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Your name is TAAKO TAACO and you are fucking doing this shit. It is getting done. Look at it go. Getting fucking done. Nice.
At this exact moment you are trying to convince your quite-possibly-boyfriend to join in on this shit. That is to say, you are currently pouting at your possibly-boyfriend and he is resisting your amazing charm. How, you have no idea. You rolled a goddamn fifteen here, without the bonus.
"Dearest, darling Krav m'boy. This is the best idea and I don't understand why you are fighting me." You waggle your eyebrows at him and he averts his gaze and—if you didn't know that he wasn't physically capable of doing it, you would have missed out on his subtle clues—blushes. "And besides," you huff, "It was your idea in the first place."
"I simply said," his voice is metered and even and mmmmmboy you love it when he uses his work voice on you, "that you should maybe bond better with him if you explored your...similarities as opposed to teasing him relentlessly."
"And I'm saying that if I'm gonna fucking buckle down and do the familial thing, you're gonna do it with me my main man. You and I, we're—" you hook your first fingers together and then make a lewd and suggestive gesture almost immediately after. You're rewarded with another not-blush from your dead beau.
"That's beside the point, Taako."
"That's m'name," you chirrup and he rolls his eyes.
"All I'm saying is that I have obligations—"
"Like I don't!"
"—and previous engagements. I don't have time to play...house on the moon." Kravitz is rubbing his temples wearily. You grin at him.
"C'monnnnnnnnn!" You whine, appealing to his better nature. His carnal nature. You're trying to get a rise out of him is what's up. "Just like an hour. One piddly little hour! And then you can fuck off to reap the souls of the damned and have tea and crumpets with the queen of blackbirds!"
"The Raven Queen," he corrects, "and I'll have you know that a cult of some pretty nasty necromancers are stirring up the dead near Half-Moon Cove. If I don't get to collecting their souls, thousands of innocent lives could be lost." He eyes you wearily. "You and I both know the consequences of that sort of snafu."
You suck your teeth and sigh. "Fine. You get a pass for now but, by-gum I will rope you into this bullshit!"
"I'll see you later then." He kisses you on the head—fuck that's adorable!!!—and rips a tear back into the Astral Plane. You wave gently and blow a kiss. He not-blushes and heads back. You watch his sweet, handsome ass step through the rift and close it behind him. Yeah. You like that view.
Now, on to the matter at hand: being a goddamn adult, fortifying, and fucking doing someshit about Angus. And those ooshy-gooshy feelings you have for the little know-it-all.
Ick. Feelings. You don't like those. Not one bit. Feelings are weakness and weakness gets forty people killed and your ass abandoned in the middle of fucking Brandybuck with the metaphorical hounds of hell on your tail. Feelings are getting attached to someone who's going to die before you—and not because of your unhealthy job position, but because your lifespan vastly outweighs theirs. Feelings are fucking awful and you hate them.
But you have them.
For Angus of all people.
Okay, admittedly, the boy isn't as bad as you first thought. Sure, he's a know-it-all and a snoop and, sure, he won't shut the fuck up or leave you alone, but damn! You never expected to actually care about the little shit. And you certainly didn't expect to feel guilty about pawning his grandad's silverware set.
(Ugh...just fucking make those feelings stop! You don't like feeling guilty. It's gross.)
You straighten your hat and hook the umbra staff over your arm, taking a deep breath. Now to plan your whole...thing with Angus. Eugh.
Step one: talk to the little shit. Easy-peasy. Just clap three times and say you have a mystery and the boy comes running. He's like a fucking spectral nuisance for real.
Step two: bond with him. Shoot the shit, make him snacks, pat him on the head, and he'll follow you like a lovesick puppy. Another easy step.
Step three: ???
Step four: profit.
Fuck. You haven't through this through very well.
But what to talk to him about?
That's the kicker. See, you have—and again the word fills you with a sort of bile and grossness that you don't like all that much but you have to deal with regardless—feelings for him. Feelings of the familial variety. Feelings of the parental variety. Namely you feel strangely protective of this tiny human annoyance. Bluh.
So how do you convey your...feelings to Angus without him getting a swelled head about it? How do you, as the term is put, bite the brass tack and tell him that you want to protect him from every danger that comes his way? How do you find the words for a relationship you suddenly want to have that you never had with anyone before, even in reverse?
Tactfully, gracefully, and in the most Taako way possible, of course.
(With, or without, your lovely bone-buddy. Damn him.)
You exit your sleeping quarters in the sweetass dorm area that you, Merle, and Magnus share. Merle is fucking off planetside doing who knows and who cares. It's his damn business anyway. Magnus is sitting on the couch, carving what looks to maybe be a dog? You don't know. It's not finished and it's got a head and an ass and maybe four legs so knowing Magnus, it's probably a dog.
He looks up and waves the knife-holding hand at you. "'Sup?"
"The prices of baking sugar and my self-esteem. How'sit hanging Mango?" You nod in his direction and he chuckles. Well, giggles, more like. Magnus does a lot of giggling.
"Just dandy. Carving a bugbear outta this piece of driftwood Merle brought me. Thought it'd be nice to maybe have a reason to visit Klaarg." Shit. Oh-fer.
"Planning on swinging by the Miller labs to visit the hugbears?" You rifle through the bowl you made that one date at the Chug 'N' Squeeze for your favorite chapstick. It's boysenberry and fucking purple and you love it to death. So does Kravitz. You can't seem to find it.
Shit.
"Yeah. NO.3113 says she's been stopping by when she has time between training sessions with Killian and Carey and normal everyday stuff. She says they're doing fine but like," he vaguely shrugs and runs his fingers through his beard—barely avoiding cutting his ear with the knife in his hand, "I dunno...I guess I just wanna make sure they're okay for myself."
"I dig, I dig." You nod sagely. You're a fucking wizard, so of course you're sagely, but sometimes you need to reassure yourself that you're fucking brilliant. You still can't find your chapstick. "Hey Mag—?"
"It's on the dryer. Merle rescued it from your pockets when he did laundry, remember?"
Oh. Right. "Thanks."
"No problem. Just make sure to remember: it's your week to do laundry and, for the love of all that is holy, please don't mix loads again. My socks are grey still."
"One time," you gripe playfully, "one time I throw all the laundry together in one load and I get flak for it for the rest of forever! What a naggy Maggy!" Magnus scoffs and continues to carve the—and now you can see it in the piece of strangely polished wood in his hands—bugbear.
"Grow up, Taako!"
You apply chapstick to your lips and smack them in his general direction. "Never. I will be boy-mayor of the moon forever!"
"Well have fun doing whatever it is you're doing today! Don't set shit on fire again or the Director's gonna cut our weekly pay. This time for real," he adds solemnly.
You scoff. "Lucretia is all talk and no action. And," you add as you open the door, ready to leave to confront your demons, "I don't plan on setting fire to anything today."
"Well, whether or not you plan to, don't." He's back to carving again so you just shake your head and go back to leaving. Fuck him, the worrywart.
"Later gator!" You wave your hand at him and close the door behind you with a lazy Mage Hand.
Now...where would that little snoop be? Your money is on the library but, knowing him, wherever there is information that is hidden, he's not to far away. That means...pretty much anywhere is game.
You sigh. Best start somewhere likely. Leon the Artificer might know. And bugging him never hurts. Even if Lucretia tells you to back off.
(But, like, fuck her. Leon is easy to rile up and you leave him alone for the most part. You deserve a little goofing.)
You ride the elevator up to the quad and start the long trek to the main dome of the Bureau. As you walk through the grass, you look around at the various domes that make up the Bureau of Balance. There's the square form of Fantasy Costco, ugly against the spherical landscape. There's the dining hall and next to it, the library. There's the tall spire that marks the home of the Voidfish and Johan's own personal hell.
(Speaking of, you probably should drop by and see how cha'boy Johan is doing. He's been holed up for far too long and maybe he needs a little pick-me-up courtesy of Taako and Avi.)
Then you see the large dome that marks the Director's office-slash-Artificer's room (with the fantasy gachapon). You change direction and head that way, flippantly apologizing to the few Bureau members you bump into, and soon find yourself trying to scan your way into the building. Your bracer isn't registering or something because the damn door is still shut.
You curse at the door and kick it. That was a bad idea because pain shoots up your leg and ends at your hip and you bite back a whimper. It's not a particularly damaging injury, but on a scale of papercut to life-ending wound, it's on the 'fucking end my life it would be kinder' end of the scale. It sucks massive dong. You swear again.
"Lemme get that for you," you flinch as a scaly arm taps their bracer against the door. "The door's been on the fritz for a few weeks but since Lucas...," she doesn't finish her sentence but you can infer what she means, "anyway! Until Leon can pull his head out of his ass long enough to get someone who knows that kinda tech, we're up the creek with no paddle."
"Thanks Carey," you tip your hat in the snarkiest manner possible. She grimaces and sticks out her forked tongue.
"What brings you out of your cave today?" She smirks as the two of you enter the dome.
"Oh, you know...I need more food. Not enough vitamin-D. I had to pee and Magnus clogged the toilet again." You wave your hand dismissively. "Business and pleasure."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah and I'm the queen of Neverwinter."
"It's true! Don't you believe me?" You ask in mock-horror.
"About as far as I can throw you."
"With or without magic, darling?"
She snorts and a small crackle of lighting sparks out her nostrils. "Ha ha." It's a sarcastic laugh and you know she knows you know it. Rude.
"What brings you out here?" You pointedly change the topic. That'll teach her to be rude.
"Killian wanted to get this artifact checked out. Something about curses or something?" Carey pulls out a small ring with a large moonstone inset in the center of it and shows it to you. It is fucking stellar. "She figures Leon's gotta have an idea what's up."
"Want me to Detect Magic?" You point a finger at the ring in her hands and raise a single eyebrow.
"Tried that," she grimaces and pockets the ring, "all Brad could tell was it had something going on and maybe or maybe not it was magic." She pulls another face, this one somewhere just left of disgust but in the realm of frustration. It makes her snout wrinkle and you find that cute. If you weren't taken and if her brother wasn't a massive tool, you might have tried to get a little bestial. As it stands, you have Kravitz—and whatever that may entail—and 'Scales' Fangbattle is a complete knocker who doesn't know when to shut up.
"Brad?" Your mind snaps back to the conversation at hand. "The guy from HR?"
"Yeah, him."
"I didn't know he could Detect Magic!"
"He has an artifact."
"Oh. Well I'm sure it doesn't help with his low Intellect score," you snipe. You're not trying to be petty, you just think that—while Brad isn't as much of a wang he could have been—he was a very straight man and it rubbed your flashy sensibilities the wrong way.
"Shush you," she replies. You like Carey in small doses. She doesn't take your flak but she also isn't so much of a good conversationalist. Unlike Killian's direct nature, Carey's more reserved way of doing things made for either quick talks or long and boring ones.
You fling open Leon's door and give the poor gnome a wicked grin. He visibly balks at your presence. You only feel a little bad.
"Wh-what are you doing here?! You-you don't have a token! I know so! You don't! Why are you here?!" His voice pitches dangerously and he is reaching for a gnarled wooden wand on his desk. You Mage Hand the wand to you and tut gently.
"Now Leon, that's no way to treat a coworker."
"You're a bully, not a coworker! I-I have to take a vacation every time you and-and your buddies stop by! And-and-and you're rude and I hate you!" Okay, that last one cuts a little deep. You know the poor man is probably worn thin whenever you stop by with a gachapon token and decide to fuck with him—aka: every time you have a gachapon token—but you didn't think he legitimately and actively disliked you! That kinda sucks, Leon or not.
You gently put his wand back on his table and dissipate your Mage Hand. You hold both your hands up in a gesture of goodwill, the umbra staff on your wrist. Carey looks lost somewhere between bemused and just fucking sad. "Look, sorry man. Didn't mean to interrupt your me-time. I just was wondering if you'd seen the boy wonder lately?"
Leon looks at his wand and then back at you. He snatches it up and levels it at you. He looks like he's going to cry but he also looks determined. There's a stab of pain in your heart. Maybe you should be nicer to him. "I-I haven't seen Mister McDonald all afternoon. Now get out." That last part is firmer and you can taste the beginnings of Scorching Ray building on the tip of his wand. You bow out.
"Right dude. Your place, your rules. Later Carey!" She doesn't wave back as you leave the room.
The library, you figure, is the next best place to look. You're trying to push away the guilt—ugh guilt, you hate that fucking feeling with is bile and sorrow and 'I fucked up'—about Leon as you go but the way he leveled his wand at you and the way he looked so scared made you feel bad. Any lesser elf would have apologized but you have to make a grand gesture out of it. Maybe next time you get a token you just fucking do what he asks. Yeah, that seems good.
The library is pretty empty at this time of...day? It's hard to measure time when you're on a fake moon—even one that's not actually in space—but you assume it's day because it's sweltering and bright as shit out on the quad. There's a few oddball Seekers just lounging around, noses buried in large, dusty, boring as fuck tomes about who knows what the shit. There's also Brad, who waves cheerily and toasts to you with his 'Moon's 2nd Best Orc' mug. You wave back and smile gently. You're not really feeling the mean goofs right now. Leon sucked all that right out of you. But, as far as you can tell, Angus ain't there.
Just as you realize that you have no goddamn clue where the little shit is—on the one day that you decide to fortify and fucking be an...adult???—Brad gets all up in your grill. His ponytail is perfect and his suit is perfect and his smile is perfect and you just wanna fucking deck him. But you don't. Because he's not a dick and you don't hate him. Mostly.
"Hey there Taako. How's it going?"
You afford him a simple and unassuming smile. "Not much Brad, my man! What brings you to the library on this hot-as-balls day?"
"Well I had some paperwork I had to finish so I came here. The library is the best place to get your paperwork done. Nice and quiet. Plus the A/C is good. Nice and cool." He puffs his chest out and smiles broadly. You resist the urge to deck him again.
"While I'm here," may as well play the field since you're already dealing with the rest of the goon squad, "have you seen Angus?"
"The boy detective?"
(If you want to be reductive, you hear in his squeaky little voice.)
"Yup."
"I think he might have been hanging out with NO.3113?" He shrugs but never stops smiling. Fuck man. "Last I saw, she was by the dojo."
"Thanks dude!" You wave and turn on your heels, bidding a hasty retreat before the dingus can chat you into a coma.
"No problem! Come back any time!" He cries out. You keep going. No sense in looking back now.
The dojo is easier to reach than the Artificer's was. It's like a swift jog to the large dome—man you always forget how much the Bureau loves domes—and bam! Air conditioning and the sound of people getting the shit kicked out of them. And weight lifting. And spell casting. Just battle sounds sans an actual battle. It's...soothing and you don't like that too much.
Killian and Avi are having a deadlifting contest. Avi is sweating heavily but matching Killian pound for pound. You pass by them, secretly cheering for both. Kelsey, one of the Seekers, is firing off spell after spell at a poor, bedraggled dummy. Mostly Sacred Flame but from what you can parse from the damaged dummy, there may have been a Ray of Frost there too. When you finally find NO.3113, you're relieved to see that, yes, Angus is there with her. He's sitting on top of her shoulders and is plaiting her tentacles.
Angus looks startled to see you in the dojo. He drops the sloppy braid and flaps his hands. "Taako! What are you doing here, sir?"
"Checking out the hot bods and keeping out of the hot sun." You wink at NO.3113, who flickers in confusion. She shifts slightly and you can tell that she is as confused as Angus—if not more so.
"No, I mean, you were taking a break, right? You had plans! That's why we couldn't have magic lessons today." He flaps his hands again. "That's why I'm confused as to why you're in the dojo at this exact moment."
"Oh," can't pull one over on him, huh? "I had my fill of my plans and decided to come and hang with my favorite boy detective!"
"I'm the only boy detective," Angus corrects you, then frowns at the 'boy' part. "But I'm flattered, sir."
"So what're you and NO.3113 up to?"
"We're hanging out! Killian and Avi are busy—"
"I saw," you grin but Angus continues.
"—Carey's off trying to get a read on that ring she found. You know where Merle and Magnus are, well, you know where Magnus is. And I'm here with NO.3113! She's letting me braid her tendrils! I think I've got it down!" He shows off the braid he's working on and grins. All things considered—like the fact that he's not working with hair and the fact that he's never done this before—it's a pretty damn good braid. It's a little crooked but an admirable first try. You're proud.
"Well," you drawl, "hate to steal your hairdresser away but we have an appointment to uphold. A magic appointment." You wiggle your fingers and cast Prestidigitation, causing sparks to fly out. Angus giggles and shit you feel that warm, heart-burn-y feeling that you equate with caring about someone.
"You mean lessons?!" His eyes sparkle and it's so. Fucking. Cute.
"Yeah, did I stutter short-stack?" You Levitate him off of NO.3113 and set him on the ground. He gapes at you as you shoulder the umbra staff and give him a wicked grin.
"N-no sir! I'm just so glad that you want to have a lesson today!" He's flapping again and he pulls his wand from his pocket and is clutching it so happily. You find that endearing, even against your better judgement.
"Well c'mon! Don't keep me waiting! I was planning something great today!" He lights up and gasps and you just fuck!!! You feel feelings for him and they're warm and fuzzy and you don't know what to do with yourself.
"Yes sir! I can't wait!" He tags behind you like a puppy—ha! Take that step two!!!—as you make your way out of the dojo. Killian is benchpressing Avi now, who looks like he pulled something and is taking a nap while Killian lifts him. Kelsey is rehydrating and reading a spellbook. It looks like a book on Fourth-level Transmutation magic; you make a small note to check that sucker out of the library when she's done with it.
You step out into the blistering heat of the sun and immediately regret not buying a smoothie from fantasy Jamba Juice while you were in the dojo. You open the umbra staff and use it like a parasol to shield you and—by proxy—Angus from the scorching rays. It grumbles in distaste but you give it a shake and it stops.
"What a day," you sigh as you trek back to the dome that houses your dorm.
"Absolutely. I would say it's probably summer down on Faerûn right now but, because we're higher in the atmosphere, we're receiving a lot more heat and sun." Angus looks up at you, his glasses fogged up, and smiles brightly. "Makes you wish you could control the weather, right?"
"For sure, lil man. For sure." You think about what you're going to do now that you have Angus in your possession. You promised him a magic lesson so that's deffo what you're planning on doing but you aren't all that sure on what you want to teach him. He's only on second-level spells—by the grace of one of the gods—and takes after you in terms of the type of magic he favors. That is to say, seeing as you're his only magic teacher, he knows a helluva lot of Transmutation magic and that's about it.
You don't know if that makes for a well-rounded Arcane Trickster or not—you never really classed out like Magnus did so you haven't the faintest as to what a good spell collection for someone who specializes in roguish and magical activities would be—but you may have an idea of what spell to teach him.
"So, Ango McDango, are you excited?" You cast a glance in his direction. He sure as fuck looks excited.
"Very much so! You always have such a good pick of spells and you're such a good teacher! I really, really like learning magic with you! Plus it helps my investigations!" He is grinning brighter than the damn sun is shining and he just looks so goddamn pleased just to be in your presence that you feel kinda shitty about fucking with him in the past.
"Well buckle up magic boy, 'cause today is a good one. This one is for sure gonna be useful in your snooping!" Angus lets out a small squeak and flaps some more. Are you really sure you want to do this? Take on this kind of responsibility? Become a...parent?
Well, a slightly more adult part of your brain retorts, you sure as fuck don't have any competition, do you?
(You did mention it was only slightly more adult, right?)
There's Magnus and Merle, the petulant little kid in you argues.
Merle is a douche and Magnus couldn't wipe his ass if you gave him directions, the "adult" part of you whines
You decide to shut that shit right the fuck up. You're mean when you want to be and neither of your boys deserve that.
Are you ready to be a "parent" to Angus? No. Fuck no. You can barely be a "responsible and independent adult" for you. But!—and this is a big but—you're willing to try, and that's gotta count for something, right?
(You sure hope so, otherwise you're up the creek with no canoe.)
So you and Angus wander your pretty asses back to your dorm. You take the elevator down to the floor it's on—listening to the Girl from Ipanema played by Johan with something just left of quiet resignation—and try not to hurl from vertigo when you catch a glance of Faerûn below. Angus is no longer flapping, but he's got stars in his eyes that match the one on the end of his dime-store wand. (Speaking of that wand, you plan on maybe transmuting, maybe even fabricating a good wand fitting of the boy detective. Something not made of dowel rod and plastic. Something worth his time.) You gnaw on the umbra staff's handle as you think about what kind of embellishments and what kind of fun things you want on your protégé's wand. Then the doors open and you have to exit.
You reach your dorm door, Knocking the door wide open, and smile wickedly when Magnus hollers in frustration. "What's up Mango? Still trying to carve a half-decent bugbear?"
"Well I was," Magnus gripes—and you know it's good-heartedly because his voice quavers and his hands are still filled with carving and sandpaper—"'Till you scared me halfway to death. I think I took off the first layer of skin!"
"Are you bleeding, you big baby?"
Magnus rolls his eyes. "No."
"Then suck it up!" You cackle and stroll on by him, Angus trailing behind you like a baby duck. He waves at Magnus and lets out a small "hello sir!" Magnus waves back and then resumes sanding away. To be fair, the bugbear—and it's family—look very nice. And he had carved it out of pine which was (should your knowledge of wood be correct) a soft wood. Nice and texturally pleasing. A good wood, in your opinion.
When you both arrive in your room, stepping over piles of laundry and a small mound of Luna Bar wrappers, you toss your wizard hat onto the rack by the door and crack your knuckles. "Alrighty," you exhale and face Angus, steeling your nerves, "so today's spell is one I'm sure you'll get all sorts of use out of!"
"What is it?!" His eyes are dinner plates and his smile is broad. You waggle your fingers at him.
"Knock!" You rap your umbra staff against your chest and it slams shut. "I think you know a bit about that one, right?"
"Yes sir! Knock is a level two spell that can unlock any normally locked object and dispel any magical lock for a small amount of time." He looks up to you in anticipation of praise or maybe scorn. You smile at him—in what you hope is a warm and familial manner—and he practically collapses in excitement. If he had any grip on Polymorph, he might have changed into a goddamn puppy and bowled you over in fucking joy.
"Right-o Ango!" You wink and spin the umbra staff around your wrist and then snap it against your shoulder in a maneuver that looks like it belongs in a goddamn action film. "One thing you gotta remember though is that, while Knock is very useful for your snooping habits, it also is very, very loud." You burn a level two spell slot and rap the handle of the umbra staff against your chest, casting the spell and snapping the chest open. The rap is amplified, sharp and piercing, and you see Angus shrink slightly. You know that feel. That is the feel of too loud and too sharp. Even though he's a human, he shares a lot of things with you—issues included. "You think you got it?" You close the chest and lock it again.
"Um...I think I've got it but what kind of effect am I looking for? Do I need my wand as the conduit for this spell? You didn't use a spell word and you didn't need components so is it purely somatic?" He twists his hands around and gestures this way and that with his wand. Fuck, you need to get him a better wand. "Am I purely undoing the lock or am I also opening the chest? What if I get scared? What if I get caught?!"
"Okay, okay. Chill." You kneel down and gently wrap your bathrobe around him. It's soft and fluffy and also the first thing you could reach to cover him. Angus takes a shaky breath—he's not crying, thank god, but he's close to the edge and you don't like that—and rubs his face against the trim. "Look at me, yeah?" He looks into your eyes and you smile again. "Just open the lock. You'll figure out your own panache later. Just focus on the basics." He nods gently and you pop the trim of your bathrobe to make him look cooler. And to make him laugh. Mostly to make him laugh.
(Point to you, he laughs.)
"Now the sound is loud but you're smart so you'll figure out a way around that for sure. You just gotta make sure that you know who's around and what's going on so that you don't alert anyone. You don't have to worry about it this time because you're safe and no one is about to get you, kay?" He nods. "Focus your magic on triggering each pin in the lock. You know locks, right? Like, you can pick locks?"
"Y-yeah..." He pulls back the robe and his jacket to reveal a small set of thieves tools. "They come in handy a lot when I get deep in the shit." He blushes when he swears but he sticks to his guns. Good on him.
"Well imagine your magic is a set of lock picks. You just use the knocking you do to shock your magical lock picks into place and then bam! Loud noise is just the lock giving in. Nothing to be scared of." You gesture with your dominant hand, your other hand pressed into the small of his back. He isn't arching away from you, which is different than his first positive contact with you. You remember gently patting him on the back and how he stepped away from you in shock and apprehension. So much has changed.
(And yet so little, that nasty little part of your brain whispers.)
Angus gives the spell a go, tapping his wand against the chest. Nothing happens. His shoulders slump but he tries again, taking time to concentrate on the feel of the spell. You taste the magic on your lips and feel it on your skin and you press your nails against your skin and draw a physical feeling upward to drown out the buzz and itch of his spell. He raps his wand against the chest and nothing happens again. But he persists and you're proud.
Again. Again. Again. Again. He tries time after time and you can see him getting frustrated with each failed attempt. You stop him after he starts to hum angrily. You recognize the sound of him getting too close to breaking down so you gently get him to lower his wand and usher him into the living room.
"Break time!" You sing. Angus looks up at you and his eyes are watery and you can just see how much he wants to prove himself to you. In him you see a scrawny little elf who learns to cook from his aunt and learns to lie from his dad and learns to flirt from his mom and wants so hard to make something of himself.
Sorry mom, you think as you prepare a small snack sampler for your—protégé? Ugh. Words—Angus, but I fucked that right up. Killed a bunch of people—ish—and then ran away. But fuck it, I'm working on making shit better. And I think I'm doing okay.
Angus munches on an assortment of carrot sticks, celery, broccoli, and mushrooms that you put out for him. He says something about magic and lessons and gratitude and maybe Candlenights but you don't hear much of it. You're too preoccupied with your own thoughts. So when Magnus grabs a handful of Angus' veggies and hollers, "I WANT TO MUNCH—SQUAD!" you start.
"Get your own snacks you big galoot," you gripe. Magnus noisily crunches on his pilfered food and gives you a messy, colorful, toothy grin.
"But the ones you make taste better," he whines. You roll your eyes.
"You're a big boy. I can't cook for you all the time!"
"Well you cook for Angus!"
"Because he's a kid!" Angus looks chuffed. You ignore him to waggle your finger at Magnus. "And you are a capable ruff boi! Learn to cook man!"
"Last time I tried to cook, you micro-managed me the first five minutes and then took over, saying I wasn't doing it right."
"You were burning water!"
"You took over cooking duty for the rest of time!" Angus is enrapt with the conversation, snooping, as one does. You don't bother censoring yourself—why would you? You don't normally—so the whole story of Magnus burning water, crisping up noodles, and Merle fucking setting fire to an empty pan come to the surface.
Angus just listens and eats. Eats and listens. Takes mental notes. (Mental note: learn how to do that properly and remember them.)
You and Magnus are yelling at one another now, not angrily but more of a pissing contest which he started by the way, and you don't notice Angus sneaking back to your room, obviously uncomfortable with the shouting. Just as the arguing reaches its climax, you hear a loud rapping noise and Angus shrieks.
"Oh my god! Ohmygod! I did it! Dad, I did it!" Angus rushes in, wand held up, and face flushed with excitement. "Dad! I actually cast Knock dad!!!" Then he froze as what he said hit both of you. "Oh. I'm sorry. Oh wow. I mean—I didn't mean to—I—!" His hands are over his mouth and his face flushes deeper and he looks so embarrassed but you—
You're actually kinda...glad that he's comfortable enough around you to accidentally call you 'dad'."
"Nonononono! You're good. You're good!" You kneel down and pull him into a hug. He tenses up and for a moment you think you fucked up. It's a spur-of-the-moment thing and you aren't sure why you're doing it past 'maybe I want to actually be this kid's dad'. "It's fine. I'm actually super proud of you."
He relaxes in your grip and hugs you back. "Thank you Taako."
You just stay there for a bit and hug him for as long as you can tolerate the skin-to-skin contact. Then you let go and wink. "Do you see me as a father figure, Ango?"
"More like a bother figure!" Magnus shouts from his spot at the table. He's fucking finished all of Angus' snacks. Dammit.
Angus giggles, "You're the closest thing I have to a dad. If you don't mind, that is."
You ruffle his hair and saunter back to the kitchen to make more snacks. "No problem Robert. If you see me as your dad then I guess I gotta fortify and fucking do dadly shit." You pull out a small set of mixing bowls and some premade cake mix. "Now come and help me make you some celebration cupcakes, cupcake."
"You're using box mix?"
"Honey, lemme let you in on a secret: use butter instead of oil, a little extra milk, and some vanilla and no one can tell the difference," you stage-whisper. The stars are back in his eyes and damn if you don't love the way he looks at you. You wanna fucking protect him from all the bad shit in the world. You wanna make sure he grows up big and strong. You wanna keep him as happy as you can.
(And you wanna be the best dad possible.)