herbs. ‘A French prince perhaps, now I never much liked them, however, father says it is an important country to appease. Calais claims more of your childhood than it did mine. One only need hear your French. It even surpasses mine, I daresay unsurprisingly so’

Annet raised an eyebrow at that, in surprise as much as in amusement. She did not think she would hear Isabel admit that Anne could best her in anything, while still here on earth.

‘Thank you dear sister, I am readily committed to forget Richard. Tell me, how can one brother so valiantly cross the channel in defiance of the king for love, whereas the other would not even dare ask him twice?’ Edward, the cold calculating king, denier of love, prohibitor of the happy marriage. My, what a fanciful image these two weave.

‘I would tell you if I knew Annie’ chuckled Isabel shaking her dark head in disbelief ‘Richard clearly would rather his brother than a wife he loves. If I were you I’d say “good riddance”’

Hands tightened around the stout wooden arms of the Countess’ chair while an errant foot involuntary kicked at the rushes freeing a herbal scent. ‘Truly, had cat’s brain been slipped into your porridges this morning?’ She noticed both her daughters suddenly veering their faces away from each other and towards her, startled by her exclamation.

‘Gloucester was not yet a man when Clarence first defied the king, what would you have a twelve year old do, Isabel? I know that to attempt to veto your musings would be in vain, but you are no Queen yet and as such must not alienate anyone of the house of York, not in thought nor in deed’

Isabel nodded quietly, Annet saw in her face the crestfallen expression George wore the five years past. Wide eyes sparked with dismay rather than dulled by contrition or diminished pride. ‘Yes, we have all seen the French price of loyalty. Jesus wept, you think any of this I did not know before? As you said, let me muse in peace’

Just as in St Omer, a curtain of silence swept over the room only to be availed by the Sunday tintinnabulations of the bells in St Mary’s Church. The peal of Anne’s voice added to the chorus, ‘But this letter dates three days past. Why are they not here?’

It would be like George to sacrifice clarity for flare. ‘Best read the rest’, prodded Annet

‘Very well then’, Isabel conceded

’ Beloved one, I bid you goodnight presently at Kenilworth where I tarry for a day in the dispensation of justice. Two snakes heads are to be taken off by matins tommorow, they are those of the witch’s father and brother John - married to your aunt Katherine. I believe that is explanation enough for why though I am near, you must wait a day or two to rejoice in my return -‘ the letter slipped unceremoniously through stunned fingers.

Annet was at once at her side ‘Isabel! Isabel!’, she shook her by the shoulders freeing her raven hair from its frontlet and into the pallour of her face.

‘I did not want this mother’ she whispered faintly behind a shaking fist ‘What would god think, what would-. Oh jesus, have mercy on us’

‘God smiles upon them’ Annet found herself quoting George ‘he is the almighty and the Queen’s kin would not have been put in their path if he willed it any different’. Hands were now placed about her daughter’s collar as if she were a horse caught in a storm needing to be steadied.

‘You would say the same for my grandfather of Salisbury. That god willed him lynched and cut down, rotting in the squalor of Wakefield?’ She would have drawn her hand indignantly to her chest had her mother not enclapsed her wrists into a steely grip.

Soothing her daughter, she realised, had all the wisdom of a cripple instructing a mute on how to walk. Annet briefly looked away. She, the cripple here, was unsettled rather than horrified. Yes, feeling naught for a man and his young son being strung up like poultry is unsettling.

Have I no heart, have I relived this moment too many times, just to find that everything that is to be felt, I felt, yet none the wiser for that?

‘I would not. That you do know perfectly well. Now, your father has done great good. His place in God’s kingdom is assured. Clarence is young, he has many more years to uncover the long, winding road. As for you, you have no part in this. Your soul is not tarnished, worry not for yourself- selfish practice it would be if you did’

Pale green eyes stared back into hers streaked with bronze. Anne was ever more a joy to her than Isabel, the bond was obvious. But in moments like this, her attentions covered aught but Isabel in their griefs and worries. ‘If you’d only know mother! It was George’s path that placed exclusively into my consideration. Father as well, but certainly not myself and my soul. I think of my wretched powerlessness. On how often I will find myself able to do nothing to ensure that George may walk the golden path with father when the time comes - that even before that he will be cursed here on Earth like a Henry Fitz-Empress’

The Countess stood up, the crane-coloured thistles in her skirts gathered around her like a ghostly garden against the windowed backdrop of a coming storm. ‘Oh but there is much to do. Be his wife and love him, be England’s Queen and keep its peace, bear the King a son and secure his succession. Do this and there will be no more deaths. I vow this to be true’.

‘Lo- mother, sister, the King!’ shouted Anne across the room. The warm wind from the Campion hills was in conflict with the sudden onpour, noisily banishing the raindrops to the windows in opaque watery blankets. Annet did not need to be with her husband and attendants below to know that the gravel was still hot. She could make Clarence’s likeness: the rider of the black destrier whose curls streaked golden by the sun stood on one end. Her husband’s return she saw not with the eyes but felt instinctively. Her eyes would not have demasqued the downcast man for the king had he not so towered above all the others.

‘Isabel, tidy yourself your ki -‘ no, brother by marriage. For heavens sake, what to call him? ‘ Edward is here’ she finally settled on.

Isabel was looking too, the Byzantine garnet pendant she was gifted by George as a wedding night gift, claimed what little light came from outside in its opulence. Her face showed no sign of duress and no sign of tears. Annet sighed with contentment and now relief for Isabel’s imperturbable exterior, how she would have hated a crying daughter. One to remind her every waking hour that she was no son.

A white bolt of silk was fashioned onto Isabel’s head into a chaperon and they made their way down to the great chamber for their last excursion about the castle. The three men passed the threshold and when the women curtseyed, the befudled Countess thanked chance they came at once as none of them knew for whom the deference should be intended.

Isabel was the first to rise, greeting George as a wife. A wife’s devotal duty. Surely none could gainsay her for bypassing the King .

Any neutrality was however broken when George in spite of- or rather because of- his brother’s presence drew Isabel towards him pressing his lips lingeringly against hers.

The King did not need to do more than narrow his dark eyes, and fear was struck into the walls themselves. The stalwart grey stone which saw all their childhoods and marriages unfolded, all but this giant of a man, who in them saw nothing but the betrayal that had passed against kings. No two kings were as different as Edward IV and Edward II whose Sir Gaveston was sentenced to die in this very castle. Yet fate is wrought with irony.

‘Cousin, welcome to Warwick Castle’ said The Countess who was in no mood for a confrontation regarding honorifics . ‘I have made ready your lodgings at Caesar Tower. As soon as it started to rain I bid the servants prepare a bath, if you please’

The morose nod he then gave was greater confirmation of his capture than any tied rope could have given.

As he was escorted away, she fell into her husband’s arms in a strange variation of their reunion customs. ‘Is it done?’

‘I know my clever Annet better than to ask which you did mean- the deposition or the executions’ The Earl joked, cracked lips forming a warm smile ‘Yes, the deed is done’.

Drops fell into his collar as he shook his head at George, clucking, who instead chose his plain tattered boots as his focus ‘For the love of Christ George, I know you did add that to your letter to Isabel. I told you: platitudes and naught else should be there. Have you spared any though on-‘

George met his eyes and answered with, ‘Thought on what? That news would get out and Edward would find out?’ The smirk that gathered, sat as naturally on his soft lips as a dagger in a babe’s hand.

Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268239/chapters/57406180

[remedialpotions]

Hey, don't know if you're still doing the things you said prompts but if so 11. things you said when you were drunk? :)

A/N: Thanks for the prompt! I’m posting this today for Ron’s birthday even though it’s not birthday-related... hope you like it!

Word Count: 1,898

Warning: Discussion of injuries.

***

when you were drunk

Ron was just so used to bad news at this point. Already prone to anxiety, his nerves had essentially fried over the past year, and now he simply expected that what could go wrong, would. His family was in hiding. Voldemort had the Elder Wand. Bellatrix had taken Hermione, not him - and though they’d escaped, they had lost Dobby in the process. Bill and Fleur could no longer go to work at Gringotts, couldn’t even leave the bounds of the Fidelius Charm, and with so many houseguests, it was just a matter of time before Shell Cottage ran out of food. The world was ending, and - Harry’s absurd plan notwithstanding - there was so little hope in sight. Most mornings, Ron awoke in a sleeping bag on his brother’s sitting room floor, amazed to still have air in his lungs.

So when Lupin had burst through the door to the cottage on the twenty-eighth of April, Ron’s stomach had sunk like a stone. Someone was dead, surely, or kidnapped. Or perhaps Hogwarts was on fire, or Voldemort had found them and was on his way. Members of the Order didn’t usually come charging through doors unannounced with good news.

Except… it had been good news. Tonks had had the baby, and she was fine. And the baby was fine. And Lupin was happy. He’d appointed Harry as godfather as though that fight at Grimmauld Place had never happened. As bottles of wine emerged from cupboards, uncorking themselves and patiently waiting to fill goblets, Ron had simply watched the scene unfold from his seat at the kitchen table, relief gushing through him with such strength that his limbs felt weak.

It was Hermione who handed him a glass, their fingers brushing as he accepted it.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling up at her. Her eyes met his, and God, it was all he wanted, to touch her, to reach out and pull her into his arms, to kiss her and not care about anything else.

But that, too, seemed like another thing that would go horribly wrong upon attempt, so he contented himself with a stolen glance at her as she settled into the chair beside him. He was surely still allowed to admire her, wasn’t he, and be grateful that she was still alive, that her muscles were regaining strength with every passing day and that her mind was as razor-sharp as it had always been. At least he had that left. At least he had her at all.

As Lupin, his audience rapt, told the story of little Teddy’s birth - evidently, Tonks’ hair had been constantly changing color the entire time during her delivery - Hermione extended her legs in front of her, under the table. Her toes brushed against the side of Ron’s ankle, but she didn’t jerk back, and neither did he, and soon she had set the arches of her feet on the tops of his, as though he were some sort of footrest. As though this was a perfectly normal thing for them to be doing. As though they were some sort of couple or something.

Ron took a gulp of red wine and tried to fix his attention back onto Lupin - he really was happy for him - but he was only aware of Hermione. Whenever he was with her, everything else seemed to recede into the background, irrelevant when compared with her.

He let himself look over at her again. A pretty flush had crept into her cheeks, and a tendril of hair was curling at her temple; Ron had the near-irresistible urge to brush it behind her ear.

“Hey,” Ron whispered, not wanting to interrupt the very detailed description of Teddy Lupin’s first set of tiny wizarding robes. Hermione turned toward him; her lips were tinged with purple. “How much wine have you had?”

She shrugged, a little spark of mischief in her eyes, then picked up the bottle sitting on the table and upended it into Ron’s glass. The last little splash remaining into the bottle went into her own glass.

“You’re twice my size,” she whispered back. “You can handle it.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure if he could. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner, thanks to his unending worry over the food supply at Shell Cottage, and the wine had gone right to his head.

But he thought, for once in his life, that he wouldn’t argue with her.

“I don’t know about twice your size.” All right, so maybe he’d argue a little. “C’mere, let’s compare.”

He pressed his palm flat against the table, and she immediately aligned her hand on his. This was already better than expected; he thought they’d compare side-by-side, and her skin was pleasantly warm and smooth against his.

“See?” She pressed the tips of her fingers down onto his, just below the first knuckle, and involuntarily Ron hissed. “What? What did I-“

“No, nothing,” he said quickly, but Hermione, unconvinced, took his hand between both of hers to study it. “Seriously, it’s fine-“

“It’s not fine.” She ran the pad of her thumb gently down the length of his middle finger. The abrasions on his knuckles had finally scabbed over, though here and there were bits that remained raw and angry, even weeks later. “Are these scrapes still bothering you?”

“No, no, it’s fine-“

“I wonder if there’s any dittany left-“

“Dittany isn’t going to help,” said Ron before he could stop himself. The wine was definitely kicking in.

“Then what-“

“Oh, no, no, thank you,” came Lupin’s voice from the end of the table, and Ron saw him politely declining another goblet of wine. “No, I must be getting back, they’ll start to worry-“

And the matter of Ron’s aching hands was dropped, at least for the time being, in favor of seeing Lupin off and helping tidy up the kitchen after the festivities. With Harry roped into a conversation with Bill - and one that didn’t sound terribly fun, from the sound of their voices - Ron and Hermione retreated to the safety of the sitting room, where a fire crackled in the hearth. Emboldened by the wine, and grateful that they were actually alone, Ron found himself sitting much more closely beside Hermione on the sofa than he would have done with anyone else.

“Let me see your hands again,” she demanded, angling toward him so that her knee rested atop his thigh.

“See?” He held his hands up, palms out. “There they are. All in one piece.”

He actually doubted that last bit, but the wine didn’t have him that far gone yet.

“Mmhmm,” she said skeptically. “Then make a fist right now.”

Looking her directly in the eye in an attempt at defiance, Ron slowly curled the fingers of his right hand toward his palm, only to find that they stopped halfway there, too stiff and swollen to move.

“Ron!” Hermione’s face bore a mixture of half-indignance, half-horror. “What happened?!”

He hadn’t considered it before, but he supposed she wouldn’t know. There had been so much going on in the immediate aftermath of Malfoy Manor, and Ron had been so focused on Hermione’s recovery, that he had hardly given a thought to his own injuries. And looking back, he thought he should have known better than to pound on concrete walls and try wandless Apparition, but he’d lost control of himself. For once in his life, he hadn’t had a strategy. He hadn’t been able to see three, four, five, ten moves in advance. All he’d seen was the girl he loved being dragged away by the hair, and himself, powerless to stop it.

“They’re just sore, is all,” he replied, tipping more wine into his mouth.

“Sore from what, exactly?”

“Well - it’s not easy planning a bank robbery, is it?” At Hermione’s glare, he relented. “It’s just from - from the Malfoys’.”

“Oh.” Hermione cast her eyes down at the point where their legs overlapped. “I suppose we’ve never really talked about what-“ She swallowed. “What they did when they took you.”

“It’s my fault,” Ron blurted out, regret and guilt bubbling up inside him like acid. “What happened, it’s all my fault.”

Because he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been enough. Because instead of actually using his head and figuring out a way to save Hermione, he’d lost it entirely, pounding on cement walls as if that made any sense, as if he could use the force of his rage to burst through and get to her. Because he had dropped his wand when Bellatrix told him to, instead of fighting.

Because he’d left.

“No, it isn’t.” Hermione reached for him, her hand hovering millimeters above his, before reconsidering and resting her hand on his arm. Her fingertips brushed over the ligature marks on his wrists, relics from the brief time during which he was bound to Harry in that cellar. “None of it was your fault - if I remember correctly, and I know that I do, Harry was the one who triggered the Taboo, that’s how it all started.”

“But I failed you.” He could barely get the words out. “I should have done more, I - I should have made her take me instead-“

“She was never going to take you,” said Hermione, her voice quiet yet matter-of-fact. “It was always going to be me, because of who I am. What I am.”

“It should have been me.”

Ron didn’t have to look up to know that shock and confusion was registering on Hermione’s face.

“It should have been no one-“

“It should have been me. Out all of us, it should have - I mean, I’m the one who-“

“Don’t.” The force in her voice was enough to make his head snap up. “Don’t you dare say you deserved it. No one deserves to be tortured.”

At his core, he agreed with her: there was not a soul alive, save maybe Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange, who deserved an Unforgivable Curse cast upon them. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would have been a form of penance, almost, to the friends that he had so deeply wronged all those months ago. He didn’t want to be the one who always got the easier end of the deal, and he definitely didn’t want to be the one using up all of the healing potions when Hermione had been through so much more.

“I know that,” he relented finally. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still blame myself.”

She gave his forearm a light squeeze. “I forgave you a long time ago, you know. Harry and I both did. I wish you would just forgive yourself.”

Ron felt his head swim, but not from the wine still in his bloodstream. He hadn’t considered that she might fully forgive him, that his worst transgression wouldn’t always be a stain on their friendship. That maybe not all was lost.

“I s’pose I could give it a go,” he said, corners of his lips twitching.

“And while you’re doing that, we’re going to do something about those hands of yours,” said Hermione decisively as she stood. “I’m going to get the Skele-Gro.”

“Skele - my bones aren’t missing-“

“It has healing properties too.” Shaking her head in exasperation, she strode out of the room, though not before tossing him a smile over her shoulder.

The good things, he thought, were even better when he didn’t expect them.

[goodlucktai]

the wonderful mess that we made

the raven cycle pairing: sarchengsey word count: 2230 read on ao3

x

"I think I'm having a panic attack,” Henry says cheerfully, by way of hello.

Blue stands back to let him into her apartment, mentally writing off her homework for the evening as a lost cause.

Her roommates are in the living room, ostentatiously pretending not to stare, and Henry doesn’t give them the customary friendly wave. He doesn’t even seem to notice their attention at all, which is so much out of character for him that Blue thinks something might actually be wrong.

“Oh,” Henry says before she can get a word in, deducing something from her lack of reaction, “I guess you haven’t checked the group chat recently.”

Jesus Christ.

“I’ve been working. What have they done now?”

“Your husband is trying to drive me to an early grave.”

“Why is he only my husband when he’s doing something wrong?”

Blue leads Henry to the tiny kitchen while they banter. He perches on a stool like a long-legged bird and props his elbows up on the counter, a familiar fixture against the yellow walls and dull blue tiles. It’s late, but there’s fresh coffee in the pot because Blue is a college student, and she fills two mugs while searching her pocket for her phone.

She sewed the pocket into this skirt herself so it takes some digging. Henry refrains from teasing her so loudly he might as well have not bothered.

The muted group chat is as busy and ridiculous as it always is. Even without living in each other’s pockets the way they used to, Blue and her boys fill each other’s days one way or another. Gansey is spending the week at the Barns (even though Henry grumbled about his bed being too big with him gone, and how was he supposed to sleep alone for a whole week, and why doesn’t their girlfriend like him enough to stay over even though the commute to her job would be an extra hour from there, and they’re both the worst and Henry deserves better) and Blue expected some level of extra shenanigans from that end.

But the innocuous video message draws her eye. Below it is Henry’s “????” followed by “hey what the fuck???” and “no what the FUCK fellas?????”

Blue takes a steadying breath. She presses play.

The video cuts in abruptly, auto-focusing as it zooms in. The wind is dull white noise against the camera on all sides, and Blue realizes that this is being recorded from somewhere very high off the ground.

Ronan is laughing, that loud gut laugh that Blue associates with fires and speeding tickets. Behind the camera, Adam’s voice cusses softly, and then yells, “Don’t fucking drop him, Ronan! This is so stupid!”

“Fuck you!” Ronan yells back happily. “We’re investigating!”

Finally he comes into view. Gansey is with him. They’re most certainly not at the Barns-- or at least not any part of it that Blue recognizes. They’re halfway up some ancient wooden structure, and Gansey is leaning out as far as he can with a journal in hand. He’s taking notes, despite the wind biting at his hair and pulling at his tacky fruit-print jacket, as calmly as a TA behind a desk in any one of Blue’s classes.

Blue stands in her little kitchen with a forgotten mug of coffee in her hand and stares at the video of her boyfriend suspended sixty feet above the ground by nothing but a halfhearted elbow looped around a rail and his brother’s hands on his belt.

Strained and disbelieving, Adam’s voice barely carries over the wind; “We drove all the way to Tippecanoe because someone on Twitter saw ghost lights in the state park. You know how many @s he gets a day about this stuff? A lot. You know how much I’ve learned about the history of Indiana in the last two hours? A lot. You know how pissed I’ll be if my boyfriend and my best friend break their fucking necks from falling off a fire tower? A lot!”

This last part is shouted in the direction of said boyfriend and best friend, who don’t react beyond shooting Adam the bird and a careless wave, respectively. Ronan’s relaxed grip on Gansey and Gansey’s relaxed grip on the rail causes Gansey to slip a few inches, Ronan to scramble, and Adam to drop his phone with a colorful curse. The video ends there.

Henry takes a very calm sip of coffee. Blue says, at length, “What the fuck?”

“My thoughts exactly! I’m considering a divorce!”

“You’re not married,” one of Blue’s roommates pipes up from the couch. “So a divorce should be easy.”

“As it has been explained to me on numerous occasions, time is a circle.” Henry draws a helpful loop in the air with his finger, to illustrate his point. He doesn’t glance her way or even seem to care that what he’s saying sounds insane. “We’re not married yet, but we will be eventually, so we sort of already are. Hence, the impending divorce.”

Half of Blue wants to smile, but the other half is still horrified.

“They were supposed to be in Virginia,” she says. “They drove nine hours just to look for ghost lights.”

“Alleged ghost lights. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks it was just campers with flashlights fucking around.”

“Ronan, I expect this from. But Adam?”

“See if we ever let him babysit again.”

“Have you talked to Gansey? Aside from your keyboard mashes in the group chat, I mean.”

“Nope! I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting or not, so I came here first to get your opinion. From the look on your face, though, you’re on my side? We’re going to gang up on our beautiful idiot life partner, and you won’t let me cave in when he looks sad at me?”

Blue leans over the counter to kiss him. He tastes like vanilla caramel from his coffee, smells like ozone from the overcast weather outside and citrus from Gansey’s shampoo, and leans into her with a sigh that betrays how disquieted he actually is under his shiny veneer.

“It’s just,” Henry says, as though he knows he's stupid for it but he can’t help but care this much, “what if he fell?”

A speaking look at Blue's roommates drives them out of the living room, and they close the bedroom door behind them to give Henry and Blue the polite illusion of privacy. Blue taps Gansey's name and puts the outgoing call on speaker. Henry is gazing down at the display on the phone screen, an ugly selfie of the three of them in which Gansey manages to look lovely despite his crooked glasses and rumpled shirt and wild hair.

He picks up on the fifth ring, sounding breathless.

"Jane!" he says, the voice of someone who has no idea he's in trouble. The words are shaped like a smile, and despite herself, something tight in Blue's chest goes soft. "How's the paper going?"

"The paper has been put on hold," Blue says primly. "Because our boyfriend came over to my apartment in distress. Because our boyfriend decided to spend his evening dangling off of a fire tower hunting for ghosts."

"Why ghost-hunting, Dickie?" Henry has to ask at that point. "I mean-- you know ghosts are real. You were roommates with a ghost. You were a ghost, one memorable St Mark's Eve. So-- what proof are you looking for, exactly?"

"Proof for everyone else. Noah isn't evidence, he's family, I'm not going to use him. And I was perfectly safe, besides. Ronan was holding onto my belt."

On one hand, there are few places Gansey is safer than with Ronan. On the other, sixty-some feet is a long way to the ground, and not even the Greywaren can bring the laws of gravity to heel in the real world. Blue massages her temple, in preparation for the headache she's sure this conversation is going to give her.

"I know that you've got all sorts of climbing and spelunking gear that you've used in all corners of the world, I know you do. So why is it I never see you in a helmet when you're doing something spectacularly stupid?"

"What's the worst that could happen?" Gansey says, interested. "I've already died twice. That's once more than I'm supposed to, isn't it?"

And that...

That sounds suspiciously like someone else.

Death left a hole in him that Cabeswater had to fill, and sometimes it spills over the edges like an overflowing cup.

Henry's hand curls around his mug, a little too tight, and Blue takes a slow breath in.

She doesn't say Give Gansey back. I'm talking to Gansey, not to you, but she wants to. Cabeswater gave them a miracle when it gave them back Gansey's life, but his friends don't want to share him. These moments of-- spilling, of overlap, are few and far between, but they're unsettling even in their scarcity.

"The absolute worst?" she says with playful severity. "A divorce. Henry's going to take half of what you own, and probably keep the townhouse too."

"Oh," Gansey says, and sounds like himself again. "Is he upset? I'm sorry, I didn't-- I wasn't thinking. It's just-- the view was too good to pass up, you know? From that height, in the dark, the forest canopy looked like a sea. You should have seen it," he adds. "It wasn't magic, but it came close. I wish you had been there with me."

"Ugh, you're impossible," Henry grumbles. He's probably annoyed that he's too fond of Gansey to stay annoyed. "Take me on your stupid road trip next time."

"But you said you were busy-- "

"And tell Ronan that I will personally, and with extreme prejudice, kick his ass if he lets you pull some shit like that again," Blue adds, raising her voice, because she's ninety percent certain Ronan and Adam are within earshot of the call.

"Bring it, nerd," Ronan says, instantly proving her point. There's a muffled thud, and a soft cuss, and Adam's voice hissing at him to 'shut up, Lynch, we're already in deep shit.'

"At the very least, you could wear a helmet," Henry says. "A helmet is the very least you could do."

"I, um-- could keep one in the trunk? If that would make you feel better?"

It's probably the best they're going to get out of him. There's no way he'll stop climbing abandoned fire towers or investigating the things his odd internet circles send him, and Blue wouldn't even ask it of him. He's going to school because he has to, majoring in historical archaeology to absolutely no one's surprise, but it's clear that his heart lies in his own research, his own travels, his own agenda. He's going to discover everything, Blue thinks. Every wonderful and magical thing the world has to offer, and he'll do it with or without a fancy degree, he's done it already, and he'll do it with them by his side every step of the way if he can.

And of course he can. Blue wants him safe, but she doesn't want him stifled.

"Thank you," Blue allows magnanimously. "Are you still at the state park?"

"No, we're somewhere on I-65. The Pig died on our way back to the Barns.  Adam is working his magic under the hood as we speak. We're trying to convince Ronan to dream up a conveniently located auto shop for us, but so far no dice."

The video still bothers her a little-- especially that little slip and near-fall near the end-- but Gansey is so very much alive, as steady and constant as the earth. He's far away for right now, but if she closes her eyes she can convince herself he's right there, his voice filling her small kitchen while his brothers bicker distantly somewhere behind him. Henry rests his chin on his folded arms, and Blue strokes a hand through his hair absently. They lean over the phone from opposite sides of the counter for a moment, heavy with love, aching with it, endless with it; much more than a moment should be able to hold.

"It's late where you are, isn't it? Now that you've scolded me, you should probably get some sleep."

"When are you coming home?" Henry asks. "All joking aside, it's weird without you here."

Gansey's voice is smiling again when he says, "Soon."

They say their goodnights, and Blue takes Henry by the hand and pulls him to the second bedroom. Her boys don't usually sleep over here, because the walls are thin and her roommates are nosy, but they've been here often enough that Henry can maneuver through the mess on the floor without turning on the light, and Blue follows him down onto the bed without bothering to undress. His arms slip around her and she buries her nose in the hollow of his neck.

"Still getting a divorce?" she murmurs.

"I guess I'll save that trump card for when I really need it," Henry sighs. "Our marriage is safe for now."

"It's a circle," Blue reminds him. "If you were gonna get divorced, we'd be divorced already."

"Well, shit." Henry pulls her a little closer. Two out of three is better than one, and Gansey will be home this time tomorrow. "Guess we're permanent."

[kaibutsushidousha]

How did you feel about Last Encore?

I have no idea. There was so much to unpack from that experience that I really don’t know what to feel about it as whole. I loved the surprise factor from it being advertised as a simple Fate/EXTRA adaptation but turning out to be something out else entirely. I also really loved how fitting the name “Fate/EXTRA: Last Encore” was to the setting: the anime was simply picking all of the Fate/EXTRA characters and giving them one final showing after their real stories were already over (even if only for them to go out not with a bang but with a whimper).

Anyways, overall Last Encore feels like an episodic show, with some episodes/characters that failed, and some that didn’t. To voice my thoughts about it, I would have to go through each character one by one.

Hakuno/Deadface: I was thought Hakuno (the real deal) was perfectly fine as an individual character but terrible as protagonist, and our Deadface-kun here takes the whole thing in the opposite direction. He is serviceable at best as an individual but much better as a protagonist than his EXTRA counterpart. Both were born from basically nothing at the beginning of their stories, but Hakuno defined their (or in this case her) own character with a strongly compelling drive to survive no matter the cost. While her determination was charming and remarkable, Hakuno somewhat fails as a protagonist because Fate/EXTRA had a whole story going on behind the scenes and we don’t get to see that because the current state of the world doesn’t matter for Hakuno’s survival.

Next LE brings us the Hakuno Deadface, a digital ghost born from our survivalist extraordinaire (+ background characters)’s salt over her defeat by the Twice in /EXTRA’s final battle. The edgy hatred speeches are really tedious, but ultimately he gets a neat arc from finding out he is something inherently bad but he is still wants to make something good despite being bad in nature. Unlike Hakuno being a generic NPC, on his case we get a good reflection of his own nature, which leads him to care about the dynamics of the world around him, since he defines him personal goal as improving it, culminating on him wishing for a “new world” with a Moon Cell reset. That makes him more functional as a protagonist than the real Hakuno. All that said, real Hakuno is still more enjoyable to watch.

On I side note, I love that this set up placed female Hakuno as the canon Fate/EXTRA protagonist, because honestly, who played as male Hakuno? I don’t know a single person.

Nero: Nero is just Nero as usual, which (controversial opinion) is always a good thing. That said, like Septem and Extella, this story (justifiably) started with post-development Nero and (unjustifiably) did nothing new with her character. It was already instantly better than the two above because it retold Nero’s backstory with interesting visuals, but still Nero was just Nero.

Shinji and Drake: Shinji was one of biggest highlights here. Easily his best iteration (I know that’s not real praise, but seriously, LE Shinji is really good). In Fate/EXTRA, Shinji is portrayed as the usual obnoxious ass from /stay Night, but after he is defeated, we get treated a reveal this Shinji was not the same Shinji, he was actually just an 8-years old kid roleplaying and that he didn’t even know that dying in the Moon Cell would cause him to die in real life. The big problem with that is that this reveal doesn’t Shinji any less of an edgy asshole than before, so I couldn’t gather any sympathy from it and the only thing it did was setting up the Week 2 storyline with Hakuno questioning whether or not they are capable of sacrificing people with fully realized lives to preserve their own uncertain life.

Then comes in Last Encore, all pushes all these ideas in a much more interesting direction. Instead of all that poorly-written death drama, this Shinji finds out about the “you die in real life” trope by actually winning his first battle and watching his opponent die. This 8-years-old who was acting like an ass because he thought he was just safely having fun in a videogame is faced with the fact that he unknowingly committed murder and decides that he has to do something about it, creating his stagnated city where no ones has to fight. This was an excellent new use of his previous characterization and it finally created a Shinji that’s sympathetic (as you can tell, I still haven’t played CCC).

Drake is still the same as always. Just a support to other characters with no relevant personal motivations of her own. Nothing noteworthy to say about her.

Amari: We didn’t get to see much of her in the anime and I didn’t listen to her Drama CD yet,so there’s not much to say. She presented herself as a woman who controls those weaker than her out of a crippling fear of not amounting to much, and in the end her character didn’t amount to much, so I guess she was good enough in terms of poetic irony.

Dan and Robin: Watching Dan and Robin was sad, and not in any enjoyable or exciting way. It did a good in setting the bleak nature of Last Encore’s world but it sure didn’t do the characters any favors. Robin’s “Should I just tell the old man to give and die?” scene was really strong and I also liked Dan’s sniping trick, but that aside, those two did not perform really well.

Alice: I don’t feel like I need to say much here because’s Alice’s story is the one thing everyone, Last Encore fans and haters alike, agree to be the best part of Last Encore. The original Fate/EXTRA really failed to make me feel anything about Alice’s character, because it focused too much on the mystery of the two Alices to give her some proper characterization (maybe that part would be better if I and everyone else weren’t already spoiled about Nursery Rhyme’s true nature), and when they did, the focus would be higher on the creepiness than in the tragic factor of the character.

Last Encore, on the other hand, realized the full tragedy potential of the character and created a very beautiful piece about it. And, as if being the most emotionally interesting part of the show weren’t enough, her chapters also get the Madoka witch barrier backgrounds and the Glass Game loops to make them the most visually and structurally interesting as well.

Julius and Shuwen: Julius being a Deadface was clever because he kinda was already one by the last week of the game. However, this time Julius’ Deadface status serves only to make Hakuno aware of what he is to kickstart his arc, while this moment in the game proper was entirely about Julius’ own character. Since he got nothing of that, both Julius and Shuwen appear as complete non-characters wearing familiar faces for no interesting reason.

Rin and Rani: They were nice, but considering their importance, I don’t think I cared nearly as much as the show wanted me to. Rani’s different personality added to the main cast dynamic in the few occasions she was present, but that was barely ever. None of her deaths really stroke with me because she of this lack of presence (and because she’s so dull in the game as well). Rin got to be more present, but her weirdly genki personality here overlap with Nero and was consequently overshadowed by her. This Rin would be better if she was allowed to be more proud and confrontational like her other versions, but I understand how her circumstances are too dire for her to afford that. One thing I did like a lot about this Rin was Hakuno acknowledging her 1000 year struggle and saying she was the one who deserved the Grail. That was really nice.

Leo and Gawain: Leo didn’t get to shine much here, but I’m never displeased with Leo content. Him being made to confront the flaws in his ideology is nice and the hope he gets from the Deadface Hakuno is what made me start liking the protagonist. Gawain was the same as usual and nothing interesting was done with him.

Twice: Twice is exactly the same character he was in the game, except his stupid 2-hour long speech is spread through multiple episodes starting from the first, instead of having him appear from nowhere as the final boss and spew everything at once. Undoubtedly much better but still not good enough to fix Twice’s character.

[tomhollandish]

Tessellate | Part 3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: You, Tom and Harrison are in quite the predicament when you unexpectedly meet your best friends other best friend. Sometimes, interests can overlap. Part three of three.

Word count: 4736

Warnings: cursing 

His phone sits on the countertop, the screen lighting up every so often with the picture of you two on the balcony; which felt like two summers ago, yet it had only been days. Time felt different whenever Tom Holland thought about you, which he was doing right now.

Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, Tom’s nails were between his teeth, his old habit resurfacing as he questioned whether or not he should call you. Today was the day you were supposed to come on set with him, but you had only texted him twice, and that was to say that you had a good time on your date.

Date. The word rung in his mind, along with the trouble it had caused. His eyes peered up, looking down the hallway where he could hear Haz showering after their work out. The duo had made up in record time—as soon as Harrison had returned from storming out yesterday afternoon, he apologized.

(Although, Tom thought, Haz only apologized after he did. He wondered if Haz would have done so without being prompted. This made Tom actually bite down on his nail, giving his hand a look of disdain)

There was still the matter of you—the clock ticked on, getting closer and closer to their call time for set, and Tom grunted, grabbing his phone and dialing your number.

There were four rings. He raised his eyebrow at the thought, but suddenly he couldn’t think when he heard your voice. “Tom!” you said with excitement, and he sighed in relief.

“I was just going to call you,” his relief turned to a dreadful anticipation. You sounded out of breath, and the background was not your soft, quiet apartment, but the exterior of New York, hustling and bustling with patrons and commuters. “I’m so, so sorry, but you remember that shoot I was telling you about? It got bumped up to this morning, there’s no way I can reschedule, I’m sorry.” You profusely apologized as Tom sighed with a heavy heart.

“That’s completely out of your control Y/N, I understand. I’ve got reshoots all this week, maybe we can reschedule?” His hopes were high, perhaps too high.

You didn’t speak for a good moment, and before you spoke again Tom could feel the rejection. “Maybe, I’ll have to see. I’ll call you back, Tom.” You said all of this in an uncertain tone, which Tom read as: probably not, don’t expect a call from me, goodbye and good riddance.

He hung up after that, giving a short “yeah,” in response, his entire body deflating. He could feel how avoidant you were being, how you dodged your way around his questions. It didn’t help that he hadn’t properly spoken to you since the date, and now you were cancelling almost every plan he’d made.

He tried to put it out of his head. There was a lot he had to do today, and being in a bad frame of mind was going to pull him out of it. With a heavy breath, Tom leaned onto the counter, head in his hands.

There was shuffling, then the squeak of shoes as Haz stopped, surveying the scene with wary eyes. “Are you alright?” He asked slowly, and Tom looked up at his best friend.

Harrison’s brows were quirked, hands by his side, ready to be on set. His blonde hair was perfectly combed, not a hair nor string out of place anywhere, as per usual, but his startlingly blue eyes conveyed something less than concern.

Tom wanted to bite something back, but Haz had given him no reason to be so cruel. There was just something off that Tom couldn’t place, something that had to do with every event after his date with you.

He couldn’t push this feeling back, and he didn’t want to. Tom lifted himself off the counter, then raked his eyes over to Haz, who crossed his arms. “What? I got something on my shirt?”

“No,” Tom said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Lunch on set was awkward, because nearly everyone was expecting Y/N to be there.

“I thought you said you were bringing a girl?” Laura was the first to bring it up, but Tom couldn’t be mad at her. The slender young woman was eating something messy, but looking as graceful as a greek statue while doing it. Sunlight stretched lazily across her cheek, a band of pure gold resting on both her and Zendaya as they turned to look at Tom.

Zendaya snorted, still in costume as Michelle. “Tom was probably lying,” she giggled, nudging said man with her elbow. “You would have told us if you got a girl, you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

The cast laughed, but it didn’t slip Tom’s attention that Harrison did not. A smug, half smile slid across his lips, but other than that he was silent.

Tony spoke up after the commotion died down. “But in all seriousness, I thought you were bringing Y/N?” He seemed genuinely curious, giving Tom all his attention. As a matter of fact, they were all looking at him for an explanation: Laura and Zendaya curled hair out of their face, Jacob adjusted his glasses, and even Haz stopped averting his eyes for a second. To have his attention seemed like a privilege, which made Tom upset because it wasn’t even him that warranted it, it was your name.

“I thought I was too.” The bitter words left his mouth before he had time to properly understand the implications behind it. The others blinked, squinting and looking away like they had the sun in their eyes. The table grew strangely quiet.

Jacob, always for dramatics, looked between the warring brits. He seemed to take in everything about the situation; both what he could and couldn’t see. Just from their positions at the table alone (Haz sitting next to Tony while Tom sat on Zendaya’s right,) he pieced together what the others couldn’t.

Maybe he was just clever. Or perhaps he’d seen this situation before. Either way, his eyebrows shot up into his snapback, his head turned toward Haz.

“That’s your friend,” Jacob started, garnering all attention to him. “And you don’t know where she is? You aint got nothin to say about any of this?”

Laura, Tony and Zendaya knew this as their cue to look down and act like this wasn’t any of their business. Tom and Harrison still didn’t face each other, instead squinting at Jacob. He continued. “Y/N isn’t here, and neither of you know why? And you both aren’t talking to each other? What kind of best friends,” his voice tapered off, because his job was done and he knew it. Every single word he’d said was a bomb, and it had just exploded all over the table, Harrison and Tom turned to rubble by it. The blonde sighed, taking a sip of water to wet his lips, while Tom just stared at him, waiting to hear what he’d say.

“She told Tom why she couldn’t make it.” Tom knew that voice. It was a double-edged sword, two meanings in one, laced inconspicuously with a shrug and an indifferent expression. Harrison knew something he didn’t, and Tom had a feeling that Haz wasn’t going to tell him anytime soon.

So Tom stabbed his fork into his meal and spoke to his food, “She told me something.” He then kept eating so that he couldn’t say anything more.

Jacob watched all of this with a frown, eyes going back and forth between the two best friends. “You gunna let him talk shit about your friend like that?” Jacob was smart to keep repeating “your friend,” and Tom had figured that out. Haz’s indifference was wavering, something more poking from beneath the exterior he was showing them.

His eyes burned like a blowtorch, hot blue flames threatening to devour whoever he turned them to. “Tom is my friend too, you know.”

Tom resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it would surely make the scene worse. Jacob, however, gave a curt chuckle of disbelief. “You aint actin like it.”

Tom smiled for a moment before it disappeared, his mouth once again purposely too full of food to reply. “You’re not wrong,” he thought, watching with keen eyes as Harrison never said a word of confirmation.

 The sun is not near setting when they wrap for the day, which gives Tom time to think about what he wants to do about you.

His castmates are saying goodbye for the day, Zendaya and Laura going in the same direction, Jacob and Tony making plans, while he and Haz stand an awkward distance away from each other. Haz is furiously texting, who, Tom can’t be sure. His wary brain tells him it’s you, and when his rational brain says it’s not, the wary part replies “piss off.”

He is dizzy and angry and jealous and simmering in all these emotions, so he tells Harrison that he has to go do something before he heads home.

Haz gives him the grace of finally looking up, his brows creasing as Tom sweats, wondering if he’ll catch the lie. For a moment it’s tense, the two of them much farther apart than they should be, and probably have ever been. They don’t fully face one another, and something felt so wrong about this: not trusting his best friend, lying to him, and wondering if he was lying back.

He expected the knit brow Haz was nursing to stay concerned, but it didn’t. He put his hands in his pockets, nodding his head. “Yeah, okay man. I’ll see you back in the apartment.”

All hopes of things being fixed were dashed, and by such a simple sentence. Tom had said something in return, but his mind wondered as he watched Harrison go, turning his back to him. Perhaps some days ago, if Tom had said he was going out, Haz would volunteer to come along to. For safety, for fun, for company, whatever the case, Tom had always said yes.

And now, in the midst of something Tom didn’t know, Harrison had shown all his cards by bluffing. Shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his back.

Tom didn’t know why all this started with you. But he intended to find out.

Your apartment was beautiful, in a similar way that you were; it was simple and it glowed from the inside out.

Old stone carved with intricate grooves, windows flooded with the dimming light of four pm, and the soft matte cream that was reminiscent of old Europe. You would live in a place like this, non-pretentiously, or maybe just a bit pretentiously. It was hard to be mad at you, or in general as he walked in, the brick taking him elsewhere, the elevator empty as it played some sort of soft music.

He imagined himself coming here a million times: both up and down, by himself or with you in tow; surround by friends or by strangers; with Haz—

Haz’s sharp blue eyes and his back turned to him then flooded Tom’s mind, his thoughts so hazy he almost didn’t hear the elevator ring to indicate he had arrived at your floor. Tom heaved a sigh that was even bigger than him, before he stepped onto warm hardwood, occasionally looking up from it to hunt for your door number.

There was light behind your door, he could see that much from underneath. Nothing could be heard from inside, but your neighbors weren’t so gracious. From somewhere, lo-fi beats made a door handle rattle, and dominating another part of the hallway was the obvious bouncing around of dancers. The area was welcoming, so much so that Tom had forgotten that he had knocked on your door, too entranced by everything he heard.

It wasn’t until your head poked out from behind the door did he remember, jumping off your wall before you opened the door, standing in front of it. His eyes landed to your face, which was covered with flawless makeup and a bright smile.

“Hey,” you said, bashfully yet causally, leaning against the frame of the door. Tom felt a grin involuntarily creep to his lips at the sight of you, which made this whole endeavor even worse. The two of you stood, heads cocked as you smiled at one another, before you started a little in realization.

“Oh,” you said, standing to the side to let him in. Tom thought to say thank you, but he was too busy mentally wording a sentence over and over. You seemed to read the apprehension on his face, because from the corner of his eye you crossed your arms and became a step closer, worry etched into your features, more sincerely than Haz had been in some time.

Tom felt the anger bubbling under his skin, eyes squeezing shut to keep himself calm. It all ebbed away when he heard you say, “Are you alright Tom?”

He turned on his heels to meet your eyes, your hand outstretched to touch his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

Everything was, and he felt like telling you this for a split second, but it was not the job of a girl he’d met a few days ago to know these problems. It was his best friend’s, who was being cryptic and weird and not his best friend lately.

And so he said what he should have, and felt his chest return to normal for a moment. “Are you avoiding me?”

You bristled, Tom could see this much. Your eyes widened while your lips parted, a deer in the headlights look that ended with you crossing your arms again. You sighed, and Tom readied himself. “I’d lie if I said no. And I don’t want to lie to you.”

Despite hearing a less than favorable answer, Tom laughed, a guttural sound from the back of his throat. “Thanks for being honest.”

You hesitantly laughed in return, the ground you both tread on slightly rocky. Tom knows questions are coming up, and so do you, because you sigh again and lean on the door. “Look, I’ve just,” you shuffled your feet, looking at them rather than him. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

That made butterflies flutter in his stomach, feeling lighter than air and twice as stupid as a modest smile flashed onto his face. “I could say the same thing.”

Your coy back and forth conversation was exciting, his heart pounding faster in his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you for more reason than one, but the main one that had been in his mind was because he wanted this; whatever it was that made him comfortable in your presence, the one that didn’t get mad at your blunt and honest answers. He had thought this ever since he’d got here, ever since he’d met you.

“Tom,” you started, breathlessly, as though he’d stolen the air from your lungs. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of other things, like, like London, and the distance, and us and—“

“Haz?”

The name completely derailed you, your voice stopping short, your eyes casting up in sheer shock and panic. A hand gently laid on your chest, as though you were manually trying to stop your heart from popping out of your chest.

Tom had struck a nerve, something to do with Harrison, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the mess of a day he’d had. He very slowly started to put things together, taking a half a step back to collect his thoughts.

“Y/N,” he spoke, a new tone to his voice, one even he couldn’t undertand. “Did something happen with you and Haz?”

The phrase “I don’t want to lie to you” echoed in his head, and for a second he thought you’d turn back on that promise. Your mouth formed the words but they were stolen from you by a knock at your door, someone’s knuckles rapping urgently. You whirled around, looking back at Tom as his face remained neutral, but his fists clenched.

“Is that Harrison?” Just saying it made the possibility skyrocket to probably, most likely, yes. You cocked your head to side as though you didn’t expect him, shaking your head, but there was an uncertainty to it. You turned to answer to door, but you didn’t do it right away, like you expected a trap.

And a trap was sprung, manifested in the form of a blonde boy with blue eyes that scanned your face before noting Tom in the background. Harrison froze, the two of them staring one another down, with you standing in the middle.

Tom broke the silence. “I’ll see you back at the apartment, huh?”

It was the lower thing to say and Tom knew it, but he had wanted this moment to happen so badly. His question had been answered, his suspicions confirmed, and as much as he wanted to march out and keep his integrity, he knew it wasn’t fair of him to place all the blame on the two of them. He hadn’t even known what happened.

Haz frowned, crossing the threshold and slamming the door like it was his own. “’I’m just going to run some errands.’” He mocked Tom from earlier, eyes on fire as he did so. “You haven’t any right to call me out.”

“I have every right to say something because you’ve been acting like a wanker all day, and now I know why.” It pained him to say it, in a way that hurt him and in a way that felt horribly good. “You know what, no; you’ve been acting like this ever since Y/N and I met.” Their faces were close, expressions ablaze with anger. A hand landed on Tom’s chest, Y/N’s strength more than he anticipated. You had somewhat separated the two, standing between them.

“Hey, cut it out!” your voice had raised to match theirs, and Tom realized for the first time that he’d been shouting at Haz. “You’re not going to yell at each other, especially not over me.” You seemed to understand the situation well enough for Tom to get curious, his deep brown eyes flickering to yours.

“You lied about Haz,” he said candidly, and you placed your hands on your hips. He’d never seen you mad before, but he supposed it could look like this. Tom also got the feeling it could  look a hell of a lot worse.

“I didn’t have time to answer because someone,” you glared pointedly at Harrison, who doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “Interrupted me.”

“So something did happen?” It felt like pulling teeth to get any sort of finite answer, but now that everything was going on the table, Tom wants to take it back. It takes a moment for everyone to realize that your hands still rest on both of them, and you pull back immediately, wringing your hands.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Harrison,” you say straightly, nothing in your voice suggesting otherwise. But Haz’s scoff and the roll of his eyes make him think again.

“You’re lying,” he said, and both of your heads whipped to meet his face. Your eyes narrowed in scrutiny, while Tom’s did the same in disbelief.

“I’m not lying,” you told him curtly, waging a finger at him. “And I don’t recall him asking you either!”

“Ashamed to admit it, are you?” he crossed his arms with a look on his face Tom doesn’t think he deserves right now. Sure, he’s biased, but you seem furious with him, something Tom doesn’t understand. But it certainly doesn’t seem his place to point this out. “Ashamed of me?”

“This isn’t about you!” you screamed at him, hands flung in the air to emphasize your point. “You know what,” you backpedaled, a curious air to your words. “I take that back. This is about you.”

Haz’s grin dropped, his brows shooting up. He looked over at Tom, who both couldn’t and didn’t want to help him out of this situation. The brunette flipped his hands up.

“Sorry mate, I don’t know anything about this. I asked the question.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot for that one.” He rolled his eyes, but you poked him in the arm.

“Nuh-uh. You did this to yourself. You came to my apartment twice, and what for?” As if Tom’s interest couldn’t be piqued more. He recalled the fight, Haz storming out, and then returning with a sneaky grin and a half assed apology. He had been here, and now he was back.

The startling blue of his eyes was drowning, looking between his furious best friends, turned against him. “I came here to get answers.”

“Answers to what?” Tom snapped, tired of being left out. “Haz, what did you do?”

“How is this my fault?” his voice is loud and shaky, like he’s being backed into a corner. “Why are you both up against me when you both fucked up, huh? You,” he points a finger at Tom, who stares back at it as though it might kill him. “Went behind my back and dated my best friend. You both did. And you didn’t tell me!”

Tom once thought that was unfair. In fact, he still knew it was. But Y/N was shaking, tears falling from her eyes as Haz kept his finger in her face. She knocked it away, red faced in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“You’re not innocent, don’t play that game! Don’t just keep your deeds in the dark; you kissed me and you know why you did it!”

In retrospect, it could have been worse.

The silence that proceeded your outburst was slightly settling. It gave everyone a moment to calm down and see exactly what damage had been done. The sinking feeling in Tom’s chest resided not just because he was upset with Harrison, but because he was disappointed, he understood, with himself.

Maybe everything was fine the way it had been before, when Haz was keeping you both in the dark. Maybe Haz knew best, making sure you two never met.

Tom remembered the train ride home, back to their apartment the night that felt so long ago. The way you confided that you felt manipulated by Haz, that you felt like a prized possession, to be gazed upon and not touched.

He looked at you now, crying ever so slightly, but your chin raised in defiance. You wiped haphazardly at your face, smudging eye makeup on the back of your hand, yet still keeping an intense gaze level with the others. Tom was suddenly wracked with responsibility to clean this mess, because in reality, it started with him, not you.

“I,” he speaks, not on his own accord, and the two turn to look at him. Both have watery eyes and hard set jaws, looking to him with nothing but empty malice. His hands grow cold and unclench themselves, sighing so heavily he hunches over.

“I don’t think we should lie,” he said finally, clearing his throat as though it would make the situation better, or at least funnier. “I don’t think we should accuse each other either. We all did…something.” He finished, never casting blame. It came out choppy and bored, but it was really the stinging hurt that squeezed his heart.

You blinked, the anger draining from your face, replaced by exhaustion. “You didn’t even do anything wrong,” you said behind your hands, which dragged down the length of your face. Harrison chuckled, but bitterly so.

“That’s Tom for you,” he said, almost kindly. “Always right.”

“Not always,” he muttered, but they both heard. The diffused air was too much to bear, and Tom felt like bolting for the door. But he’d be damned if he didn’t see this thing to the end. Whatever this thing was, and wherever it ended.

You, grown so old in the span of this conversation, swayed back and forth. “Harry,” you called him, a fond nickname Tom could never understand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be with you. I’m not sure if I ever did.”

The confession was not what either of them expected, for when they looked at each other for confirmation, they found the same incredulous looks mirrored on each other’s faces.

“That crush, or whatever it was, made me feel so bad for so long and it’s not worth it. I feel like I don’t know what I am to you. And I can’t just be your girlfriend with that feeling.”

“What do you mean?” his eyes narrowed, looking at Y/N like he’d never seen her before. “What do you mean what are you to me? You’re my friend.”

“Am I? I feel so worthless when your friends and your girlfriends and your ex’s look at me like a charity case. It’s so belittling to feel like your side show next to you. I’m my own person Harrison, and when I’m around you, I feel like, like,”

“Like a badge. An accomplishment.” Haz looked over at Tom, mouth parted in shock. Y/N could only nod, the words stolen out of her mouth. “I know how you feel.”

Everything was back where it started, with you and Tom on the same side, and Harrison elsewhere. Tom didn’t like the feeling of blaming his friend, still his best friend, but he felt so at ease finally coming clean about his feelings. The tightness in his chest subsided, and the three took a breath, understanding where they stood with each other.

“You’re still my friend,” Y/N told him, lightly touching her hand to his shoulder. He gave a her a look none could decipher, before saying back, “And you’re mine.”

Tom stood next to them, finishing a triangle he didn’t really like, but knew he might have to deal with for a while longer. At least until Harrison got over you. (And conversely, when you were fully over Haz) For now, he looked at his friend with solemn eyes, an apology twinkling between them. Words couldn’t articulate their inexplicable bond, and he supposed words couldn’t break it either.

Y/N looked to Tom, a jolt going through him. Your presence still sent him reeling, even in your thoroughly trashed makeup and small smile, he couldn’t get over the tingles that pricked his fingers and toes, the thrill that made him want to pull you into a kiss. He knew now wasn’t the time, so settled instead for the brightest smile he could manage.

You detached yourself from the two of them, blowing hair out of your face. “I must admit, that entire ordeal has me beat.” You told them, and Haz and Tom glanced at each other.

“It’s not late,” Harrison said, looking at his phone to avoid their stares. “I could call up the others.”

“Others?” you asked, looking between the two boys. Haz shrugged.

“The rest of the cast still wants to meet you. You want dinner?” Tom could see through the nonchalance, Haz’s hands stuffed in his pocket. He appreciated the inclusion, watching as your face morphed from confusion to appreciation, a certain softness returning to your face.

“As long as Tony picks the place,” you replied, using the back of your hand to wipe off the rest of your ruined makeup off. Haz laughed, adjusting his coat as you ran back for your handbag.

“You better watch out, looks like Tony’s gunna steal her,” Harrison said, looking at Tom with pure amusement, although, the sadness that rested on his face couldn’t be disguised.

Tom didn’t blame him, instead punching him good naturedly, making them both laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

“No, he’s not. You know any better places?” you turned your attention to him, resting between the boys and Tom slung an arm around your shoulder. He looked over your head and to Haz, who said nothing, and whose face also said nothing. And then his blue eyes glimmered and he smiled.

“Tom only known places in London. Next time you’re in England we’ll take you somewhere Tom Holland approved. Most likely a bar.”

The three shared a laugh at that. Y/N closed the door to her apartment, locking it, and with that, locking away every bad thing they had said and done, and walking away from it.  

taglist: @phasika123r5, @mischeif-managed1987

[nautiscarader]

Wendip Week 2017 - Day 1, Meet the parents

(My fanfiction masterpost) (Read on Ao3) (Read on FF)

Rated: G, older!Wendip story 

Dipper is about to meet Wendy’s father, officially as her boyfriend. What could go wrong? 

- Hi! I'm Dipper Pines, remember me, Mr. Corduroy? - Of course he remembers you, you doofus. We helped him find his stolen beard last month. Not to mention all the other times we did something around the forest while he kept screaming "You crazy Pines go back to your crazy house of crazy craziness!".

Dipper threw an angry look to his sister, shuffling through the pages of her magazine. For the better part of last hour, she's been trying to help prepare Dipper for an official meeting with Wendy's father, although so far, her support turned out to be nothing but collection of casually thrown snarky responses.

- Alright then. - Dipper cleared his throat and tipped his hat to his reflection - Hi, mr Corduroy! I'm so glad I can finally have a dinner with my girlfriend's father... - Are you really glad, though?   - Of course not! - Dipper shouted - He's a walking mountain that could crush me with his little finger! If I say anything wrong, then I'm dead, do you understand that?

Mabel rolled onto her back and let out a deep sigh.

- Dipper, you are doing it again. - What? - You're over-thinking things - she finally looked at her brother's frowned face - You've spent so much time prepa- is that a bow-tie?

They both stared at the curious bit of Dipper's attire that stood out from the rest of his vest and shirt.

- Okay, this has to go. - It will work, Mabel! I've got something neater to wear it with. - Dipper, they are lumberjacks. - Mabel sighed, looking at her brother flipping through his set of identical, white shirts - They only know one colour: PLAD. If you wear a suit, they're gonna take you for a penguin!

A loud sound of a car horn interrupted the twins' bickering, but eased none of the tension Dipper was suffering from.

- Oh my god, she's here! I'm late! - In a car? What for? - Mabel raised her brows and jumped to her feet as well

And indeed, when Dipper opened the triangular window, the source of the sound turned out to be a green jeep, driven by the red-haired park ranger, Wendy Corduroy. She waved at her boyfriend through the car's roof, that was not so much "open" as "turned into a molten bit of metal about a week ago". Seeing his silhouette, Wendy pressed the horn once again, hastening Dipper's arrival.

- Hi, Wendy! What's going on? - Dipper exclaimed, running through Mystery Shack's door without any care, leaving them open. - I got an unexpected call, do you want to come with m- What are you wearing?  

Dipper looked down, noticing that in the minute he had to finish dressing up, he has managed to put on his blue vest over the pristine, ironed white shirt, as well as socks of distinctively different colours. And the bow-tie.

- Sorry, I was preparing for the dinner! - he apologised, giving her a quick peck on her cheek, as he hopped to the passenger's seat - So, what's the problem? - We got call from the Multibear. Their daughter is missing. - Oh no! Bear bear? - Dipper yelped - Yeah. She's not a kid anymore, but still, things can go wrong. Hold on tight.

Dipper managed to lock his seatbelt a split of a second before he was pushed into his seat, as Wendy released the gas pedal and drove straight through the woods to the mountains towering over the treetops.

The term "park ranger" is a bit misleading. It implies a person that takes care of a park, but no one sane would ever use that word to describe the forests around Gravity Falls. Regulations, no matter how strict would fall flat on unicorns demanding supplies of glitter, or gnomes declaring their dens independent nations at least twice a year. The word "ranger" is also ill-fitted; no group of people would be able to range over the vast, ever-changing terrain of the Gravity Falls forests, that might look perfectly fine on Monday, but could be completely unrecognisable by Friday. And yet, when mayor Cutebiker decided that something should be done to protect the citizens of Gravity Falls from the forest creatures (as well as the other way around), the idea of "park rangers" was the most sensible one that was proposed. That position certainly wouldn't be Wendy's first choice of career, if not for the fact that nearly absolutely everyone else was terrified about the prospect of keeping the forests under control. It meant, however, that in Summer she would get to spend a bit more time with Dipper and Mabel, who, while not rangers themselves, provided much insight into the three key parts of the local ecosystem: fauna, flora, and the unknown. And truth to be told, the forests and the creatures could mostly take care of themselves, giving Wendy arguably even more free time than during periods of no visitors in the Mystery Shack.

As they drove up, Dipper remembered the first time he had to traverse the long road to the caverns atop the mountains surrounding Gravity Falls to prove his manliness to the clan of Manotaurs by killing the Multibear they were going to visit now. The very same reason pushing Dipper to these ridiculous quests was now keeping her focus on the bumpy, rocky road.

- What? Is there something wrong?

In the corner of her eye Wendy noticed that for the last minute or so, Dipper kept staring at her, sitting motionlessly in his seat.

- What? No, nothing. - Dipper quickly answered - I just like you in that outfit, it goes, uh, well with your eyes. And the, uh, the hat, I think it looks great too.

Wendy returned a polite, warm smile.

- Dip, I hope you're not making some sort of list of small-talk jokes and praises for tonight, like this one. Dad doesn't like those, he can smell them. - What? Me? Never! - Dipper retorted and tucked his hand deeper into his pocket pushing the piece of paper he spent his last night on. - It's just I- - It's here.

Wendy stated firmly, rescuing Dipper from an awkward dead-end he got himself into, as they reached a giant, ominous cave at the very end of a windy road. The two adventurers got from the car, took their backpacks and wiped their boots on the colourful doormat, before they rang the doorbell.  

- Al-right, al-right, one head at a time! - Wendy shouted through the cacophony of ten jaws of the Multibear trying to explain what happened - So far, I got that she was sick, she got fed up with her favourite band, she thought the porridge was too hot, too cold, just enough, all at the same time. I, I need some clarification.

Wendy put away her notepad, trying to calm the distressed creature.

- Multibear, just tell us what happened, step-by-step. We're gonna help you. - Dipper joined Wendy in her consolations

Ten loud sneezes into ten large handkerchiefs later, the Multibear told their story anew.

- So, she hasn't come home tonight, and wasn't that keen on talking for the last month or so... - Wendy pondered. - Have you tried searching for her before you called us? - Of course! We went that way!

Wendy was quick enough to push Dipper from the reach of the claws, before the arms of the Multibear pointed, predictably, in seven different directions.

- Please, help us! She only has two heads! - Multibear, don't worry, we will find her! - Dipper quickly assured them. - Okay... we're gonna start the search, and we will contact you if we find anything. - Wendy spoke unsteadily, giving her boyfriend a knowing nudge with her elbow.

The two rushed to the door, and only when they exited the cave, Wendy spoke.

- Dipper, you don't say "don't worry" to someone, whose kid got lost. Worrying is kinda a part of the deal. And she obviously has tried searching for her. - Wendy fumed - I'm sorry, Wen! - Dipper apologised profusely, getting into the car - I sometimes panic with stuff like that. That's why you do the talking, you're way better than me. - That;s cos' I got experience, Dip. - Wendy smiled - Three brothers, and one more baby to scold at now. - Wait, who are you talking about?

Only when Wendy gave him another smug smile, Dipper threw his arms into air with a loud "Come on!" that only cheered his girlfriend, opening the series of teasing that lasted all the way down the mountain.      

After less than an hour of searching, Dipper was the first to notice oddly broken tree branches, paving their way down the forest.

- Wendy, I think she was here. - Well, it was something big. - she added - Actually, two of somethings.

The ground beneath them was filled with two overlapping trails, though both Wendy and Dipper had difficulty telling which series of paw-prints started and ended, or how many of paws each one had. Without any doubt, however, the mixed trail lead them to another cave underneath the mountain they drove from.

- Is that cave on the map? - No, it wasn't there last time we checked! - Dipper exclaimed, opening a large map - And that was last month, so Multibear's story makes sense. Something's fishy here.

Equipped with torchlights and guns with sleeping darts, the two adventurers followed the path up to the entrance of the cave, masked with a simple net of sticks and leaves. The two gave each other a knowing nod and held their hands one last time before pushing the provisional door away. As much as they both would like to make sure the other one is secure, four ready hands were better than two, providing better protection than the strongest infatuation. From the very start it became obvious that the creature, or creatures, had problems with the height of the cave. The middle of cavern's roof nearly looked like a cartoon cut-out of some enormous head trying to push through the rock. As the two ventured down the steep slope, Dipper tried imagining what animal could leave such unique markings. But when they saw a light at the end of the tunnel, they both spoke its name under their breath.

A horned silhouette of a manotour was visible on the wall in front of them, giving Wendy and Dipper some idea behind Bear bear's disappearance. It didn't help the fact that the manotour stood next to a huge steaming cauldron, and a sound of bones cracking and meat chopping reached Wendy and Dipper's ears. The two gave each other one final nod, prepared their weapons and crept towards the angled turn. The stench of a stew made from unknown meat filled their nostrils as they were about to lean over the wall, causing both of them to hold their breath for a moment.

- And it's finally ready... Bear... - the deep, husky voice of the manotaur reverberated through the thick air.

Dipper and Wendy looked at each other, their eyes wide with both fear and determination, and on her mark they leaped from around the corner, ready to stun the manotaur.

- Don't move, manotaur! And tell what you did to Bear bear! - Ah! Humans! Help! - the manotaurs shrieked in a voice much higher than either of them expected, dropping the metallic bowl that landed on the rocky floor with a loud clunking noise. - Oh, no, honey, your soup! - said a third, feminine voice.

Wendy lowered her gun and was about to instruct Dipper to do the same, but her boyfriend already seemed to have realised what was going on and stared, unable to shoot or aim, at the bizarre sight in front of them.

The bowl of spilled soup laid on the floor, to the dismay of two creatures: a manotaur in a pink kitchen apron, and a female multibear, with her four arms around her two heads, cowering in fear. She sat by a large, decorated rock table with two sets of utensils and a flowerpot in the middle of it.  

- What the heck...? - You're not going to hurt us...? - Bear bear lowered her arms, staring at the two intruders. - Gosh no, of course not! - Wendy explained, tucking her gun behind her back. - We, uh, sorry for the intrusion, but we got call from your...uh, mom, and we're not really sure what happened to you, so... - Oh come on, Wendy. - Dipper interrupted - They are dating, isn't it obvious?

The brown face of the multibear blushed with red tint, matching the red skin of her boyfriend. Wendy moved her eyes from one to another, finally getting the whole picture.

- But, shouldn't manotaurs be hating multibears...? Or has something happened in the last year? - Most of us do.

The large horned creature, who was wiping the fluid from the floor for last minute or so stood back and faced Wendy.

- Hi, I'm Razortaur. - Uh, hi, I'm Wendy, and that's Dipper. - she reached to shake the enormous hand of the manotaur towering over her. - So, you guys live here? - He was probably banished from his tribe - Dipper interjected once more. - Or something, the manotaurs seem to have lots of weird rules.

The cavern shook again, when Razortaur slammed his fist against the table, breaking off a part of it.

- Razor, darling, don't get upset, they didn't mean to. - Bear bear closed gently her three paws around the manotaur's fist. - Of course they banished me. They think I'm weak because of my love to you, my dearest!

To both Dipper and Wendy's surprise, Razortaur lowered his head and begun weeping into Bear bear's shoulder.

- I was told to kill her as my trophy to prove my manliness! - he roared - But I couldn't kill someone of such beauty...

Razortaur cupped her closest mouth with his other hand, giving her a quick, oddly disproportionate-looking kiss.

- Listen, guys - Wendy started - I hate to interrupt you, but your mom is seriously worried about you. And they knows something is up. - But I can't go back! - Bear bear cried - They will hate me for dating our mortal enemy. - Of course they won't. - Dipper retorted, sitting on the stone bench next to her - They love you, and will understand you, I'm sure of it. - Are you, though...? - Wendy whispered, giving him another subtle nudge. - Well, what else can we do to help them? - I don't know, you do the talking. You seem way better at it.

Wendy sent him a cocky smile, stunning him momentarily, as he understood he was in charge now.

- I really think you should go back to Multibear now. - Dipper replied to the creatures - Both of you, in fact.

Razortaur raised his head, staring at Dipper with utmost confusion in his eyes.

- But... What if she hates me as well? - Listen, I know it may be hard to confront your girlfriend's parent. - Dipper calmly replied - I mean, you are a manotaur, and she's a multibear- - No, no, I'm not worried about that. - Razortaur quickly replied - Well, maybe a bit. But what if she doesn't like me as her daughter's boyfriend? What if I do something wrong, like eat honey with a spoon instead of a hand?

Dipper turned his head and exchanged a smile with Wendy, feeling the fingers of her hand intertwining with his.

- Well, in worst case scenario, at least you will know it. Can't live in uncertainty forever, can you? - Actually that was our idea. - Bear bear suddenly replied - We spent two weeks decorating this place! - Okay, aside from that - Wendy took over from Dipper - I think Dipper is right. And we can vow for you that nothing nefarious is going on here.  

The table shook again when Razortaur suddenly stood up, raising his fist into the air, and subsequently, the roof.

- You are right, tiny humans! - he roared - I cannot cower in fear anymore! Quick, to your parent's cave!

Before Wendy or Dipper could react, the manotaur took his girlfriend into his arms, who in return grabbed them and flung the pair of adventurers onto his back, covered in thick hair they could grab onto. With three extra passengers, Razortaur ran with surprising ease, getting to the exit of the cave in no time, and traversing the rocky road much faster than their jeep could.

- Okay, this is the moment. - Wendy put her arm on Bear bear's back, giving her much needed bit of courage. 

- When do I come in? - Razortaur's voice reached Dipper's ears from the corner he was hiding behind. - We're gonna give you a sign. - Dipper whispered. - Oh, and one more thing.

Dipper ran to the Razortaur, took the bowtie from his neck and placed it crudely in his thick chest hair.

- Now you look the part, buddy. - Dipper patted his back, before running back.  

The doorbell rang again, and the figure of Multibear appeared in the doorway.

- My child!

From the side, Dipper and Wendy could safely observe the heart-warming scene of mother and daughter hugging and exchanging kisses with combined twelve snouts, and wait until the right moment arrived.

- But what happened? - the Multibear reached to Dipper and Wendy - Where was my Beary bear? - Mom, don't call me that. I'm a grown up now. - the two mouths of younger multibear cried in anger - And, I want you to meet someone.

Dipper and Wendy grunted, and moved aside in unison, opening the road for Razortaur to appear. As they both predicted, Multibear was taken aback, but remained restrained, so neither of them had to use their stun guns.

- This... This is Razortaur. And, uh, he's my boyfriend, mom. - Afternoon, uh, mrs Multibear. I'm Razortaur. - the manotaur stepped from the behind the turn, fixing his bowtie, and digging his hoof nervously in the ground. - And your daughter was taking care of me when my tribe banished me. She was really sweet, and all of that.

Ten mouths gasped in awe and disbelief, before ten arms closed around manotaurs' neck and back.

- I'm glad he omitted the whole "daughter killing" business - Dipper whispered to Wendy, getting a soft giggle in response - Well... That's not what I expected - the Multibear admitted through tears - Would... Would you like to come in? - Oh, it would be my pleasure. - Razortaur smiled - And you can come too!

Multibear turned to the two humans standing somewhat cautiously by the rocky wall, once again hiding their guns behind their backs.

- I didn't even thank you properly for finding my daughter. - Not a problem, Multibear. - Dipper replied, tipping his hat. - And anyway, we have to attend, uh, another dinner now. - Yeah, that was one heck of surprise, but we have to go. - Wendy added - We're glad everything turned out fine for you and Bear bear.  

Arms of the multibear closed again, this time around Dipper and Wendy, smashing their bodies together and soaking them with salty, motherly tears.  

- At least now you will have to get a change of clothes... - Wendy wheezed through her teeth. - And it can't be worse than this, can it? - Dipper smiled, wondering how long will Multibear's hug last.

- Are you ready, dude?

In an oddly reminiscent fashion, Dipper stood in front of the large, wooden door of the Corduroys' house, still feeling a bit scared to make the first move. As if she could read his mind, Wendy took his hand and they both pressed the doorbell, and knocked the door a couple of times, just to be sure.

No one answered back.  

- Dad, guys, we're home! - Wendy shouted, wondering why her father wasn't responding. - Uh, mister Corduroy, sir? It's me, Dipper Pines!

Suddenly, a loud, thundering series of approaching footsteps echoed through the house, giving both Wendy and Dipper an obvious sign to move out from the door, expecting Manly Dan to appear any moment now. Instead, however, not only he, but Wendy;s three brothers burst through the door, clinging their hands to their unnaturally weird looking faces.

- My beard! They stole my beard again, damn pelicans! Why would they do that?! And my boys' too!

Wendy was first to reach to her father's back to give him a consolatory hug, leaving Dipper to get lost between the three crying beardless Corduroy brothers. Wendy gave Dipper a silent nod, and once she freed him from her family, they ran to her car again, knowing that their dinner might turn into a late supper today.  

Author’s note: To all of you claiming that the multibear didn’t sound female, had different number of mouths, or arms, or the fact that pelicans do not steal beards, I have just this to say to you. 

[swordsandparasols]

What's going on with the Siamdang drama? I decided to skip since I've been burned by SSH dramas before, so I have no idea what's been going on.

Hoo boy,  So, pretty much:

1.  SBS thought they had a guaranteed hit on their hands with Lee Young Ae’s big comeback drama.  Up until shortly before it aired, it was always meant to be a weekend drama, and while it got pushed back once or twice, the earlier possible slots were for the weekend.  Then someone went “hey, we have a guaranteed, no chance of failure drama, why are we making it a weekend drama instead of primetime?”  So they moved it to the Wednesday/Thursday slot without taking into account that, well, it was meant to be a WEEKEND drama, and not only do weekend dramas have a different vibe from primetime dramas, but viewers also have different expectations.  If it had been a weekend show, there would have still been some problems, but I do believe that it would had had the ratings-or close to-that it was expected to have.

2.  Even though Lee Young Ae apparently didn’t want to rely on nostalgia too much, SBS really really did, and played up the nostalgia in marketting, and in the show itself.  On paper, it makes PERFECT sense why she’d go with it.  It’s set in the same time period as Dae Jang Geum and the characters are familiar but not identical, it featured a character who rarely (never?) appears in sageuks, a romance between a couple in their late 30s, and a rather unusual and somewhat original spin on things.  It isn’t the first series to combine modern and  historical parts (and it should be noted that filming finished long before Goblin or Chicago Typewriter, which also feature reincarnation and historical and modern timelines, were ever announced) but it’s still an uncommon approach.  Unfortunately, SBS opted too much for the nostalgia.  Nods and homages to LYA’s previous iconic works are natural and expected, but SBS decided that people who liked LYA in an early 2000s drama wanted to watch her in an early 2000s drama in 2017.  Personally speaking, while there were some not-great sageuk parts early on, it worked for me.  It didn’t work for a lot of people because…well, even if you liked something 14 years ago you don’t WANT something that hasn’t progressed in those 14 years.

3.  The series was hyped as a sageuk with bits of modern plot, and marketing really built up the nostalgia.  In reality, the series was always meant to be roughly evenly split between the modern and historical plotlines.  Unsurprisingly, when fans got something VERY different from what they’d been promised (the first episode was mostly modern parts, the second was half modern, half snippets from different points in the sageuk plotline) they reacted pretty loudly.  SBS reacted by being SBS and making drastic edits.  It should be noted that the ratings didn’t fall below what’s normally considered decent until AFTER the major edits took place.  Most of the editing was removing large chunks of the modern parts.  Unfortunately, it was constructed for the two plotlines to feed into and support each other.  The sageuk plotline was perfectly decent on its own, but was obviously lacking something, and that something was the bulk of the complementary plotline in the present.  As a result, while we’ll likely get resolution for the sageuk plotline, they cut so much from the modern plotline that I don’t see how they can fully resolve and explain everything in the final episode.

4.  I’m not completely up to speed on this part, but it was apparently also expected to do well internationally, like Moon Lovers did, but the China ban pretty much killed that.

5.  It’s SBS doing a sageuk?  I mean, don’t get me wrong, more often than not,  sageuk that doesn’t get stellar ratings sails through SBS unscathed.  But then…well, they pretty much did the same thing to Moon Lovers with the heavy edits that made things a mess and did more harm than good, but at least they didn’t do so many edits that they dumped 2 entire episodes worth of plot.  Then there’s poor Ja Myung Go, which had the misfortune of competing with Queen Seon Deok (and another really popular drama that QSD replaced early in its run, tough I forget that drama’s name) to which it bore some similarities.  The ratings Ja Myung Go pulled in were low, but not actually terrible, but it was meant to be 50 episodes and they cut it to 39.  IMO, having to condense the last 20 episodes into 9 episodes (and I can’t recall if they even had that much forewarning) pretty much ruined it.  I loved that show despite not caring for the male lead at all, or being very invested in the romance, until the final handful of episodes, which I thought went downhill fast, and the ending pretty much ruined it for me.  (Tragic is one thing, but I thought that went OTT with the tragedy, and actively ignored Ja Myung’s agency to have the tragedy, but that’s another rant.)  SBS seems a little more trigger happy and panicky if their really hyped dramas don’t immediately perform as expected, and both Saimdang and Moon Lovers probably would have fared better in ratings if someone hadn’t hit the panic button and sent the editing department into a frenzy.

I mean, I’ve spent half the run of the show going “MBC wouldn’t have done this to us.”  (I mean, in general, MBC seems more willing to stick with sageuks and let them do their thing even when they only have average ratings.)  Sure, we would have had even more Dae Jang Geum shoutouts, but at least they would have given the show a proper chance.

6.  I honestly have no idea if this is a factor, and I touched on it in a post last week, but Rebel: Thief Who Stole the People has been…not a sleeper hit, but it’s a show pulling in good ratings and a lot of acclaim despite relatively little promotion.   MBC kinda threw it out there and it took off was better than the overlapping and way more hyped sageuks from SBS and KBS.  But Rebel is, IMO, a truly revolutionary and progressive show in a lot of ways.  Even if you don’t see it as revolutionary or progressive, there’s no denying that it deals with and addresses things other sageuks usually don’t, and is very different from what we’re used to in a lot of ways.  At the same time, you have Saimdang relying on tried and true tropes for the sageuk, and steadily losing a lot of what set it apart thanks to SBS edits.  A lot of people I know (as in, all of them that I can think of) who initially watched Saimdang but couldn’t get into it DO watch and love Rebel.  Whether or not this holds true for Korean viewers, I don’t know.

I mean, I’m biased.  People who follow me who don’t watch kdramas, or even those who do but don’t watched Rebel, are probably sick and tired of me talking about it.  Someone out there probably isn’t reading this post purely because I post so many walls of text about the show that they have every possible version of the title plugged into tumblrsavior.  Unless it goes south in the last few episodes, I’m going to say that Rebel is probably one of the best shows I’ve watched in the last few years, while Saimdang is pretty much my most anticipated drama of the last two years. Aside from the first few episodes, Saimdang did not live up to my expectations, though I do still like it for the show it is.

End rant.  Sorry, you probably didn’t expect a reply anywhere near this long, but ti’s one of the things that gets me going these days.  My friends in Line have put up with a lot of this from me lately.