Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-15 11:32 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-15 11:32 am
I've Got Some In The Works, Naturally.
Have a handful of Goes Wrong Show drabbles I've written on Tumblr! And one slightly longer ficlet, also written in response to a Tumblr request (for domestic Grovebean, although I'm not entirely certain I've succeeded in making it either domestic or Grovebean). It's been a long time since I last tried to write something sticking to exactly a hundred words; I'd forgotten how tricky it can be.
The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Celia, 100 words, prompt: scramble.
There’s an audible flurry of motion as Chris approaches the lounge, and he enters to find his mother and Robert on opposite sides of the room, Robert striking far too casual a pose.
“Robert,” Chris says, “if you must sleep with my mother, could you at least feign innocence convincingly? I’d really prefer not to know about it.”
“How dare you cast aspersions on my acting skills?” Robert demands. “My innocence is perfect. You have no idea what we were doing before you came in here.”
“Were you kissing, by any chance?” Chris asks, flatly.
Robert sniffs. “A lucky guess.”
The Goes Wrong Show, 100 words, prompt: parsimonious.
“I’m sorry,” Chris says, “but the entire budget is already allocated. We can’t spend a penny more on costuming; we certainly can’t afford puppetry.”
“No animal costumes or puppetry?” Sandra asks, raising her eyebrows. “For War Horse?”
“It may be a challenge, I’ll admit,” Chris says, “but we’ll just have to rise to it.”
Their final version of the play, retitled to War Nude Rideable Man, is perhaps an imperfect production of War Horse, and Robert’s whinnying in the titular role is nothing short of alarming. But, on the plus side, it’s by far the most tickets they’ve ever sold.
The Goes Wrong Show, 100 words, prompt: earthshine.
“A single skilled actor can carry a production,” Robert says, “and often does. The light of his talent reflects off the lesser actors, and the audience comes away thinking more favourably of all the elements of the play.”
“Even me?” Dennis asks.
Robert nods. “Even you. You don’t have a scrap of acting ability in your body, but you’re elevated by performing in my company.”
“Wow,” Dennis says, softly.
It’s slightly inconvenient that Dennis subsequently insists on performing covered in tinfoil, to make himself ‘more reflective’. But it seems to bolster his confidence, at least, so Chris reluctantly allows it.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris/Robert, 100 words, prompt: hand.
“You’ve added another fight scene with Robert?” Annie asks. “You know we don’t have a choreographer, right? Our fights never look great.”
Chris was hoping no one would have noticed. He’s been finding ways to work in more fight scenes between his characters and Robert’s ever since The Lodge. Something about Robert’s hands on him, Robert steering him forcefully around the stage, Robert refusing to back down unless they fought for real—
It’s humiliating; he hates himself for feeling this way. But he hasn’t stopped thinking about it in months.
“We’ll just have to rehearse more, I suppose,” he says.
The Goes Wrong Show/Death Note, 100 words, prompt: crossover.
Looking like a normal student means extracurricular activities. Light joins the drama society.
This is a mistake. His castmates are incompetent, the set is disintegrating, and L, of course, is smiling infuriatingly in the audience.
Light cannot murder the drama society. They’re known associates; it’ll strengthen the suspicion against him. But it’s deeply tempting.
Tempting enough to conceal a piece of Death Note in his costume, just in case.
When Light’s jacket catches fire, he hurls it off in a panic. Then Trevor picks up the singed remnants – touches the paper – sees Ryuk, and that’s when things really go wrong.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 700 words, prompt: domestic Grovebean.
There’s a strange smell. It’s the first thing Chris is aware of, and he hurls himself out of bed almost before he’s awake; oh, God, is his flat on fire, is he going to—?
The smell is coming from his kitchen; that feels like a bad sign. But it’s familiar, it’s – are those sausages?
There are noises coming from the kitchen, too, someone moving around. Chris lives alone.
There is a burglar in his home. Someone has broken in, and they have apparently decided to make sausages.
What does he do? What does he do in this situation?
He grabs his hardback Complete Works of Shakespeare from his bedside table and edges towards the kitchen, holding the book aloft.
This is a bad idea. He should leave the flat; he’s not built for combat, and he cannot confront an invader in his pyjamas.
And yet here he is, still approaching the kitchen, desperately telling himself he’ll regret it.
He stops outside the kitchen door. Takes several deep breaths. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to announce his presence; he doesn’t want to startle an enemy who has access to his kitchen knives.
“Hello?” he calls, tentatively.
“Ah, excellent, you’re awake!”
Chris forgets his terror in an instant. “Robert?”
There he is, when Chris enters the kitchen: Robert Grove, larger than life, beaming at him. The entire room is filled with a sizzling noise, the smell of frying meat.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Chris asks.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making breakfast. You don’t have enough pans, you know.”
“Why would I need more than four?” Chris asks. “I’ve only got four burners on the hob. Why are you making breakfast in my flat?”
“You cancelled yesterday’s rehearsal.”
Chris makes several unsuccessful attempts to fit that piece into the jigsaw puzzle of this situation. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ve mentioned previously that you skip breakfast most days,” Robert says. “I concluded you were unable to attend the rehearsal because you were wasting away. It’s my duty to ensure our director stays in good health.”
“When you’re not trying to incapacitate me, anyway.” Chris takes a seat at the kitchen counter, setting down his book. The adrenaline is starting to ebb away; the confusion is going nowhere. “How did you get in?”
“Acting skills, naturally,” Robert says. “If your landlord asks, I’ve fixed your radiator and I will be sending my invoice in due course.”
“Did you ever consider ringing my doorbell like a normal person?”
“So early in the morning?” Robert asks, cracking eggs into a bowl. More eggs than Chris had in the flat; did Robert bring his own ingredients? “I didn’t think you’d thank me for it.”
“I’m not wasting away, you know. My parents were visiting yesterday.”
“And you cancelled the rehearsal?” Robert asks. “You should have brought them along.”
“No,” Chris says, firmly. As far as he’s concerned, Robert and his mother are never permitted in the same room again.
Robert serves up breakfast before long: sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, baked beans, fried tomatoes, buttered toast. It is, to be frank, far too much food for someone who’s not used to having breakfast. But it looks and smells wonderful, and Chris doesn’t want to turn his nose up at a meal someone took the time to prepare for him, however insane the circumstances.
He tries to have a little of everything, while the two of them argue over the merits of Shakespeare’s various plays. It’s a relief to have his Complete Works serving as a conversation piece, rather than a weapon.
“Thank you,” Chris says eventually, setting down his knife and fork. “That was delicious.”
“You’ve had enough?” Robert asks. “Have you regained some of your strength?”
His strength isn’t a concern; he’s managing perfectly well, in spite of Robert’s apparent belief that he’s on the brink of starvation. But...
Well, this has been nice, with the exception of the terrifying awakening. Starting the day with good food and lively conversation.
Things are sometimes a little tense between him and Robert; Chris isn’t always entirely sure whether they’re friends. But, if Robert is prepared to break into Chris’s home just to cook for him at the crack of dawn, Chris supposes they must be, in an extremely strange way.
“You know,” Chris says, “I think I have.”
'Are you feeling all right?' Rei asked me yesterday. 'You haven't posted any Chris/Robert fanfiction in over three days.'
The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Celia, 100 words, prompt: scramble.
There’s an audible flurry of motion as Chris approaches the lounge, and he enters to find his mother and Robert on opposite sides of the room, Robert striking far too casual a pose.
“Robert,” Chris says, “if you must sleep with my mother, could you at least feign innocence convincingly? I’d really prefer not to know about it.”
“How dare you cast aspersions on my acting skills?” Robert demands. “My innocence is perfect. You have no idea what we were doing before you came in here.”
“Were you kissing, by any chance?” Chris asks, flatly.
Robert sniffs. “A lucky guess.”
The Goes Wrong Show, 100 words, prompt: parsimonious.
“I’m sorry,” Chris says, “but the entire budget is already allocated. We can’t spend a penny more on costuming; we certainly can’t afford puppetry.”
“No animal costumes or puppetry?” Sandra asks, raising her eyebrows. “For War Horse?”
“It may be a challenge, I’ll admit,” Chris says, “but we’ll just have to rise to it.”
Their final version of the play, retitled to War Nude Rideable Man, is perhaps an imperfect production of War Horse, and Robert’s whinnying in the titular role is nothing short of alarming. But, on the plus side, it’s by far the most tickets they’ve ever sold.
The Goes Wrong Show, 100 words, prompt: earthshine.
“A single skilled actor can carry a production,” Robert says, “and often does. The light of his talent reflects off the lesser actors, and the audience comes away thinking more favourably of all the elements of the play.”
“Even me?” Dennis asks.
Robert nods. “Even you. You don’t have a scrap of acting ability in your body, but you’re elevated by performing in my company.”
“Wow,” Dennis says, softly.
It’s slightly inconvenient that Dennis subsequently insists on performing covered in tinfoil, to make himself ‘more reflective’. But it seems to bolster his confidence, at least, so Chris reluctantly allows it.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris/Robert, 100 words, prompt: hand.
“You’ve added another fight scene with Robert?” Annie asks. “You know we don’t have a choreographer, right? Our fights never look great.”
Chris was hoping no one would have noticed. He’s been finding ways to work in more fight scenes between his characters and Robert’s ever since The Lodge. Something about Robert’s hands on him, Robert steering him forcefully around the stage, Robert refusing to back down unless they fought for real—
It’s humiliating; he hates himself for feeling this way. But he hasn’t stopped thinking about it in months.
“We’ll just have to rehearse more, I suppose,” he says.
The Goes Wrong Show/Death Note, 100 words, prompt: crossover.
Looking like a normal student means extracurricular activities. Light joins the drama society.
This is a mistake. His castmates are incompetent, the set is disintegrating, and L, of course, is smiling infuriatingly in the audience.
Light cannot murder the drama society. They’re known associates; it’ll strengthen the suspicion against him. But it’s deeply tempting.
Tempting enough to conceal a piece of Death Note in his costume, just in case.
When Light’s jacket catches fire, he hurls it off in a panic. Then Trevor picks up the singed remnants – touches the paper – sees Ryuk, and that’s when things really go wrong.
The Goes Wrong Show, Chris and Robert, 700 words, prompt: domestic Grovebean.
There’s a strange smell. It’s the first thing Chris is aware of, and he hurls himself out of bed almost before he’s awake; oh, God, is his flat on fire, is he going to—?
The smell is coming from his kitchen; that feels like a bad sign. But it’s familiar, it’s – are those sausages?
There are noises coming from the kitchen, too, someone moving around. Chris lives alone.
There is a burglar in his home. Someone has broken in, and they have apparently decided to make sausages.
What does he do? What does he do in this situation?
He grabs his hardback Complete Works of Shakespeare from his bedside table and edges towards the kitchen, holding the book aloft.
This is a bad idea. He should leave the flat; he’s not built for combat, and he cannot confront an invader in his pyjamas.
And yet here he is, still approaching the kitchen, desperately telling himself he’ll regret it.
He stops outside the kitchen door. Takes several deep breaths. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to announce his presence; he doesn’t want to startle an enemy who has access to his kitchen knives.
“Hello?” he calls, tentatively.
“Ah, excellent, you’re awake!”
Chris forgets his terror in an instant. “Robert?”
There he is, when Chris enters the kitchen: Robert Grove, larger than life, beaming at him. The entire room is filled with a sizzling noise, the smell of frying meat.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Chris asks.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making breakfast. You don’t have enough pans, you know.”
“Why would I need more than four?” Chris asks. “I’ve only got four burners on the hob. Why are you making breakfast in my flat?”
“You cancelled yesterday’s rehearsal.”
Chris makes several unsuccessful attempts to fit that piece into the jigsaw puzzle of this situation. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ve mentioned previously that you skip breakfast most days,” Robert says. “I concluded you were unable to attend the rehearsal because you were wasting away. It’s my duty to ensure our director stays in good health.”
“When you’re not trying to incapacitate me, anyway.” Chris takes a seat at the kitchen counter, setting down his book. The adrenaline is starting to ebb away; the confusion is going nowhere. “How did you get in?”
“Acting skills, naturally,” Robert says. “If your landlord asks, I’ve fixed your radiator and I will be sending my invoice in due course.”
“Did you ever consider ringing my doorbell like a normal person?”
“So early in the morning?” Robert asks, cracking eggs into a bowl. More eggs than Chris had in the flat; did Robert bring his own ingredients? “I didn’t think you’d thank me for it.”
“I’m not wasting away, you know. My parents were visiting yesterday.”
“And you cancelled the rehearsal?” Robert asks. “You should have brought them along.”
“No,” Chris says, firmly. As far as he’s concerned, Robert and his mother are never permitted in the same room again.
Robert serves up breakfast before long: sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, baked beans, fried tomatoes, buttered toast. It is, to be frank, far too much food for someone who’s not used to having breakfast. But it looks and smells wonderful, and Chris doesn’t want to turn his nose up at a meal someone took the time to prepare for him, however insane the circumstances.
He tries to have a little of everything, while the two of them argue over the merits of Shakespeare’s various plays. It’s a relief to have his Complete Works serving as a conversation piece, rather than a weapon.
“Thank you,” Chris says eventually, setting down his knife and fork. “That was delicious.”
“You’ve had enough?” Robert asks. “Have you regained some of your strength?”
His strength isn’t a concern; he’s managing perfectly well, in spite of Robert’s apparent belief that he’s on the brink of starvation. But...
Well, this has been nice, with the exception of the terrifying awakening. Starting the day with good food and lively conversation.
Things are sometimes a little tense between him and Robert; Chris isn’t always entirely sure whether they’re friends. But, if Robert is prepared to break into Chris’s home just to cook for him at the crack of dawn, Chris supposes they must be, in an extremely strange way.
“You know,” Chris says, “I think I have.”
'Are you feeling all right?' Rei asked me yesterday. 'You haven't posted any Chris/Robert fanfiction in over three days.'
no subject
Heh!
Robert springing surprise domesticity on an unsuspecting and very alarmed Chris sounds like the perfect answer to that prompt XD
no subject
Robert springing surprise domesticity on an unsuspecting and very alarmed Chris sounds like the perfect answer to that prompt XD
Ha, thank you! The requester asked 'do you think domestic grovebean would ever be a possibility?? can I request some if so?', and my internal response was '...well, it's certainly possible, but they would not be normal about it.'
no subject
HAHAHA