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just-my-fandom · 1 year

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You Know I Love You, Right? (Cisco Ramon x Allen! Reader)

Eventual (Cisco Ramon x Kamilla)

Man I’ve been trying to get this posted since damn March of last year. This writers block ain’t no joke. Hope you enjoy this angsty shit with lots of tears.

Summary; After accidentally running to the future, Barry watches as Savitar kills his sister. Given months in advance, Barry and the team try to stop this supposed murder. When all else fails, Cisco is left to raise a child alone, years later finding someone who was willing to love both of them. In the process, his ex-wives doppelgänger shows up to help on a mission, bringing Cisco back to what it was like before she died, only to witness it all over again.

Pairings; Cisco Ramon x Wife! Reader , Barry Allen x Sister! Reader, Joe West x Daughter figure! Reader, Iris West x Friend! Reader, Caitlin Snow x Best Friend! Reader, Future Kamilla Wang x Cisco Ramon, Baby Ramon included.

Warnings; Death, blood, cursing, panic attack, crying, child with no mother, reader can teleport and child inherits her powers.

Word Count: 6K😳 my longest one chapter fic. THERE WILL BE AN ALTERNATE ENDING REPOST.

Translations;

“Que clase de flor es esa?” - “What kind of flower is that?”

“Girasol,” -“Sunflower,”

“Ser buena para Papa Joe,” - “Be good for Papa Joe,”

July, 2017, four months until destruction.

“Hey,”

A hand rests on your bare shoulder. You turn, smiling warmly at Barry Allen’s taller figure, “You look great,”

“Thanks,” Your breath is light, hands running down the front of your sweater-like dress, “Iris helped pick it out,”

Barry then glances over to said woman and the rest of the group, who, too, were dressed up from the event of HR attempting to reopen STAR Labs, “Hey,” He repeats, nodding his head over his shoulder, “I need to show you something,”

“Okay,” You nod back, glancing at your friends grouped together before following your friend at a slow pace, “What is it?”

Barry leads you into a hidden room. A room you recognize that used to be Eobard Thawnes, which worries you as to why he has brought you into the room of your old enemy.

With a click to the button on the single stand, Barry steps back to allow a projector to arise, showing both you and him an article, “Look at this,”

“The Flash vanishes after Crisis,” Your brows pinch as you glance to him, “I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”

“An article. From the future,” Barry starts, eyes flicking back up to the projector, “Look who wrote it,”

Your eyes move to follow his gaze, “Written by Iris West-Allen,” You lift your shoulders, “Okay? You and Iris get married. That’s wonderful, Bar,”

“No,” Barry shakes his head, “You originally wrote this article. Somethings changed,”

“Maybe I quit,” You sigh, reaching up to curl a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’ve been talking to Cait and Cisco about staying home with (Your/Daughter/Name), it’d make sense,”

“That’s not why it changed to Iris,” Barry can see your irritation as he leads on, your figure turning to face him as if urging him to hurry to his conclusion, “When I threw the Philosophers Stone into the Speed Force, I ran to the future,” He pauses to clench his jaw, “You die, Y/N. I-I saw it,”

“Die?” Your breath comes short, in disbelief as you look back to the article, “From what?”

“Savitar. He was holding you and he stabbed you. Right in front of the whole team,” Barry’s hand raises to his hair, tugging at the locks,

“How long?” Your eyes stare at the floor, hearing Barry’s hum of confusion before lifting your eyes to him, “How long until I die?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Barry steps up, hand at your arm as you clench your jaw, tears glossing your eyes, “I won’t. I swear on our parents lives, I will protect you,”

Your hands wipe at your eyes, hard, “We have to tell the others. I can’t stand to be one of the only ones that knows when we can try to stop it but- what if we don’t?”

“We will,” Barry breathes, “I promise, Y/N. I- we will do whatever it takes,”

“I hope you’re right,” You step back, out the hidden door and to the Cortex and to where Cisco instantly questioned your reddened face.

. . .

“So… all this happened while you were in the Speed Force?” Caitlins questions breaks the silence of the cortex. You can see the gears turning in everyone’s heads. Processing it.

You still haven’t.

“When I threw the Stone in, I went four months into the future. That gives us four months to figure out what needs to be changed and how we can stop him,” Barry exhales, looking to you where you leaned against the Control Panel in silence,

“Y/N?” Cisco speaks up, so you raise your eyes to him across the Cortex. “What’s going through your head?”

You lift a hand, waving it in front of your face with a pinch of your brows, “I’m fine. I think,” You bare down on your teeth at a lump that forms in your throat, “I need a second,”

The team watches as you depart from the Cortex in quick steps. Cisco worriedly follows after you while Barry rubs a hand down his face,

“Hey,” Cisco’s hand catches your wrist, twirling you to face him at the same time you cough out a weak breath, “Hey. Look at me,”

Your eyes look up at him on demand. Blurred with tears, you attempt to clear your vision as his hands raise to your face, wiping the tears from your skin, “You’re allowed to be scared. It’s okay,”

“I’m sorry,” Your whisper is harsh, hiccuping, “I don’t want this to happen. I can’t leave her,”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” He reassures, eyes on yours as his thumbs wiped below your eyes, “I promise,”

You nod, eyes shut when he rests his forehead against yours. His hand raises to the back of your head, hearing his best friend call behind him so you pulled away and wiped your face,

“HR thinks if we go back to the place I saw it,” Barry starts, watching you flinch at the mention, “We can find details that may help us change the future,”

“And how’re we supposed to do that?” Cisco asks, tiredly, “Go back into the speed force?”

Barry’s nod is slow, “You might be able to help,”

“I’m gonna go home,” You sigh, raising your hand to your forehead as Cisco turns back to you, “It’s late. It’s a lot, I think I just need sleep, and I need to see (D/N),”

“I’ll let you know what we find,” Cisco murmurs, pecking your lips before staring at you for a mere second, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” Your smile is weak before you teleport from their vision, Cisco exhaling a deep breath before turning to face his brother in law, “Let’s do this.”

September, 2017, two months until destruction.

Cisco steps into a silent apartment. He drops his keys on the counter with a tired sigh, turning to face the inside of his home.

He sees you sitting in silence. One lamp is on, while you sit on the kitchen counter, hot mug in hand.

He sees the tremble in your hands. As quick as you sip the tea, you set it down, Cisco by now having reached you and stood between your legs,

“Hi,” Your whisper is tired, exhausted, shaking fingers sliding to his sides as his own hold your face, pressing one, two slow kisses to your lips, holding you against him, “Anything?”

Ciscos head shakes weakly. He leans back to look at you, eyes glossy as they searched your face.

Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling upon the rise of tears, exhaling so Ciscos arms slid to hold your waist, gently tugging you towards the edge of the counter, “C’mon,” His murmur is soft, your eyes immediately looking to his face, “Let’s go to bed,”

“Just stay,” Your whisper back is just as quiet, eyes meeting his as he pauses, your hands at his shoulders, “For a second. Please,”

Ciscos nod is short, fully embracing you as your arms tighten around his shoulders and neck, foreheads meeting as your eyes shut. Ciscos thumbs brush your hips beneath your shirt, tilting his head up just enough to press his lips between your brows,

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Your fingers curl in his hair, opening your eyes as he looks down at you, “I love you, too. So, so much, Cisco,”

Cisco ducks down to press a long kiss to your lips, hand holding your chin in place before he pulls back, slowly, lifting you enough to set your feet on the ground, leading you to your shared bedroom, mindful of the toddler sleeping across the hall.

October, 2017, one month until destruction.

“Here’s what I quite don’t understand,”

HRs sudden voice drags everyone’s attention to him. The man stands with a hand to his chin, before he directs it to point to you, “Of all outcomes we have seen, Miss Ramon doesn’t use her powers of- what is it- teleportation, in any of them. Why’s that?”

“The downside to my powers is my emotions effect how I use them,” You explain, quietly, “If I’m stressed or scared, I can’t use them at all. If I’m sad, even really really happy, they glitch and I can teleport anywhere,”

“When I proposed, she teleported to Canada,” Cisco lightens, your smile light as you look at him.

“I have to really be able to focus on my powers for them to work properly. It’s why I almost never use them. This whole thing with Savitar, I’m so stressed I can’t use my powers even if I tried,”

HR nods, eyes drifting in thought. Then what was the purpose of your powers?

He’s realized, there was none.

November, 2017, one week until destruction.

You stand in silence. Your daughter lies curled against your shoulder, dark hair sprawled over her forehead and thumb barely hanging from her mouth.

“Baby,” Ciscos murmur is quiet, your eyes opening to see him now in front of you, one hand at your arm while the other curls (D/N)s hair from her shut eyes,

“You’ve been standing here for a while. You want me to take her?” Cisco extends his hands, questioningly, your eyes fluttering with tears as you shake your head, hand raising to cradle your daughters head.

“I’m so scared, Cisco,” You move your hand to cover your mouth, muffling your violent sniffle, “I don’t want her growing up without a mom. I won’t get to watch her grow up,”

“Hey,” Ciscos eyes are glossy as he steps up, arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you against his chest, mindful of your child in the middle. His hand slides into your hair, sighing against your forehead, “We’re going to figure everything out, baby,”

You move to the side to lay your child in her crib, twisting to press yourself back into Ciscos front so his arms tightly wound around you, nose in your neck in search for his own comfort.

November 2017, the day before destruction.

You find yourself wide awake. Eyes staring up at the ceiling, you listen to the slight shuffle of Cisco closing your daughters bedroom door, then your own as he moved into the room.

Ciscos quiet as he slides into bed next to you, his arm instantly sliding around your shoulders so you scoot to press yourself against his front, head ducking beneath his chin.

Ciscos exhale is deep, free hand pressed to the back of your head as he presses his lips to the crown of your hair, hearing your sniffle muffle against his shirt. “I’ve got you, baby,” His murmur is breathy, fingers knotted in your hair. “You’re okay,”

Your hand reaches up to grasp his wrist, hiccup loud against the silent bedroom as Ciscos fingers tighten their grip in your hair, free arm around your shoulders to hold you against him.

“I’m sorry,” You lean back, Ciscos eyes flicking across your face as you wipe your eyes, “I’m been so emotional instead of helping you guys figure out how to stop all this shit from happening, and-,”

“And you’re allowed to be,” Cisco murmurs, hand curling a piece of your hair behind your ear. Ciscos jaw clenches, “We’re allowed to be emotional,”

Your hands find their place at each side of his face, pulling him down so his lips meet yours, breathlessly. Ciscos hand slides to grasp your hip, his sniffle causing you to lean back and wipe the tear beneath his eye.

“I love you, you know that, right?” You repeat his words, Cisco smiling despite the tremble in his lip as he nods.

“I love you, too,”

Late November, 2017, the day of destruction.

Time falls still. Team Flash all stand frozen in terror. It happened. It really happened.

Savitar won. All those months trying to change the future was a fail. He knew it.

Cisco’s shout is what drags Barry to speed up and catch your near falling figure. Blood already stained your jacket, body limp against his suited form as he panicked for his best friend.

His sister.

“Y/N!” Cisco’s terrified cry gets closer as his footsteps skid, dropping down at your other side to pull you from Barry’s grasp, “Hey! Hey, baby!”

Tearing his goggles from his face, Cisco’s eyes brim red as his gloved hand held your face to look up at him, your own eyes hazy from exhaustion, but wide in terror.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cisco’s thumb brushes over the skin, eyes flicking back and forth across your face, “Stay awake for me, okay? Can you- can you stay awake?”

“Cisco-?” Your lips part in a wheezed breath, lifting your head in an attempt to look at the damage, but Ciscos hand tightens at your jaw, shaking his head as he sniffles.

“No, no. Look at me. Look at me,” His pleas are weak, free hand pressed to the wound so you hiss, “You’re okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay,”

Your head shakes, barely, blinking away the black spots but only causing more. “Take care of our baby, Cisco. Pl-please,”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Cisco begs, Barry’s chest tightening along with his stomach, sure he was going to puke from the nerves. “I’m right here,”

Your eyelids droop, Cisco shaking his head for the thousandth time, “No. No, no,”

Barry can feel his chest caving in. He failed. He knew it. Iris’ hand comes to his shoulder, worried, but he yanks it free, speeding off in fear of facing the now single father.

December 1st, 2017. The day after destruction.

“Kiss mama bye bye,”

Cisco can feel all eyes on him. But his attention focuses on the toddler in his arms, both of them staring at the casket in front of them.

Cisco raises his hand to pat his lips in a kiss, waiting for (D/N) to copy before he leans down, pressing his hand to the wood of the casket. “Kiss mama bye bye,”

(D/N) pats her hand hard on the casket, Cisco standing straight with a teary smile. “There you go,”

His daughter manages to catch the tear that slides down Ciscos cheek, propping her arm on his shoulder to twirl his hair around her small hand, “Why sad?”

“I’m not sad, sweetheart,” Cisco wipes his chin, then brushes his hand over (D/N)s head to push hair from her eyes, “I’m just missing mama, that’s all,”

“She coming back?” (D/N) glances down at the casket before the group around her, thumb now in her mouth to gnaw on.

“I don’t know, baby,” Cisco hates this. He doesn’t know what to tell her.

He inhales a deep breath when Caitlin walks up, her hand squeezing his arm with her own watery smile towards the little girl.

“Are you hungry, mi amor?” Cisco murmurs to the toddler, who only stared at her godmother and reached out to her. Caitlin giggles tearfully as she takes the child, eyes focusing back on Cisco who swallows.

“I’ve got her,” Caitlin promises, Cisco nodding as his jaw clenches, immediately looking over to see Joe and Barry.

“This hurts,” Ciscos breath is airy, voice strained, “So fucking much. We’ve been preparing for the worse since damn six months ago and-,”

“You’re never prepared for it,” Joe speaks, Cisco raising his hands to his face to wipe his eyes, “But all you can do is be there for that little girl,”

“What am I supposed to tell her?” Cisco doesn’t mean to give an attitude, but his emotions are in a whirlwind and his chest is caving. “‘Sorry that you were born into a world where meta humans and evil doppelgängers live that killed your mother’? That’ll go well,”

“Cisco,” Barry tries, quietly, but Cisco shakes his head, eyes now on him.

“Go back,” Ciscos plea doesn’t go unnoticed, “Go back in time. Figure out a way to save her,”

“You know I can’t do that,” Barry’s voice breaks, Ciscos eyebrows pinching,

“You did it for your mom!” Ciscos voice raises, Caitlin worriedly looking over from across the lot, “You did it for your dad! But your sister dies and she’s not worth it,”

“I won’t do it because if I don’t fix it, the timeline could be altered, again,” Barry steps forward, Joe calling for him, “Someone else could be killed. Someone could never exist, your daughter could never exist, there’s too many risks!”

“But you have to try,” Ciscos eyes are brimmed red by now, chest heaving as Barry is forced to watch his best friend break down, “You have to try and bring her back, please. (D/N) lost her mom, Barry,”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” A hot tear slides down Barrys cheek, Cisco shaking his head as he steps back, “Cisco-,”

“Don’t,” Cisco moves back towards Caitlin, hands out to take his daughter again.

“Let me drive you,” Caitlin offers, Cisco nodding as (D/N) curls into his shoulder, his eyes pinching shut at her small embrace.

December 25th, 2017. 26 days after destruction.

“Hey! You made it,” Joes smile is wide when he opens the front door to his house, Cisco and (D/N) in front of him.

Cisco smiles in greet, looking down at (D/N) who held a box, jumping as she held it up to her grandfather. “Papa Joe!”

Cisco takes the box from her to let Joe pick her up, stepping into the house to ruffle the snow from his hair. “If you can’t tell, (D/N) wrapped this for you,”

“You did?” Joe takes the box in his free arm, looking down at it then the toddler, “What is it?”

“You open it, Papa Joe,” (D/N) wraps her arms around Joes neck as he leads her further into the house, where the rest of the group greets the two new arrivals with cheers.

Cisco is greeted by Caitlin almost immediately, her smile warm as she looks him over, “You doing okay?”

“Physically? She’s got a sleeping schedule down to let me sleep a full eight hours,” Cisco jokes, weakly, eyebrows lifting, “Mentally? I’m hanging in there,”

“You know if you ever need me to take her for a day or two I can,” Caitlin reminds, Cisco nodding as his eyes drift to the near two year old.

“I know. But I feel like she needs me. It’s still all new with just us two, so…”

“And that’s okay,” Caitlin ends the conversation to watch (D/N) pat the box she had wrapped, Joe heaving her onto his lap before the box, pulling the bow loose to open the box.

“A picture!” Joe gives the toddler excitement, pulling a piece of paper from the unnecessary box, scanning it, “Who’s all these people?”

As (D/N) begins to list off each member of team flash, everyone else begins to pass around gifts. “This is daddy and mama,” Cisco looks up at this. He remembers seeing her draw every member, but not you. “Mama has ring ‘bove her head cause daddy says she’s a angel,”

“A halo, sweetheart,” Cisco moves to sit next to Joe, pulling (D/N) onto his own lap, “And she is,”

“Well it’s wonderful,” Joe pinches (D/N)s cheek, lifting a box at his feet to hand to her, “Now be very careful unwrapping this one, there’s something special in here,”

Cisco helps (D/N) unwrap the paper carefully like Joe demanded, (D/N) reaching in to pull out a small stuffed bear, older but looking clean nothing less,

“This was your mamas when she was little,” Joe states, Cisco staring down at the plush toy to see your initials on the tie of the bear, “Little bit older than you, but it was hers,”

Cisco smiles at Joe, thankfully, when (D/N) hugs the bear to her chest, holding it up for Cisco to see.

“There’s something for you, too,” Joe informs to Cisco, eyeing the box so Ciscos brows pinch, reaching in like (D/N) had done, pulling out a smaller box. Lifting the lid, he stares down at the gold necklace, on the chain being the first promise ring Cisco had given you when you first began dating.

“I know you don’t wear jewelry,” Joe begins, “But she left it when she moved out and I thought you should have it,”

“Are you kidding?” Cisco swallows the lump in his throat with a small laugh, clasping the necklace around his neck before tucking it under his sweater, “Thank you, Joe,”

Joe nods once, clapping his hands as he stands, lifting (D/N), “Alright, who’s hungry?”

July 2021, three years since destruction.

“I’ve met someone,”

Caitlin instantly looks up at this. Cisco stares at his computer screen, hesitantly looking up to see Caitlin and Barry’s reactions.

“That’s great,” Caitlin breathes, “What’s her name?”

“Kamilla,” Cisco exhales, leaning back in his seat, “I’ve known her for a couple of weeks, now, but-,”

“But you’re scared,” Caitlin tilts her head, “And that’s completely understandable, Cisco,”

“I should be fine,” Cisco sits up, refusing to look at Barry, “Y/Ns been gone for three years, now. But-,”

Again, Caitlin cuts him off, “But you’re worried about (D/N),”

“I’m worried about (D/N),” Cisco confirms, “I don’t want her to think I’m replacing Y/N. Because I’m not! Y/N…” Cisco pauses to swallow, standing up to pace in front of his two best friends,

“Y/N was there since- everything! Since Thawne, since Zoom. She liked everything I loved and I loved her. So much I married her and we had a kid,” Cisco faces the two, eyes glossy, “I still think about her when I wake up, how (D/N) still doesn’t know what truly happened to her mom and how when Kamilla finds out, if we even went further-,”

“Take a breath,” Caitlin places her hands at Ciscos arms, “Kamilla will understand when she finds out, when you’re comfortable enough to tell her,” Caitlin’s lips press together, “You’re never going to fully get over Y/N. She was your first love, and that’s okay. No one’s rushing you to fall in love with someone else. That’s something you choose in your own time,”

Cisco stares at Caitlin, eyes flicking to Barry. Barry nods, smiling warmly. “I want my niece to have a mother figure. And I trust you that you’ll choose the right one capable for that,”

Ciscos shoulders deflate, nose scrunching, “Should I introduce them?”

“I would let Kamilla at least know that Y/Ns no longer here,” Caitlin hesitates, “But I think they would both love that,”

August 2021, three years after destruction.

“So this is the girl you’ve talked nonstop about,”

(D/N) looks up in alarm at the new voice. She sits next to Cisco at the corner booth in Jitters, staring at the coloring page before Kamilla makes an appearance.

“That she is,” Cisco smiles, brushing a curl out of (D/N)s face, “Kamilla, this is (D/N). (D/N), this is Kamilla,”

“Are you my daddy’s girlfriend?” The five year old tilts her head, Kamilla eyes flicking to Cisco so he winced, Kamillas lips pulling into a small smile,

“Only if I have your permission,” Kamilla sits down across of the two, Cisco curiously looking down at his daughter beside him. (D/N) jabs a crayon onto the page, coloring in one of the sunflowers at the bottom of the page.

“Daddy talks a lot about you,” (D/N) glances up at Kamilla, as if looking her up and down. “It’s a yes from me,”

“Very good vocabulary,” Kamillas eyebrows raise as she looks at Cisco, who smiles behind his Jitters cup.

“I’ve been trying to get her to learn some Spanish, too, for when she’s with my parents. (D/N),” He pauses to point at the flower she was coloring, “Que clase de flor es esa?”

(D/N) pauses as she looks to Cisco for help, before she blinks, “Girasol,”

“Sunflower, buena,” Cisco grins as Kamilla giggles,

“You’re gonna need to teach me some, how’s that sound?”

“I can try,” (D/N) smiles as she tilts her head bashfully, picking up her cup of chocolate milk to sip the drink.

Kamilla looks at Cisco, “She looks a lot like you. You did good,”

Cisco smiles, looking down at the child for what seemed to be the thousandth time. “She’s got a lot of her moms looks. Personality, though? All me,”

“Mama used to say I was her clone,” (D/N) grins, nonchalantly shrugging a shoulder, “Mama died when I was a baby,”

Ciscos lips press together, sighing through his nose as Kamilla frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. I bet she was a wonderful lady,”

(D/N) looks up at Cisco. “Is Papa Joe still coming?”

Kamillas brows pinch, Cisco looking at her. “Barrys dad is coming to pick her up. I just wanted you two to meet before he did,”

“That’s okay,” Kamilla smiles, spotting Joe walking towards the three before she reaches a hand out to (D/N), “It was very nice to meet you, (D/N). We still up for that Spanish lesson?”

“Only if you can keep up,” (D/N) pats Kamillas hand in a high five before turning to Joe, reaching up so Joe took the sign to pick her up.

“I’ll bring her back by the apartment tomorrow morning,” Joe informs, smiling to Kamilla in greet as Cisco nods.

“Ser buena para Papa Joe, okay?” Cisco points to (D/N), who nods, “I love you,” He looks to Joe, “Thanks for taking her,”

Joe nods, waving before he turns to leave the cafe, Kamillas eyes then looking back at Cisco, “I like her,”

October 2021, three years after destruction.

“(D/N), we’re gonna be late, amor, please,”

Cisco finds himself squatted in the middle of his kitchen. His daughter stands feet in front of him, pout on her face and arms crossed, dressed in mixed matched clothes that proved she dressed herself.

“I wanna wear this!” She pleas, curly black hair shaking as she hops on her feet. She wore a neon green sweater, while red and black checkered pants hugged her legs, one foot with a pink sandal while the other displayed a winter boot,

“Baby, it’s almost eighty degrees, you’re going to burn up,” Cisco rises to his full height to step towards his daughter, but she shakes her head, startling Cisco by vanishing out of thin air.

“Holy shit,” Cisco whirls around, shoulders dropping in relief to find (D/N) had teleported to the front door of the apartment, hand on the doorknob.

“We’re gonna be late!” She yells, as if she didn’t just teleport herself across the kitchen, already opening the door with a giggle,

“(D/N), hold on,” Cisco calls, catching her arm before kneeling down again, hands brushing her frizzy hair from her face, “How’d you get yourself across the room?”

(D/N) shrugs a shoulder, head tilted, “Papa Joe said mama had powers, I do too!”

Cisco cant help but blink. When did she find this out? “Okay,” Cisco heaves a deep breath, sticking his hands out to lift her up, “Please let me change you into decent clothes. I can’t have you overheating,”

“Can I wear my Spider-Man dress?”

“Sure. Yeah, you can wear your Spider-Man dress,”

November 2021, three years since destruction.

“So, (D/N) can teleport now,”

Caitlin blinks. That’s new. “What?” Barry’s question is heaved, eyes on his best friend standing with his arms crossed, “How’s that even possible?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out myself,” Cisco throws his arms out, eyes on Caitlin in a plea, “Can Dark Matter become genetic?”

“I’ve never heard of a meta child,” Caitlin hums, “But her powers are the same as Y/Ns, so it’s the only thing to make sense,”

“But, Jenna didn’t get Cecile’s powers,” Cisco shakes his head,

“That we know of,” Caitlin states, “Jenna’s still a baby. She can’t even talk yet. (D/N)s in that stage where shes developed more. How’d you find out anyway?”

“She teleported across the kitchen this morning,” Cisco sighs, hand at his temple, “Freaked out because I wouldn’t let her leave dressed like- she dressed herself. Teleported to the door before I could reach her,”

“Baby super hero?” Barry teases, shoulders up suggestingly

“Absolutely not!” Cisco demands, “I’m not putting my five year old on the field, dude,”

“I was kidding!” Barry laughs, “But, seriously. We’re going to have to train her to not just teleport whenever she wants. She does it in front of the wrong people and she could be in danger,”

“Yeah, thanks for calming my thoughts, man,” Cisco groans, “What if her powers work the same way Y/Ns did? Y/Ns powers reacted depending on her emotions. It’s likely to happen with (D/N), too,”

“That’s why we need to train her,” Caitlin soothes, “I’m sure everything will be fine. She’s got the best coaches to train her,”

December 2021, one week until destruction strikes again.

“Thanks for coming to our Earth to help, Y/N,”

Your doppleganger turns to smile at Barry. “Of course. Ramsey was a hard one for us to deal with, but I’m hoping to help you guys take him a little easier than we did,”

“There’s something I should tell you before you meet the team,” Barry’s wrings his hands together, “The you from this Earth, you died,”

“Oh,” You flick your eyes down, glancing to the side. “How?”

“Savitar,” Barry sighs, noticing the surprise on your face, “Is there a Savitar on your earth, too?”

“Was, but yeah,” You nod, rubbing your forehead. “We lost someone too from him. Originally it was supposed to be Iris, but HR took her place. Technology that helped him look like her, and,” You sigh, “Yeah,”

Barry nods, “Ciscos going to react when he sees you. You’ve been gone four years this month, which is terrible timing for us needing you, but,”

“I have to ask,” You plea, “Do we have a kid on this Earth too?”

“You do, yeah,” Barry rubs the side of his face, “(D/N),”

You nod, curling your arms to cross, “We named her (D/N), too. Guess all Earths aren’t so different after all,” You clear your throat, “Let’s get this over with,”

“You gonna be okay?” Barry questions, your nod light before you follow him into the entrance of the Cortex, where Barry clears his throat to gain the attention of five members.

Wally is the first to speak, “Holy shit,”

“I know this might be a surprise,” Barry starts, your chin tilting down when Ciscos eyes begin to burn from staring at you. “But we could really use her help with Ramsey,”

“Of all people, bringing her doppelgänger was the answer?” Cisco now speaks up, your eyes flicking up to him as he stands, “I’ll be in my lab,”

“Cisco,” Barry pleas, your hand raising as you frown,

“Let me talk to him,”

By the time you make it to Ciscos lab- which looked exactly like his on your earth- he has already sat down and stared at a project. “Cisco,”

“I don’t want you in here,”

“Cisco, Barry told me,” You state, “About the me from this earth,”

“Great, so you know that I don’t want you here,”

“Cisco, I understand-,” “No you don’t!” The man stands up almost as quick as he’s sat down, turning to stare at you, actually look at you, “You don’t understand. You look just like her,”

Cisco turns to run his hand through his hair, turning back around, “This isn’t some joke,”

“I didn’t say it was,”

Cisco forces a laugh, eyes gleaming from his labs lighting, head tilting back, “You died in front of me when I told you everything would be okay. I told you we would figure it out and instead you died that night,”

Your arms cross again, letting the man reveal his four year hidden feelings, “And now my daughter has no mom because I lied to you. We didn’t figure it out,”

“You can’t hold onto that guilt forever, Cisco,”

“How can I not?!” Ciscos shout startles you, “How can I not be guilty when you died because I lied to you? We spent six months trying to find ways to save you and every single outcome we had failed. You died, Y/N, and now I’m spilling my emotions to my ex-wives doppelgänger,”

Ciscos hands raise to his head, tugging at the strands as his eyes pinch shut, head ducking down with a heavy exhale.

You swallow. Stepping up, closer to him, you reach out to pull one arm down from his hair, “I’m gonna hug you, okay?”

Ciscos sniffle is loud as he nods, his arms wounding around your shoulders as yours loop around his back, feeling Cisco exhale into your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Cisco murmurs, your eyes shutting as your bodies lightly swayed, “I’ve tried so hard to be there for her, but she looks just like you and I can’t-,”

“I know,” You sigh, own eyes glossy. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Cisco,”

Cisco shakes his head, arms tightening around you as his chin props on top of your head, “How did we save you on your Earth?”

You frown, “I wasn’t Savitars target. Iris was,”

Ciscos grip slightly loosens. “She didn’t die, though. HR did,”

Cisco leans back, wiping his hands across his face with a deep sigh. “I needed that,” He mumbles, dropping his hands to look at you, “The hug. The last time I saw you, you were dying in my arms. I just… It’s hard,”

“I know,” You murmur, eyes flicking downwards to his chest, staring at the necklace around his neck, “You kept it,”

Cisco instantly looks down, clutching the ring on the chain in his hand, “Joe gave it to me the first Christmas after. Along with your old teddy bear for (D/N),”

“Oh, God, he actually kept it?” You laugh with a roll of your eyes, Ciscos smile light as he chuckles, “Hope he doesn’t pop up with it for my (D/N),”

Cisco blinks, “You named her (D/N), too?”

“Of course,” You smile, “We thought of that name before kids were even in the question, remember?”

Cisco smiles, nodding. “Thank you,” He sighs, “I’m sorry for blowing up on you,”

“It was understandable,” You point, “I’d freak if my Ciscos doppelgänger showed up unannounced too,”

Cisco heaves a breath through his nose, eyes staring at you, “She has your powers,” He whispers, head shaking with a weak laugh, “And I don’t know how to help her control them,”

“That’s something we don’t share between Earths,” You hum, Ciscos brows furrowing, “My (D/N) actually has your vibes,”

“Seriously? But I got rid of my powers!” Cisco whines, your laugh light as you nod,

“Trust me, Cisco on my Earth was not happy either,” You pinch your brows, “But, I may be able to help you with your (D/N),”

Ciscos eyes widen in slight panic, “You can’t see her,” His head shakes, “It’ll mess with her head, she knows you’re-,”

“Cisco, calm down,” You raise your hands, moving to his desk to grab his notepad, “I’ll write tips down for you. I’d never do anything to expose myself to my daughter who lost me,” You pause your writing, eyes looking at him, “I promise after everything with Ramsey is handled, I’ll leave,”

Cisco nods, rolling his jaw in thought, “Thank you for being here,”

“I’m sorry for being here,” You answer, “I know it’s hard. I never meant to break the healing you were doing. I just wanted to help my brother in any way or on any Earth that I could,”

“And I appreciate it,” Cisco states, “Even if you aren’t our Y/N, I promise to make sure you get safely back to your Earth,”

You smile, lifting the notepad before handing it to him, stepping to the side to exit his lab.

January, 2022, destruction strikes again.

“She didn’t make it off the table,”

The team of six stand in silence. Cisco feels the emotions all over again, but this time he feels numb at the same time.

Leant forward on the control panel, Ciscos eyes stare towards the lab where you were taken. Ramsey had won. Another one was lost.

“Someone should go to Earth 9 to let her team know,” Iris speaks, hesitantly, eyes on Cisco as his eyes shut, pinched.

Just like four years ago, you had died in front of him again. He knew it wasn’t you, but the emotions were just as hard.

“I can go,” Barry murmurs, Cisco pushing off the desk at the same time to turn around, exiting the Cortex in quick steps.

When Kamilla finds him in his lab, he is staring at the notepad on his desk. “What’re you thinking about?”

Ciscos eyes flutter, glossy as he drops his head, sighing, “How I lied to her again,” He lifts his head, looking at the woman beside him, eyes brimmed red, “I promised her I’d get her back home after Ramsey was dealt with. But-,”

Cisco sinks down into the chair behind him, hands over his face. His hands drop, eyes watching as Kamilla sits in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” He speaks, hands rubbing together, “I thought it’d be easier this time. She wasn’t even our Y/N, and yet,” Cisco shakes his head, hand over his jaw.

“Her team is going to find out she didn’t make it,” His knee bounces, exhaling, “God, her (D/N) doesn’t have a mom now, either,”

“Tell me about her,” Kamilla speaks, softly, Ciscos brows pinched as he looks up at her, “Your Y/N,”

Cisco hesitates, and Kamilla states it’s because with her now helping raise your daughter- Kamilla knew almost nothing about you to talk to your daughter about.

“We met through Barry,” Cisco starts, hands fidgeting together, “She was his twin sister. After Barry got struck by lightning Y/N ran to STAR Labs freaking out- we almost had to kick her out because she barged in unannounced,”

Cisco cracks a smile. “She became a part of Team Flash with us after we learned about Barry’s powers. She was the next one to come up with powers, when we threw a surprise party for her-,” Cisco heaves a weak laugh, “-We scared her so bad she literally just vanished in thin air, turned out she teleported to Spain and managed to teleport herself back to the labs,”

“We started dating and got married in the same year,” Cisco rolls his eyes, “But I loved her. I knew she was the one and I didn’t want to chance letting her go,”

Kamilla notices his eyes start to distance as he stared at his hands, “She had (D/N), and not even a year later was when we found out about Savitar. It was killing her, because she knew she wouldn’t get to watch our baby grow up,”

At his rough sniffle, Kamilla rolls her chair up in front of him to wrap her arms around his shoulders, his head resting against her chest. “It’s why I wanted to get rid of my powers so quickly,” Cisco breathes, Kamilla brushing a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to chance (D/N) losing her dad, too. Not after I promised to Y/N I’d protect our daughter,”

“Do you remember what we talked about?” Kamilla hums, Cisco slightly leaning back, “About stepping back from all of it?”

Cisco nods, Kamilla tilting her head, “I think it’s time we do that. But only if you’re ready to,”

A long pause, Cisco looking up at her with a single nod, “I’m ready to,”

#cisco ramon imagine #cisco ramon x reader #cisco ramon the flash #cisco ramon one shot #cisco ramon #Kamilla wang

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mareastrorum · 1 year

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TF&TS

I'm gonna jot this down now and then probably edit and pin it later, but here's an explanation of what I've been working on.

TF&TS is a Critical Role fanfic I'm writing and plan to post to AO3. It's going to explore campaign 2 with the following caveats:

Molly survives the ambush on the Iron Shepherds.

Lucien pursues Molly as a spirit, similar to Azazel from Fallen (1998), as Matt described in the campaign wrap up.

There's a lot more detail to flesh that out, but to give a sense of why this grew into something big, this is how the fanfic came into being:

January 2022: I started watching Critical Role in order, beginning in campaign 1, including Talks Machina.

July 2022: I finished C2 and the campaign wrap up. Matt said that the initial plan had been for Lucien to be a lesser recurring villain as a spirit (like Azazel) that was trying to possess Molly's body and get rid of him. Lucien wasn't going to be a big villain until the Somnovem got revealed at some point.

I love that film. I love Azazel. I enjoyed Lucien as a villain. I got really excited at that idea and searched for fanfics that explored that. THERE WEREN'T ANY. Some fanfics explored Lucien as a more traditional ghost, or haunting dreams, and now there's a smidgen of short (usually 1 chapter) fics that address something similar to body-snatching. But not a full-on Azazel-style spirit pursuing Molly and trying to murder him to death throughout Campaign 2.

August 2022: Watched EXU Calamity. Damn, that was cool. Epic shit. Got me excited. Again searched for fanfics. Nope. It's only been a month, I don't know what I expected.

What would Lucien's spirit abilities even be? Ghosts are pretty lame in D&D. He can't just be one of Matt's old Lingering Souls because that class can be killed permanently, and it would be really easy for the M9 to do that. It wouldn't work for a recurring villain. He'd get Lorenzo'd. So Lucien would have to be something that was more challenging for a group, and he'd have to be something that could come back. Then I built a monster block for Lucien with Azazel style mechanics. I was like, cool, that was fun.

How would the combat play out? I got all the character sheets off CritRoleStats and played a combat scenario out. Lucien got curb stomped, so I modified his stat block and did it again, then again until I finished a stat block that was actually challenging. Cool, that was fun.

Wait, when would that even happen in the story? I looked up the timeline on the wiki to sort out when there would be an opportunity for (1) Lucien to come back as a spirit in the first place, and (2) when he would be able to reach the M9.

Well, shit, how does Lucien come back? If he's not a Lingering Soul, and he had to be repaired by the Somnovem, then he's somewhere in the Astral Sea. The Somnovem probably can't just fling a soul across the planes, so someone needs to summon him from the Astral Sea. Who would do it? The Tombtakers! But how? Only Cree and Otis have spells, so one of them. Otis can't use summoning spells like that, and there's no way for Otis to contact the Somnovem. But Cree can Commune! Cree has Legend Lore! But when would she use that? And so on and so on until I worked out a plausible way and time for him to come back. Cool, that was fun.

But then the question is: why did the Somnovem send Lucien as a spirit instead of just telling Cree to murder Molly? Matt might or might not have had an explanation for that plan, but regardless, it never came out in the campaign. And I never really came up with a reason for Molly to survive the Iron Shepherds. Would there be a reason for both? Shit, more brainstorming.

And then I had an idea.

I was like, no, I'm not gonna write that. That's too big. I've never written a fanfic. I've never done any creative writing outside of high school. But it's in my head and it wouldn't leave me alone. So I thought, I'll just get it out by making an outline, then once I get sick of it and don't write anymore, I won't be disappointed. I spent all of August writing an outline while I watched campaign 3. It wound up at 168 pages on Google Docs. Cool, that was fun.

I wasn't bored of it yet. So I brainstormed what I thought each individual Somnovem would be like. Oh, and some other themes for each of them. And tied them to specific sensory perceptions and schools of magic. I wrote a few key scenes with the Somnovem and Lucien because dreams are weird and the crazy wizard aberrations are cool. Then I wrote some scenes with Lucien and the Tombtakers. Then I wrote some scenes with Molly and the M9. Cool. Cool.

What if Molly learned about how to use his bloodhunter abilities through dreams about Lucien's past? Oh, that'd be great. So I wrote some scenes from Molly's POV where Lucien learned how to do bloodhunter stuff like that, then mapped out when they would have to take place based on when he hits certain levels. It was only going to be 5-6 dreams, and I thought that might be a lot. It's okay, I'll space them out.

Cool.

Fuck, I need to write it. I want to write it.

So I decided, sure, I'll write it after TNEOL comes out. That way I know Lucien's backstory and I can work that into the themes and plot lines.

I did not enjoy TNEOL. Almost any of it. Part of that is my fault, I had high expectations. But man, it missed every mark I had set.

I looked at the outline. Shit. Now I needed to add a backstory for any of this to make sense because it definitely does not work with TNEOL, and the readers will assume it applies. I NEED A HEADCANON. And I need to insert that backstory somehow. What if Molly had dreams of Lucien's past throughout the campaign? Sure! But why would Molly have dreams of Lucien's past so often after he survived the Iron Shepherds and none before?

Another idea.

All that brainstorming replaced the plan of having Molly learn abilities through dreams. So now I've written about 30 dreams. Yep. THIRTY. There's more that are in progress and not yet first drafts.

What if I made Lucien Irish as fuck? It's hard to hear accents while reading anyway, so adding a language would be fun. And dialects. And code-switching. Now I've woven in Irish. But wait, maybe that should be a D&D language.

What about Cree's holy symbol? The M9 never saw that necklace until Eiselcross, and it is kind of weird that Matt made such a big deal about seeing it then. How did she cast spells before then? What was her previous holy symbol? She had to have one to cast the resurrection spell that brought Lucien back. And what about how Lucien would have been able to read the book when it's written in Undercommon? Reminds me, how would an uneducated orphan learn how to speak so eloquently (and without copy/pasting anyone else's backstory like TNEOL did)? How can I represent the Pattern in writing? And then I methodically went through every single plot hole or gap in explanation that I could find in the campaign related to Molly, Lucien, the Tombtakers, Vess DeRogna, and the Somnovem.

Oh my god, all the fucking ideas.

I HAVE A HEADCANON.

And it just went on from there.

I bought Scrivener because Google Docs crashed whenever I opened it on mobile. Now TF&TS has about 235k words. Not a single chapter is complete.

Currently, the plan is to write as much buffer as possible before Molly's comic comes out in May, then work in whatever it has into the story (unless it's TNEOL-compliant, because no). Depending on how comfortable I am with the pacing, I'll either start posting one chapter weekly or bi-weekly in May, or perhaps on the anniversary of the last episode of C2.

That's what all my posts about fanfics and writing are about. This single fanfic. Just one. I've literally never written any fiction since high school. Zero.

But in about two years, I'll have finished one.

#TF&TS #critical role fanfiction #Azazel!Lucien

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90363462 · 2 years

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Glenda Cleveland Died 2 Decades After Trying To Turn In Neighbor Jeffrey Dahmer

Sep. 28, 2022

By the time many viewers streamed Netflix’s Dahmer — Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, they were already well aware of the 17 gruesome murders that the titular serial killer committed between 1978 and 1991. However, a lesser-known element that the true-crime dramatization covers is how systemic racism and institutional failures of the police “allowed one of America’s most notorious serial killers to continue his murderous spree in plain sight for over a decade.”

One such real-life figure that Dahmer spotlights is Glenda Cleveland (Niecy Nash), one of Dahmer’s neighbors, who repeatedly contacted police and the FBI but was not taken seriously. Though the Netflix series depicts Cleveland as living in a Milwaukee apartment directly next door to Dahmer (Evan Peters), she actually lived in an adjacent building, according to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. Because her reports were not investigated, the serial killer went on to brutally murder an additional five victims that some believe could have been saved.

One of those five victims was 14-year-old Konerak Sinthasomphone. On May 27, 1991, Cleveland's daughter, Sandra Smith, and niece, Nicole Childress, spotted the young boy fleeing from Dahmer in an alley. Sinthasomphone was naked, bleeding, and had been drugged, but when police arrived on the scene, they chalked up the incident to a homosexual lovers’ spat. They left the young man with Dahmer, who ultimately murdered him.

“The police were right there, and they walked him right back into Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment, I believe, for one of two reasons,” Nash explained in a Netflix promo video. “One, because it was a Black woman complaining and calling them to do something. And, two, because they believed what they stumbled on was a same-sex couple. ... I think it was homophobia, on one hand, and not having that much respect for a Black woman, on the other hand.”

Cleveland’s then-18-year-old daughter also described that evening to the Associated Press. “We tried to give the policemen our names, but he just told us to butt out,” Smith said at the time. “I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want our names. I said, ‘What are you going to do about this? This is a boy.’”

Dahmer went on to kill four more young men in the following weeks, before police arrested him on July 22, 1991. As revisited in the Netflix series’ first episode, Tracy Edwards was able to escape his apartment and flag down two officers. Once inside, authorities found several severed heads, skeletal remains, and dismembered body parts.

Following Dahmer’s arrest, the Rev. Jesse Jackson (Nigel Gibbs) traveled to Milwaukee to meet with Cleveland. “Police chose the word of a killer over an innocent woman,” Jackson said at the time. Cleveland, for her part, told the many reporters gathered outside her home, “I just want to get back to normal,” and remained in the same apartment until 2009.

Meanwhile, the data entry specialist received several awards and honors from local women’s groups, the Common Council, County Board, and then-mayor John Norquist, who called her a model citizen. Cleveland eventually moved but only a couple of blocks away from the scene of Dahmer’s crimes.

Then, in December 2011, police found Cleveland dead in her apartment while conducting a wellness check. The medical examiner’s office ruled that the 56 year old died of natural causes connected to heart disease and high blood pressure.

Still, her legacy lives on. “If anything, I would want people to know that Glenda Cleveland was special. That was a special woman,” Nash added. “To continue on and on and on in an effort to get someone to do something, she deserved way more than a little cheesy plaque in the bottom of a social hall somewhere. ... And I would want people to know that we all know or have been or will be a Glenda Cleveland in this life. That’s for sure.”

So when Dahmer approached 1 billion hours streamed within the first month of its release, Nash naturally felt emotional about shining such a large spotlight on Cleveland’s story. “The truth is, I cried like a baby,” she shared during a Netflix press conference on Oct. 29, recalling a phone conversation with creator Ryan Murphy. “And I cried like a baby because, I said to Ryan, ‘It is my prayer that wherever Glenda Cleveland’s soul is resting that she finally feels heard. She finally knows that her story has gone all around the world.’ That was important to me.”

The Milwaukee pd was like we hate black and gay men so much that even when a person of color is running to us for help we’ll take the white serial killers side and let that child get murdered by him so fuck black and gay lives and fuck believing black peoples who been warning us about that monster especially that Glenda Cleveland and honestly we have no regrets wanting any black, poc or lgbtqa plus community even if it’s a child to be murdered

this black woman is like FUCK YOU right back I will never let anyone get harmed by any monster and god forbid if any of my siblings get harmed because of my actions knowingly or unknowingly I would have felt complete guilt, the type of guilt that would have you wanting to die every day. when someone tells you who they are the first time believe them the world needs less of these cowards and more Glenda’s .

Milwaukee pd hates black folks and lgbtqa plus communities and honestly just like d*****r I wouldn’t be surprised if those who let a child die ended up being murdered and I wouldn’t miss them at all.

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socksracoon10 · 2 years

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2

July 18th, 1886

Dearest Diane,

My sorrow has bewitched my luck, it is slowly running out. Though Lucas has found himself a worthy tutor and I, a humble maid, there is still this... this heavy burden that is constantly gnawing at my heart’s tender regions. My mind has confirmed my fear that Robert shall never return and my heart grasps onto tiny fragments of hope while my soul remains restless, fighting between the two. There is still much left for me to do, but as I only have 1 pair of eyes, arms and legs, I’m quite frightened that the task of caring for my son will ultimately result in my death.

Forever yours, Priscilla C.

When the sun’s rays softly shone through the many houses of Southlyn, it was disappointed to find them empty. Abandoned and destitute lay the beds with the cotton blankets spread in a disorganized manner, as if everyone suddenly left themselves to attend to something far more important. The sun moved over a few more inches to get a better look into the town and there the civilians were, lined up eagerly outside the Piper household. Aside from the whispered gossip or the occasional frown on another’s face, the only thing that remained constant was the absolute despair that Mrs. Piper was experiencing. Mr. Hempfield, the local bobby, had marched into the house; he had a firm hand clasped around his nose and he pulled his hat closer to his eyes when he entered Harley’s room. From downstairs, the family only heard the shocked cries from the grown man as Mrs. Piper flinched.

From down the street, the commotion had created a stir within Mr. Piper’s coach. The old gentleman had grown tired of having to endure the long journey and on top of all that, the driver had informed him that the road was blocked.

“Absolutely preposterous!” The gentleman cried out, scurrying out of the coach to grab his belongings.

From the porch of the house, sat Harley Piper with rage pumping through his blood. His father wasn’t even home yet and the whole town was mocking them, calling them murderers in hushed tones. The cry of a man along with the neighing of horses caught the attention of the citizens who snapped their necks to see the commotion and their ill wishes only heightened after realizing it was Mr. Piper. The man was covered from head to toe in rainwater; he sputtered a good morning and dragged his luggage through the crowd with raised eyebrows.

“Has your cooking finally killed someone?” Mr. Piper laughed, staring at his wife. No response came and he grunted before looking around him. “What’s the problem here? What’s going on?” He inquired, and Harley couldn’t help but pity his father. The poor man had just come from a business trip, and he didn’t even know the horror the family was suffering. The front door swung open with Mr. Hempfield and Edward exiting cautiously, their hands fidgeting uncomfortably. Mr. Piper frowned, his bushy brows furrowing as his eyes traveled from the young man to the bobby and back to the young man.

“Good god, what have I missed?” Mr. Piper trembled, the luggage dropping onto the grass. Mr. Hempfield sniffed, stomping down the porch stairs with his hands flying to the handcuffs.

“Mr. Piper, you will be placed under arrest for being a suspect in the gruesome murder of an unidentified body.”

Mrs. Piper wailed at the accusation and her hands flew to her face, covering the streams of her tears that flooded out of her eyes. Harley shot up from his seat in shock,

“Mr. Hempfield, what evidence was even there that brought you to such an act?” Harley demanded, approaching his father’s side.

“You’ve told me he was on a business trip, but aside from your word we have no further evidence that he really went on such a trip!” The bobby replied and Edward cried out in exasperation,

“This is a bloody joke, isn’t it? Mr. Hempfield, I assure you that it’s impossible for Mr. Piper to be the culprit behind this, I suggest we return to the room and find proper evidence-”

“Just because you’re attending that school gives you no right to question my methods,” Mr. Hempfield barked, attaching Mr. Piper to the handcuffs before using his baton to guide the man to his station. Mr. Piper remained silent as his head turned to give a final look at his family. Harley made eye contact with his father and noticed this sense of disappointment on the man’s face; his father had just accepted a lie and was being carried off when there clearly were no facts to prove that this was his work.

The crowd around Piper’s household slowly began to fade away, each one of them returning to their houses to finish their breakfast or continue with their sleep. The family lay destitute on their front yard when Harley stormed past them, dashing to his bedroom with Edward trailing behind. The two young men found themselves staring at the dismembered arrangement, yet again, and this time it was not fear that took over their body. It was rage, this bubbling heat of anger that boiled their blood. Harley Piper’s feet could not stay still; he paced the room, circling the head as Edward finally got the courage to crouch down, examining the head of the victim. The chubby fat that drooped around the mouth and the sharp nose were strikingly similar to the baker just across Edward’s house; it surely had to be Mr. Morris. But what did a modest baker have to do to endure such a crime? Edward pondered his question for a while, before the rest of Mr. Hempfield’s team kicked the boys out of the room to remove the body. The young men watched the bobbies take each body part out of the room, and they all had the same revolted expression on their face.

“I cannot fathom the reason why they arrested my father, how stupid are these people?” Harley scoffed, the knuckles of his hand turning white as his hands balled into fists. Edward could only nod his head in silence, afraid to say something else to anger his friend. He watched the youngest Piper rush into his room and pull out a Remington. The barrel of the gun glinted in the sunlight that shone through the window, and Harley’s hands glazed over the weapon; a delicate touch dancing on the metal. Edward’s eyes widened in surprise, his arms outstretched,

“What do you think you’re doing?” He fired, reaching out to grab the gun. Harley shoved the incoming hands away and pointed the weapon at his dear friend,

“You stop me from my task, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Edward was too stunned to speak, and even as he tried to search for the right words to use, they all seemed to come out as uneasy breaths. “Surely you don’t mean that, do you?” He asked when he finally got the words to form.

“I do. My whole family is ruined, my father is now arrested for something he didn’t do and that imbecile of a murderer is out there alive. I’m going to find him and I’m going to make sure he pays for what he has done,” Harley bellowed, jostling past Edward who merely stood there, paralyzed in fear.

“There are more civil ways to do this, I’m sure you know that, Harley.”

“I don’t care what’s civil and what’s not anymore. If I need to become the worst of my species and revert to a savage animal, then I shall. I suggest you mind your own business now Edward, it would be for your own good.” Harley threatened and then promptly left his friend stranded in the bedroom.

*******************************************************************************************

Lucas Charleston had woken up with a start from his maid in the morning; she had shaken him from his sleep, screaming at his face that a terrible thing had occurred in someone’s house. The blind man had raised from his bed in a fright, hands flailing around as he intended to knock out the maid for disrupting the slumber that he ever so rarely got in the first place and also because he didn’t want to hear anything ill so early in the morning. As the maid narrated the tale to him, Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his bed. The Baker? He thought to himself, confused as to why a baker would’ve been killed. Perhaps he poisoned the muffins, or the recipient of the cake was left unsatisfied with the sour taste of the cream.

“A baker?” Lucas repeated after the maid, “A baker was killed? Good god, this world is surely turning to a living hell. A baker can’t even bake, anymore, can he?” He laughed, throwing the covers off his legs. The maid scorned the ignorant comment and helped Lucas towards the bathroom.

“No one’s safe these days, not even you, Lucas!” The maid cried outside the door as Lucas chuckled,

“If someone were to kill me, I’m sure they themselves would find shame in their act. Imagine killing such an easy prey, I’m sure a killer would want a challenge.”

The maid did not respond, and the bathroom was flooded with the noises of water sloshing as Lucas brushed his teeth. He could already smell the breakfast delectables that were probably spread out on the breakfast table and his stomach ached with hunger. When he finished getting himself ready and after a proper bath with the maid aiding him, they both descended the stairs with care (even though God forbid he would climb stairs by himself, he detested them more than anything else) and headed towards the kitchen. As Lucas feasted on the maid’s talent, he heard a fast knocking on his door that caused him to cease all actions and turn around to face the noise.

“Mrs. Smith, do you hear that?” He inquired,

“Indeed, I do.” The maid responded, getting up from her chair with a groan as she sauntered her way to the door. She peered through the side windows to get a view of the mysterious visitor, but all she could see was a large sky-blue hat with white feathers fashionably attached. She had an instinct that it must be Mrs. Schmidt but she didn’t have the courage to test her luck and simply opened the door. Mrs. Smith smiled upon seeing that her original guess was correct and saw the young woman staring at the flowers near the steps; she appeared to be in a long trance when Mrs. Smith snapped her fingers, catching the attention of Mrs. Schmidt.

“Darling, what were you staring at for so long?” The maid giggled and Mrs. Schmidt smiled thinly,

“The flowers are beginning to pale, water it properly,” She replied, curtly and pushed past the maid and into the kitchen. Mrs. Smith huffed in annoyance and shut the door behind her, marching to Lucas to make a proper complaint about his regular visitor but her hopes were crushed when she saw their hands intertwined with the young woman caressing the blind man’s left hand.

“I do apologize for barging in all of a sudden, but I've come to make amends from my last visit. You see my husband as been quite... burdensome when he sees me interact with other males. He is a jealous creature, but I’ve finally convinced him otherwise. Now, Lucas, tell me, what have you done in this past week?” She inquired, her hands shifting to a scone that Mrs. Smith had made.

The blind man shook his head, “I don’t believe anything interesting can ever happen with my... my eyes, but my ears did pick up on some certain news, love.” His head shifted to his left as he believed Mrs. Smith to be standing there; she was not, actually. She had left to wash the clothes but Mrs. Schmidt didn’t utter a word as she let him continue his imagination,

“I heard someone was murdered today,” he said with a grin, and she smiled,

“Ah yes, I heard of it too. Poor Harley, his father was arrested and the boy went mad because of it." Mrs. Schmidt responded, rising from her seat. With the excuse of using the bathroom, she lifted the ends of her skirt and approached the stairs. The dent of Lucas’s head on step four still remained evident even after all these years and her eyes shifted from them to the very top where the right side of the wall remained scratched. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled upstairs and down the hallway to the mysterious room. The room had been closed for decades. The door to it was encased with what seemed to be the finest wood and there was a stained-glass window in the heart of it; easy access for on-goers to peer into. As she opened the entrance, it let out a magnificent creak, one to alert everyone present in the household. Mrs. Schmidt froze, hands firmly on the door and she held her breath.

“Is that you, Charlotte?” Lucas questioned from the kitchen and Mrs. Schmidt adjusted her voice to sound quite merry,

“Yes, it is, I told you I’m off to the bathroom!”

“Oh right of course, carry on then!” The blind man replied, and Mrs. Schmidt rolled her eyes, moving the door open despite the heavy noise it made. This despicable door, she grimaced, and nearly had a coughing fit over the dust. She stepped back, trying to regain his breath. Her eyes darted to the hallway, seeing if there was any movement within. None was detected, thank the lords. Her eyes searched eagerly for that diary her husband always talked about and her delight knew no bounds when she found it placed safely on a pedestal right underneath a portrait of Priscilla Charleston. Taking the book, she gathered the courage to sit on the floor and gazed up at the painting of the mysterious woman in the room; a woman in her early 30s, the hint of white at the corners of her forehead that faded into the auburn of her hair. A petite nose with big yet soft eyes; her irises were that of the deep blue sea. She admired her beauty from the floor, finding it unfair that this woman was more beautiful than her. She returned to the book when she heard footsteps from the bottom of the staircase. Hesitating for a split second, she finally jumped into the air and fled out. Scuttling into the bathroom, she shut the door and what followed were uneven breaths and the maid banging on the door.

“What’s taking you so long, young lady?” Her voice seemed pressurizing; it reminded Mrs. Schmidt of the pressure cookers in the kitchen, waiting to burst open.

“Just a second, ma’am!” She answered, panicking as to what to do with the book. She noticed the set of washcloths that had been placed in the corner of the washbasin and with a heavy heart she grabbed a towel nearby and wrapped the book in it. After that, she pulled out a bug from under her dress and stuffed the book inside. When she opened the bathroom door, she saw the seething form of Mrs. Smith, ready to pounce on her any second.

“My apologies, ma’am. I had to... do some things, first.” She struggled to formulate a possible lie. Trying not to cause further suspicion, she raced down the stairs to bid goodbye to Lucas. She shook his hand and promised to meet him next week for a longer time than usual before rushing out the door. As she got onto her coach, she giddily shut the door and clapped her hands together in joy. This was it; she had done her deed and she couldn’t think of anyone else that would have done the same as her. Her husband would be proud of her, no doubt in that, and she could finally picture herself earning a new necklace or an accessory. Or even what she desired the most: control over him and his dense family.

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abvpoetry · 1 year

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i'm not sure

The one thing I’ve ever been sure about in my life is that I love art, the rest has always been iffy.

May 2013, Blue Sky Studio’s Epic releases in theaters.

I am six years old and in first grade. I do Ballet, Tap, and Jazz, I don’t like Ballet, but my mom won’t let me quit. I like to dance and sing and draw and laugh. I watch Powerpuff Girls and Veggietales with my brothers and sister. My favorite colors are pink and purple, because they go together. I like to make cookies with my Mimi in her kitchen and sit next to her by her green chair while we clip coupons in the family room. My sister goes to college at UTA and when I sleepover at her apartment we play on her Wii. I like Donkey Kong, but we play just dance and Wii sports too. It’s cool having a big sister but it’s weird because when we go to the mall people think she’s my mom and nobody at school knows what half-siblings are.

August 14, 2014, Robin Williams passes away.

I am eight years old in third grade when I first experience death. I walk out of my room on a Monday morning and see my cousin in the hallway. I don’t know why I’m not in school yet but I’m not one to complain. Later my parents pull me into their bedroom and sit me down on their bed. When they tell me, I feel something guttural escape me. I block out most of my memories from that week. In the limo after the service, my aunt pores over a small gold cross, Jesus stretched across it. I don’t go back to school for the next few days, but when I do, I do not feel welcome. All I want to do is look away and stare into space, but the moment I enter I see the check in board. Absent – Grandmother passed away. Immediately I am bombarded with questions from people who I was sure hated me. I feel sick. I spend the next three months isolating myself in the counselor’s office.

November 3, 2016, Donald Trump is elected president.

I am ten years old in fifth grade when my “best friend” tells me she hopes Donald Trump wins the election. When I ask her why she says it’s because of the economy. But what about the horrible things he says about women and minorities?

“Well obviously I don’t support that part.”

If it’s obvious, why do you have to say it? And how do you value economics over people’s lives? How can you live with yourself when you do that? I don’t understand, but I have to stay her friend, it’s not like I have anyone else.

June 28, 2019, the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots is celebrated.

I am thirteen and just finished seventh grade , and I think I like my friend. We met in theater and she’s cool and effortless and funny, but most importantly, she doesn’t think I’m weird, finally, somebody doesn’t think I’m weird. I want to tell her, but I also want to never see her again, so I won’t have to.

March 11, 2020, the WHO declares COVID-19 a pandemic.

I am thirteen years old in eighth grade and my birthday is in seven days. My boyfriend just broke up with me and when he tells me why it doesn’t sound like the whole truth. It seems like the worst week of my life. No birthday party because it’s spring break, everyone else is at home because of this “COVID” thing, and lately I just feel empty. I call up my friend Mabel to see if they can come over, and we drown out the pain with green splat hair dye and bad pop punk.

By the end of 2020, 44 trans people are murdered in the United States.

I am fourteen years old in my freshman year and as I open my phone, I see more notifications pop up in 10 minutes than I think I’ve ever had in my life. A barrage of apologies, condolences, sympathy. I’ve never talked to this one girl, I think she’s new, but somehow, she has my number. I’m not complaining, but I never would have thought these people would have cared about transphobia. I never would have thought these people would have cared about me. Weirdly, the same people telling me how bad they feel that someone called me that word are the same people whose friends still say it.

July 2022, Rep. Glenn Thompson attends his gay son’s wedding days after voting against legal codification of protections for same sex marriage.

I am seventeen years old in my junior year and I am excited for the future. I am scared but, for once, I have friends, a passion, and will. I plan to double major in psychology or adolescent psychology and women’s, gender, and sexuality studies, with a minor in Spanish. I want to work in counseling at an LGBTQ+ youth nonprofit. I want to help other people cope with what I am feeling right now. With college, I mostly worry about free time and art, depression, burnout, and money. I can feel the burnout coming soon and I’m going to take a gap year, but I’ll have to work full time, then keep working at least part time during school. I’m sure I’ll make time for art somewhere – I don’t know if I could live without it. It’s brought me to nearly every friend I’ve ever made and taught me how to be a person.

---

This piece is inspired by and written in the format of Genderfuck by Madison Hoffman

#poetry #politics #trans poetry

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youremyonlyhope · 2 years

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Stranger Things 4

This episode is 1 hour and 40 minutes. Hmm. Do I have time to watch it all in one sitting...

(The answer was no)

I hate the title of this episode. I’m not excited.

Chapter 7: The Massacre at Hawkins Lab

I think I’ll watch this and do minimal notes. We’ll see how that goes.

Coke product placement. Joe Keery was trending on tumblr yesterday too on top of Steve trending on twitter. I’m going to murder someone if my boy dies. Ah, there’s the cruel Papa we all know and hate. MinuteMaid product placement. Vecna being still under the Mind Flayer makes me feel slightly calmer. I had been thinking we were going from bad to bigger and badder each season, but if he’s below the Mind Flayer then that’s reassuring. “Oh no, I blocked that out.” Erica is me. I’d block out interdimensional battles out too. The Upside Down is frozen in time?!?!!?!?! Ok it’s in the past. But is it perpetually in Nov 6 1983, or is it moving realllllyyyy slowly? Skittles product placement “It’s in water and it’s a gate.” “That’s cute.” I agree Eddie.

OK NOW I gotta leave mid-episode. Will finish in like... ugh I guess 3 hours.

And I’m back about 2 hours later.

OOOOOOhhhhh GREAT upside down shot of the bikes. See this is great because up until this point, the “Upside Down” has just been the metaphorical name to describe something that’s like the real world but wrong. But now, it’s literally upside down. I love it. Now someone please help Steve he just got partially eaten and rode a bike for 7 miles. I need my boy to be safe. Awww see I knew this guy would be One, but I liked my Terminator Guy being #1 theory better. No I don’t like Steve being last to go up. I don’t like that. No. Nevermind, should have been worried about Nancy. WAIT. WHAT. ARE THEY IMPLYING HENRY (HARRY?) CREEL IS NUMBER ONE? AND ONE IS ALSO VECNA? IS THAT WHAT’S ABOUT TO BE IMPLIED HERE???? You know what. It does make sense. I had thought about the FBI being like “all of this matches Eleven’s powers.” was a little weird and I had been like “I mean... sure... kinda... but does it really?” and also thinking about how the broken bones of Eleven’s “siblings” felt really similar to the Vecna victims. I didn’t put it all together right away, but yes it does match the powers. One’s powers. I had wondered why the son survived at first before dying in the hospital, but didn’t write it down. Ugh. So will Eleven banish him into the Upside Down like she did for the OG Demogorgon? Wait. El made the gate??? Wait a second. We already knew she made the gate the first time around, right? In a different tantrum? That was the whole point of season 1, correct? Then what’s so special about this 1979 gate besides El obviously not remembering it? Oh wow. This is like... ORIGINAL original gate. There’s nothing here... So does One recreate Hawkins himself? Or will we see him land in Hawkins later but right now he’s still transferring between dimensions? I nearly checked to see who was playing Vecna and I’m glad I didn’t.

See I knew it’d be some sort of cliffhanger, but that’s cruel.

Nancy’s still in her trance, Steve is still stuck in the Upside Down with Nancy. Eleven’s just had her big epiphany. Oh my god, we didn’t see Will, Mike, Jonathan, or Argyle at all this episode, did we? They’re on their way to Nevada. Eddie’s still suspect #1 and there’s a mob trying to find the kids.

They’ve set up a LOT for July.

I have some questions though. If Vecna’s been in the Upside Down since 1979, why is it perpetually stuck in 1983? I know that that’s when El opened the big gate that messed everything up and swallowed up Will, but she opened a gate earlier in 1979. Why isn’t it frozen in that year instead?

I hope this is all answered in volume 2 of the season.

Oh shoot. Volume 2 only has 2 episodes; one that’s an hour and a half, and one that’s two and a half hours long. Well. We’re definitely getting a resolution. I was worried when I saw only 2 episodes.

It looks like Steve was trending on twitter because people love him so much they were scared he’d die, but he didn’t die. At least not yet. I will kill someone if they kill my boy Steve.

Also. Eddie. I really hate to say it, but I may have a crush on his actor Joseph Quinn. Honestly, I think it’s just his eyes. Something about his eyes was very cute. Also the 80s hair and overall 80s rocker look really works for him. I love that Stranger Things finds actors who really could have stepped right out of the 80s. The late 60 early 70s would be my favorite era of men’s looks and fashion (see: George Harrison) but I do not mind the 80s rocker look, and Joseph pulls it off.

#hope watches stranger things #stranger things spoilers #st spoilers

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gameriggy · 2 years

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LONG POST

Since lore has stretched out expansively, I wanted to get a good timeline of events I think are worth noting after Dreams Revival Book video released. Mostly as a refresher, but also as a connecting piece to see what may fit where.

NOTE: this isnt everything that’s happened on the server, it’s just what I could immediately find that I felt probably has some potential to be important

Jan 20: final disc confrontation, Dream is imprisoned due to his revival ability

- we now know punz was indeed in on dreams plans

- We know that dream already had a hold on enderwalk ranboo

Jan.30: Ranboo’s Prison “Nightmare”

- Referenced in the Dream Revival book video, dream and Ranboo are placed like it was the cell and the blocks confirm it. Also solidifies the implication that ranboo indeed caused the lockdown tnt explosion

February 21: Pandoras Vault is locked down due to the tnt explosion

- the eggpire (BBH and Antfrost) are hired by Awesamdude to increase security as guards while they try to find what caused the explosions

February 23: Bee n Boo

- roughly around when the bee n boo was being constructed in opposition to jack manifold hotel

- Referenced in revival book video due to bbh giving ranboo something, presumably the blueprints. The background looks like the bee n boo

- (Purely speculation but if it was blueprints to the prison, either ranboo placed them where techno later found them, or there was another plan that didn’t fall through to Ranboos ban from the prison)

March 2: ranboo mourns Tommy

- plants flowers in front of his house

- Contemplates how it could’ve been him in Tommy’s shoes if Tommy hadn’t have vouched for him

- Confronts Sams recklessness in allowing Tommy to remain in the cell with dream

March 6: Ranboo joins Syndicate

Post Tommy Revival: Ranboo ends up in the final disc confrontation room

- no immediate memory of it

- Hears voices from parts of the confrontation he hadn’t been in the room for yet

- Realizes his enderwalking is more frequent and is worried

- Realizes dream holds too much power with the revival book (I have three lives, I can afford to be reckless if it means stopping dream bit)

Sometime prior to April 23: Ranboo begins revisiting his enderwalk experiments

April 23: the Lessons Stream

- ranboo is revealed to not recall the shulker box deal he made with foolish, confirming that that was him in enderwalk

- He proceeds to continue to recall lessons in a book, getting more panicked with each one

- Begs Sam to imprison him, which sam refuses

- Returns to his home he questions “what am i” in his book, then proceeds to trigger his enderwalk.

April 25: The Red Banquet

- Warden Sam and his guards are involved

- Antfrost loses a life, BBH flees, Sam entraps the egg. No resolution as of writing this -1/14/22

- Ranboo was present in the background, presumably enderwalking. When he came out he passed by some of the survivors with noticeable fire resistance pot particles

- Ranboo is missing his memory book and his inventory spells out “I won”

April 28: Answer

- Ranboo gets an answer to “what am I” from his enderwalk self.

- "I am someone who stops conflict. I need to make sure that if any conflict arises to try and help in any way possible. MAKE SURE THAT EVERYONE IS SAFE. STOP CONFLICT. MAKE THE SERVER BETTER. This is what I need to do. Trust me."

May 21-22: Stronghold

-Ranboo accidentally finds a stronghold, proceeds to convert it to a lab and admit to the particles his experiments were meant to find a solution to the enderwalk

July 18: Ranboo attempts to build an end city build despite not knowing what an end city is

July 25: Ranboo begins assisting Wilbur in the Paradise Burger Van

November 27: Ranboo is imprisoned by Awesamdude

November 28th: Dreams escape

- technoblade breaks all known prisoners out of pandoras vault

- Awesamdude reveals he has kidnapped Michael_Beloved to Ranboo to gain his compliance

- Proceeds to murder ranboo in an attempt to get Dream back into the prison

- Ranboo loses his last canon life, previous two lost presumably to the enderwalk state

- Dream reconnects with Punz, terrorizes Tommy, and gains information from Sapnap on Kinoko Kingdom

#dream smp #dream smp lore #dream smp spoilers #ranboo lore #dream lore #enderwalk #enderboo #ghostboo #the syndicate #dsmp #dsmp lore #dreamsmp lore #dreamsmp #dream smp timeline #the revival book #bee n boo #c!ranboo #c!dream #pandoras vault

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lholland14 · 3 years

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Meeting the Fam (Binoe x toddler!reader)

Binoe x toddler reader where the Team meets super shy reader after a football game. Reader is like small and cute but fast as hell and in the end runs around with a couple player

Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe. The power couple of sports. The outgoing couple who are never one to shy away from their feelings, somehow had me as their kid.

The shy kid, the one who would rather sit in the corner and read.

It sucked at times, everyone telling me "Why don't you have friends?"

"Don't you want to talk to people?"

The truth is, I don't. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I can't. I don't understand it.

I don't understand my momma's incessant chatter, I just don't understand people.

Why are people constantly giving my mommies plants?

Why do people scream so much?

I can't deal with them.

Maybe that's why the first year I was with my mommies they thought I hated them, until they noticed how I would grimace every time Megan shouted, every time Sue bounced a basketball excessively hard on the floor.

I hated the noise.

Which leads me to the question of why would me mommies bring me to this profound event full of noise.

"Meg? Y/N/N? We gotta go." Sue loudly said, looking around as she walks down the hall.

Sue finds you in the same position you were always in except Megan had joined you. She shook her head before giving her wife and amused smile, "Let's go, children. We can't be late to your game."

"Mommy!" you whine, "One more chapter."

"Megan, tell our daughter that we need to go." Sue sighs.

Megan looks at Sue with a tilted head, "But she has one more chapter." she replied with a sillier tone as you.

Sue glared at her, "Okay, okay. C'mon bubs, you can read more in the car."

------

Car rides were your favourite, as you plane rides. For a certain amount of time, everyone and reverting was just how you liked it. Quiet.

Megan on the other hand was the opposite of what you liked. And mixed with the radio was a nightmare.

She sang to genres from Frozen, to Dua Lipa, to Taylor Swift to BTS. You and Sue both agreed to sneaky put on ear plugs whenever Megan was in charge of the radio.

"Lots of people go, Mommy?" you ask after around 15 minutes in the car, to try to shut up your momma.

Sue smiles, looking back at you from the mirror, "Theres always a good amount of people there. If you get bored, we brought your books and some toys."

You nod, "They loud Mommy?"

"Yeah, bubs." she replies, "But usually only when they score."

"So like all the time." Megan add on exaggerating the 'all' earning a hit from her loving wife.

You giggle and hit you Megan as well, but it ended up as more of a pat on the back.

You and Sue burst out laughing as Megan acted insanely wounded from your blow.

Finally Megan looks over her shoulder and laughs, "Crazy child." while rubbing her back.

You shrug, bouncing up and down in your seat. Excited, but nervous for the game.

------------

The three of you climb out of the car and your eyes immediately widen at the amount of people you see.

"Wow," you mumble.

Your mom takes your hand, "Lots of people, huh?" Megan kneeled down to whisper in your ear.

You nod absent mindedly as you were still taking in the vast amount of strange faces.

The two sport stars lead you through a series of doors before finally reaching a medium sized platform with a great view of the field. Sue swung you onto a comfy chair with a cushion on it before settling onto her own.

"Where you go" You asked wide eyed as Megan had stepped out the door.

She looked at you, then walked over to where you were sitting "Do you see that field?"

You nodded.

"Well, that's where I'll be"

"Why?" You furrowed your eyebrows.

Sue chuckled and messed up your hair "She's playing sweetheart."

You pouted, but was quickly distracted by watching the fans form a wave.

As you were watching the wave you missed the loving gaze Megan shot at you, before slipping out the door.

------

"Why are you so late?" Julie shot a look at Megan, before looking at her watch.

"I had to deal with something." Megan waved the questions away, and joined the huddle

"1, 2, 3 USA!" We all shouted.

It was France vs USA.

In short, we won. As usual.

0-1, the screams were incredibly loud, but momma let me wear my head phones so it was okay.

------

When it was all over momma brought me over to a room and told me to wait there while she got mommy.

I decided to finish my book, but someone interrupted me. I briefly considered murder, but decided against it when the thought of how bad it would look on my record.

"Help you?" I asked annoyed

"Huh? Oh, um I was just wondering if you were okay." the girl replied. She was pretty, with her blue eyes and brown hair. However her voice was something that interested me. It was nothing like I had ever heard before.

"Alex!" Another girl yelled "Come on! Megan said she had a surprise for us."

The blue eyed girl spared a glance at me before walking towards the other girl who was yelling.

After a couple more minutes of peace, momma came back but this time with mommy and another girl.

"Hey bubs" Megan greeted you in a high voice that always put a smile on your face

"So this is the infamous Y/n." The girl next to Megan stuck out her hand to shake "I'm Kelley"

"Hewyo" I gave her s shy toothy grin.

"Whats up?" Two other girls walked over to us. One was short, but the other looked like a giant.

"Sam, Kristie meet my daughter Y/n." Megan gestured over to me.

This pattern continued. People coming over and Megan introducing them to me.

Soon I met everyone, but still continued to hide from them until I saw one of the staff picking up some loose soccer ball on the field so I decided to help him.

It wasn't until Kristie noticed I was gone when Sue and Megan began looking for me.

They found me playing pass with Alex and Kelley.

"Hey kiddo! Over here!" Kristie yelled grabbing the attention of the toddler. Quickly she passed the ball over to Kris, and ran over to her to try to block her and get the ball back.

"Sam" Kristie shouted "I need back up! This kid is good."

"Coming, Sonnett come here"

As Kristie was distracted by her younger sister, you quickly stole the ball and ran towards the goal

"Dang she's quick." Lindsey said in awe

"She's like a mini you Kelley" Crystal teased

"What no, she's way to shy. If anything more like a Tierna" Rapinoe mused

Tierna laughed as Sonnett pouted when you scored a goal, and walked over to help retrieve you from Sam's arms.

You were laughing as Sam spun you around in celebration, when she put you down you ran over to Tierna.

"She's the Flash." Alex jokingly told Christen who rolled her eyes but went to join in the fun anyways.

Finally, after an hour later it was time to go. Instead of your usual behaviour of acting like they saved you from a disaster you were pouting.

You were pouting because you liked those girls, and your mommas could tell.

"Don't worry bubs, we'll see them again tomorrow." Megan reassured you.

"Really?" You asked, instantly brightening.

"Really" Megan replied.

“Okay, I tired now,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

Sue grins, “Come here,” she says, crouching down.

You run into her arms, hugging her neck. She picks you up and you rest your head on her shoulder.

Megan just smiles, watching as you slowly fall asleep on her wife's shoulder.

She stealthy takes a photo, but Sue saw and smiles at the camera. Megan quickly post it and captions the picture, 'Finally met The Fam. Peace out USA, Flash out'

#uswnt #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #sue bird #megan rapinoe #binoe #uswnt imagine

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bandaigaeru · 3 years

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song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,�� you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (July 9/2021) - NotDream SMP

Ponk comes to Foolish with a special request.

Tommy and Tubbo work on Tommy’s house and a strange new visitor arrives on the server.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Tommyinnit

---

- Ponk works on the Boom Station and places down signs with instructions along the corridor

- Foolish examines the damage Drista’s pig squad did in Kinoko Kingdom and repairs it

- Ponk calls Foolish as the evil version of himself. Ponk arrives there

- They walk and talk to the tree house, and Ponk breaks some news

Ponk: “You see...I am but a humble servant of this poor world, and you’re a god. Right? Loosely? Well, your godliness is pretty cool, you know? And me being a humble wanderer of this cruel world...it is not my place to take a king’s life, Foolish.”

...

Ponk: “How many kings do you know, Foolish? How many kings?”

Foolish: “I don’t know, is this a trick question?”

Ponk: “I’m pretty sure you know two, alright?”

Foolish: “Wait, who’s the second one?”

Ponk: “Eret and...Sam. You know Sam’s king of the creepers. He wears a crown on his head, do you know that? Apparently he is.”

...

Ponk: “But Foolish...if it comes, a time and a place, would you do that for me? Would you take Sam’s life, yes or no Foolish?”

Foolish: “Well, is there like a good reason for it?”

- Ponk says he’s said enough and goes back down, saying he can get other friends to do it

Foolish: “Is this for the arm? You wanna kill him for the arm? I thought you and Sam were like, best buddies.”

Ponk: “...Best buddies?! BUDDIES?! Are you mad? Are you mad?!”

Ponk: “Foolish, Foolish, if I ripped off your arm and killed you -- he killed me, Foolish! He killed me!”

Foolish: “Oh...did you have it coming?”

Ponk: “I DID NOT HAVE IT COMING, FOOLISH! I DIDN’T! You know what I did? You know what I did, Foolish? I -- it wasn’t even -- ugh, and he did that to prove a point! Now I’m doing this to prove a point, and apparently my point isn’t gonna be proven because you’re not a good friend, Foolish.”

Foolish: “Woah, well don’t you think that’s a lot to ask for? Hey, good friend, let’s go murder someone.”

Ponk: “Well, Foolish, look. You’re not murdering them. You are simply a tool in this revenge plot, Foolish, okay?”

Foolish: “So what would I be doing?”

Ponk: “You’ll have to press a button or swing a sword, Foolish. That is all.”

Foolish: “Press a button or swing a sword.”

- Foolish doesn’t think that sounds too hard. Ponk leads him to the barn

Ponk: “Look, Foolish. Everything will be laid out for you, okay? Everything. Alright? You’ll just have to be there. You’ll have to be there and be square, okay? You know who built this? Come this way, you know who built this?”

Foolish: “Alyssa?”

Ponk: “You know, Alyssa was a good friend of mine. She would have done this for me without asking any questions.”

- They’ve been through so much together, as Batman and Robin, as Holmes and Watson...so if Foolish wants the duo to carry on, he’ll have to help Ponk seek his revenge

- Ponk can’t swing a sword nowadays. She tells Foolish he doesn’t have to help her if she doesn’t want to, but at least he must witness it

Ponk: “We need a witness to prove to the world that this happened, okay? Someone has to write it down in history.”

Foolish: “Do you still -- another question. Do you still have plans for that one thing? On what you want to do with it?”

Ponk: “Foolish, Foolish, Foolish, you see...a good plan comes together, alright? And a good plan master never reveals his plan. It’s all about playing six-dimensional chess. I am ten seconds -- ten seconds ahead of everyone!”

- Ponk asks Foolish to take his helmet off, promising they won’t put a pumpkin on him. They ask Foolish to trust them with a TNT cannon

- They talk about building the tree

Ponk: “When the time comes, can I trust you?”

Foolish: “Mm...you think Sam deserves this?”

Ponk: “Yes. 100%.”

- Foolish says he needs time to think about it before he says yes. The two part ways and Ponk goes to cry in the forest. She’ll ask Niki next

Ponk: “Okay, Foolish...but you’re a god! You’ve killed many people, have you not? You’ve probably had human sacrifices in your lifetime!”

Foolish: “Well -- I -- uh -- I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go now, I’m gonna go now!”

- He leaves the call

- Tommy logs in and sees Puffy’s new house. He promptly tears it down

- Then he rebuilds his own house while talking to chat

- While building the roof, a spider comes over. Tommy is fond of it and names it Shroud. He asks Foolish for a nametag, then Ponk. Ponk is offended at Foolish from the Endermite incident

- Foolish brings over a nametag for Shroud and they get Shroud back to the house

- Tommy finishes the house. Ranboo logs on just to say “cum” and immediately leaves. Then Tubbo logs on and runs over

- Tommy shows Tubbo Shroud

- He decides to go plant some trees around. They head to Las Nevadas to get more and Tommy shows Tubbo how to not be rich. They discuss Mumbo Jumbo, as Tommy claims he is too British

- They return home and fix it up a bit

- Then they decide to destroy Karl’s house. They get rid of the first layer and leave a message saying they’ll get rid of the rest if Karl says he’s using it

- Tommy goes to gather more dirt. Ranboo logs on as the Pringles guy then logs off. They start arguing over Pringles cans

- Ranboo logs in as himself. Tommy and Tubbo start filling in the holes in Tommy’s basement

- They go to get more dirt

- NotDream123 logs on. Tommy and Tubbo go looking for him at Spawn, wondering who he is, but he isn’t there

- Quackity logs on and starts running around Las Nevadas. Foolish is confused

- Tommy and Tubbo bein to run back to the main area when they notice NotDream following after them

Tommy: what’s your name?

???: whats your name

Tommy: tommy?

Tommy: Big Man

???: mine is Tom

- Tommy gets mad and says that his name is Tom, and “Tom” replies that Tommy said his name is Tommy

- Tubbo wants to keep him as a trophy

- Tommy asks what Tom’s interests are. Tom asks what Tommy’s are, and Tommy says “girls,” “Britain” and “dogs”

Tom: Same

- Quackity logs off. Tom likes the Queen as well, and his catchphrase is “POG,” which Tommy is not pleased about

Tubbo: “You’ve got like a little mirror buddy!”

- Tom gets a Discord

Tommy: “He has a stache! I can’t grow a stache!”

Tubbo: “Oh, so maybe he’s the better version!”

Tommy: “No! No!”

Tubbo: “I honestly -- honestly, I can’t even tell you guys apart.”

- Foolish and Ranboo spy on them from afar. Tommy and Tubbo decide to keep Tom for themselves and build “L’Landburg” around Tom to claim him

- Tom joins their call on Discord (his username is “NotDream”). At Tommy’s request, Tubbo goes into the other room to hit Ranboo. Ranboo quits Tubbo’s game and Tubbo disconnects

- Tom knows Dream since Dream whitelisted him. They start walking back to the main area and Tommy asks questions about how Tom joined

- Tom has watched all of Tommy’s streams, even the very first where Tommy joined and got exiled to the snow biome. Tommy presses him on what the very first Hypixel game he played in the first stream was, and Tom says “Skywars,” which he claims is how they say “Bedwars” where he’s from

- Tom is apparently from “Bedskytown.” Tommy pulls Tubbo aside and Tubbo has the idea to put Tom in Tommy’s basement cell

- Tommy reminds Tubbo of the “Tomtract,” which states that Tubbo is only allowed to be friends with one Tom

- Tommy gets Tom and they start walking down the path. Tommy asks Tom if he has a girlfriend. Tom asks if Tommy has a girlfriend and Tommy says yes, so Tom says yes as well

- Tommy accuses Tom of just being Dream. Tommy asks him if he likes smoking. Tom asks if Tommy likes smoking. Tommy says yes and Tom says yes. Tommy then says he doens’t like smoking and Tom doesn’t like it either

Tommy: “What’s your favorite smell?”

Tom: “What’s your favorite smell?”

Tommy: “You first.”

Tom: “Women.”

- They get back to the house and Tommy shows Tom Shroud the spider. Tom breaks a glass block, then grabs an iron chestplate from the chest to wear. Tubbo worries about Tom getting more geared up, but Tommy insists that neither of them wear armor

- Tom puts on some diamond pants and Tommy asks Tubbo to hand him his armor to follow the rules of the Tomtract

- Tom goes into the back room and Tubbo says he’s escaping. Tom asks if he’s a hostage, then asks if Tommy likes Coke. Tommy says yes, so Tom hands him the picture of Coke

- Tommy threatens to fall out with Tubbo if he doesn’t follow the Tomtract, so Tubbo walks away. Tom whispers to Tommy to say something so Tommy shouts to come back, then walks out after into the rain to dramatically ask for the armor. Tubbo cannot argue with a statement like this, so he gives it

- Tommy puts the armor in the chest. Tubbo asks what Tom’s surname is, and Tom says “Simmons”

- Tom runs away while Tommy is explaining his school’s points system and Tubbo tries to chase after him, but Tommy says not to since they should make a good impression. Instead, the two return to filling in dirt

- Tommy turns around and abruptly comes face to face with Tom

- Tommy asks Tom some more questions about why Dream added him and what his purpose is

Tom: “What’s your purpose?”

Tubbo: “To find happiness and eternal bliss.”

Tommy: “...To get bitches.”

- Tom’s purpose is the same. Tommy scolds him because one should not call women “bitches.” Tom agrees with that as well

- Tommy brainstorms fun opinions for Tom to agree with. He likes the Sidemen and thinks they make the best vlogs. He thinks KSI is the best YouTuber and everything he does is incredible. He thinks George is really ugly (Tom pauses, then leaves the game)

- Tom comes back, Tommy repeats it, and Tom pauses for a long time before saying he agrees. Dream would never say that, and Tom is not Dream

- Tom begs for food, so Tommy eventually gives him some after leaving for some time

- Tommy says that the Manhunts are faked and Tom agrees, but he would have to ask his friend Detective Dream. Tommy and Tubbo are confused at why there are so many and ask to speak with Detective Dream

- Tubbo suspects that Dream may be able to clone himself

- Detective Dream arrives and Tubbo wants to interrogate him. Tubbo changes to his inspector outfit and Tommy changes into his suit

- Detective Dream’s first name is “Detective” and his surname is “Dream.” His parents are Mom Dream and Dad Dream. Tubbo concludes the case and decides that Det. Dream is official

- Tubbo looks Det. Dream in the eyes and gets him to say that he is a real detective. If that is true, Tubbo says, Detective would have laser eyes. Detective uses his laser eyes while looking at Tubbo’s face and Tubbo’s eyes get messed up

- Detective gets killed by Tubbo’s dog

- Detective knows about Dream and he has inside info on him that he can’t share

- “Drinnit” is Tommy’s detective name. He has been working on this case for fifty years

- After some more detective talk, Detective leaves. Tubbo tells Tommy he plans to kill Tom, as there can only be one

- NotDream comes back, this time dressed in a duck onesie. He is “John” now, and Tommy does not approve of the onesie

- Connor logs on

- John has a confession: He is actually just Tom. In fact, Detective Dream was also Tom! Tom heard Tubbo say he was going to kill him, so he created John, as he thought that Tubbo wouldn’t be able to kill something so cute. Tubbo says he didn’t mean it

- Connor asks Foolish for help getting back home

- Tom traps Tubbo and Tommy in a box. He does not have Creative mode

- Tommy asks Tom if he is good or evil. Tom says he is good and changes out of the duck onesie

- Tommy asks Tom what he thinks of destroying Karl’s house, and Tom approves as a third party. They watch Tom take down the house

- Connor arrives back home and starts building across from Tommy’s house. They VC him and Connor asks where his house went. Tommy tells him it was for tax purposes

- Tom dies by magic after Tubbo shoots him in midair

- Tommy tells Connor he can’t build on his land. Tom, Connor, Tommy and Tubbo chat about subscriber comments

- Connor starts building his house in front of Tommy’s bench and Tommy doesn’t approve of it blocking his view and destroys it

- Tom asks for food again. The server might be going through a bit of a famine

- Tommy continues filling in the basement and decides to form a Not Funny Club with Tom. They start telling jokes about YouTube

- Tommy gets the idea to do some standup: Minecraft Comedian vs. 3 Hecklers

- Tom gets hungry and takes Tommy’s God Apple to eat, but Tubbo shoots and kills him before can. Tubbo says Tom still has one canon life left though

- They walk down to the theatre stage by the Community House. Tubbo evolves

- Tommy does comedy up on the stage while Connor, Tubbo and Tom heckle from the audience. All of Tommy’s jokes are just pickup lines

- Tommy gets booed off the stage and next up is Tom, who tries but quickly gives up

- Tubbo is up next. He starts reading out information about tax legislation. Tommy starts taking notes

- Then, it’s Connor’s turn. He tries to play off of the audience

- It’s always canonically Tuesday on the Dream SMP

- Connor gives up and Tubbo goes up to keep reading the tax information. Tommy goes up to make it a comedy duo

- Tubbo starts selling his cryptocurrency known as “Piss and Shit, Screw the Children Coin”

- Tommy leaves to speak with Tom by the Community House. Tom says he’ll be back. Tom looks at the poster

Tom: “Look at this. ‘Bee does science’ ...This is groundbreaking!”

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts #early one tonight ayy

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

Note

Loved your tags on the Brenda Strong reblog! We need it as the new supercorp au!

Well, sOMEONE gave me an idea of OG!Lillian losing her memory and staying with Eliza for a while, and all day during work I was daydreaming of amnesia!Lillian slowly being told her life and being eager and excited to meet her daughter, only to find herself facing off against each member of the superfriends first as they try to suss out whether the memory loss is legit and/or whether she deserves to be in Lena’s presence. But finally she passes the final test (Kara) and when Lena still resists meeting her, Lillian overhears her trying to explain why it’s a bad idea. “None of you get it: she is a master manipulator. Lex didn’t exist in a vacuum-- he had to learn it from somewhere, and he learned it from our father and from her.”

But Kara ultimately talks her into it, and Lillian finally finds herself face to face with the woman who is her daughter. Her beautiful, beautiful daughter. Except her daughter doesn’t do anything except sit there-- no eye contact, no attempts at conversation. Lillian finally breaks the silence. “It’s so good to finally see you...”

She reaches over to take Lena’s hand, but Lena pulls away before she can make contact. Lillian instead lets her hand rest on the table between them. A peace offering.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. About your work in National City.”

Lena doesn’t respond.

“They say you’re a such a force for good--”

“Just-- stop,” Lena says finally. “You might have fooled them, but I’m not.”

“What they’ve told you is true-- I don’t remember--”

“And even if that were true, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Finally, Lena meets her eye, but her gaze is cold. Cruel. “You are not a good person.”

Lillian’s heart falls, and only now does she realize how bad an idea this had been.

“I spent half of my life trying to earn your love and the other half trying to get away from you. Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you weasel your way into my life after I’ve finally gotten you out of it.”

So... it doesn’t go well. Ostensibly, Lena and Kara are in Midvale to visit Eliza over the fourth of July weekend. Kara planned to spend the night in her childhood home, but Lena refuses.

“I won’t be under the same roof as her--”

“I’ll leave,” Lillian says.

Eliza looks at her in sympathy, but doesn’t protest. “Perhaps it would be for the best. We can put you up in the local bed and breakfast for the weekend, and then after...”

After. After doesn’t matter to Lillian. Not when her only free and living child wants nothing to do with her. She lets Eliza make the plans, and collects her meager belongings into a borrowed suitcase. In a bout of stubborn refusal to quit, when Eliza invites her to the community cookout and fireworks display, Lillian accepts. If only to be in the vicinity of Lena, to observe her daughter and feel a part of her in even so distant a way, if only for the opportunity to show Lena that she is different than whoever she might have been.

But when she arrives the following afternoon, she learns that Lena remained behind alone. “To watch the house,” Eliza says, though the excuse is clear to everyone who hears it. Lillian also notices that her daughter’s partner Kara is also missing.

“Called back to work in National City,” is the official party line, but Lillian isn’t sure she believes it any more than she believes Lena’s excuse. She tries to enjoy herself, but her thoughts are blocks away, with the woman who refuses to be her daughter.

The evening deepens to night, and as the fireworks display commences, Lillian tries to lose herself in the explosions that rock the very air. Soon though, the feeling of wrongness that’s been following Lillian all night catches up to her with a foggy sky and the scent of not sulphur, but woodsmoke.

“Fire!” a voice cries. “Fire! Fire!”

All heads snap towards the distant voice, and widen when they spot the glow of a building fire in the direction of Eliza’s cul-de-sac. The crowd on the beach move as one towards the scene, Lillian at the lead. Heart pounding against her ribs, she hears the wail of sirens approaching: too distant, too slow.

“Lena!” she screams as the burning house comes into view. “Lena!”

Lena isn’t on the street-- she isn’t anywhere to be seen. Realization hits like a bolt of lightning, and someone tries to hook an arm around her as she makes for the front door. Lillian wrenches herself free. “My daughter is in there!”

They aren’t strong enough or quick enough to stop her before she barrels through the front door. Lillian’s brain works rapidly to piece together that if the fire started on the ground floor, then the only reason Lena wouldn’t have made it out is if she were asleep on the top floor, where she would likely be unconscious from smoke inhalation. She thunders up the stairs, coughing as the smoke grows dense. Staying low, she sweeps through each room until she finds Lena in the attic room, unconscious on Kara’s bed.

Lillian gathers her daughter up as best she can and drags her back downstairs, through the front door and out onto the grass of the front lawn, coughing all the way. Eliza and her daughter Alex look at her as though they’ve seen a ghost, but all Lillian can think of is that her daughter isn’t coughing.

“She isn’t breathing!” she cries, desperately. Tears spill down her cheeks, and not just from the smoke. Without hesitating, she lays Lena flat and begins to administer rescue breathing. Counting and breathing and crying, her world narrows to her task alone, until the hands of paramedics crowd her vision, moving her aside even as they reach for Lena.

“It’s all right ma’am,” one says gently. “We’ve got her from here.”

Lillian follows them to the hospital, and waits as her daughter is treated for smoke inhalation. Soon, she’s informed that Lena is comatose, and on a respirator.

“I’d like to sit with her, please.”

No one thinks to tell her no. And so Lillian waits, for hours, over a day for her daughter to wake. Doctors come in and apprise her of Lena’s condition, but nothing prepares her for the fear that creeps into Lena’s eyes when they finally open, and she realizes there’s a tube down her throat. Nothing prepares Lillian for the way that fear amplifies the moment Lena lays eyes on her.

“Sweetheart, please,” she begs, “it’s okay, you’re okay. Please, calm down--”

But when Lillian reaches for her daughter’s hand Lena recoils again, and begins to thrash against the restraints that have kept her from pulling out her tube. Choked, muttering sobs emerge around the tube, and sickening gurgles chill Lillian to the core even as a new body inserts itself between them.

“Lena!” Kara says, taking Lena’s face between her hands. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe. Please, calm down... come on, breathe with me. In... out... don’t fight the tube, Lena, okay? Breathe with it... in... out...”

Slowly the monitors cease their shrill screaming, and only then does Lillian realize that doctors have converged as well, only to hold back until Lena was calm again.

“It’s okay, Lena. She’s leaving. She’s leaving...”

And Lillian does. She leaves the room, and doesn’t look back.

---

She can’t leave the hospital. Lillian makes it as far as the emergency room doors before the pull of Lena draws her back. This time, she sits with the others, waiting with bated breath for Kara to come back with news.

When she does, Kara sits next Lillian directly.

“They’ve extubated her,” the girl says softly. Woman, really. Kara is young, comparatively, yet old beyond her years with a weight Lillian can’t quite place. She offers Lillian a tired smile. “She’ll be okay.”

“She was afraid of me.”

Kara nods, not bothering to deny the truth. “She thought.... well, it doesn’t matter what she thought.” She runs a hand across her eyes. “You saved her life.”

“She’s my daughter.” The words come soft, almost plaintive, as though Lillian herself can’t quite believe them.

“Thank you,” is all Kara returns.

---

Lena’s released a few days later. Kara takes her home to National City, and Lillian believes it to be the end of anything she might have had with her daughter. She tries to banish it from her mind, and focuses instead on Eliza, who now has the unfortunate burden of having had her home burn to the ground. They, at least, are friends, and Eliza seems to appreciate her support, however meager it is.

Two days later, Lillian gets a call she isn’t expecting.

“She wants to see you,” Kara says.

Lillian leaves Midvale that very minute with Eliza’s blessing. She makes the drive in record time, and soon finds herself in an apartment that’s both lavish and cozy, full of a warm life she thus far hasn’t been privy to.

In the bedroom, Lena sits propped up with pillows, a box of tissues on one side and a waste bin on the other. “Sorry for the mess,” Lena croaks, cracking open one eye as the door creaks shut behind Lillian. “What I’m coughing up hasn’t exactly been pretty.”

Lillian sits on the furthest end of the bed. She itches to reach for Lena, to care and to mother her, but folds her hands in her lap instead in deference to the undercurrent of wariness that still runs through her daughter’s voice.

“You saved my life,” is all Lena says after a moment. “Usually you don’t do that unless you have an ulterior motive. Like murder.”

Lillian flinches, but then freezes when she catches the slight hint of a smile playing at Lena’s lips.

“Joking,” comes the rasping assurance. “Old-you would’ve gotten it.”

Instead of jumping in on the joke, Lillian finds herself fighting tears. “I really haven’t been much of a mother to you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” But this time it comes without malice, without judgement.

Lillian wipes her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lena. I wish-- I wish I had been better to you. You-- you deserve--- every happiness.”

“I do,” Lena agrees again. “But the good news is, I finally have people who let me believe that.”

“Good,” Lillian says breathlessly. “That’s... good.”

A long moment of silence passes between them.

“I believe you,” Lena admits finally. Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I don’t know what that means for anything between us, but--- I believe that you’re not... yourself.”

Lillian nods carefully. “It’s hard to hear the things I did. It feels like some other person entirely. I know it’s not,” she says quickly, “not really. But... I want to be better than her. Than who I was.”

Lena looks at her carefully. This time, Lillian looks back, holding her daughter’s gaze.

“Will you help me?”

#brenda strong #good mom lillian #amnesia fic #angst #little bit of whump #at least i'm on brand #right?#based on that recent photo #couple posts back

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darkesttimelinestuff · 3 years

Text

Summer of Love

My submission (as a sub) for the X-Files Alternate Universe Fanfic Exchange (2021) is now on Ao3!

For @greekowl87

Chapter 1

San Francisco, CA

July 21, 1967

3:08pm

It was a summer of change and upheaval and Agent Mulder stood on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. The hilly San Francisco district had become the center of the counterculture movement, with musicians and artists lining the streets just outside their apartments. The 1950s Beat generation had sought out the quaint and cheap housing of the underpopulated district, and by the 1960s, the anti-establishment movement had grown and morphed with the rise of the Vietnam War.

Mulder stood in awe of the color that surrounded him. Reds and yellows, greens and blues swirled like a life-sized tie-dye shirt. It was a stark contrast to the shades of grey and black that roamed the streets of Washington D.C. Life was teeming, and everyone seemed friendly, or at the very least accepting, of everyone else.

As Mulder admired a young woman skating by on roller skates, her long brown hair blowing behind her, his thoughts were interrupted.

“What are we doing here, Agent Mulder?” Agent Doggett’s gruff voice came from beside him.

Doggett’s patience was wearing thin and they’d only just arrived in the Golden City. He knew damn well they were searching for a murderer.

Mulder had gone to their subterranean office Monday morning, wound up with too much caffeine and not enough food in his stomach. He’d been up half the night studying their potential new case: a man who liked to abduct women and hack them up. Not all the victims’ body parts were found, but Mulder had noticed a clear pattern surrounding the killings, a possible motive that transcended purely killing for pleasure. There was premeditation, and Mulder was certain that all the killings were connected to a single killer.

“Staking out the place,” Mulder replied, his eyes searching up and down the sidewalk for a potential starting place. All the bodies had been found in the Haight-Ashbury District, likely by someone familiar with the area.

“The entire neighborhood?”

“Fine,” Mulder relented, “we’ll get a feel for the area. Let’s see what connections we can make. You never know where one person might lead us.”

The sun beat down on the suit-clad agents and Doggett took a long sip of his coffee, turning his head to a mob of people crossing the street together. “We stick out like a sore thumb.”

Doggett had reluctantly agreed to fly out west with Mulder to investigate the mass murders - four women so far - and hopefully apprehend the sick bastard leaving dead hippies carefully posed near dumpsters and in back alleys. Mulder was grateful for the help and the backup.

“It’s all happening here,” Mulder had insisted, arms spread, gesturing to the cityscape before them. “Every single one of those bodies was left within a quarter mile radius on this cross street. He lives here. He picks these women at rallies or in bars, courts them, earns their trust, and then takes them back to his house to seduce and then kill them. Of that, I am certain.”

“And we’re sure they weren’t raped?” Doggett asked.

Shaking his head, Mulder replied, “There is no indication of rape from the evidence. The women had sex willingly. It’s only after the seduction and intercourse that the women were murdered.”

“Alright, Mulder,” Doggett said, “but the one thing I don’t understand is why these women are all dolled up. Too much makeup for the so-called hippies.”

“I’m not sure why yet. Something in the way this sicko operates, playing out fantasies maybe.”

“I sure hope you’re right about this, Mulder.”

“Me too,” Mulder replied, a stone sitting heavy in his gut at the thought of all the cut-up bodies.

Mulder had presented the senior agent with plane tickets and that is how they had ended up in San Francisco chasing down a murderer at the height of the Summer of Love.

Both men hoped Mulder’s hunch would lead them to their suspect and not on some wild hippie chase.

“There.” Mulder said, pointing in the direction where a large group of people, mostly hippies, were making their way to a gathering. Cheers erupted as a guitar strummed. “Looks like we found ourselves at a peace rally.”

Doggett acknowledged this with a curt nod and the two men made their way across the street, weaving their way around people, to the very center of the crowd. A shirtless man with stringy hair played guitar, singing about peace, love, and acceptance.

The song ended and the man tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear.

“Let’s all have a moment of silence for our fallen heroes,” he said, bowing his head.

“This is so damn touching,” Doggett sarcastically muttered to Mulder, who could not suppress a grimace. These young kids had lost fathers and brothers, and even sisters, to the war. But Doggett was not wrong. Optimistic crowds could sing about peace, but little would improve without extreme policy change. The United States was too invested in the war, had too much at stake.

The crowd collectively bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Some placed their hands over their hearts; a quiet fell upon the street.

“Do you see any possible suspicious people?” Mulder whispered.

He and Doggett took the opportunity to scan up and down the street. People had gathered not just along the sidewalk, but spilled into the street, blocking the road. No one seemed to mind, though, and the peace rally continued to grow in size.

Through the sea of bent heads, a woman caught Mulder’s eye. She was rather small - he would not have noticed her had it not been for the bent heads - with a halo of red hair among the brown and blonde. But that wasn’t what stood out to him. Those blue eyes, clear as a summer’s day, were not closed in a silent prayer but looking right at him. She ducked her head when she noticed him.

“Thank you,” the singer broke through the silence.“That was truly groovy. I felt all of your love coursing through me. I’m sure that our fallen brothers felt it too.”

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Doggett said. “We’re not gonna find him now. We’re looking for a hippie in a haystack.”

The crowd swayed in unison as music resumed playing, and the two agents, frustrated that their suspect didn’t jump up and present himself, pushed their way through the masses. As they neared the end of the mess of people, an older, long-haired, scraggly man grabbed Mulder’s arm.

“The end is nigh! You have to believe!” he yelled in the agent’s face.

“I want to believe,” Mulder returned, not unkindly, while attempting to pull his arm away. The man was clearly down on his luck.

But the vagrant pulled Mulder in closer. He smelled of booze and body odor.

“NO!” he howled. “Trust no one!” Then turning to the crowd, he yelled, “Look at this one! He’s one of them! He’s the Man!”

The two agents felt the eyes of all the crowd turn and stare at them as they were singled out. Some booed and hissed at them.

But from the throng came a voice over the microphone announcing, “Friends! Brothers and sisters! ALL are welcome.” People whooped and hollered back, others clapped at the call for acceptance.

Mulder tried harder to extricate himself. The bearded man had surprising strength and put up quite a fight, resulting in a tug of war with Mulder’s arm. Eventually, Doggett came to the rescue, gripping the assailant’s fingers and prying them off of his partner’s arm. Backward inertia from the opposing pulls forced Mulder to suddenly fall onto some of the rally attendees.

High-pitched screams came from beneath him. Mulder struggled awkwardly as he realized at least a couple of women had broken his fall. He winced as his head collided with something and very suddenly realized that Doggett’s firm grip pulled him to his feet. He immediately turned to offer his sincerest apologies. They had not intended to call attention to themselves so publicly.

As Mulder brushed himself off, he recognized the face of one of the women - the redhead with the piercing eyes. They were even more magnificent up close and he momentarily lost the ability to form words at his surprise, instead offering his hand, which she accepted.

Meanwhile, Doggett had offered the two other women - a tall brunette with a sharp face, and a lovely redhead with long wavy hair and kind eyes - his help, ensuring everyone’s safety and well being.

“Our apologies, everyone,” offered Doggett. “My friend here has a knack for getting himself into trouble. I hope nobody is hurt.”

“Yes, sorry,” Mulder chimed in, remembering his manners, his eyes glued to the smaller of the redheads.

She held out her hand to him and gave him a genuinely warm smile. “I’m Dana Scully.”

@today-in-fic

#XFAU2021 #the x files #txf #txf fanfic #AU #alternate au #alternate universe #mulder #scully #john doggett #monica reyes #whale song #gishie #summer of love #1967 #san francisco

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers Part 3: Storkules in Duckburg! aka THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES TERRIBLE BUT WELL MEANING ROOMATE OUT OF MYTH

Hello all you happy people! And welcome and welcome back to Of Moons, Millionares and Mothers, my look at the season 2 arcs of Ducktales! This arc was paid for by WeirdKev27 and I truly enjoy his support. if you want to know how to commission your own reviews or to get a guarnateed review of me of your choice from me a month, stick around to the end. I realized that shoving all my plugs in up top may be driving people away and while I DO make them because I want to make a living off this, i’ts not fair to those of you who simply can’t afford to buy a lot of extra shit like myself to keep shoving it in your face.

Previously on the Louie Inc Arc, Louie, after believing he had no skills and it was a matter of when not if he ws going to die, found his talent: seeing all the angles and thus being Sharper than the Sharpies. With newfound confidence and a chip on his shoulder from Scrooge saying he could one day be a bigger success than Scrooge himself, founding Louie Inc as a result. But what is Louie Inc? Does he actually have a plan or a bunch of buzzwords. And what does STORKULES, MANLY GAY OUT OF MYTH have to do with any of this? Join me under the cut to find out.

We open with Louie giving Scrooge his sales pitch that is essentially...

Naturally Scrooge buys none of it. I mean he’s somewhere in his hundreds, he’s probably seen about 80 thousand pitches that amount to “I have no plan but give me money anyway”. There’s a reason there’s a Butch Hartman shaped crater on the lawn from where he threw his ass out.

Scrooge does mentor the lad, or at least attempt to pointing out he needs an actual product or service (Louie rejects the idea of a lemonade stand as too easy), or as he puts it “Find a problem and create a solution”.

While the basic PRINCIPAL isn’t bad, find something people want or need and provide it, phrasing it that way sounds like “find a problem people are having and exploit the shit out of that problem for fun and profit.” Granted that IS a guiding principal of business, it’s just not something an uncle should be teaching his kids. They should be teaching them about the anime and cartoons they grew up with as I do with my niece and nibling.

He does show him a valid example of this in action in the form of Donald. Turns out Donald has found a good way to make money while he looks for a job, can relate: since Duckburg is facing a housing shortage, likely because several square blocks probably get destroyed by Scrooge’s Adventures, Glomgold’s Schemes, Superhero Battles, whatever creation went horribly wrong for Gyro, etc at least once a week. So he’s taken it upon himself to offer up the spare room to whoever can rent it.. and to steal Scrooge’s chandelier which even when caught he still takes anyway. Scrooge.. you called the guy a god-damn moocher in the season premiere, despite the fact he lives there soley because YOU offered and because he’s you know, being responsible and staying by his boys so they have their father figure around. So yeah I feel he’s doing this partly out of spite as is the McDuck way. I mean if your going to call him a freeloader just for being a responsible parent, then he’s going to take it up a damn notch.

Scrooge proceeds to laugh off Louie wanting a million dollars and gives him a dime instead because of course he was. Seriously Louie there are two other billionaires in town who are FAR dumber and far more easily swindled. Just go get star up capital from them. Hell with Glomgold all you’d have to do is tell him it’d upset scrooge and he’d literally throw money at you. Or give you a shark full of money. He needs the shark back though. He’s family.

Meanwhile Donald prepares for his new tenant and finds.. THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES! Who to his mounting horror as he realizes it, IS the new tenant. And who throws him into the sun. Cue credits.

So after Donald somehow survives being thrown into the sun, Storkules explains why he’s here: Zeus responded to his son playing the lute a lot like any rational reasonable

No of course he responded to the “crime” of “playing his instrument a lot” with sending a swarm of harpies on the town then blaming Storkules for it and casting him out. What’s most shocking is not the action, this is honestly him staying the course of being a fucking disgrace, but that Zeus somehow ISN’T the biggest asshole i’ve dealt with this week. No that honor is reserved as always for this bitch:

Keep in mind she manages to be this obnoxious in only TWO scenes. Also keep in mind I had to put up with Julie for a MUCH larger chunk of the previous two volumes I covered before volume 5 yesterday for my Scott Pilgrim Retrospective and she is ALWAYS like this and you now feel my pain.

This does create a problem though: Zeus casts Storkules out until he’s a responsible adult.. and thus paints Storkules as the bad guy... in a situation where the only other person in the story sent a swarm of HARPIES down at him for simply playing his music too loud. It just dosen’t work as a catalyst: Storkules objectively did nothing wrong. The only person he annoyed was a person who clearly dosen’t love, respect or like his son in any way shape or form anyway and essentially assaulted him and a bunch of innocent people via harpie and then cast him out. Zeus is an abusive asshole and i’ts weird the narrative sides with HIM and not our well meaning doofus. Zeus being an asshole with harpies is not a bad catalyst for the episode, and the harpies being unleashed is used well.. it’s just not a good catalyst for THIS story to try and portray an abuser as in the right. And make no mistake Zeus is a domestic abuser: he had his son mind controlled to try and MURDER innocent people, something Storkules begged him not to do, sent a swarm of creatures after him for the crime of playing his music too loud and in his next episode manipulatives Storkules sad emotional state for personal gain. Why would you try and paint THIS jackass as in the right?

Speaking of painting this jackass in the right sadly.. this episode does not do my boy donald justice. In most episodes he’s pretty nuanced and i’ts fair enough he’d be frustrated by Storkules as a roomate. Storkules has little sense of personal space, breaks his stove thinking theirs hydra in it, makes a mess of the kitchen making them a meal, and in general clearly dosen’t know how to live with a roomate much less in modern society. He has valid concerns and the episode COULD have used it that way.. but he’s also horribly impatient with Storkules. He refuses to get the guy just hasn’t had to live in a modern society and dosen’t know HOW to function in it and instead of helping him just gets mad again and again and gets really pissed when it’s clear Storkules dosen’t have a job and didn’t consider paying rent. He’s not WRONG to want him to pay Rent, despite what ironically the musical Rent would try and have you believe, but he dosen’t have any patience with the guy. And stork isn’t nearly coming on as strong as he normally does. The worst he does is cook the guy lunch and bring his donald fan art with him. Which we don’t see but I am assuming is mostly naked. What i’m saying is for once that while still bombastic, Storkules isn’t trying to force a relationship/friendship on him and simply wants to learn t be an adult from his best friend.. and Donald isn’t bothering teaching him.

Asking for rent or for him not to destroy the stove is fine, but not explaining WHY he needs either of those things or why he needs boundaries, he makes a roomate list, isn’t helping the guy. And this would be fine... but the episode dosen’t call Donald out on it for no real reason. It feels like it’s setting up for a “you should learn to wokrk with someone instead of just screaming at them aseop” that never comes and like with Zeus takes his side because shutup. I’d also LIKE to say this is the only time the writers reduced one of the cast to a caracture of themselves.. but I can’t. Several episodes in season 3 forgot Louie’s character development and another episode in season 2, The Duck Knight Returns!, somehow reduced both Scrooge and Dewey to parodies of themselves with Scrooge SOMEHOW, despite Della as stubborn as she is being in his care and by his side for decades and Movies bein ga huge business, not having seen a movie since the 1920′s and not knowing how they work and Dewey being reduced to just hyperactive moron. It isn’t as common as other shows like say Regular Show, The Loud House or, for the exact reason I lost intrest, Rick and Morty, but I still expect better, especially since they went into this season KNOWING Donald would be gone for half of it and this would likely be one of his only spotlight episodes.

Back at the good part of the plot, Louie is having a company meeting aka already treating Huey and Webby like his employees. Webby of course is glad to sign on, if little help in actually coming up with a product while Huey just wants to nope out. And if your wondering why Dewey isn’t involved Louie outright says he’d make a bad employee and while Dewey rises from his bed to object.. he stops halfway to opening his mouth and concludes he has a point. Best gag of the episode. Louie being louie easily cons Huey into staying by making Webby his charts officer.

So the three have a corporate retreat at Funso’s... granted they don’t have a product but Louie figures this might help. Huey.. still wants out of this and suggest since they already spent what they had on ski ball “Company over?”. It’s clear that Huey just sees this as another one of Louie’s short sighted schemes... and while he’s not ENITRELY wrong, Louie has genuine ambition.. he just has no earthly idea what he’s doing and is shooting way too high.. but for understandable reasons. 1) He’s 11 at this point. 11 year olds aren’t great at business strategy or reinging it in. 2) he wants to live up to what Scrooge said to prove he can be successful and really be worth something like his mom was.

But sometimes fate throws you one and the harpies bust in. And while Louie wants to do nothing and hope they go away Huey and Webby spring into action.. as does Storkules, who had to leave but warns donald there’s Orzo in the slowcooker and to not open it “LEST THE PASTA FAIL TO ABSORB THE BROTH!” Which is just.... Chris’ best line dleivery the episode. He says it like he’s saying the title of an old Stan Lee and Jack Kirby comic, i’ts wonderful.

So our heroes defeat them and Louie steps in to charge for the service and quickly comes up with a company idea and name “Harp-B-Gone” (A Subsidary of Louie Inc). Louie hires Storkules on the spot. Storkules proudly tells Donald he has a job the next day and goes off to it. What follows is our heroes hilarously shooting a commerical with Storkules playing a baby to promote themselves so they can help who needs it. They just need to find out what they want.. and thanks to the JWG and the harpies stealing it find out they go after people’s most treasured posessions Cue Ghostbusters-Style Montage

And this isn’t just me saying thing. The Rewriting History Entry (Which as a series weirdly stops around mid-season 2 and I don’t get why frank hasn’t gone back and finished it since) states they specifically based this whole operation on ghostbusters and the entire sequence of our heroes cleanin up the town reminds me of it. The highlight of it is a glomgold cameo where he’s kidnapped.. and refuses to pay so Louie just lets him go. And were this an innocent person who couldn’t afford it, i’d call him a monster.. but it’s glomgold. he brought this on himself.. and also sues himself for it. Wonder if he won.

So with their stars rising, our heroes get booked on the hottest show in town: Dewey Dew-Night! I had honestly forgotten there was a Dewey Dew-Night segment in there, and delighted I get to talk about this recurring bit. It’s one of the shows funniest runners and just perfectly FITS Dewey: of course the most egotistical and energetic of the kids would not only want to be a late hnight host but make up his own show. I also love the slow evolution of it: it started as something everyone clearly knew about but he stlill tried to keep hidden, slowly escalated to him allowing the rest of his siblings (Webby very much included) and the giant man who stalks his uncle in, and by later this season he’s putting the show online in the web shorts and gladly shooting it into space, with Season 3 having him spend the first half of let’s get dangerous making a documentary that includes an episode of the show featuring Darkwing. It’s a small thing sure, but it’s the little things like this that make the show special.

The show does reveal a problem though as it turns out they’ve GOT all the harpies and while Storkules merely wanted to help, Louie points out they need more to keep a buisness going and naturally never bothered to ask Storkules just how many there were. They need SOME plan to get going. Webby submits a legitamte and great idea, training the harpies as she’s been trying to do in the background of the episode and aside from a hole in the floor they are starting to listen. But Huey is an ass about it and not only shoots it down saying let’s keep the dangerous creatures contained, even though A) he has no idea WHERE they’ve been kept so he can’t verify it’s safe, and since i’ts Donald’s Closet no no it’s not. and B)There’s no where he knows of to keep them. He isn’t aware of the other bin till next season. and C) it’s not ehtical to keep creatures locked up forever epsecially since while the harpies are dangerous they arent’ MALEVOLENT and are clearly acting on instinct. oh and for D) at least she has a plan to keep the company going instead of just wanting to end this and cash out.

Which Huey tries to.. but naturally Louie spent all their money on...

So their broke.. and Storkules has no rent money and feels like a failure despite having done NOTHING wrong. We do get a clever little nod to Disney’s hercules though “I”m not a hero, i’m a zero”. Webby rightfully glares at Louie who decides to fix it... by sneaking into Donald’s house that night to free the harpies.

Though to the shows credit it’s a VERY bad idea, and Storkules coming in mid attempt and congradulating Louie when he lies about checking the door gets the kid to come clean. And it’s a nice character moment: He could still go through with it.. but it’s clear he realizes just HOW low he was about to sink to save his own skin and that as much as Storkules WANTS a paycheck and deserves one, it’s not worth hurting people to get it. Louie tries to justify after this.. but can’t.

Unforutnately Donald took a lot of stupid pills this episode, yells about his no pets rule and frees them instead of you know, THINKING for five minutes.

So yeah NATURALLY Donald is an angry shit about it , refusing to actually TALK to Storkules about this or maybe admit this is partly HIS OWN FAULT. Yes their both at fault, Storkules shoudln’t of shoved a bunch of harpies in a closet. That’s a classic blunder. But Donald still opened it and isn’t called out on taking zero responsibility. Huey sees the fracas and just takes down their days without an accident placard, good stuff and he and webby arrive to help. Donald fights with Storkules and Storkules worries about loosing his friend.. lead to them going after the thing he values most aka donlad and hyjacking the house boat, though the kids manage to get aboard.

As Storkules saves Donald, Louie realizes the most precious thing he has is his merch and willingly gives it, and his buisness up to save everyone. It’s good character stuff and shows that despite his problems with greed, Louie IS a good kid and will do the right thing. It’s what seperates him from the Rouges Gallery the family faces: He has FLEXIBLE morals but he has morals when it comes down to it. So everyone tosses the stoff to help direct the hapries and make it home tying them up. Donald has a heart to heart with Storkules and agrees to help him find another place, but still considers him a friend and they hug. Awww. One intresting thing I DID find out from rewriting history is they originally fully intended to have Storkules STAY on the houseboat. He was going to be a permenant member of the household, at least as far as Season 2 was concenred and plans were made for several episodes down the road: the whole bit with him in “The Golden Spear” was simply because he lived there, he was going to be the one Della met in the houseboat, obliviously guilting her about what she’d missed, and he was going to set off the kids subplot in “Whatever Happened to Donald Duck?”

This ended up not happneing for logistical reasons: Frank, and I swear this was the term he used, felt they already had the perfect Himbo in Launchpad and it was just too much HImbo energy for the two to coexist without one taking the others screen time or neither getting a lot.

The next reason was having a god around simply broke the story: He cited the gilded man from “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!” as a specific example. There were just too many hoops to jump to have him not break any story he should be around for. Finally with Della being added to the cast soon there simply wasn’t room in the main cast. Della brought it up to 9, Storkules would make it 10, and as i’ve gone on about the show already had trouble ballancing it’s cast, something Frank admitted to. Adding him would both be too big a stiatus quo change and be one on top of the massive one of Della joining the cast. So he was dropped back to recurring and only showed up one more time. And while it was the right call I am dismayed he didn’t show up for the whatever happened to donald duck subplot and it does feel very weird he never adresses Donald being gone despite, at least for season 2, apparently living in Duckburg. Otherwise though as funny as this wouldv’e been.. yeah it was the right call.

Scrooge returns... having been absent all episode because otherwise it wouldn’t work and easily saw Louie loosing it all coming.. but gives him a can of lemonade for his troubles and comforts the boy. The heart of htis arc and what makes it work at it’s best.. is these two. Scrooge GENUINELY wants to help Louie see his potetial successor in buisness: oh sure adventure wise he’s throughly covered.. but Webby, Dewey and Della all are more focused on the addventure part and that’s where their passion and talent lies, Huey’s better at science and given his close frinedship with fenton and how much that part of things seems to truly inspire him, i’ts what he was born for, and Donald just wants a regualar life and can’t manage his own life much less a company.

Louie is the only one in his family whose the right fit to inhereit that part of his legacy and I feel that’s why he takes a special intrest in him and webby over the other two: While he loves all of them and will clearly again leave a piece of his fortune and empire to all of them, Webby is the most like him, as we later find out not coincidentally in the slightest, when it comes to adventuring and curosity and a love of exploration. But Louie is the most like him in other ways; He’s cynical, money driven and passionate. Scrooge simply wants him to be as good a person and buisnessperson as he can be and is trying to push him in the right direction. And does so here by pointing out that failure isn’t a huge problem..it happens, comes with the terriotiry and as we’ve seen with life and times, even with portions of it clearly not happening in this universe, he failed a LOT to get here. What matters is that he tries and tries to do it the right way.

Scrooge also sympathizes as he was buying a lemonade company in cape suzette, giving Louie the can as a present... but laments there’s no cheap effective way to deliver the lemons. Louie notices the harpies going after the can after he throws it and Webby controlling them with it and muses that theyd idn’t think about what THEY wanted.. nad rightfully gets punched across the lawn by Webby, whose had to spend an entire episode having her surrogate brothers talk down to her and ignore her valid ideas. She dosen’t even open her eyes she just bops him one.

So we end with Scrooge having enlisted the hapries, Louie trying to take credit again and both realizing they might just steal the lemons instead of work for them. Ha ha ha their going to get so sued.

Final Thoughts: This one was mediocre. It has some good points, Louies arc continues to fascenate me, Huey’s done with this shit attitude is hilarous, and Storkules is at his best in this episode: his crush on Donald is toned down from this..

To this

To the point I could see shipping them off this one if Storkules episode didn’t have him do eveyrthing short of .. well see above. So it’s not WITHOUT merit: I love me a ghost busters style plot, there are great jokes and Chris Dimatopolis is a gem as always. Glad he’s getting work after this show on Invincible and hope he gets to play Darkwing again some day. But the Donald stuff and the fairly predictable plot drag this one down. I’ts fairly obvious they’ll run out of harpies, Louie will have spent the money and they’ll somehow get free. It’s not a terrible episode but it’s it’s sandwiched story wise between two straight up classics on both sides: the previous two episodes were even better than I remembered and the next two are incredibly good: Whateve Happened to Della Duck?! is one of their finest hours and The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck, while not making my best of list for the series as a whole is still one of my favorites for the season. It’s just disapointing this one wasn’t nearly as good as I remmebered and it’s understandable why I forgot almost all of it, unlike the previous two episodes. Thankfully as I said better’s over the horizon.

NEXT TIME ON OF MOONS, MILLIONARES AND MOTHERS: I’m taking a break for a week. One of two weeklong breaks for the arc, the other being the first week of July where i’m on vacation anyway (Though i’ll be doing the episode I would’ve done for that week the week before to keep the pace up, so no worries),

As for why, it’s my utmost honor to announce GOOF WEEK! Goof Week is a weeklong celebration of Goofy’s birthday. The idea came about because as I do for the big three, I intended to just do a shorts special. But Kev , the guy who made this very review possible, suggested doing the two part Goof Troop pilot. And since kev pays for a house of mouth episode a month anyway and thaks to you lovely people I hit my patreon stretch goal to review the goofy movie, I figured “why not make a week out of it. Hence Goof week. So next week we’ll have a review of the two part pilot for Goof Troop, the special Sports Goof, the House of Mouse episode Super Goof, your regularly schedule shorts spectacular, with The Goofy Movie for the grand finale! yaaahoooooieeee!

When we come back i’ll be shuffling episodes around slightly so I can do the Della comics from the Ducktales Tie-In Comic before her debut and in time for Donald’s own theme week in June, i’ll be saving “Whatever Happened to Della Duck?” for the week after Donald Week. Instead next we get a fun wild west adventure as Scrooge tells a story of his outlaw days, his tension with goldie and his encounter with a certain robber baron as John D Rockerduck FINALLY makes his screen debut. Yee-Haw!

If you liked this review, subscribe and follow for more and consider joining my patroen, patreon.com/popculturebuffet. I have exclusive reviews, my most recent duck based one being an obscure carl barks story about wigs and the boys attempting to murder a guy with a blow gun, and your contribution helps me reach my goals and thus gets everyone, patreon or not, a bunch of neat new reviews. If you get me to 20 dollars a month, i’m currently at 15, EVERYONE will get a monthly darkwing duck reviews, reviews of the two remaning ducktales 87 mini series including the origin of GIZMOOOODDUUUUUCCCKKKK, and a review of the Danny Phantom movie The Ultimate Enemy. And with the month running out NOW’S the time to join. YOu’ll also get to pick one of the shorts for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month, so if you want to join in NOWS the time. But wether you can or you can’t, thank you for reading, i’ts been a pleasure.

#ducktales #louie duck #storkules in duckburg #dorkules #donald duck #storkules #scrooge mcduck #webby vanderquack #huey duck #flintheart glomgold #dewey duck #funzos #disney #disney+#disney plus #disney xd #harpies

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