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bubblesuga · 4 years

Text

off the table.

Summary: Fate has an odd way of playing with your mind. When you leave Min Yoongi on his door step nearly a decade ago, you became positive that you would never find love again. Settling for a man you thought you could learn to love, you had given up on fully moving on. But again, fate likes to play.

W/C: 11,680

Genre: Idol!AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: cussing, smut, mentions of exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, Jimin is curious about Yoongi’s (non-existent) sex life,

A/N: Based loosely off of Off The Table by Ariana Grande if you want a song to listen to as you read :) x

“So, this is it then?”

“Yeah.”

The near migraine-inducing memory always happens to flash in your mind at the worst times possible. Eight years ago, you found yourself standing at the front door of your ex boyfriend’s dorm with a solemn heart as he softly explained what his life was going to turn into. It was a short conversation, one the both of you had seen coming but neither of you wanted to admit it.

As his new friends and new life began to form behind him in the small one bedroom apartment, you nodded, and you left with one last kiss to his rosy lips. His deep brown eyes bore into yours with just as much sadness that you felt before you dragged yourself away helplessly.

Of course, now that you were 3 months into a new relationship, the memory decides to pop it’s way back into your brain as if it had just happened. A soft whisper in your mind gently coaxed you away from your latest fling and disassociated you from the moment entirely. He’s a nice guy, as well. Good head on his shoulders, smart with money, and loves to cook for you. So the sense of guilt you felt was tremendous because despite having this gorgeous man in front of you, your mind always flew back to him.

It has become more and more difficult not to think of him considering the fact that his face is now everywhere. The news, the internet, your fucking cold brew... He was there, the same bright features and adorable nose. You wondered if he thought of you from time to time, how you’re doing or what you could be up to since you graduated university. With as hectic of a schedule that you’re sure he held, you highly doubted that you have been on his mind since the end. Knowing him, he threw himself into his work and hasn’t looked back. It shows in his music, though. You always knew that he would be successful.

“...are you even listening to me?”

The words dragged you out of your trance and you immediately set down your coffee, “What? Of course I am.”

Junwoo couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “What was I talking about then?”

Fuck.

You push your hair back, a habit you developed recently as your desire to try and forget about your ex boyfriend has grown stronger, “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

Maybe it hasn’t just been lately. Maybe every single time you feel Junwoo’s lips against yours, you can’t help but compare him to Yoongi. He didn’t need to know that, though.

“Yeah, you use that a lot as your excuse. I’ll try not to bore you with tales from my clients anymore.” Junwoo slides the plate in front of you, a heart shaped kimchi pancake lay flat in the middle of it, and you feel your guilt grow stronger.

“No! I love hearing about them, I- I think I need to see someone about what’s going on in my head.” You explain. You had yet to mention to anyone that you dated Suga of BTS before he was known as such. In fact, you’re pretty sure if you even hinted at it, you’d become the laughing stock of Seoul. It made it impossibly difficult to talk about your feelings with Junwoo. He always tries to pry, but you shut him down completely.

“What’s going on? Is it serious?” concern laces his features and he sits carefully beside you at the table.

“No, I just need someone to talk to.” you try to shake the feeling of discontent when his arm wraps around your shoulder.

He leans his head on yours- “you can always talk to me.” -you shutter.

“A professional, just to help me get back on my game. Regain control of...” you let out a soft sigh and feel Junwoo’s lips brush against your temple, “...myself.”

“_____, I am a literal therapist.”

“A literal therapist who is emotionally involved with me. Isn’t it inappropriate to make out with your patients?” You quirk, raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes again, “Okay. Let me know if you need recommendations. Us in the brain community are pretty tight-knit.” He stands up and runs a hand through your hair before trotting back to the kitchen to begin his own breakfast.

You nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your pancake, picking up the butter knife beside your plate and dragging it down the center with a grimace on your face.

~*~*~

Even though you spent many years studying medicine, you didn’t think it would involve this much typing. Staring at patient charts has become a normal during your regular work day, especially since you’re boss decided that he didn’t need to look at the charts, he just wanted to hear from you.

You’re a nurse, not a secretary.

Today you were assigned to the emergency room, which was one of your favorite places to be. Everything was much faster than if you happened to be in post-op or general medicine, but the moment you enter the doors, you were piled with paperwork that you were sure a medical assistant could be doing.

The drowning sounds of chatter and machine’s melodic beeping blended with your fingers as they typed name after name, number after number for an hour straight. Just as you thought your soul had completely drained from your body, you hear a tap on the desk.

“H- hi, uh- my friend’s foot got cut open and we think he needs stitches. Is there any way that we could get seen quickly?” You glance up and your eyes immediately go wide.

You remember meeting Namjoon a few times in passing when you were still seeing Yoongi, but he’s much taller than you remember. Instantly you feel your face go red, and you were frozen in place. Why the hell was Namjoon here? How did he manage to choose this hospital of all the ones in Seoul?

You happen to tear your eyes away from him for a second, glancing over and seeing Jungkook being held up by Jimin as his foot stays elevated in the air. The minute you see a t-shirt wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s foot, you move to action.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that! Let me get you a wheelchair,” you swing around the desk and grab one of the folded up wheelchairs and roll it towards Jungkook. He grimaces as he sits down, his foot crossed onto the opposite knee. Jimin seems relieved not to have his friend leaning on him anymore, and you pause for a second to assess the situation.

“Jenni! Do we have an open bed anywhere?” You grab your co worker who walks passed you with her hands filled with bandages.

“Back corner, we just cleaned it.” She calls back, walking without glancing at the people you’re trying to help.

You nod, immediately walking Jungkook towards the back and gesturing for Namjoon and Jimin to follow. You grab an empty chart as you walk, before opening the curtain for the bed and allowing the three men to slide into the area.

“I hate to be pushy but this really hurts.” Jungkook hisses as wrap your arm beneath his and slowly lift him towards the bed. Immediately, you slip gloves onto your hands and begin to unwrap the t-shirt. There’s quite a bit of blood, but not enough to have you worried that he hit an artery.

Namjoon bites his lip before speaking, “I should have watched the stage better. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shrugs, wincing while he attempts to pull himself up higher, “It was hard to see. Not your fault, or anyone else’s.”

“Except for the person who broke the stage.” Namjoon quips, rubbing his hands over his face, frustrated.

“It’s fine, hyung. The pretty nurse is going to fix Kookie right up.” Jimin is quick to comfort both of his friends while simultaneously causing you to blush.

It’s then that you notice the three of them in clothes similar to their rehearsal getup from all those years ago. Sweat lines each of their foreheads and you wonder just how this whole thing happened.

After inspecting the wound, you whip towards the suture kit, “It is deep enough to require stitches. I’m going to call the doctor down and have her suture you up. Until then would you like me to numb the pain?” Even though you’re well aware who these men are, and how close you potentially are to your ex boyfriend, you can’t help but let your professional prowess overpower your incessant need to think of Yoongi.

Jungkook nods, “At this point I’ll take a shot of whiskey and something to knock me out.”

You smile, “Unfortunately there isn’t any whiskey here. Believe me, I’ve been searching since I got here.”

Namjoon chuckles from beside you as you put your finger up to let them know you’ll be right back. Pulling open the curtain, you meander over to the nurse’s station and pick up the phone to call the ER doctor down. As you wait for him, you grab all the supplies to clean Jungkook’s foot, including a Lidocaine injection. Before you get the chance to turn back around, you hear the ER doors burst open and see four sweaty men tearing their way into the hospital.

Four sweaty men, including Min Yoongi.

An uncharacteristic whimper leaves your lips as you spot the rest of the members, all rushing passed you when they see Namjoon stick his head out of the curtains.

You feel all the blood drain from your face when the familiarity of Yoongi’s presence passes by you. Jenni notices your panic from the other side of the nurse’s station and lets out a little giggle, “Come on, you can’t get all shy just because they’re BTS. You have a job to do.”

“I can’t go in there now, Jenni. You have to take over.” You turn back to her with wild eyes, desperately trying to hand her all the supplies you gathered. Your eyes continuously glance backwards, watching them pile in. Yoongi can’t see you, you won’t be able to look the man in the eyes. You can’t even begin to think about the embarrassment you will feel if Yoongi sees you.

Jenni only laughs, “You’re a professional. Dr. Gwan will be down soon so you only have to be with them for a few moments.”

In a last ditch effort, you call out to her as she walks towards another patient.

Okay. You’re panicking now.

The universe has to be playing some sort of sick game on you right about now. You have not been able to get that stupid man off your mind lately and now here he was in your emergency room. First he’s worried about his brother but now he’s going to see you and want to chat and catch up. Knowing him, he’ll ask you for coffee and you’ll probably learn of his girlfriend or possible wife. He’ll wonder why you’re not married yet, and you’ll have to hide the fact that you haven’t been able to properly move on because of him.

That’s only to say if he even remembers you.

Taking a deep breath, you swallow your anxiety and enter the curtain.

“Alright, Jungkook. Do you have any allergies that I should know about before I inject you with my magic numbing liquid?” It’s much more cramped in the room than it was before. The 6 members crowd to one side of the bed while you stand on the other. You refuse to look up for fear that Yoongi is going to recognize you.

“No allergies.” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Good, good,” you lean forward, elevating Jungkook’s foot and removing the make shift bandage, “you’re gonna feel a slight pinch.”

“He’s not going to lose his foot or anything, right?” A voice asks. You recognize it as Taehyung’s.

“No,” you’re sure they can sense how rigid you are, “he’s not going to be able to dance for a little bit, but he’ll be back and better than ever in no time.” No one responds, and you finally make eye contact with Jungkook, “Are you ready?”

Again, he nods, and you slowly push the needle into his foot. He cringes enough to jerk his upper body slightly, but Jimin is at his side just as quickly as it started.

You dispose of the needle immediately afterwards, wrapping his foot up to keep pressure applied to the wound, “Okay, Dr. Gwan will be here soon. She’ll get you sutured up and I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you, miss. It already feels better.” He sighs happily, relaxing backwards onto the pillow.

You grin, momentarily forgetting that your ex boyfriend is 3 feet away, “Of course, Jungkook. That’s my job.”

It’s then that you catch Yoongi’s eye for the first time that night. It’s not to say he didn’t recognize you before, but he wasn’t able to say anything once he saw you working. He was deathly still, the rest of the day leaving his mind when your shiny eyes met his. He sees you swallow, and you walk out without saying anything else.

“That was _____.” Yoongi murmurs after a moment, staring at the swaying curtains where you once exited.

The chatter stops instantly, and everyone turns to Yoongi.

“The _____?” Hoseok questions, his eyes wide while he also turns to watch the curtains.

Yoongi nods, his throat going dry as memories of you sleeping beside him at night when he had nothing to his name wash over him. You, with the exception of his brother, were the only person supporting him when he said he wanted a career in music. You applied to universities in Seoul so you could be closer to his dream, you were always so excited to hear his new music and you always told him that he was going to make it big.

It’s not like Yoongi hadn’t thought of you since you broke up. He was a complete mess for months afterwards. His schedule solely consisted of working and rehearsing because he couldn’t bare to have a moment to himself.

Yoongi repeatedly beat himself up for the way he ended things and more specifically, the reason he ended things. After getting into BigHit, Yoongi realized he was seeing less and less of you. You were so busy with med school and he was so busy with rehearsals that you were lucky to see each other once a week. He knew you’d be better off finding someone who could be there for you, and that it was best for him to focus on his career.

He just wasn’t aware of how much that would kill him inside.

“Well what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to go talk to her?” Seokjin pushes. There are times when Yoongi has to remind himself that he isn’t the oldest in the group, and that usually comes when Seokjin takes his role as older brother very seriously.

Yoongi scoffs at the taller man, “What do you want me to say? ‘Hey I know it’s been 8 years but lets meet up for coffee and pretend like we didn’t break each other’s hearts’?” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, “Besides, Jungkook needs us here while he gets his foot stabbed.”

“Oh no, hyung,” Jungkook laughs, “I’m doing juuuust fine. You go talk to the pretty nurse.”

Yoongi swallows, “What should I say?”

Namjoon shrugs, “Whatever comes to mind.”

Yoongi’s feet carry him out of the curtained off area, his eyes searching across the emergency room in an attempt to find you. He spots you at the desk by the front door, and with a nervous head tilt, he’s dragging himself towards you.

The moment you left Jungkook, you threw yourself back into paperwork and became so immersed that you didn’t hear anything going on around you. Except for the soft footsteps pattering up to your station, which causes you to tear your eyes away from the chicken scratch handwriting on the chart in front of you.

It’s silent for a beat, you can feel the heat rising to your ears as you look up at him. His hair is longer, different from the short style he’d gel up every morning before the break up. There’s more piercings on his ears, but at the core of the new flashy clothes and dyed hair, he’s still the same man who professed his love for you at 17 years old.

“Hi.” he whispers.

“...hi.” you respond, your hands still frozen over the keyboard as Yoongi fiddles with his fingers on top of the desk.

“Thank you for helping-” Yoongi is cut off by another Nurse calling you over from a different bed in the emergency room.

You give him a quick glance, “I’m sorry, duty calls.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken when you stand. He had a better look at the pink scrubs donned on your body, and the smile on his face was nearly uncontrollable when he realizes that you made it exactly where you wanted to be. Your dreams of helping people has now become a reality.

You’re truly in your element, and Yoongi can tell. The concern on your face as you help a little girl sat in the center of a bed way too big for her was a sure fire way to know that you were in the right place.

So, Yoongi doesn’t push a conversation. Instead, he walks back to his band mates and watches in awe as Dr. Gwan stitches up Jungkook’s foot.

~*~*~

“He walked away.”

“He walked away?!”

“He. Walked. Away.” You emphasize to Jenni, holding your hands to your face while you let out a groan.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she sets down her iced americano, the chatter of the hospital cafeteria drowned out by your conversation, “you dated Suga from BTS before he was famous, and he broke up with you because you were both leading different lives?”

You nod.

She continues, “and you see him in person for the first time in 8 years, and you don’t talk to him?!”

“Wait why are you yelling at me?!”

“Because, dummy,” she leans over the table and flicks your forehead, “he’s been on your mind a lot lately and suddenly he’s at your job! It’s not a coincidence.”

It’s only been about a week since you saw Yoongi, and of course your attempts to get him out of your mind has been fruitless.

“What am I meant to do? Drop everything and run to him?” You ask incredulously, angrily digging your spoon in your yogurt.

Jenni waves her hand haphazardly, “No, no. You catch up with him, see how he’s doing now that he’s a world famous rapper- oh my god, _____ you let go of him?! You didn’t fight for him?!”

“You said you weren’t going to judge me!”

“That was before I learned exactly what you did! Dumb girl,” Jenni shakes her head disapprovingly, “and you’ve settled for Mr. Brainiac instead.”

Jenni isn’t the biggest fan of Junwoo.

“Mr. Brainiac is nice and sweet and knows how to treat me right,” You explain quietly, the fruit in your yogurt seemingly tasteless on your tongue, “but...”

“But he’s not Yoongi?” Jenni tilts her head.

“I don’t think anyone can ever compare to Yoongi. I’m sure it’s unrequited at this point.” As much as you hate to admit it, that’s the part that broke your heart the most about seeing Yoongi. The fact that you couldn’t bare to look at him for more than a second, because it just wasn’t the same as before. It will never been the same as before.

Jenni shrugs, “you won’t know until you find out.”

“And I’m supposed to... what? Show up at his house?”

Jenni’s eyes seem to trail behind you, and a grin on her face, “When is Jungkook supposed to get his sutures removed?”

Confused, you raise an eyebrow and turn around in your chair to see none other than the man of the hour, Min Yoongi. Instead of being dressed in rehearsal clothes like the other day, Yoongi wears all black with a silver bag wrapped around his torso.

You whip back around and glare at Jenni, “I swear to god if you call him-”

“Suga!” Jenni calls out before you can finish your sentence. Your head falls into your hands with another frustrated moan. Jenni waves her hand to him, Yoongi watching warily before he spots that you’re sat right across from her.

He hesitates for a moment, noticing the way you drag knees to your chest which is a nervous tick you have had since before Yoongi had met you. However, he realizes that if he ever wants to talk to you, now would be the best time. Having followed Jungkook to the hospital for the sole purpose of possibly bumping into you, he had to make due with any interaction he could get.

Jenni gets up and leaves as Yoongi walks his way over to you. Your head is now buried in your knees, but you hear the chair screech across from you.

“Hi again.”

You lift your head up, “Hi, Suga. How is life?”

You can see hurt flash through Yoongi’s face at your use of his stage name, but he shakes it off, “Life is going pretty well. How about yours?”

“It’s going well.”

You still haven’t made direct eye contact with him. Despite having not seen you in person in so many years, his heart ached in his chest at the thought that you may still be hurt. Who is he kidding, though? He’s still hurt by the decision himself.

With a sigh, he scoots his chair forward, “Are we going to pretend that there isn’t a history behind us?”

You laugh bitterly, “Haven’t you been doing a pretty good job of that for the passed eight years?”

Yoongi’s jaw drops. You don’t remember Yoongi ever showing his emotions so freely on his face. That was one of the good things from the interviews you have seen, those 6 boys have opened up Yoongi more and more to his emotions. You feel bad for your response, but you’re unsure how to apologize.

“I didn’t want to end things just much as you didn’t,” He bites, ignoring the tinge in his heart, “I want to catch up. It’s nice seeing you again.”

“I have a boyfriend.” You say, your yogurt seeming much more interesting than it was moments before.

He clears his throat, “That’s okay.”

“Because I had to move on.”

“That’s okay.” He repeats, his fingertips drumming along the table top. He hasn’t been chewing his nails lately. That’s good for him. Though, the nervous habit has developed into something different, the drumming of his finger tips echoing more and more in your head as the awkward silence mulls on. Even in a loud cafeteria, your mind only focused on him.

With out thinking much of it, you reach your hand forward and place it on top of his to get the drumming to stop. Yoongi looks up at you while you hold your hand atop of his. For a moment, the silence continues as you stare into his deep brown eyes. You’re transported back to your late teens, where you felt as though you were on top of the world with Min Yoongi by your side. He stared at you as if you were his entire universe, spending night after night cuddled up together, talking about your dreams and aspirations while simultaneously chasing them together.

Well, it used to be together, but instead you had to push yourself through your dreams alone.

Yoongi’s the first to break the silence, letting a dry chuckle fall effortlessly from his lips while he stares down at your touching hands, “You used to do the same thing if you saw me biting my nails.”

Even though you want to be mad, you wand to walk away and never speak to him again, you can’t. Instead, you nibble on your lip in an attempt to stifle your giggle. Yoongi notices and realizes he’s making good headway into conversation.

“You told me to help you stop, the only thing that seemed to get you to stop was-”

“Your touch?” Yoongi suggests, a teasing gummy grin on his face.

“Yeah,” you finally let out a laugh, “my touch distracted you from a lot of things.”

The people in the cafeteria didn’t seem to be bothered by the two of you in the center of the room. Busy doctors and nurses trying to get their lunch in, loved ones of patients desperately waiting to hear if their surgeries went well, all is forgotten as you fall into the same pit you found yourself in many years ago. Bottomless, but bright. Visions of the future dancing along you as you fall deeper and deeper. Although now, it seems to be visions of what could have been.

“Of course it did, how could I focus when I had your pretty face in front of me?” Yoongi’s tone is still teasing, but melancholy wades through his words.

You slip your hand away hesitantly, and Yoongi’s wrist twitches at the sudden loss of contact. “That’s the reason it ended, isn’t it?”

This is a conversation that Yoongi is not ready for, but at this point he’ll take anything he can get with you, “What do you mean?”

“You broke up with me because you knew I’d distract you from your dream.”

He brings the hand you once held upward, scorching skin touching the back of his neck nervously as he takes a deep breath, “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.”

You inhale and drop your legs from the edge of your chair before leaning forward. After years of questioning whether or not you would ever move on, you finally have the chance to get some closure. “What was the final straw?”

He bites his lip, “I was able to fall asleep without you.”

You didn’t think you’d be able to feel your heart sink as deep as it has. Even after all these years, your emotions are bubbling to the surface. How can something so simple break your heart so badly?

“You were in school during the day and I was training at night,” he continues, “we never saw each other and I struggled for so long to fall asleep without you next to me. Then... one day my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep immediately.”

Another knife to your chest.

“Did you struggle at all? After the break up, I mean.” You try to search for some sense of regret in his eyes but he’s always been very good at putting up a wall and having people fight for a way in.

He laughs bitterly, “Of course I struggled. Are you kidding me? I thought I was going to marry you, have kids with you. I was nearly inconsolable once it really set in that you weren’t going to be with me anymore.”

You swallow anxiously, “But it was really for the best, yeah? You’ve got your career and I’ve got mine. We’re both successful. Given, you’re entirely more successful than I am but I’m happy with where I’m at.”

“Don’t say that,” Yoongi breaths, “you worked your ass off to get to where you are, you’re just as successful as I am.”

“You think we wouldn’t have got to where we are if we stayed together.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Yoongi seems to ponder on his answer.

“I think we were young and didn’t know much about life. It was a shitty time for both of us, but I did and still do think that in some aspect of the word, you are my soulmate.”

Your breath hitches at the word.

Beyond already having thought this yourself, the realization that Yoongi thinks it as well causes your chest to flush with heat. The adoration you felt years ago when Yoongi’s hair was always styled neatly in a mohawk and you had no clue how to use eyeliner still rests itself neatly at the bottom of your heart. Hearing Yoongi even say the word ‘soulmate’ nearly reduced you to a puddle of tears.

Yoongi notices that you haven’t let out a breath, “Fuck,” he’s panicking, running his hand anxiously through his hair, “fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to freak you out, I- I-” He cuts himself off and allows his head to fall into his hands.

A moment passes, and he seems to gather himself once he hears you exhale, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you last. I dreamed about what I wanted to say to you and insisted on being the one to drive Jungkook to the hospital today with just the hope and slightest chance that I might run into you.”

“What’s your plan here, then?”

“I want to be friends.” He proposes.

You scoff, “Do you have time for friends now?”

He sighs, expecting the reply but still feeling his chest tighten, “Let’s hang out on a day where the two of us have nothing going on. When are you off next?”

“I have a boyfriend.” You reiterate, raising an eyebrow.

“Not a date,” he dismisses you, “just as friends. When are you off next?”

Crossing your arms, you eye him suspiciously as he widens his eyes in an attempt to push you towards an answer.

“Saturday.”

“Great,” he breathes, “I’ll make sure I’m free that day too.”

~*~*~

Maybe you are taking a bit too much time getting ready for a man who has already seen you at your worst. Maybe you purposely wore purple lipstick in an attempt to show that you have been paying attention to his career and maybe, just maybe, you are way too happy to be hanging out with Min Yoongi once again.

That doesn’t take away from your nervousness, though. Your hand shakes as you finish applying your mascara. You don’t live in a nice mansion like Yoongi does, and you’re terrified that someone will spot him picking you up from your apartment and all hell will break loose. You’ve read some of the tabloids involving anyone close to the group, so your anxiety is nearly palpable.

“Get a grip,” you whisper to yourself, “you’ve seen this man naked before. There’s no need to be nervous.”

As you finish your make up, you move on to your hair but stop once you hear a knock on your door.

Yoongi isn’t supposed to be here for another half hour.

“Fuck.” you whisper, standing quickly from your vanity mirror and rushing towards the front door in a panic. You peep through the lens in the door, confusion striking you when you spot Junwoo.

The lock turns loudly and you slide open the door, “Hi?”

His eyes raise from the ground until he meets yours, “You’re awfully dressed up just to be hanging at home.”

“I have plans.” You state, slipping your undone hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but notice the instant meekness you felt take over your body the moment you saw Junwoo.

“With me?” He questions, stepping into your apartment. His black hair is pushed back with way too much gel to be comfortable, the honey brown eyes that usually comforted you suddenly made you feel uneasy.

You shake your head in response, “An old friend. He and I are-”

“He?” Junwoo cuts you off, much louder than he was moments before. You take a step back at the sudden change of tone, your jaw nearly dropping at his audacity.

“Yes, he. Is that a problem?” It was probably in your best interest not to challenge Junwoo. If there is anything you learned in your short time together it’s that he was very good at manipulating your words. He claims it’s his way of reading deeper into the situation but you think your intentions are pretty surface-level.

Junwoo didn’t seem to expect your attitude, backing down immediately with a nervous scratch to the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know how I feel about you hanging out with another guy.”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you scan Junwoo’s posture change, “Are you one of those people who assumes men and women can’t be platonic friends?”

“Yes.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

You roll your eyes, “I can assure you that he’s just a friend.”

A friend who you have a long, egregious history with. A friend who’s lips have touched every inch of your body, has seen you break down over text books and has kissed away your tears when you were beginning to reach adulthood.

But yeah, a friend nonetheless.

“Are you still going to hang out with him if I tell you I’m uncomfortable with it?” Junwoo presses, puffing out his chest.

“I don’t feel like you have the right to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with,” you furrow your brows, “why are you even here?”

“I wanted to take you to the park, but that’s not important. Were you going to tell me that you were going out with a guy?” Man, Junwoo’s ability to annoy the fuck out of you has seemingly grown beyond a point of retribution in the short 10 minutes he’s been in front of you.

As you open your mouth to respond, another knock sounds on the door. You let out a small groan, reaching towards the doorknob and turning it swiftly. On the other side is Yoongi, a striped black and white button down unbuttoned on his torso with a white t-shirt underneath. He’s certainly gotten a better fashion sense.

“Hi, Yoongi. I’m almost ready,” you send a glare in Junwoo’s direction, “I have to finish my hair and I’ll be ready.”

Junwoo is staring wide-eyed at Yoongi with his jaw dropped. Yoongi looks back at him and subtly crinkles his nose, just enough for you to spot it.

After a moment, you break the silence, “Yoongi, this is Junwoo. Junwoo,” you gesture to Yoongi, “Suga of BTS.”

Yoongi lets out a laugh, “Stop introducing me like that to people.”

“That is your name, isn’t it?” You tease, spinning the black hat on his head backwards. “Anyway, are you heading out, Junwoo?”

“You didn’t tell me that it was Suga you were hanging out with.” Junwoo speaks accusingly, making you realize that you truly didn’t make any progress throughout your entire conversation.

“He’s an old friend,” you explain, “I’ll call you later.”

Junwoo opens his mouth but closes it again. You know it’s more than likely because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone so influential. Junwoo cared too much about his image to do anything to disrupt it. One bad word from Yoongi and he was done for.

Silently, he steps out of your apartment but doesn’t hesitate on slamming the door shut.

Yoongi glances at you and points to the door, “Him?”

“I never claimed to make good decisions.” You sigh, causing Yoongi to giggle. “Anyway, let me finish my hair. Help yourself to anything here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You hesitate for a moment before deciding that you didn’t have anything in particular that Yoongi could accidentally get his hands on that would be embarrassing.

As you walk out of the room, Yoongi runs his fingers along the picture frames on your wall. He remembers these pictures previously sitting on your desk in your parents’ house. Now they were lined perfectly across the off-white painted wall in your living room, images of your family and close friends filling the black painted frames.

He smiles at the picture of your mother, you’re an exact replica of her. One of the first things he struggled with beyond not seeing you anymore was the fact that he wouldn’t see your family. Despite your relationship being short lived in the beginning, he had grown very close to your family in the process. After the break up, your mother called Yoongi repeatedly asking if he needed food and clothes. He knows that you gained your big heart from her, and he wishes that he can speak with her again.

Moving on, he spots the familiar picture of you leaning against a bookshelf with Le Fleurs Du Mal by Charles Baudelaire gripped loosely in your hands. He remembers that picture from the end of high school, you insisted on stopping by the local Daegu city library one last time before you both moved to Seoul. Yoongi snapped the picture as an opportunity to remember your hometown, because he was sure the two of you would never be back there again. You would stay together and conquer the world, but unfortunately that never happened.

Yoongi can’t help but run his fingers along the side of your face, your smile hiding behind the book. Yoongi’s reflection can be seen in the window behind you, his grin just as wide as yours.

You were in love, and Yoongi misses that.

Of course now it’s not like he can do anything about that. You have a boyfriend who is clearly very loving and trusting in you.

Yoongi wasn’t necessarily sure what his plan was when he was searching for you in the hospital, nor was he sure what his plan is now that he has you within arms reach of him. Namjoon was sure to tell him how stupid he was for even attempting to get involved with you again even though you have a boyfriend but Yoongi didn’t care. So long as you were in his life somehow, he was willing to make it work. Friends, maybe more. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted whatever he could get.

He did...okay for a few years without you. He dated on and off but never really developed a connection with anyone the way he had you. He couldn’t help but compare everyone who came into his life to you no matter how hard he tried not to. It’s laughable at best, because deep down in his mind he’s well aware that nobody will ever compare to you.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Yoongi tears his eyes away from the picture and instantaneously rakes his eyes up and down your body, “Whoa.”

Dressed in a simple leggings and plaid button down combination, it accentuates your curves and causes Yoongi’s mouth to water.

You let out an embarrassed giggle, “I, uh- I wasn’t sure what we were doing to I tried to dress casually.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his eyes from staring at your hips, “It works. Everything about you, works.”

“Careful now.” You warn jokingly, putting a hand out in an attempt to pause his thoughts.

Yoongi shakes his head, “Okay, I have a reservation ready for us.”

You lead him out your door and to the car park, “You better not be taking me to some expensive restaurant because I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, opening the passenger side door for you, “but if you still love chicken then I may have found the greatest restaurant in existence.”

Slipping into his car, you wait to respond until he moves over to the drivers side and turns the car on. “You remember that I love chicken?”

He smiles, gummy and bright just like before, “I remember everything about you.”

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words, and sit silently beside him while the radio plays softly from his speakers. The car is far nicer than the one he used to have, and the seats have a warmer that Yoongi seemed to know the perfect temperature of. As he continues to drive on, you try not to watch the way his left hand grips the steering wheel and his right sits idly on his thigh.

8 years ago, that hand would have been resting on your thigh, fingertips brushing the inner part of your softest flesh while you leaned your head back listened to the melodic tunes of whatever song he made most recently. A few of those tunes have been turned into BTS songs, and you still felt beyond proud of him.

“Okay, we have to go around the back and through the kitchen. I just don’t want to risk-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut him off, waving your hand dismissively, “you’re hot shot famous guy now. Don’t want to risk getting seen with a lady.”

Yoongi chuckles, “I may be some hot shot famous guy but I’m still the same person I was a decade ago.”

You watch as he turns the car off, “Prove it.”

“What?” He laughs in disbelief.

“Prove that you’re the same person you were all those years ago.” You push, tongue in cheek while you smirk at the man beside you. He seems to ponder for a moment, puckering his lips in thought before he exits the car and runs over to your side of the car.

“Come on,” he gestures for you to get up, “hurry up.”

“Hold your horses, Mister.” you adjust the bag around your torso as you stand and let your eyes fall back to Yoongi. His back is to you and his knees are bent. Hands reach backwards for you and he turns to look at you expectantly.

Tilting your head, you smile as you hop onto Yoongi’s back. A move he’d do regularly when you’d spend hours on your feet interning at various hospitals around the city. His large hands gripped the back of your thighs and you let out a squeal as he hikes you up until your legs are wrapped around his waist.

It takes a moment for him to steady his walk as he leads you carefully up to the back door. You lean upward and knock on the back door labeled “staff only” and wait patiently as you feel Yoongi adjust you again.

“You used to carry me around like this all the time.” You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. It didn’t feel weird hugging him like this. Natural instincts kicked in and the whiff of his cologne had you reeling. It’s exactly the same as he wore before, and his hair smelled of coconut conditioner. Before you would turn his head and kiss his lips every time you caught his scent, and it’s taking everything in you right now not to do exactly that.

“I did,” you can hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice, “and you never reciprocated.”

“I’ll give you a piggy back on the way out, how about that?” You pat the top of his head as the door opens to reveal a very confused looking employee.

A sheepish smile is held on Yoongi’s face while the employee realizes who he is. “Mr. Min,” he bows his head, “lovely to have you again. We have your usual table set up in the back.”

“Awesome,” Yoongi drawls sweetly, “lead the way!”

Heat fills your face as the kitchen staff of the unnamed restaurant watch curiously while Yoongi walks you to the table.

He doesn’t allow you to get off, instead he turns around and drops you onto the booth seat as you try to silence the squeal that leaves your mouth. Yoongi only laughs as he flips back around to see the top half of your body slip between the table and the seat. He’s quick to help you up but his arms grow weak from laughing so he takes a few moments to pull you back up. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the ridiculousness of the situation bringing back memories.

“I’m sorry,” he says, inhaling another laugh as he slips into the seat opposite of you, “I didn’t think you would fall.”

You adjust the hat on your head, “It’s fine, I didn’t need my equilibrium to work properly anyway.”

Yoongi can’t help but watch you carefully as you open the menu. Your nose still crinkled when you came across a dish you may not particularly like, and your eyes widened whenever you saw something that you thought looked good.

Both of you decided on a beer to drink and various flavors of dry rub wings to enjoy. As you waited on your food to be cooked, you sip your beer and suck your teeth while you decide whether or not you want to ask him all your dying questions.

Deciding to start small, you took a deep breath as Yoongi met your eyes, “How much did they have to fight you to get you to start dancing?”

He let out a sigh of relief, half expecting the awkwardness of your history together to take over, “I almost quit like four times, I won’t lie.”

You giggle, “I figured. You do well, though. I was amazed by your Seesaw performance when you started dancing on your own up there. Genuinely was the last thing I expected.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, he only smiles widely with his head rested gently on his hand. You tilt your head as his eyes scan yours, “What?” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, wanting the world to swallow you up at the thought that you could have come across as weird or creepy by knowing so much about Yoongi’s career.

“You watch my performances?” He questions, his smile not dropping. A hint of pink brushes the tip of his nose.

“Of course,” you say almost incredulously, “you’re everywhere. It’s hard not to.”

“What’s your favorite song?” Yoongi presses, leaning forward to show you’ve piqued his interest.

Okay, there’s no way you’re going to let him think he has some sort of head over you.

“Cypher part 3.” you say confidently.

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nibbling on the bottom of your lip for a moment before deciding to say why it was your favorite, “specifically the part where you say you’re a starfish feeding off the envy of others.”

“Ah, yes. Truly a fan favorite. You should hear the cheers when I explain what my tongue can do.” Yoongi whispers the latter half of his sentence, causing your throat to go dry. His tongue is skillful in many ways, not just rapping, and you were well aware of that. Decadence rested on the tip of his tongue, and you’d like to think that you contributed to his *ahem* practice.

He pulls away with a cheeky grin just as the waiter comes by with steaming plates of food.

The affect that his words had on you still amazes you to this day. Maybe he does have a head above you, and maybe you’re okay with that.

The rest of the dinner goes by with a breeze, the two of you laughing over drinks and trying each other’s food. It didn’t take long for you to fall into a comfortable fit with Yoongi, even though so much time had passed. It was like he never left, and he truly is still the same person he was before. He laughs the same, his shoulders shakes and his grin is always huge. Although his hair style changes and his fashion sense has gotten better, you still see the old Yoongi poking out whenever he laughed particularly hard.

Being face to face with him has allowed you to compare to the younger him, though. His face has slimmed and his voice has gotten deeper, the adam’s apple you kiss at night was larger than before and his neck was longer. Despite all that, he was still the same. Fame hadn’t changed him a bit.

The moment the check comes you snatch it up quickly.

“_____.” the way Yoongi says your name shoots a chill down your spine, but you ignore it when you slip your cash into the designated sleeve.

“Yoongi.” You mock, handing the sleeve back to the waitress who seems scared of Yoongi’s deep tone.

“I was supposed to pay.” He pouts, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Be faster then.” You grin, standing up and crouching in front of Yoongi’s side.

He laughs, remembering your promise from earlier and slipping onto your back. The path you to through the kitchen is a bit less crowded now, but you felt the same amount of eyes on you the entire time. You felt much less embarrassed about it now, though, because Yoongi had a way of calming you down even at your worst points.

“The night is still young,” Yoongi speaks as he slips off of your back and unlocks his car, “would you like to revisit Yongsan Park?”

“Always.”

It wasn’t a far drive from the restaurant, and it was spent mostly talking about music and the new album that Yoongi was extremely proud of. Of course you had already listened to it but you didn’t want to take away from his excitement of showing you some of the songs.

When you made it to the park, the lights lining the jogging path were already on. You hadn’t expected it to be so dark yet but fall time always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

There was an intense rush of nostalgia associated with this park for the both of you. Nights where the two of you huddled close under the stars were spent here, right beneath the biggest tree in the park. It was unspoken that that was your spot, and you hadn’t been to it since you broke up.

Yet, muscle memory kicks in and both of your legs carry you right to the tree.

“Isn’t it funny how we spent so many nights here?” You bring up as you sit at the base of the tree.

Yoongi nods, “So many nights in this exact spot.”

“I love it here, it was our spot.”

Yoongi’s proximity to you is much closer than it should be but neither of you are making any move to change it. His shoulder brushes against yours and you resist the urge to rest your head on his shoulder.

“It still is.” He corrects, tapping your knee gently with his hand and resting in there.

You freeze for a moment, not knowing how to process his touch anymore but you can’t push him away. In fact, you’re relishing in the heat burning on your skin beneath his hand. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

“Do you remember when you tried to scare me by climbing a tree and the branch broke?” Yoongi looks up, and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at the memory.

“Yeah but that was because I was trying to get you back for pouring ice water on me when I fell asleep on my text book.” You roll your eyes at the memory, distinctly remembering the chill on your back while Yoongi cackled in your small one bedroom apartment.

That same cackle leaves Yoongi’s lips from beside you. You snap your head towards him, “Oh you think it’s funny still?”

“Yeah,” his laugh turns into a giggle, “you can still see the broken branch.”

“What?” You glance up, and sure enough the branch is still gone. Your jaw drops and you use your hands to push Yoongi over. He doesn’t fight you on it and falls with ease even though you didn’t use very much pressure at all, and you’re quick to try and wrestle him down. “It must be so funny,” you groan as you try to pin him down, straddling your legs on either side of his waist, “to still be pinned by- holy shit you’ve gotten strong.”

Yoongi takes his opportunity to flip the two of you over, switching positions and easily pinning your hands on either side of your head. Vaguely, you wonder how much time it took for him to gain so much strength, but your mind quickly shifts once you realize the precarious position that Yoongi has put you in.

Glancing down, you see his hips rest just above your navel, and images of the many nights you shared together flash through your mind. Rushed breathing and sweaty skin sticking together as you explored each other’s bodies and always found new ways to please each other. Briefly, a rush of heat flashes through your lower abdomen at the way your imagination flushes with possibilities of Yoongi’s touch.

You inhale, your chest heaving and Yoongi’s eyes fly to the way your cleavage displays itself for him. You’ve gotten fuller than before, and it suits you. He’s enjoying every second of it.

Before he can stop himself, he leans down and smashes his lips onto yours. The grip on your wrists loosen just enough for you to slip out and have your hands flying to his cheeks. He tastes the same as he did before, his smell intoxicating as it fills your nose. Your senses are overwhelmed with him, his tastes, his scent, the way his lips feel against yours. The familiarity is there, but they feel new and exciting at the same time, like you were pushed back to your youth.

He exhales against you as if he’s been waiting all night to do just this. Slipping his legs out from beneath him, he presses his chest against yours as your hands slide to the back of his neck to hold him against you. The rest of the world falls, dissolving into nothing. You keen helplessly as you feel him grind against you, and that noise seems to push Yoongi over the edge. He growls into your mouth, pulling away to start his descent onto your neck with bites and licks in all the places you loved before.

Arching into him, your hands loop through his black locks with a gasp as his tongue licks at your wine kissed collarbones.

This is everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything feels so right.

Yet, it’s wrong. You need to stop him. You need to ask him to pull away. But you can’t. He feels too fucking good. It’s not until he reaches the stop of your chest, his fingers hesitantly reaching at your collar does he look into your eyes for permission.

And you stop him.

“I- I think I need to go have a very uncomfortable conversation with Junwoo.” You state, and Yoongi’s face drops.

“I can’t believe you still managed to think about him when I was kissing you.” He says nearly incredulously, crawling off of you and leaning his back against the tree again. His chest is rising and falling faster than before, showing that your affect on him was much stronger than you previously had thought.

Your heart twinged at Yoongi’s cold tone. You swallow, “If you think there’s a possibility of us continuing this, I have to end things with Junwoo.”

Yoongi whines, “Why now?”

You let out a little giggle, sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder like you wanted to before. “Even if I didn’t do it right now, I don’t think we could go any further in the middle of a park.”

“I thought you liked exhibitionism.” Yoongi leans to the side, kissing you once again. It’s much breathier than before, and he prays that you don’t feel his heart pounding wildly in his rib cage at the mere thought of someone catching the two of you outside.

You gasp into the kiss and force yourself to pull away even though you didn’t want to at all. Giving him a look, Yoongi sighs.

“Okay, okay. I’ll drive you home so you can have that uncomfortable conversation.” He mutters, standing up and pulling you with him. He’s much more touchy than before, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders while he guides you back to his car.

The conversation you’re about to have with Junwoo will truly be one of the most anxiety inducing things you’ve ever done.

~*~*~

The dorms are dark when Yoongi arrives back. The living room in which everyone has a tendency to congregate after a particularly grueling practice day holds no one, a small reminder that everyone finally got some well deserved rest.

He hums softly to the tune of ‘People’, one of his favorite songs from his recent mixtape and opens the fridge to grab a bottle of water. When he closes it, Jimin is standing on the other side.

Yoongi jumps, “Jesus fucking christ, Park Jimin!”

“Didja get back together with her?”

“What?” Yoongi takes a second to assess Jimin’s pajama clad body, “N- no. We just hung out.”

“It’s a shame,” Jimin reaches forward and grabs the water bottle from Yoongi’s hand, “I heard you humming so I figured you finally got laid.” Yoongi opens his mouth to protest but Jimin continues before he can, “You know, I’ve known you for so long and I don’t think you’ve ever had a woman sign an NDA? Have you even had sex since you broke up with the pretty nurse?”

“I feel like that’s none of your business.” Yoongi yanks the water bottle back, opening it and praying that Jimin didn’t backwash.

“But it is my business because I have no clue how you did it. I’m sure she was fucking other guys regularly. I hear it’s bad for women to go without sex because they turn into-” Yoongi attempts to drown out the sounds of his roommate, his hand gripping the counter top tightly with unwanted images of you in another man’s bed ripping through his brain, “-and I’ve always wondered what it was like to only ever have your hand to get yourself off. Is it lonely? How much porn do you-”

“Jimin!” Yoongi shouts.

“Cutting me off is awfully rude, don’t you think?”

“Shut. the. fuck. up.” Yoongi grits his teeth, moving to walk away as Jimin laughs.

“Called it! I knew you were a born again virgi-”

“Goodnight!” Yoongi calls back, walking up to his room and locking the door behind him. He plops down onto his bed, the TV situated perfectly level with his bed. It’s a stark contrast to the small black and white TV he could afford all those years ago, so the familiar sound of his TV sounding on brings a smile to his face as he realizes yet again how fortunate he’s become.

Now he’s determined to make sure you feel the same sense of fortune that he has. Because he has you back in his life. Was it a twist of fate or the inevitability of soulmates, Yoongi isn’t sure. However, he’s immensely grateful to have you back, even if you’re not truly his yet.

~*~*~

"I’m breaking up with you.”

“What?!”

You cover your mouth as the unexpected sentence leaves your mouth. Junwoo sits in his office with his fists clenched tightly on top of his desk. He’s never been particularly good at hearing bad news, and even though it’s only been a few months you feel as though you’re signing divorce papers judging my his reaction.

It’s been two days since you last saw Yoongi. You put off speaking to Junwoo for a little bit to try and figure out exactly what you were going to say to him. You had a whole speech ready, talking about how he deserves better and that he’ll find his soulmate eventually.

But when the moment came, your speech was practically thrown to the ceiling fan and torn into a million pieces.

“W- why? What did I do?” Junwoo asks, he seems more angry than anything which you didn’t expect.

“You didn’t do anything,” you sigh, plopping in the seat on the other side of his desk, “I just don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“Everything was going so well!” Oh god, he’s yelling. “It’s that fucker Suga’s fault, isn’t it? He’s putting you up to this!”

“Fucking hell, Junwoo! How old are you, honestly? Immediately assuming that it was Yoongi is the most childish thing you could have done.” It is Yoongi, though. You know that, and unfortunately Junwoo knows that as well. It isn’t in good conscience to deny his allegations but you can’t help but do so.

Though, the inevitability of your relationship ending would have happened with out without Yoongi’s push.

“Well excuse me for thinking you would fuck a member of the biggest band on the planet! For God’s sake, any whore would drop their pants for one of them.”

Your jaw drops, “I didn’t fuck him.”

Junwoo rolls his eyes, “Are you sure? Because it’s almost like I could smell the stench coming off of you.”

You place your tongue in your cheek, biting back a response. Should have figured the man wouldn’t know how to take a break up.

Then, you laugh, “Okay. You got me, I fucked him.”

“I knew it.” Junwoo’s nostrils flare.

“Hundreds of times, eight years ago,” You spit, standing up quick enough for the chair behind you to tip over. “it wasn’t working out anyway and clearly that’s for the best. The last thing I need is a chauvinist asshole who refuses to see what was right in front of him.”

“I-”

“No,” you put your hand up, “I’m done.”

You turn around swiftly, walking out of his office and ignoring the stares from his receptionists. Surely they heard the yelling and the last thing you needed was to feel judged.

Except you weren’t being judged. Just before you reached the elevator, one of the girls spoke out. “You’re the second break up he’s had this week, don’t feel bad.”

You turn around, watching her flick vivaciously through a magazine. “What was that?” You speak slowly, turning around walking up to the desk.

“Another woman came by earlier this week, she said he’s been fucking some nurse behind her back and threw a ring at him.” She shrugs, then leans forward with a whisper, “You’re better off without him.”

You scoff, “and I had the decency to break up with him before I fucked someone else. Thanks for the tip, darling.”

As soon as the elevator doors close, you whip out your phone and text Yoongi.

To: Suga Delivered: 13:52

Deed is done if you still want me to come by

You make it to your car and hear your phone ding.

From: Suga Received: 13:57

I’ll meet you outside

Your heart flutters, so you start your car and drive as quickly as you can towards the directions of the dorm. It’s not hard, everyone in Seoul is keenly aware of where BTS stay, but there’s an unspoken rule that nobody is to bother them. One of the things you enjoyed most about this whole situation is the amount of respect they boys have earned, and you couldn’t feel more proud of Yoongi.

The gated group of buildings is intimidating to say the least, but you’re unable to contain your excitement as you pull up. Yoongi is a few feet away, waving from the other side of the gate as he presses a few buttons before you hear the gate click and begin to side open.

Your excitement over simply seeing him is nearly too much to contain. A week ago you struggled to not get nauseous at the thought of him seeing you but now you didn’t know how you ever made it without him. Inching your car forward became an arduous task because it took precious seconds away from you being able to kiss Yoongi once again.

So, you throw your car into park as the gates slip closed behind you and run out of your car to jump towards Yoongi.

He catches you, immediately slamming your lips onto his. It’s soft this time, the urgency isn’t there but he doesn’t mind the feeling of your hands gently tugging at his hair and scratching his scalp.

“Mm,” he hums against your lips, “does this mean you’re mine again?”

“With some adjustments to both of our lives,” you smile, “and making time for each other, then I’m willing to try again.”

“Good,” he grins, “let me take you inside and show you how much I’m gonna try.”

He slides you down his torso and grabs your hand, yanking you closely behind him. You let out a quiet yelp as he does so, following him into the building and welcoming the warmth that greets you. You’re lead through a long hallway but are stopped abruptly once Yoongi spots Hoseok walking through the living room.

“Hey pretty nurse, and Yoongi.” Hoseok says without looking up, and Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief.

You give him a questioning look but shake it off when Yoongi leads you up a lot of stairs and straight to his bedroom.

“Okay, there’s two ways this can go-” Yoongi slips his shirt over his head and you try to process everything as it’s happening because holy shit you’re going to fuck Yoongi for the first time in years and might actually be able to have an orgasm “-slow and steady or hard and fast.”

“Save the romance for next time,” you giggle, slipping your dress over your head and falling backwards onto his bed, “I haven’t had you inside me in years. Hard and fast.”

He chuckles, “You got it baby.”

He jumps on top of you, his hand flying to your thigh to steady your leg as he grinds his still clothed cock into your core. He’s already hard, and you’re already dripping. The last two days you spent not being near him was the most difficult thing you had experienced because you knew what was coming and how he was going to do it.

And you’re loving every second of it.

Spreading your legs wide, you reach between the two of you and play with the hem of his boxers. He groans into your mouth, inching upward so your hand slips further in, “No teasing, baby girl. Hard and fast.”

“Right, yes. I’m sorry.” you bite his bottom lip before lifting your hips and feeling his hands loop on either side of your panties to slip them down your legs. He drops between your legs immediately and inhales your scent, tossing his head back in pleasure.

“Fuck, just like I remember.” Yoongi dives back, his nose brushing against your aching clit while his tongue darts out and licks your quivering hole. You let out a quiet moan but are quick to cover your mouth as you remember there are six other men on the other side of these thin walls.

The pleasure of knowing that he remembers your scent is enough to send you feral, your back arching off the bed as his lips finally wrap around your clit and sucks hard. The obscene sound of him drinking in your juices fills the room, his groans against your core sending chills up your spine. If there was anything you knew about Min Yoongi, it’s that he knew how to use his tongue.

You fill your core begin to heat up as your orgasm builds and before you know it, you’re uncovering your mouth and letting out a moan loud enough to be heard for miles.

Yoongi can’t help but smirk against you as he drinks in your release, moving to trail kisses up your abdomen as you come down from the pleasure.

“You ready for more?” He kisses your lips, and it’s then that you notice his cock his gloriously hard against his stomach, boxers long discarded.

“Please, yes. Please please plea-”

“Alright, hold your horses.” Yoongi jokes, brushing the head of his cock against your slit a few times teasingly.

You pout, “You said no teasing.”

He nods, “I can’t help it. Your face is so cute when you’re begging for my cock.”

As you’re thinking of a rebuttal, Yoongi finally slips inside. Both of you moan in pleasure at the clenching of your core. He remembers exactly how to move to get you to gasp, how deep to move to get you to clench, and he remembers what each of your movements mean. Your nails currently dig into his back harshly but he doesn’t complain, because that means his thrusts are going at just the right speed.

He wishes you can scream like you used to, but he realizes how weird that could be for his bandmates to hear. However, he can’t say that he necesarily minds all things considered. He’d love for Jimin to hear what he’s doing to you after the way his smart mouth moved the other night. He could imagine his face as he listens, but then Yoongi is dragged back to the moment when he feels you clench particularly hard.

You feel him tensing more and more, struggling to hold on as your vice grip on him tightens even further. The soft sponge of your warm cunt is nearly too much for him to bare, and as you feel your second orgasm approach, you grip Yoongi’s face in your hands, “Cum for me. Please.” His eyes flutter closed and he begins to thrust faster, lips on yours and sweat building on both of your foreheads. Then, your second orgasm washes over you deliciously, Yoongi’s hips stuttering before he follows with his own release, his cum coating your walls white. He’s still for a moment, gasping above you. When you reach up and brush the hair from his forehead, he collapses on top of you, “Fuck, that’s even better than I remembered.”

“Good,” you giggle, kissing his nose, “because there’s so much more I want to try with you.”

His heart flutters irrevocably, knocking the wind out of him when he realizes that you’re in this for the long run just as he is. This time he swears he’s going to make it work, and he plans on spending the rest of his life with you.

His lips brush against you once again, then he speaks.

“Write me a list, baby girl.”

#ty for reading!!#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi #suga #bts #suga x reader #suga x reader smut #yoongi x reader smut #min yoongi x reader smut #suga x reader fluff #yoongi x reader fluff

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wherefancytakesme · 4 years

Text

“Mistakes”

(BOYD gets to spend the afternoon with Gyro, then Mark Beaks shows up and brings on emotions that BOYD has never had to face before.)

The day so far had been one of harmless goings-on and quiet excitement. BOYD went to school with his adoptive brother Doofus Drake, for once not being as much the studious little database he always was in class—he was going to meet with Gyro Gearloose and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera after school, and it filled him to the brim with joy.

Since the day he’d reunited with his creator, BOYD loved spending time with the scientist, always awaiting a time when he would call the Drakes over the phone and ask to pick their ‘younger’ son up and bring him to the underwater lab. Gyro always said he needed to perform regular checkups and maintenance on the little android, but BOYD was hoping secretly that it was also about spending time together; The doctor was becoming gentler now that everything in the past was behind them.

Regardless, BOYD’s feet were bouncing lightly under his desk with the anticipation of it all the way until the final school-bell rang—any excuse to see Gyro, someone he considered so close, gave his mechanical heart inexplicable delight.

Finally when class had let out for the day, BOYD took Doofus’ hand, smiling, and pulled him gently along.

“Come on, come on, big brother! Dr. Gearloose and Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera are waiting outside!”

Doofus grunted. His parents had strictly told him to be on his nicest behavior in front of Scrooge McDuck’s scientist, especially for his little brother’s sake—and to say nothing at all if he hadn’t anything nice to say—or else not expect any dessert for the next several weeks. He threw a fit, of course, but eventually resigned to not ruin anything for BOYD—or his chance at still being allowed to eat an ice cream float every night—and let BOYD have all the ice cream for himself.

Some part of Doofus’ subconscious didn’t mind the constant company of someone his own age. But all the unpleasantness that buried such feelings from his thoughts and actions that proved Louie Duck right kept the boy from understanding any of that, and so he simply allowed BOYD to pull him along—small as he was, the android could easily overtake his brother—and decided to be pouty but uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day—though not altogether unhappy.

When the two boys reached the front gate, Gyro and Fenton were waiting at the entrance. The latter grinned and waved a friendly hand. The former smiled a bit more visibly than he’d have liked to when BOYD ran out to him.

“Dr. Gearloose!” BOYD called out, immediately throwing his arms around Gyro’s knees.

The gesture pushed Gyro to hide his previous smile by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. But his tone wasn’t harsh.

“It’s nice to see you, 2BO—er—BOYD.”

He had no idea how to greet Doofus Drake, however. He groaned with his mouth closed, awkwardly, and looked away, but Doofus had nothing to say either anyway.

“Are we going to the lab right away?” BOYD asked with bright eyes.

“Well I have an errand to run in town first, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Fenton chimed in;

“We could make a fun outing of it! Uh—nothing that would deviate from the plan, of course,” he said drawing back once Gyro side-eyed him, “Just something to do while Dr. Gearloose is busy.”

“Yeah, like find a local landmark to learn about!” BOYD did some drawing back of his own when he noticed his brother pout, but did so more graciously than nervously as compared to Gyro’s assistant. “Or maybe there will be a park nearby!” He smiled more when he noticed his brother’s frown fade a small amount.

“Whatever we do,” interjected Gyro, “Stay close to me. I do not want everyone running all over and taking up too much time.”

BOYD’s sunny smile remained as he put his hands behind his back, determined to be well-behaved.

“Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!”

About twenty minutes of walking had led the group of four to an obscure electronics store. Gyro needed a special kind of copper wire before going back to the lab and his odd specifications were hard to meet. While he spent his time inside, Fenton and the boys went to the adjacent shop to buy ice cream. Gyro had told them not to wander off, so once both kids had a cone of their own, they walked out to wait for the doctor.

It had taken several minutes longer than usual for the store owner to fetch what he needed, but by the time he had his purchase in hand, Gyro pondered over taking another minute or two to browse recreationally for spare parts. However, the thought was suddenly halted by the sound of a piercing shriek from outside.

“BUT I DON’T LIKE PISTACHIO!”

Gyro’s whole body jumped at the sound before he bolted out the door to see what the commotion was.

Oh.

Of course. Doofus Drake was throwing another tantrum, shaking his ice cream cone violently.

“Then why did you ask for it?” Fenton asked, confounded.

Gyro ground his teeth and rubbed his middle and index fingers against his temples. But the eyes he’d at first squinted shut opened back up when he heard the screaming stop at a kind voice.

“It’s okay, big brother. I’ll eat yours and we’ll trade!”

BOYD had a warm little grin on his face, holding out his hand.

“Fine!” snapped the spoiled drake, fuming as he thrust the treat into his brother’s hand. “You wanted to try a new flavor of ice cream anyway!”

This caught Gyro’s attention particularly. That little brat shouldn’t be forcing something on a robot who wasn’t built for consumption. He approached, and took on a less-than-pleasant tone that now commonly became him.

“Ice cream?” the chicken asked, twisting his face, “2B—er, BOYD, doesn’t eat.”

“I don’t need to,” answered BOYD, “I like to! My big brother told me about all the different kinds, and now every time I eat a new one, I add it to my memory. It’s fun!”

There were so many words in there that Gyro had to take a moment to think over. First and foremost, it was still mystifying why someone like BOYD and someone like Doofus Drake would consider eachother brothers—leaving aside that the former was much older than the latter. But he chuckled mentally a bit at the association between ‘memory’ and ‘fun’. The only other boy he knew who thought like that was Huey Duck, and it was nice that he and the android had found someone like the other. It felt nice too that such a thought could soften him back up again and make his migraine go away.

But Gyro wondered what eating must really be like for BOYD—he didn’t remember programming BOYD specifically to eat, but on a technical level, he supposed it was possible, given the way he’d built him.

“Can you taste it at all?” he said looking down at BOYD now, curious at the answer.

“Yeah! It was actually only recently I first had ice cream. I didn’t know I could taste anything until then, but it seemed to register, and I really liked it! So when I got home, I asked about it, and now I get to have it every day!”

Gyro didn’t realize how much he’d been missing out on the little boy’s life. Even the very first tests he’d run on him didn’t experiment with things like taste, or smell. Body temperature, vision, maybe—but those were comparable to how a computer would run. Gyro had made BOYD with sentient, behavioral programming, but he supposed he never put any of it into practice, in a real-world scenario. Part of that may have been Dr. Akita’s fault, but… Well, Gyro didn’t want to make excuses for what he did and didn’t do back then.

It was strange—and a little sad; BOYD went twenty whole years unaware of whether or not he lacked the sensation of taste, and Gyro wasn’t there when he finally tried. Gyro knew every single robotic modification BOYD had—from the USB drives in his fingertips, to the blasters throughout his body—he’d put every one of them to the test, but how often did he actually take the child outside the old laboratory? Did the small creature have any memory of Tokyolk before his core was overridden?

Quickly Gyro shook any dwelling thoughts from his mind. No matter. He was making up for it now.

At least he hoped so.

All of a sudden, Gyro felt someone bump against his side, sending him back into the conscious world with a jolt. He made a startled squeak, which embarrassed—and therefore slightly angered him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re—Oh.”

The scientist wrinkled his face with annoyance when he turned and saw a slightly younger man on a self-balancing scooter.

“It’s you.”

There was no mistaking it. Sleek cardigan, large overconfident eyebrows, phone in hand… It was Mark Beaks.

Mark Beaks blinked when addressed. He had no doubt everyone knew who he was, but the lanky chicken facing him seemed to be acting like he’d met him before.

“Oh heeeeey… Uh, do I know you? Probably, right? You see so many faces every day when you’re this famous, they kinda all just blend in, y’know?”

Gyro looked up at Beaks with half-lidded eyes.

“Dr. Gyro Gearloose? Scientist of Scrooge McDuck? You’ve stolen and modified my tech about four different times?”

Beaks looked up and narrowed his eyes, stumped.

Gyro sniffed. Mark Beaks had pointed him out in public several times; This was quite obviously being done to wind him up. “Perhaps he looks familiar to you?” he said, throwing a hand out to gesture at BOYD.

“Ohh yeah! You built that guy? No wonder he went all terminator on me!”

Again Gyro responded sarcastically, with more of a scoff this time.

“That is not my fault. Likely you reprogrammed his hard-drive and rewrote his memories so many times, one simple question overwhelmed him to the point that he couldn’t even tell a person from a flyswatter.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Beaks said, waving his hand, “If you make faulty robots and don’t wanna keep the improvements I put in there, that’s on you. Kid was pretty popular online though. I mean, come on!”

Mark Beaks pointed back and forth between himself and BOYD with both of his index fingers.

“He looks just like me!”

When Beaks acknowledged the android a few feet in front, suddenly two yellow eyes stared back. A little gasp emitted from the little black beak that was previously opened to eat ice cream. BOYD hadn’t seen his older doppelganger since the day he met Doofus Drake. His whole face suddenly beamed with cheeriness at a familiar face.

“Da—”

He bit off the word ‘Daddy’. That was a memory overwrite, he knew now. Still, he was happy.

“Mr. Beaks!”

BOYD instantly ran over to the addressee to jump up and hug him. Beaks just as instantly wheeled back with his scooter board, holding his palms up.

“Woah-ho-hooooh, don’t like touching, remember? What was the number one rule?”

Oh. Right. Remembering that made BOYD’s smile fade.

“No hugs?”

“Exactly, see? You’ve still got some of the good ol’ Beaks programming clunking around in there somewhere!”

Gyro rolled his eyes at a statement like that, but for BOYD it started to set a certain train of thought in motion; Mark Beaks had programmed him to be like his son. At the time, he had felt like it, not simply had it wired into his head, but… now that he thought about the standoffish way the young adult was acting, was that all he was to him? Like a son?

That couldn’t be true, could it?

“Um, Mr. Beaks?” BOYD said, voice starting to grow more shy, “I know things are different now—the two of us living separate lives and everything—but even so, would it be okay if I still spent time with you once in a while?”

Beaks sucked his teeth at BOYD.

“Ooh, no can do, sport. See, if we’re not family, there’s kinda no point anymore. Nobody looks at pics of me just hanging with some rando kid, y’know? Outside that, I’m like super busy all the time, sooo…”

“But… Didn’t you have fun with me?”

“Sure, I did all kinds of awesome stuff in a whole day! Took lots of great selfies!”

BOYD faced the ground at that response, trying to process it. All the words were simple, but slowly, they triggered the most complex of memories… ______________________________

The first memory he had after the incident in Tokyolk was the faint recognition of someone’s voice in the garbage dump he’d evidently wound up in. He didn’t know what was going on, and had no recollection of where he came from, how he worked, or hardly even who he was. All he could bring to mind was an assigned identification number—2BO—and a gut feeling that he was a definitely real boy.

But when the voice came closer, BOYD felt his OS booting up again—his processor bringing things back online. What life he may or may not have had before, he knew not. He only understood that there was reason to be up and running now—alive. These feelings hadn’t manifested into thoughts at first—and then he heard the moving figure above him make a noise. When BOYD parroted back the mimicry of lasers, it was purely instinctual—technological sounds, technological creature. But it made someone notice him. It made someone marvel at him. It made someone give him a real name. It made someone want to take him home. That someone was Mark Beaks.

Even if he had only programmed into him the title of ‘father’, the wealthy parrot was the first person he knew to give him somewhere to live. With or without his original memories, BOYD had never really had an actual home before. He’d never had anyone so willingly look after him like a normal kid—like their kid. In many ways, both literal and figurative, Mark Beaks was the first person to be a parent to BOYD. Even lacking the memory of Akita’s cruelty and Gyro’s hesitance, when BOYD was around Mark Beaks, he felt like someone’s son with no hint of abandonment for the first time in his life.

Yet some underlying doubt lie buried, deep down in one of the many corners of his mind that BOYD didn’t have access to—only this one wasn’t blocked by another person’s override. Anytime he called out ‘Daddy’, Beaks didn’t always turn around right away. He might look confusedly around the room, or take a second or two to respond. And even then, he didn’t seem to say things other than ‘Hey you’, or ‘Need something?’—they were happy, but one-sided. BOYD didn’t think about that then. He was just glad to have family, and to have anything a kid could ask for.

But that was another thing that suddenly made BOYD think. The two days he’d spent with his new father were the best of his whole life; He spent time at an office filled with apparatuses to play on, candy to eat, and places to nap everywhere—even if he didn’t need to nap. Then for the rest of the day, the two Greys went all over Duckburg having fun—eating, playing, exploring… And still, through everything, there didn’t seem to be a connection. When BOYD and Beaks spent time at a show, flew kites, or wore novelty hats, the latter was always taking pictures with the former in them, but seemingly never with him. BOYD was too distracted by the thrill of spending time with someone he considered family to notice before, but now that Beaks worded it the way he did, only mentioning the fun he himself had that day, the signs were becoming obvious. He never once touched him—never once looked at him when he took those selfies—BOYD might as well have been a part of the background.

Come to think of it, did Mark Beaks ever touch BOYD? His biggest aversion, which he’d made clear several times, was touching, after all; The hopes of the first hug BOYD thought he’d ever had at the time were straightaway brushed off. Maybe once or twice, when he needed to be kept from getting wet or from going haywire… But otherwise, the man hardly paid physical attention to him. He didn’t want to feed into the worry that was always secretly there, but the recollection of everything made it impossible now. It hurt BOYD so badly to consider that he was only there to serve a purpose—as he had been his whole life—after all. He couldn’t remember Beaks saying his name, he couldn’t remember Beaks saying something gentle to him… Sometimes if he didn’t act the part he was made to, Beaks would scold him. He tried to avoid calling to mind that once, Beaks struggled to even remember the familial title under which BOYD was programmed.

“Yeah, I love this… What was it again? Uhh, uh, son!”

Oh no.

Mark Beaks never even said the words, ‘I love you’.

But no. No, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t at least care about BOYD, it just couldn’t. It was painful all the same, though, no matter how trusting and unassuming a child BOYD was.

He had to know. He wanted just a little word of assurance that he was wrong, that it was all in his head, that it was just worry that came with twenty years of feeling unloved. Even if Mark Beaks saw him as means for attention first, surely there was some sort of fatherly instinct left over from caring for someone made to be for all concerned his family.

BOYD was feeling some sort of physical discomfort he couldn’t pinpoint when he made his next inquiry, as if he was swallowing something down.

“Mr. Beaks,” he questioned, blue irises still fixed on the ground and fingers toying with one another, “Do you…”

He swallowed physically this time.

“Do you love me…?”

Mark Beaks’ face froze, and before answering made a noise somewhere between the word ‘I’, and an ‘Uh’.

“Kid, what kind of question is that? I don’t do the whole affection thing, okay? Much less with someone who’s not even in my entourage anymore.”

Oh, that hurt. That hurt far too much. Normally with Dr. Akita’s overriding, emotional triggers like this would have BOYD glitching. But that wasn’t there anymore. He was open to feel whatever a boy would feel any time he wanted now, without malfunctions and without something to block his true childlike wiring—too open, perhaps, because now instead of his mind going blank over spiritual pain, his mind would take in every single thought that set him off, and fester. What Beaks said to him now was festering. It made him feel vulnerable. Even if it didn’t hurt or scare him as much as when Gyro told him he was going to shut him down for good, or when Gyro constantly put him down, there was nothing to keep BOYD from blacking out afterward anymore. The feelings over Mark Beaks’ statement were flooding all throughout him.

“But…” BOYD persisted still, wanting some sort of kindness—at least for a fresh start. “Couldn’t we at least be on friendly terms? Isn’t there anything you like about me?”

“Aw come on, little man, it’s not like I was letting you get close to begin with. You’ve got other rich people and tech geeks to be with now. So you don’t need me and I don’t need you.” The man crossed his arms.

If any justice could be done, it might be stated here that the biggest reason Mark Beaks was beginning to act more and more bitter with the small child was out of a sour-grapes mentality. Visible weakness wasn’t characteristic of the young trend-chaser, but in a situation like this, where something he genuinely found impressive and thought he’d made his own had been lost to him, and had been left in the hands of someone else he barely knew—knowing that a technological wonder like BOYD was something he could no longer have—Beaks was annoyed, and he would never dare let it show through. Instead he increased his shallowness ten-fold.

Poor little BOYD’s eyes went wide, wanting so terribly not to believe what he was being told, wanting so desperately not to be outright rejected by someone he’d let himself previously grow so attached to. He looked into Beaks’ black eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance in spite of only hearing cruelty. He wanted so much to hear something that would make the building pain he’d never understood before shrink down.

“But,” he said, voice more quiet and in disbelief than he could ever remember expressing, “You gave me a name. You took me home with you. I was like your family.”

Mark Beaks rolled his eyes back, looking only more annoyed that the little creature almost forced him into guilt with such words.

“No way, kid. I just scooped you out of the trash because I thought I could make something out of you. But four-eyes over there took out all the mods I made to begin with—the new voice I gave you isn’t even there anymore. Hate to say it, but without any of that, you don’t mean anything to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, talking for a minute more so to himself than anyone, but nonetheless just as aloud as before.

“Guess all the time I put into you was a waste. ‘Least with everything else, I got some money or permanent attention out of it.” Beaks blew air out through his nostrils almost like a laugh when he thought about it. “Jeez, kid, you were my worst investment.”

BOYD didn’t know what the feeling was, but those awful words broke something within him. His face tensed up. The tightness in his chest started to swell. All that desperation to disprove his first proper parent didn’t actually care about him, all that pain welling up inside him the more said person shot down attempt after attempt for requited affection… And now he’d dealt him a blow like that? Mark Beaks had thoroughly destroyed his spirit—he might as well have slapped him in the face. And incidentally, his face started to burn. BOYD had no idea what this meant, but the reaction was involuntary. It hurt so much, he couldn’t understand. The heat concentrated in his eyes. His nose and mouth trembled as he faced his former caretaker. A warm, salty liquid began slowly to fill his eyes and then roll down his cheeks.

BOYD was crying. ______________________________

All the time Beaks had been talking, Gyro and Fenton had been narrowing their eyes in anger and darting them back and forth between the two parrots facing one another, the taller one saying nastier and nastier things to the smaller one. Neither Fenton nor Gyro knew quite what to say or do, or how to intervene—for Fenton in particular because he also had to keep an eye on Doofus Drake, who any second could stop being content licking the inside of his ice cream cone and go ballistic again. It irritated him that he had to keep his mind on such a small matter when clearly there were bigger fish to fry at the moment—and also a little bit that BOYD’s adoptive brother didn’t seem to be noticing how much he was hurting.

Gyro wanted to speak up at some point, but couldn’t bring any words into his head.

And then out of the blue, when Mark Beaks had finally pushed innocent BOYD to a breaking point, the tiny thing cried. He cried.

Gyro’s heart stopped dead in its figurative tracks.

His eyes went wide and dropped their gaze to the ground. This was something he had no idea was physically possible. An invention of his had been, through instinct alone, pushed to actually cry. He didn’t understand. He didn’t specifically write that sort of thing into BOYD’s coding when he made him—certainly Akita didn’t put that in—so then what? BOYD was a definitely real boy, but, to this extent? Gyro wanted to react, to do something for the boy, to get angry at Beaks, but everything failed him. He was stock still, frozen with a horrible blend of shock and concern.

Meanwhile, BOYD continued to stare up at Beaks as tears stained his face, disbelief and utter heartache consuming everything from the waist up.

The first reaction was when Doofus Drake turned and took notice of what he had been sure was a robot his parents adopted, somehow leaking sadness out of his eyes. The Drake boy physically reeled back, socially perturbed.

“Agh, he’s broken!” he yelled, unable to understand, “Do something and fix it!”

Fenton reacted second, clenching his hands into fists, intent on indeed doing something to ‘fix it’, but not the way Doofus imagined. He held back solely on the basis that Gyro was going to say something.

But Beaks was the immediate one to react next.

“Yikes, buddy,” he said to BOYD, backing up uncomfortably. He didn’t mean to make anyone cry, but then again, he didn’t think BOYD could feel anything that real. “It’s not my fault a lack of Beaks tech makes you basically worthless.”

Where Gyro normally would have gotten angry, this time Fenton stood in—he saw that the doctor was too dumbstruck to do so for now. But Fenton was certain both of them were equally as angry.

“What on earth are you thinking saying that to his face,” he snapped, “He’s a kid!”

Mark Beaks shrugged, as if his next reply was a matter of fact.

“Well I mean yeah, but like, not a real one…”

Each adult’s face in present company sneered at Beaks. That was the final straw. With that, Gyro Gearloose was finally able to pull himself out of his stunned state and draw up the emotion to straighten his back and snatch BOYD’s hand, dragging him away. Whatever he was thinking or wasn’t able to think at the moment didn’t matter. This child wasn’t going to be tortured by being here any longer.

“Cabrera, you take Doofus Drake home and get rid of this…” He struggled to find the words; “this, while I take BOYD back to the lab.”

Fenton nodded, determined, as Gyro stormed off, leaving Beaks to be thoroughly dealt with. ______________________________

The walk back to the underwater lab wasn’t a long one, but when Gyro wasn’t seething mad, he would look down at BOYD and notice a look on the boy’s face not dissimilar to his own from earlier—it contained surprise, the fearful kind, as if he didn’t know he could shed tears either. He didn’t look up at his creator, even though he followed the aggressive tug of his arm compliantly, and he didn’t try to wipe at his face. He seemed, again, to be having the same sort of shock that tried to question what in the world was happening to him.

When the two finally did make it inside, Gyro relinquished his tight grip on BOYD’s hand, picked him up by the waist, and sat him down on his center loft work desk.

“BOYD,” he said directly, but not ungently, “Keep your face still for a moment, okay?”

Gyro cupped the little creature’s face in his hand, taking a moment to peer into the huge ovate orbs that were wet as ever. There was nothing physically wrong with them… Nothing functionally wrong with them… Lightly touching the substance that had wavered within them didn’t seem to prove this was some sort of fluid leak. As far as Gyro could tell, these were tears, plain as plain.

So then how was that possible? It wasn’t as if the scientist had actually sat down and built a mechanical version of every single organic function an ordinary person had when constructing BOYD—he and Akita wanted a defense drone—but he knew the little one had an approximation of a heart, and bones, and lungs, and other such things; He was an android, which meant he was deliberately supposed to resemble other people in addition to all the access ports and ribbon wire. Still. Things like tear ducts, taste buds, the need to sleep? Gyro didn’t physically install those things into him. Now a possibility occurred to him. He decided to address BOYD again.

“Can you tell me… Can you tell me everything you’ve been feeling since you talked to Mark Beaks? I know it might be hard, but I need you to try for me.”

BOYD felt Gyro place both hands on one of his. It was the first time the doctor had engaged him like that, and it brought on a warm confusion in spite of the pain he still felt at his core. BOYD’s teary eyes were trained on the floor when he started to analyze what kind of things that pain entailed.

“I’ve… been feeling…” he began, voice thin and shaky, “Sad… and overwhelmed… and afraid… and alone, and… and confused… Before, when I had programming issues, I would start to malfunction anytime something hurt me. But now instead of glitches coming on that I can’t control, it’s more like…”

BOYD’s whole body started to shiver. “It’s more like something my heart can’t control, I guess? Not literally, but, I…”

His vision grew blurry and his voice shakier than ever. “I don’t have anything holding me back from losing emotional control, and I don’t understand. What Mr. Beaks said really hurt, but… I’ve been told things that made me lonely and sad before. I don’t know why I’m only reacting this way now.”

BOYD shut his eyes, rubbing at them as he made a little whimper. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gearloose. I know that doesn’t help. The only other thing I know when I think about all this is that it scares me.”

Gyro felt choked up. He wanted to react beyond keeping his hands palmed over the one BOYD wasn’t wiping his own face with, but twenty years of distrust and cynicism had clouded his ability to be as kind as he used to. But that answer actually helped Gyro a lot. Before, he remembered BOYD saying something about eating—he didn’t need to, but he liked to—that he wondered whether or not he was able to taste, but it ‘seemed to register’. Gyro then supposed while he didn’t build BOYD to eat, it wasn’t impossible given the way he was made; He likely found some sort of place in his structure to double as a stomach, being that he was basically the same as any other boy.

This was what made it click in Gyro’s brain. He had programmed BOYD, for all intents and purposes, to be a living child. Even if the actual hardware wasn’t there, even if Gyro hadn’t thought of specifics when creating… Akita called it ‘real boy programming’—there were things within BOYD that could adapt, and apparently had adapted, themselves to become a part of his sentient reactions and behavior—there were things inside him that manifested because at the end of the day, BOYD was… well, BOYD was a boy.

BOYD wasn’t crying because he was built for it. He was crying because all boys were built for it.

Oh god. A realization like that sent a heavy weight into Gyro’s chest. This wasn’t just some invention that was child-like he’d made, as he initially thought two decades ago. He had brought a life into the world.

He was responsible for every bad thing that life would ever face, because he was the one responsible for ever having made something that could feel, could want, could hurt. Why hadn’t he once considered that when wiring sentience into a body? Gyro felt sick to his stomach.

Yet here was BOYD sitting on a desk, afraid because he wasn’t ever told what would happen if he was sad enough—as if crying was normal, but not for him.

“Dr. Gearloose…?” The timid squeaks in BOYD’s broken voice coupled with glumness on every part of his face made Gyro feel pain in every inch of his body. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Shocked as he was still, an automatic reaction came on that brought Gyro to dry the small creature’s eyes. This reaction, too, shocked him.

“No—no,” he answered nonetheless, just as reactionary.

“Really?”

The nervousness in that inquiry pushed Gyro on. What he was grappling with wasn’t important. There was a child in front of him, needing to be consoled. And while he normally was awkward with children—with people in general, really—Gyro knew about BOYD at least from a technical aspect. He wasn’t a medical doctor, but he did have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. He could work from there—he knew hardly anything about children from a biological standpoint, anyway. In a way, BOYD being an android worked to his advantage here. Gyro sobered up mentally and placed both hands on the little one’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he replied, surprised with himself that he was able to sound so matter-of-fact so quickly. He tried as hard as he could to sound gentle too. “Besides your internal structure, you are otherwise indistinguishable from organic life. You have thoughts and feelings, wants and needs. It’s inherent for you to be sad just as any normal boy would—because that’s what you are.”

BOYD looked back at the ground for a moment, then up at Gyro again, putting his tiny hand over the fold of the man’s thin elbow. There was something he wanted to know—there was still pain in his chest that was building up beyond his control.

“Then…” he asked with teary, pleading eyes, “Can I cry a little more?”

Gyro wished that he knew just what to say—his heart ached so much to hear such a little boy ask for permission to feel—but he simply gave a pitying, guilty, yet mostly obligatory, “Yes.”

That one word of acceptance sent BOYD over the edge. A little hiccup escaped him, and what had previously been only silent tears that fell on their own turned into a full-on fit. BOYD covered his face and wept.

Gyro tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw BOYD truly cry for the first time. But in under a minute, his creation said something that brought him to accommodate without a single thought.

“Dr. Gearloose? I know you said back in Tokyolk that hugging was just for that day, but—”

BOYD was interrupted when Gyro immediately drew him in with a one-armed hug, bringing him close and holding him tight. BOYD in turn drew himself closer to his creator, no longer holding back.

BOYD’s little cries then were soft and whining, innocent and unhinged in the way that became any child. Any time he needed to sniff or dry his eyes, he buried his face into Gyro’s chest, and sunk his tiny fingers deep into his vest. The length in each wail that came on now and again reflected the fact that BOYD had never cried before, and that he was discovering in the moment just how much he needed to all this time.

Poor BOYD, Gyro thought, barely ever allowed to simply hug anyone before. He was the sweetest living creature Gyro had ever known—always smiling so jubilantly and talking politely to everyone and everything—and yet so many people met him only with malice? That was far too unfair.

Oh.

But then, that was exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d so readily assumed when Inspector Tezuka brought BOYD down that he’d created something evil—he’d thought the evidence was everywhere, quite literally. But couldn’t it have been just as easy to think that someone like Dr. Akita who’d turned out to be a known criminal could have been responsible? Couldn’t Gyro have at least considered for a second that it wasn’t BOYD’s fault and defended him more? But he hadn’t. Instead he’d let his young mind believe everything his former mentor drilled into his head; His inventions were weapons, plain and simple, and nothing would change the fact that that would be a part of him the rest of his life—that he would always know somewhere in the back of his mind that he was just a big screw-up. And Gyro had taken that out on BOYD. He’d turned his anger and fear over himself and projected it into anger and fear over his first real invention. He’d defended inventions like Lil’ Bulb to the last ditch—even when the evidence they were turning evil was just as seemingly apparent, if not more so. Even they weren’t referred to as failures. All that bitter sarcasm and unkindness that became a part of who he was had all been based on nothing. When they’d reunited, he lashed out at BOYD over and over again, scornful whenever he even looked at him, refusing to call him anything other than an ‘it’, saying he was dangerous to his very core, saying he didn’t have feelings—even when the sadness and frightened tentative motions in his expression and body were clear as day—he even said straight to BOYD’s face that he was going to ‘fix’ his malfunctions by essentially flat-out killing him.

Gyro was furious when Mark Beaks made BOYD cry. But the first person to ever treat him inhumanely, was Gyro himself. It made him feel so unbearably guilty he almost couldn’t breathe. No matter what his eyes would look like anytime Akita’s programming kicked in—those things weren’t even there anymore. Anytime Gyro thought back, those big eyes were always so full of light—light of happiness, of sadness, of kindness, of intelligence, of innocence. How could he have ever looked at eyes like that—eyes that were capable of producing tears—and thought BOYD was evil?

Even if the child wouldn’t say so, Gyro knew there must still exist an ache within him over being rejected by the person that gave him life. He owed it to him to make it known just how sorry he was for it—even if the words kept getting jammed in the middle of his throat.

“BOYD,” he faltered, though it was now becoming easier to call him by his real name, “I need to apologize for the way I treated you back then. I know Mark Beaks hurt you when he told you that you weren’t worth his time. But the awful things I’ve said to you… they’re no different.”

BOYD calmed himself down a little to be able to speak. He didn’t face Gyro when he answered, but it wasn’t out of unacceptance—his answer was simply an automatic one.

“It’s okay…”

Gyro let go of BOYD for a moment to stare at him gravely in the face.

“No. It’s not okay.”

Gyro couldn’t remember when he’d talked so seriously before. He’d talked sternly—talked angrily—shouted several times… But as far as he knew, nothing compelled him to speak so straightforward and strict and deadpan as this in his life. He wasn’t going to let anyone make excuses for him ever again—not BOYD, and most certainly not himself.

“I said I’ve spent my whole life trying to live down my first invention being evil. But you were never made evil. I made you out to be evil. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life living down ever having damaged you like that.”

Gyro found himself astonished that he was able to say what he did next, but nonetheless let it be said; BOYD needed to hear exactly what he was deserving of.

“And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to do right by you. Because after everything that’s happened, I am so proud that a boy like you does right by me.”

In spite of BOYD’s constant shivering and whimpering, he was able to smile comfortingly just for a moment, nestling his head further into Gyro’s scrawny arms.

“I of all people know what it’s like to be new to Duckburg and down on your luck with nothing—with nobody. But I was fortunate. I met Scrooge McDuck and he gave me a place to work, and to make my way up the ladder. He was the only one to give me a second chance—to trust me.”

Gyro sighed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you—as if I didn’t learn. How you stayed the same as I built you this whole time is beyond me. I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s… That’s not true,” BOYD sniffed, rubbing his eyes again, “If I make you as proud as you say, then some of that had to come from you—where else would I get it from? The only other person around me then was Dr. Akita, and then I spent twenty years asleep in Duckburg. I’m like this because you made me. And if I’m still like this, that part of you has to still be in you too—doesn’t it?”

Gyro couldn’t respond to something so kind. He couldn’t. Gyro didn’t deserve merit like that. Instead, he turned to another question that he’d been thinking of as BOYD stayed settled under his arm—something more technical, but still in reference to the android’s feelings and his sentience.

“When you shiver…” he asked with difficulty, “Is it because you’re cold? And if you overheat, do you feel feverish?”

“I do feel sort of sick when something overheats inside me… At home, it’s treated like I have a cold, which usually helps. But… when I’m cold, I operate at peak efficiency, so that’s never uncomfortable.”

BOYD’s voice was still full of quiet hiccups and characterized by the hurt within him.

“I guess I’m shivering because of how sad I feel. There are a lot of things I’m scared of—and things I’m so glad of, they hurt—but mostly, I just keep thinking back to what Mr. Beaks said. He brings up this little voice in my head that tells me people don’t want me. Like I’m making it hard for them.”

Gyro surprised himself again by stroking the back of BOYD’s head lightly. Nevertheless, he responded with defense and firmness in his tone.

“You should make it hard for people like that to want you. If you’re a waste of energy to someone like Mark Beaks, then good. The more you keep being yourself, the less they’ll stick around to hurt you.”

BOYD looked up at Gyro once more with his wet, shining eyes.

“But you won’t do that if I’m myself around you, right?”

That question pulled Gyro into a riptide of guilt so strong that it almost drove him to cry. But he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge for BOYD’s sake—this was about him. He made it clear to himself he’d never let his little creation down again when he hugged him in Tokyolk—and now he was going to make it clear to BOYD, say it out loud to his face so there was never any doubt again. Gyro rested the hand he had on BOYD’s head, held him just a tad closer with his arm, and said,

“I’m only saying this once; There is nothing you could do in front of me that wouldn’t make me want you. Ever. You can come to me for whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gyro watched as that sentence prompted tear after tear to fall down BOYD’s heated face, nearly every part of his insides nagging uncontrollably at him when the little creature encircled his puny waist with his arms.

“I’m so glad!”

The sobs that BOYD let loose figuratively jabbed the scientist in the gut as he thought of the fact that were it not for his sheer irresponsibility, the poor little thing would never have had to be born into a world that presented such harsh treatment.

Still, BOYD wanted to cry. Didn’t the need to cry come from getting to let go—to feel better—to be alive?

Gyro thought as he instinctively continued to stroke the small head under him with his thumb. If he had brought a life into the world that was going to have bad moments, that meant that the same life was going to have happy moments too, didn’t it? Well—he already had! BOYD might as well have been built as a bluebird. Gyro should be glad BOYD was finally allowed to have this kind of release. It meant he could finally, truly, feel like the definitely real boy he was. The pain of fault and responsibility still wracked Gyro—he figured it always might—but at this point, he was relieved the poor thing he held close in the underwater lab wasn’t going to be mistreated any longer—not if he could stand to help it. ______________________________

BOYD sat in Gyro’s lap, beginning to feel better as he allowed himself to let everything out in the embrace of someone close to him. He could cry as much as he needed around Gyro. And he was going to take that allowance for all it was worth.

Part of his crying now came from the warmth he felt knowing that the old Gyro he thought he’d lost was still in there somewhere—that he hadn’t gone after all—and that even though he’d through no fault of his own gotten it lost, he had brought its return as well. That restored a lot more of BOYD’s self-worth than he fully realized.

BOYD was so grateful—so, so grateful to have that Gyro here again. He didn’t understand why at first it hurt so much to be called an ‘it’ by his creator—he didn’t remember Gyro was his creator at the time—but to think that someone was afraid of him and that someone hated him just for being himself stung so badly. He didn’t cry then—he didn’t know he could. But he cried now, over the cutting things Mark Beaks said, over Gyro’s hand at his back, over anything he could think of that needed crying over—mostly however over the knowledge by now that Gyro didn’t see him as nothing more than a destructive machine—as ‘evil down to his core’ any longer. He could tell that even if Gyro didn’t say it, he loved him; He risked his own life just to hold him in his arms, to save him and others from himself. Now BOYD really did have someone who loved him the way a father would a son. He could hug Gyro if he wanted—as many times as he felt like it—and never be brushed off. That thought brought such relief to him, his processor couldn’t take it all in.

But he didn’t tell Gyro any of this; He noticed all those looks on his face—they gave away just how terrible he felt over not being able to do as much as he wanted for him right away. So he kept any more words from leaving his mouth in order not to burden his guardian with any more guilt. BOYD simply let himself release all the emotions he could which he didn’t know he had before, as if he were wringing himself out—and as such, began soaking up all the comfort he was being given like a dry and thirsty sponge.

BOYD learned some wonderful things that day as he clung so strongly to Dr. Gearloose in that lab—much as it hurt to tremble violently, and bleed out feelings until one’s eyes burned, and let out enough raw noise fit to make one’s throat sore. He learned that being allowed to feel so sad was rewarding, and cleansing. He learned that tears were something he could produce no matter what he felt. And he learned that everyone in the world would make mistakes, no matter what or who they were, but that it was never too late to grow from them.

~ Holy shoot, wow, this is the first serious fic I’ve ever posted on here before.

I really wanted to share it, because it took so long to write—although I didn’t think it would turn out so long… 8k words! It’s the lengthiest thing I’ve ever written.

Anyway, this is a story that is very dear to my heart, not only because I put the most into it out of anything, but because studying Gyro Gearloose as a character and loving his dynamic with BOYD has been one of the most amazing things to think of through the hiatus that came after Astro BOYD.

I always loved BOYD, of course, but once I started seeing all the art and fanfics that others had started doing out of the emotions that came with his and Gyro’s backstory, I got swept up in it too, and wanted desperately to get out all those feelings into one story.

The idea came from the concept of whether or not BOYD can cry. We’ve never really seen him do it before, and it’d probably be hard because he’s normally so happy—but I kept wondering if he, as an android, even could. So it hit me; What if BOYD could cry, but Gyro wasn’t aware of it? What if even BOYD wasn’t aware of it? I kept playing with what would possibly make him cry, because even when Gyro was threatening to shut him down or was calling him ‘it’, BOYD only frowned a little. Suddenly I got the nasty idea of Mark Beaks showing up and telling him he never wants to see him again, and it built from there—I started also thinking that maybe what brings BOYD to cry is just a long enough buildup of pain, and maybe he couldn’t feel as much because Akita’s meddling with him had gotten in the way before.

On a sidenote, Mark Beaks was pretty hard to write at first; I had to make sure his confidence was switched on all the time or he’d come off a little out of character. But much as this is about Gyro & BOYD, Beaks being awful is so deliciously fun to write. I think it’s because he makes you love whoever he’s being mean to even more.

Anyway, after I’d written that part out, I spent a lot more time than I initially thought I would focusing on how all this would make Gyro feel—that is, how much guilt his responsibility would bring on. I’m really desperate to see for myself how they interact in canon from now on, but I always imagine that Gyro’s feelings which are most associated with being a father are of guilt; They make him protective of BOYD, they make him sensitive to BOYD, and they might drive him to treat BOYD—again, be more like a father. Pretty much all Gyro’s niceness comes from wanting a do-over.

I never post my serious writing publicly—mostly because I’m really tentative and shy about showing my literary ‘skills’ and the kinds of raw emotion I spill out in words sometimes—but this fic slowly became something I wanted really badly to share with the DT fandom, as a thing that could both be a way to show my own interpretation and thoughts of Gyro and BOYD, and could maybe even be liked by people as much as it is by me.

I know a good few episodes have aired since Astro BOYD did, and that it’s been a long while since the episode has been talked about, but I’ve only now been brave enough to decide to put this story out there for all to see.

I really hope you enjoyed it.

(Incidentally, I wanted to be sure to post it before Let’s Get Dangerous! airs, because I know this fic would get swallowed up by all the emotions to be had from that episode… ^^; )

#boyd #gyro gearloose #astro boyd #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #mark beaks #fenton crackshell cabrera #doofus drake #oh boy here I go writing again #is my new tag for this predictably #not woy

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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part four)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part five. Masterlist

Summary:After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Your POV*

Your eyes scanned through the fully stocked room that came to be yours a couple of days ago. Fairly large and a great window where the sun came to welcome you each morning. Not even the blinds could stop it. Now it was fairly dark inside since the sun was about to go down. You reached for the light switch and scanned through all your products and belongings for things that you could possibly move somewhere else.

The grunt of the Russian skater behind you caused you to turn around. As you did, he stopped and returned your stare, as if waiting for you to announce something. There was a lot that you needed to clean up. If you had known that you'd be expecting a roommate, you'd already have done so. Guess Victor forgot to mention that too, eh?

The visible twitch in the corner of your left eye was impossible to force back. Just at the mere thought of unintentional (?) screwups of the one and only Victor Nikiforov. Now, just because he was your childhood friend, it didn't mean that he wouldn't receive a massive ass-whooping if he as much as repeated the same mistake three times the same day now the few remaining hours of the day. If only you could get that message through.

And, you kind of did. Just not to the man you intended. Yuri at the receiving end of your stare was just about to open his mouth to say something, what you assume, sour when he noticed the twitching of your eye. Surprisingly, it shut him up before he started. He kind of shielded himself behind one of his bags and eyed you carefully.

Shit, wrong Russian dude.

"Sorry, that was meant for Victor." You let out a sigh and helped him with one of his bags out in the hall. You got a simple nod from the boy just before you passed him in the doorway.

He's been acting all quiet and confused ever since you tended to his wounds. Was something you said unclear? Maybe you should make sure the two of you were on the same page. 'Later...' you thought.

Yuuri and Victor hurried to the entrance of your room with a couple of more bags.

"So what do you think about it, Yuri? Pretty special eh?" It was Yuuri who spoke up, probably just as an act of friendliness. Though, you could understand how a punk like Yuri might take it as teasing.

"I'm not staying here. There's- there is no way I'm sharing a room with another person. I should have my own room. Why can't Victor and (Y/n) share a room and I get my own?!"

Ah, there he is. You were starting to get worried that he might actually turn nice. Then you'd have to call an ambulance just to ease Yakov's mind if he ever found out.

"With that thief? Nuh-uh. He already owes me an entire bottle of lotion, a mascara and a lipgloss. And for some reason, my throwaway razors are gone too. I'm not endangering any more of my stuff to him!" You shot a glare at Victor but he intentionally pretended not to hear nor see you. Seriously?

"Just lock them up or something, I don't care. Maybe I should just sleep on the couch. Give me one reason why it's worth sharing this room with you."

You didn't really know why you felt so opposed to the thought of him sleeping on the couch. You should be relived that you wouldn't have to share room with The Russian punk. But you still mumbled the one sentence after taking a brief moment to carefully word out your reason.

"What did you say?"

"... I have a cat."

The silence following almost made you feel like the scene of these weird soap operas that streamed on tv once in a while. But you did have a cat. A beautiful sacred Birman with the eyes of an ocean. And you knew about Yuri's fascination with them. Victor mentioned it somewhere along the lines when discussing his arrival days ago. And if you had to give him one reason, then that would be the one. It's probably the only reason too.

"Where." It wasn't a question. It almost made you giggle but you kept a straight face. Victor who knew the reason behind your words, almost cracked under the pressure.

"He's probable sleeping under the blanket on my bed, as always-"

Yuri pushed Victor aside with a stern 'move' and headed for your bed. A little anxious, you followed him through the entrance, afraid that he would be like one of those crazy catpeople who never stopped bothering their cat. You worried because you were one of those people. But because your cat was rather clingy too and you always had a bunch of stuff to do daytime, it kind of evened out the contrast. Two crazy people were too much, you figured.

"Well, we'll go off now and let you two bond now. Don't forget that we're having afternoon tea in an hour!" And with that, Victor and Yuuri was out of the picture. For awhile.

A round uneven pile under you blanket made Yuri stop at the end of the bed. You stood beside him as he lifted the blanket, revealing the fuzzy ball that was your cat. Round eyes stared up at the both at you and the cat stretched it's back, making a 'u' position.

"His name is Magnolia. You'll have to apologize to him for interrupting his sleepy time though." You half expected Yuri to scoff at your statement, thinking you were taking the animal too seriously. But the baby voice he used to communicate with Magnolia next almost had you taking a step back.

"Hi, Magnolia... 'm sorry, pretty boy. You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid." He kept on talking to the sleepy cat as he extended a hand for him to smell. Magnolia yawned and gave the hand a sniff before sitting up, eyes intensely staring into the boy's soul. You could tell by the hesitation of Yuri's petting hand that he really wanted the cat's approval. He cat kept staring him straight in the eyes which usually means bad. Though, the purring heard from his belly said the opposite. You finally relaxed a little. Magnolia is very picky with who gets to touch him and you were expecting a bite, honestly.

"He's always been so stare-y... I've figured that he only stare at people he like or something he finds very interesting." You crouched down beside Yuri and rested with your arms at the bedside.

"Like owner, like cat, I guess then. I feel like he has the exact same piercing gaze you gave me earlier." Yuri grinned smugly at you and turned back his attention to the ball of fur who stood up, stroking its back to your chin. A little heat rose to your cheeks and you hoped Magnolia covered it up well enough with his body. It was kind of true. And you couldn't really deny it. You always did watch things a little to intense. But just because you found people very interesting, always seeking to improve your understanding and emotional range at any given time. So you shrugged your shoulders and coughed a little when the cat made sure to get his butt all up in your face too. This habit, you had noticed, was a trait almost every cat held within them.

"You're going to object or what?" Yuri caught your attention again and Magnolia moved away from your face just in time. So he was expecting some kind of denial.

"You're not wrong... You've just got the wrong idea of it."

"What do you mean?"

"You should probably start getting yourself settled here. We only have one hour."

"You didn't answer me." Yuri's remark left unanswered as well as you stood up and threw a bag at him. A light 'oof' slipped through him as the heavy thing hit him right in the stomach.

"Hey!"

You grinned and opened another bag, pouring the internal onto the floor. Tons of clothes splattered on the floor. Everything in-between black training clothes to underwear and a pajamas with cat prints. A keychain with a chibi cat and a stuffed animal of a tiger fell out on the floor lastly on top of the pile. Yuri quickly made his way to the clothes and gathered them in his arms, trying to hide them away. It was worth taking an extra look at the blush staining his cheeks. You wondered if you'd just met a fellow catmerch fan as instense as you. No, this was far crazier than you! Especially as you recognized the keychain being a print of his own cat that you'd seen on a social media Yuri Plisetsky fanpage once.

"Y-you can't touch my stuff! Nor see it!" His voice was a good blend of anger and a thick stain of embarrassment.

Maybe it wasn't ideal poring someone else's belongings onto the floor. But you knew that look that Yuri bearded only moments ago. The cat had taken him as his loyal servant and Yuri wasn't intending to move until he had satisfied Magnolia's every need. If you let that happen, it would take the entire hour you had to clean up the room. And you clearly didn't have that time.

"Just hurry up and help me then if I'm not allowed to touch it!"

"Fine! And move your stupid clothes and stuff over to your half of the room!"

(A/N: Shoutout to my cat who gave me the entire butt-in-face idea through experience. I really owe you one, you little jerk<3 Also, what have you thought of the story so far? I bet you Victor has planned a familiar exercise for tomorrow's day of training. Just a little helping hand to get Yuri back into shape, y'know;))

#inspiration #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice fandom #yurianime #yuri katsuki #yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky x reader #yurio plisetsky #yuri plisetsky #viktor nikirofov

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nate-santos · 3 years

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Friend or Dough || Nate & Orion

TIMING: Early January LOCATION: Fondante’s Inferno PARTIES: @3starsquinn @nate-santos SUMMARY: Rio comes to get some late night sweets CONTENT WARNINGS: Just sweet fun!

It was long past dark by the time that Orion finally left the Scribrary. A glance at his phone as he hiked through the woods to get to the closest parking lot where he could pull the car up told him that it was just past two in the morning. He weighed his options. He could drive back to the house and try to scrounge up some food. This late in the night, that wasn’t exactly ideal. But the late hour didn’t leave many options either. He was more than familiar with the Fondante’s Inferno than any normal, sane person probably should be. One perk of living with his nightmare of a family came with a seemingly endless allowance that allowed him to divulge in any sweet tooth craving he had. Now, he didn’t even want to know how much money he had dropped at the bakery since he had moved out on his own. He had a bad habit of dropping in at late hours and ordering in bulk to keep at the Scribrary as his own personal self serve buffet.

By the time he got to the bakery, it was inching closer and closer to that three in the morning deadline, and Orion rushed into the shop in a hurry, out of breath and already offering apologies. “Hey! I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t mean to keep you any later than you’re already here. I was hoping to get here before you closed.” He tried perusing the leftover goods as he rested his palms on his knees and tried to catch his breath. There wasn’t much that wasn’t good at this bakery, ran by a guy around the same age and wildly more successful than himself clearly. Luckily, the guy seemed incredibly nice. “How’s it going tonight? Busy day?” At almost three in the morning, it wasn’t any surprise that Rio found himself as the only remaining customer in the place. But he always recommended the place to others and hoped that during normal hours the place stayed busy.

Late nights didn’t bother Nate. Sure, it was his shop and he could set the hours, but late at night, the town seemed to become a more peaceful place. Plus he never wanted to alienate the previous owners’ regulars, even if he never seemed to have what they were looking for. The usual “after bar” crowd had just finished filtering out and Nate looked at the clock. Three was coming on quick and he hadn’t seen his most regular regular yet. His brow furrowed and he set about sweeping up and cashing out the register, happy to be alone for a bit. Easing his way back into the storefront had been harder than anticipated. More than one of his usual customers had apparently shifted in his subconscious to be more monstrous than friendly and it was difficult to focus when the old woman you’ve known your whole life was staring at you with glowing red eyes.

Like a tornado, someone rushed into the shop, breathlessly looking over the day’s last fresh pastries. Nate spun on his heel at the sound of the door, nearly tripping over the dustpan he’d just dropped, only to feel relief wash over him like a tidal wave. “Orion! Hey!” He propped the broom against the counter as the rush of adrenaline eased its way through his body. “You know you never have to apologize for keeping me late, you’re my best customer,” he laughed, prepping a few boxes for whatever the guy picked out tonight. “Not so busy, mostly just pick ups and stuff. But not too shabby.” It was more than a relief to say that Orion looked entirely and perfectly normal. Regular human, no scary teeth or hands or scales to be seen. “What’s keeping you out so late?” He asked, already putting a few of the older pastries in a box.

Nate was always a friendly face, and someone that Orion was especially happy to give business too. It was only a plus, or to go too far into a pun, the cherry on top, that the food was incredible. The two had found a sort of easy groove with each other. Rio showed up at odd hours and bought way too many baked goods at once and Nate was incredibly friendly about it and even seemed to specifically make things that he knew Rio liked. The latter of which had not gone unnoticed by Rio, who was especially thankful. “Oh I’m sure that’s not true. I’m sure there are plenty of other good customers that show up during like… normal people hours.” Rio laughed nervously, never quite sure how to properly accept compliments. “Besides, you make it very easy to want to come back.” Deflecting with his own compliments was usually the best line of defense that Rio had. “Oh you know. The usual.” Rio shrugged, trying to think of exactly what the usual was. He hated lying, even to people he didn’t necessarily know very well. “I get caught up in an assignment or studying and end up staying too late.” That was about as truthful as he could be to someone that didn’t know about the Scribrary. “Wanted to make sure I stopped by before you closed though. Wouldn’t want to miss out on whatever you came up with today.”

Nate chuckled as Rio perused the goods. “Sure, but boring people come at normal hours and what fun is that?” It was a joke, but Nate wished it was true. What he wouldn’t give for all his customers to actually be normal again. His smile flickered for only a moment before he was back to his jovial self. Something about Rio always brought this side of him back to the forefront. It was like the accident never happened and he could joke and have small talk without the fear that now always lingered in the back of his mind. “Speaking of,” Nate said with a glimmer in his eye before racing to the back mid sentence. “I’ve got something for you to try!” He called, rummaging through boxes to find the new recipe he’d been playing with. Carrying it gingerly back out to the front as if it were some precious heirloom, Nate presented the tarts to his patron. “Chocolate blueberry tarts with a hint of lime. I know it sounds weird, but seriously.” Nate made the chef kiss motion with his hands. “Maybe these will help get you through the late night study sessions.” He could tell there was probably more to it than just studying late, but Nate didn’t like to pry. If people wanted to let him into their lives, they would. It never did any good to try to force your way in, especially when it’s really none of your business.

Unwrapping one of the tarts, Nate held it up for a little cheers. It was customary at this point for them to try some of his new creations together and while they weren’t all winners, they were usually still pretty darn good if he said so himself. Nate was a little apprehensive about this batch, given that he’d been low on yeast and had to dip into his bread delivery box to make the crust, but it couldn’t actually be sentient, right? That was just a marketing gimmick. “Cheers! To late nights and delicious sweets!”

Orion laughed with Nate, ignoring that there probably wasn’t anyone in town more boring than Rio himself. Sure, terrifying and arguably exciting things seemed to happen around him. But those all seemed adjacent to the hermit that Rio actually was. At least that’s how he wanted to be. Between the hunter heritage, the supernatural library and the part where he may or may not have murdered his parents he felt like he should be a lot more interesting than he actually was. “Well I can’t say that I’m not super boring. My book bag is filled with like twenty pounds of random history books and autobiographies. But I appreciate the compliment anyways.” Nate got sidetracked quickly, rushing into the back. Through the doors, Rio could hear him search until he pushed back out into the main area holding a tray of what looked to be some kind of tart or pastry. Rio’s face brightened, but he didn’t react until Nate actually named the sweets. “Oh my god. Did you say blueberry? You’re a god send.” Rio clapped excitedly, swinging the book bag off of his back and dropping it onto the floor with a heavy thud. Nate had always been open to asking Rio’s feedback on some of the new creations. When it came to sweets, Rio was practically a raccoon. He would eat just about anything Nate offered, and he usually ended up liking it. Though Nate must have picked up on how much Rio loved pairing blueberry in his pastries. “My two favorite things!” Rio raised a tart in the air before biting into it. The odd trio of flavors may have sounded strange, but the combination blended perfectly and Rio released a happy sigh after two more bites to finish the thing off. “Holy crap that’s so good. Thank you for sharing this!” Rio licked his lips of any leftover chocolate before speaking again, “The bread tasted a little different this time. Good, just different. Is it something new?”

Nate had always felt like Rio was a kindred spirit, and tonight was no different. “I don’t think that’s so boring,” he replied before taking a bite of his own tart. Nate loved his historical books, even if it seemed a bit lame at times. Biographies were some of the most interesting stories out there. “You know the saying, Stranger than Fiction?” He smiled, taking another bite. Man, he hit it out of the park with these. Nate closed his eyes for a moment, letting the flavors sink in. Baking was one of the few things that brought him complete and utter peace and this flipping tart was no different. He’d really have to make more of an effort to find his secret bread admirer, ‘cause this batch of yeast had done wonders for the recipe. “You really like it?” He asked through a mouthful of blueberries. He could always trust Rio to give him an honest review, but it seemed more and more likely that the kid was gonna enjoy anything he gave him. “I tried a new type of yeast,” he answered, his face falling a bit. “Can you really tell?” Sudden insecurity gripped him, pausing his glut fest mid bite. No...something else was gripping him...Nate’s eyes traveled down to the half eaten tart in his hand that seemed to now be grabbing his hand back. “U-uh...O-Orion?”

“I think you’re one of the few then.” Orion laughed, thinking on how many people would find something like reading biographies incredibly boring. Even if they knew the subject was supernatural. Luckily, Rio had found quite a few friends that appreciated his lackluster hobbies. Even if they themselves didn’t find it super interesting, they never held that against Rio. In fact, it came in handy sometimes. “Real life is definitely a lot weird than anything a fictional book could sell me.” Rio agreed, unsure how much Nate actually knew about how weird real life actually was. But now wasn’t the time to fall too deeply into that. Right now, he wanted to focus exclusively on enjoying these ridiculously good sweets that Nate had brought out to try. “Of course. It’s hard not to like something you make.” Rio admitted, savoring another bite before he tried to answer Nate’s question. Admittedly, Rio didn’t know if the enhanced senses included taste. But he knew that he had always been pretty good at picking out individual flavors. Plus, he actually tasted the flavoring in la croix. Apparently that wasn’t normal. “Oh uh- yeah it’s nothing bad. I’m just sensitive to-” Rio’s bad excuse for an explanation was cut off when Nate said his name again. Rio met his confused look and glanced down at his hand, the tart that was on it seemed to be… moving. And sticking onto the man’s arm. On instinct, Rio flung his own tart onto the ground and slid away from it. “Um. What is that?! Nate drop the tart!”

Talk about stranger than fiction. Nate’s eyes went wide as dinner plates as he begun trying to flick the tart off his hand, his heart racing. “I can’t! I can’t get it off?!” All thoughts of how pleased he’d been to hear how much Rio had enjoyed his baking had dissipated, thrown out the window by tiny dough hands. “Get it off me!!” Nate flung his hand as hard as he could and the little tart thankfully flew off, landing with a dull smoosh on the counter. Apparently this act had betrayed their very existence as the half eaten tart was joined by the four untouched pastries. Gracelessly, they each sprouted a foot or a hand or an arm, limping around the counter with surprising speed. “What the heck- I’ve made a monster!!” Nate grabbed for a weapon, coming up with only a flour covered rolling pin. Better than nothing. He slammed it at the tiny monsters, wondering if Rio even saw these things too or if it was another of his hallucinations.

Orion was hopping back and forth from what foot to another, frantically waving his arms as he tried to figure out what the heck was going on. Nothing about monster bread had ever shown up in any of the Scribe books that he had read. Why hadn’t monster bread shown up? The passing thought that Rio would need to write his own entry only vaguely crossed his mind before he pushed it to the side to move beside Nate after he got the tart detached from his skin. The other tarts were starting to move now too, pieces of the bread morphing and extending into shapes resembling limbs. “What the-” Rio mumbled, trying to think of what could have possibly caused something like that. Nate grabbed a rolling pin and was smacking at the counter now while Rio stood back and stared at the man in a daze. “Be careful!” Rio finally yelled when he broke from the daydream. “How the heck is this happening right now?"

Judging by Rio’s reaction, Nate wasn’t the only one who could see the little creatures. At least that was a small relief, though the moment quickly faded as a tart-monster leapt off the counter, launching itself directly at Orion’s face. “Look out!!” Nate jumped back, slamming his rolling pin down on another tart, catching its little, deformed leg and flattening it. “I don’t know!! I- what are these things??” Panic swelled up inside him and Nate wondered if this is what people meant when they always said “oh yeah, anything can happen here in White Crest,” as if crazy nonsense like this occurred all the time. “I used- a new- yeast!” It was the only variable. When the delivery message said it was sentient, Nate didn’t take that literally. “Ah!” He yelped, jumping back from a one armed little tart that was eliciting what would arguably be an adorable sound as it attempted to tie Nate’s shoelaces together. “How do we make it stop??”

A piece of evil baked bread launched itself at Orion, but before he could move to swat it away a rolling pin swung down and smacked it midair. “Uh- Thanks” Rio stared at the splattered bakery item on the ground, still managing to slowly move as it slowly puffed itself up. “Great question. I wish I had a better answer.” He couldn’t help but think back to the watermelons that had tried to kill him and Skylar. Why was food so hell bent on murdering people in this town? Regardless, he made a mental note that he needed to try to look into an explanation after this. Not that now was the time to be scheduling study sessions. “New yeast. Right.” This was literally monster bread. Jesus Christ. “We uh-” He paused to consider their options. Hitting the things didn’t kill them. If they could piece themselves back together he wasn’t sure cutting them up would either. “Bake them? Like uh- for a long time?” Rio suggested, sliding forward and using his heel to stomp on a piece of bread trying to… trip Nate to death? Rio still wasn’t clear on their motives.

Nate had once been an athletic guy, never on the baseball team but he’d play in the yard with his brother all the time growing up. Never in a million years did he think any of those skills would come in handy regarding keeping him and his friend safe from literal murder bread. Every gremlin they smacked down or flattened seemed to immediately rise again and Nate cursed the gifted yeast. What a sick joke! “Burn them?” Nate’s face fell. Sure, it was probably their best option at stopping the things once and for all, but it hurt his baking heart to think of intentionally burning his newest recipe, especially when it had originally gotten such a glowing review from Rio. He wanted to cry, but was instantly derailed as he tripped over his shoelaces. “Ok - but let it be known I hate that I have to do this,” he whined, kicking his shoes off as quickly as possible. “Preheat that oven and turn it all the way up!” He pointed at the small convection oven behind the counter and began to try and pile all the little monsters up on a baking sheet.

“Noted!” Orion yelled, darting forward and vaulting over the bakery counter. He chalked it up to mostly dumb luck plus a decent amount of his own training that he had jumped and slid across the counter so easily instead of tripping and falling over it instead. Growing up, his body had always been quick to remind him that strength and agility didn’t fix clumsiness. Then again, adrenaline seemed to help his body work without relying too much on the anxiety frying his brain. He made his way to the oven, swatting away a piece of tart, an actual thing he actually had to do right now. This town was exhausting. Rio spun the dial of the oven, turning it as high as it could go. Another tart launching itself at Rio, grabbing onto his clothes and crawling up his shirt. “Ew, ew, ew” Rio repeated to himself as he slapped aimlessly around his body until he finally got hold of the baked good. He pulled it off and tossed it into the oven. It had only just begun heating, but Rio shut the door and made his way back to the counter. Couldn’t a two in the morning bakery run just be normal?

Trying to keep all the struggling tarts on one single surface was proving more difficult than Nate had imagined. Luckily Rio seemed to have gotten to the oven and though it wouldn’t be nearly hot enough just yet, they could at least start chucking some of these monsters in. “Here! Catch!” Nate flung the baking sheet up, attempting to toss the little beasts through the air and towards the oven, his eyes moving from his target only momentarily when he stomped down on a spare piece of dough that had fallen off. Abandoning the sheet, Nate started grabbing the few tarts that were left and started throwing them like it was the bottom of the ninth and his life depended on it. “Ok, last one then slam that door shut and pray this works!!”

As far as life dangers went, Orion didn’t think that creepy living bread made the list. Still, the idea of something he had just taken a bite out of was alive and moving was beyond unsettling. Rio heard Nate call out and he looked over in time to see a pan being flung in his direction. He darted forward, grabbing onto the pan and moving back over to crack the oven open enough for him to dump them inside. Before long, Nate had started chucking the bread in Rio’s direction. Rio grabbed what he could, dropping them in and bending down to scoop up any that he missed. Finally, Nate was done. A quick glance around told them that they had grabbed all of the remaining pieces that could be seen. Rio left the oven closed, resting against it to make sure that it stayed closed. The little monsters didn’t seem particularly strong, but he wasn’t ready to take any chances. He didn’t look at the window into the oven. He didn’t want to see them against the glass, trying to get out. Bread or not, he had no interest in watching something that moved get burnt to a crisp. “So uh… this was pretty weird, right?”

Nate deflated against the counter, wiping off a few crumbs from his face. “Weird is an understatement, I think…” He dropped his head onto the wood, his cheek squishing against the cool surface. “I don’t- I’ve never...have you??” He couldn’t even begin to describe what he’d seen. It didn’t make any rational sense. As the adrenaline poured out of his body, no longer needed to keep him in defense mode, Nate felt himself sink to the floor like a puddle. To say this was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him might be a lie, but this wasn’t like when he looked at some people around town and they looked like horrific monsters. That was a hallucination, something wrong with his actual brain. These...Rio had seen these too. Nate looked up at his friend. “What would do something like that?? How is that r-real?”

Orion refused to take any pressure off of the oven door. He didn’t think the now crisping pieces of living bread had the strength to open the door, but they were also all stuffed in there together. He had seen enough gross horror movies to know that weird things like that could combine together and grow in size or something else equally awful. His plan was to keep this door closed until the things in there looked like charcoal. Only problem was that he didn’t actually want to look to see what they looked like. “No. Definitely never seen anything like that. That was a first.” He really thought that he had reached some sort of imaginary wall in terms of being surprised by supernatural creatures. Good to know the bar could always be set higher. “So judging by your reaction I’m going to guess that your bread does not do that on the regular?” Surprisingly, Rio found himself almost amused by the situation. For someone who was constantly freaking out about everything, Rio was a bit confused by his own reaction. Though he supposed in the grand scheme of things, the bread wasn’t nearly as deadly as most of the other things that Rio got attacked by. “That honestly makes me feel so much better about how often I eat here. I was about to be a bit worried.”

Nate almost laughed, running his hands through his hard. “No...no randomly coming to life is usually not on my menu.” He scooted up to his knees, peering over the counter at the oven. From here, it didn’t look like there was any movement within, but Nate was glad that Orion seemed to have the same thought about not leaving the oven door unattended. He cracked an exhausted, waning adrenaline smile. “Why, you think I should add it? I think they’ll be a crowd pleaser!” It was impossible not to make light of what had just happened. It was just...entirely ludicrous. Nate half expected himself to be dreaming. “I don’t normally make a habit out of using random ingredients...but…” Nate shoved himself to his feet and started rustling through a drawer, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and handing it to Rio.

“CONGRATULATIONS. We heard you like to BAKE. A friend has subscribed you to WEEKLY DELIVERIES of SENTIENT BREAD. Please ENJOY this PAINED SOURDOUGH BREAD STARTER. We look forward to sending you more SENTIENT BREAD. We CONGRATULATE you.”

“I got this about a month ago and...well this is the yeast I used to make those tarts...this is just a joke, right?”

Orion laughed sarcastically, emitting a sigh as he still struggled to capture his breath. This hadn’t been particularly exhausting physically, but the whole ordeal had drained him. It didn’t help that it was the middle of the night. “Yeah I uh- think it’ll get a real rise out of customers.” Rio cringed at his own joke and made a mental note that puns probably weren’t for him. He grabbed onto the piece of paper that Nate offered and read it over multiple times. What the heck was this? And who would send it? And why were there so many capital letters? “So someone sent this to you? I guess… as a joke?” Rio didn’t find it particularly funny personally, but to each their own. Admittedly, the bread hadn’t exactly been dangerous. At least, not that they had seen. Maybe this was all some sort of weird prank? Fae could be particularly mischievous, maybe this was all some elaborate ruse? “I mean, if it is a joke I don’t really get their sense of humor.” Rio laughed nervously and scratched at the back of his head, “But I guess it could be? Maybe you shouldn’t use anymore of it though?” Rio tossed the note onto the countertop and sighed again. What a night.

Nate couldn’t help but snort at the pun. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe he was just losing his mind, but making jokes right now felt like the right thing to do. He slumped against the counter, his head resting on his hands. “I don’t think it was so funny either...but also I didn’t think sentient bread was a real flipping thing.” His brows furrowed as he glanced behind Rio to see how crispy the critters were getting. “I’m definitely not gonna use any more of it.” He looked up at Rio sadly. “Please promise me you’ll keep eating my desserts...I promise they’re not all animated and trying to kill you.”

By some miracle, the box that Nate had packed for Orion had survived the chaos and was left mostly untouched by the creepy bread. He could see it on the counter Looking through the box, Rio laughs slightly and closes it again, leaving it on the counter. After what felt like an acceptable amount of time, he finally took a step away from the oven, slowly pulling his arm away and ready to press up against it at any moment. But he didn’t have to. There was no resistance against the oven door. Whatever those things had been, Rio didn’t think they were going to be moving anymore. “Don’t worry. It’s going to take a lot more than some living bread for me to give this place up. Your food is too good.” He grinned, but there was a sigh behind it. The late hour was finally catching up to him, the adrenaline finally wearing off. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go ahead and pay for my stuff and head out. It’s pretty late. And I wasn’t expecting… that.”

Nate ran a hand down his face and looked at the oven apprehensively. Rio stepped away and nothing came crashing out, thankfully, but the baker wasn’t ready to turn off the heat just yet. “Oh good,” he breathed with a sigh of relief. “Of course! Of course, actually y’know this one’s on the house. I uh...consider it a promotion for trying my last new delicacy ever.” Nate slid the box closer to Rio and grabbed a broom, setting about clearing up what he could before he left for the night. There was no way he was doing his full closing checklist, not after the attempted murder via baked goods, but he could at least get some crumbs up while he waited for those things to get even a little more crispier. “Seriously,” he led his friend out, flipping his open sign to closed. “Thanks for being here...I can’t imagine dealing with those things by myself. And I swear to never use mysterious baking supplies ever again.” Now he just had to figure out where he put the rest of that tearful pumpkin...

#orion1 #friend or dough #wickedswriting

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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WTLTLD part two - jimin x reader

Read the first part to Would You Like to Live Deliciously? here. Part two: when Jimin accidentally fucks up and ticks an invite to his friend’s hangout as ‘plus one’, he freaks out and contacts the only girl he knows - you, a succubus whom he had previously summoned to take his virginity. Unfortunately for you, blending in as a human girlfriend will be difficult when his friend group consists of some familiar faces. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. 2.9k words. This will have more parts to come! Please let me know what you think!

“Just call her, dude.”

Jimin huffs in irritation. “It’s not like it’s some random girl, Jungkook. She’s a fucking sex demon. Besides, I don’t want to bother her.” He focuses stubbornly on the road ahead as he holds on to the steering wheel a little tighter.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jungkook narrow his eyes at Jimin and pout. “It’s not fair,” he whines, “I was the one that found the incantation in the first place. If you’re too pussy to call her again, then I should be allowed to!”

He exits off the highway with a harsher turn than is probably necessary. “I’m not a pussy, Jungkook. And you can get your own sex demon. No one’s stopping you.”

Judging by the toothy grin he’s being sent, that was the wrong thing to say. “Ooh, Jimin’s jealous! Jimin likes her! Whatever, dude. I told you yesterday; if you don’t call her when we get there, I will.”

The two of them were headed to a weekend hangout at their mutual friend Hoseok’s beach house. It had been a couple years since the last of them had graduated high school, and most of the others had moved away even before then. Their group of seven which had remained unbreakable, even over the distance, was finally reuniting in person, and the two in the car couldn’t have been more excited.

There was only one issue. Jimin had fucked up and accidentally hit the plus-one on the electronic invites Namjoon had made, and he was too proud to admit it was a mistake, so now an entire false narrative had been created around Jimin apparently having a girlfriend, and the only girl he had really spoken to and was comfortable with was, ironically, a succubus that he literally summoned from the depths of hell.

“I’ll call her,” he finally admits in resignation, “I made sure to pack the salt, I just… What can I possibly offer her, Gukie? There’s no reason for her to say yes.”

Jungkook falls into contemplative silence for a few moments, clutching at his seatbelt where it sometimes dug into the skin of his neck. “You know,” he says slowly in an odd tone, “I reckon I have an idea.”

Jimin takes the opportunity of a red stoplight to twist and stare at Jungkook, the younger boy’s eyebrows knitted in thought, nodding slowly. “What is it?”

“Okay, bear with me,” he starts, protesting when Jimin sighs. No doubt it would be another one of his hairbrained schemes. “Hey! Seriously, hear me out! Y/n wants sex, right? And obviously, last time you were more than happy to offer your dick up, so she probably won’t want to do all this work for something she’s already had before-” Jimin rolls his eyes, starting forward jerkily when the light turns green again, “bu-ut, maybe if you throw in a little extra she’d be willing to work for it.” Jungkook stays quiet with a big smile on his face, expectant.

Jimin groans. “Wow, so that whole spiel was just so that I’d let you fuck her, huh?”

“No! Well, yes… What I’m saying is, all you gotta do is sweeten the pot, buddy. Think about it- we’re going to be spending a whole long weekend with five other dudes. I was FaceTiming Namjoon the other day and he mentioned about how jealous the other guys were of you having a girlfriend, because they’re all single.”

Jimin frowned. “I thought Yoongi had a girlfriend.”

“Are you kidding? They broke up ages ago. I’m thinking you plus six other horny boys is a pretty great bargaining chip.”

A great sigh leaves Jimin’s nostrils as the car pulls onto a residential street running parallel to the street. “So, you’re telling me I should tell everyone Y/n is my girlfriend and then also get them to have sex with her? They’re not going to take part in that, because for them, it’d be cheating.”

“I’m not an idiot, hyung. Tell them you’re in an open relationship, because the little minx has a raging sexual appetite and your chili pepper dick can’t keep up.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin snaps reflexively, but his mind is already whirring.

“You seem grouchy,” Namjoon teases as the two of you sit in the bed of his truck at the old train station crossroads half an hour out of the main city.

Your frown deepens, and you take another swig from the glass bottle of vodka dangling limply in your hand. Demons couldn’t get drunk, but you very much enjoyed the burning sensation of high percentage alcohols. “No shit.” You sigh, letting your legs swing off the edge aimlessly. “I got summoned for the first time in, like, forever. And then he acts like he’s all smitten, and his friend was there, and I was hoping they’d summon me again. I could do with a regular fix, you know. But nothing.” You laugh bitterly. “Fuck, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have given them my name.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “You what? Y/n, why would you risk it? If they found the resources to summon you, they could easily…” He breaks off with a sigh. “I hope for your sake they’ve just forgotten about you or moved on from seeking out the company of kind like us.”

You hum noncommittedly. “Anyway. I was thinking you and I should go downtown and spend some of those souls of yours this weekend. Splurge a little.”

He laughs incredulously, dimple deepening as his eyes stay locked on the slowly setting sun. “Oh, so you have one bad day and now you want to use my hard-earned souls for a little retail therapy? I see how it is.” He nudges your shoulder, but then drops the smile. “No can do, sorry. I have plans.”

You place the bottle on the metal bed of the truck. “Plans? Since when do us demons plan anything?”

He shrugs. “It’s… a thing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back on Monday; we can go then. Deal?”

“Sure, whatever.” You huff and lean back, staring up at the deep orange wash of the sunset as it blends into navy. “You and I never hang out anymore. Not since…”

“Y/n,” Namjoon warns, voice a little more distant now that you’re lying down, “it’s not that I’m avoiding you, because I’m not. I just think there’s no point in being so bitter towards him anymore. He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just how he is.”

You scoff and kick one leg out into the air petulantly. “Why is everyone on his side all the time? He walked out before I could even get any closure. He didn’t leave a message, nothing. How is he the victim here?”

Namjoon sighs patiently, turning around to face you, leaning over and blocking the last warm rays of the sun. “Need I remind you that you broke up with him? He’s still not over you, Y/n.”

You sit up suddenly, and Namjoon has to jump back to avoid your heads colliding. “Min Yoongi can go suck a dick. He didn’t have to be an asshole and leave like he did, even if he knew what I was going to do. It’s just cruel.”

Namjoon tilts his head to the side. “Y/n,” the crossroads demon begins slowly, “have you really never considered that he left like that because he couldn’t bear to face you and deal with the goodbye?”

Your face falls solemn for a moment, eyes distant, before you shake your head roughly and get up off the truck, landing heavily on the dirt. “It doesn’t matter either way,” you spit, “I’m never going to have to see him ever again, so he can find some succubus pussy elsewhere if he’s that hung up on it. Goodbye, Namjoon.”

“Y/n, I wasn’t trying to upset you, I just-”

His voice is abruptly muffled as you depart from the earthly plane and return home to your silent, cold apartment.

You wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone, but later that night when you feel that tug in your chest and the telltale tingling in your extremities that signifies you’re being summoned, you happily drop everything and stand up in anticipation. Finally.

Quickly schooling your expression into something a little more neutral, your heart races as your new surroundings materialize in front of you. It’s a cold, dank room, with a naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling. To your right is a bay with a washing machine and a dryer, to your right lies a metal rack with wet clothes strung over it. And in front of you, dinner.

“Mortals,” you recite slowly, hoping your smile comes off as sly rather than genuinely happy, “for what purpose have you summoned me?”

Jimin, who’s back in his childish clothes – this time a thin white sweater and pink skinny jeans – flinches at the burst of hellfire and waves sheepishly, but the younger just grins widely. “You can drop the formalities, noona,” he gushes, “we’re like friends now.”

You roll your eyes, though the comment inspires a muted bloom of joy within you. “Why am I here?”

Jungkook grins and leans back to stare down at his friend wordlessly. Jimin rubs the back of his neck and laughs awkwardly. “The thing is, uh… I kind of told my friends I had a girlfriend. A-And I don’t. So, I was wondering if you might, uh, pretend to be my girlfriend?”

You blink at him, eyes narrowing slowly. Any spark of excitement at the thought of feeding well again is snuffed out. “Excuse me? Why would I do that?”

The older boy helplessly shrugs with a pained expression, so Jungkook takes over. “Here’s the deal. Jimin needs a hot chick to show off to his friends; you’re a hot chick. You’re a demon from hell who needs to fuck for survival – huge fan, by the way – and we have seven people in our friend group who would love to assist in your plight, I’m sure. We’ll tell them you and Jimin are allowed to have sex with other people, and you can have your pick. Quid pro quo.” Proud of himself, Jungkook nods once decisively and falls silent.

You glance over to Jimin. “He’s telling the truth? You believe I’ll be able to feed well here?” Realistically, you should just say no and return to hell, or perhaps somewhere else on Earth for a midnight snack, but an offer like this had never come around for you before, and it’s not like you were going to do anything this weekend anyway. Jimin nods cautiously, and you sigh in resignation. “How long do I have to pretend? I do not know anything about mortal relationships, so I cannot guarantee I will be very convincing.”

“It’s easy,” Jungkook blurts in passionately, “all you have to do is be touchy feely, compliment Jimin, and always agree with him. Those are the three pillars to perfect PDA.”

“One weekend,” Jimin clarifies gratefully, “just until Monday morning when everyone heads back. I can, I don’t know, tell them in like a month from now that we broke up. Thank you so much, Y/n.”

“Also!” Jungkook very nearly yells, and you cringe at the way it fills the small room. “Also, human girlfriends always wear sexy clothes. You know, tight dresses, short skirts, low-cut tops. Hoseokie-hyung has a pool, so you should get a bikini too.”

You glance down at what you’re wearing. Clothes were normally unimportant to you unless you were on the hunt, so you had been spending the evening in your apartment wearing a loose tee and some sweatpants. In your experience ‘sexy’ varied from person to person, and so it seemed the younger boy found showing skin to be attractive. “I’m not your girlfriend,” you answer simply, “so it is irrelevant to me what you think of my attire. Jimin,” you focus your gaze on him, “what do you want me to wear?”

“Uhh…” For a moment, you wait and stare at the way his mouth drops open and his eyes widen in thought. Beside him, Jungkook is mouthing something you’re pretty sure is ‘lingerie, lingerie’ but Jimin doesn’t pay him any attention. “you don’t have to be sexy for me, you can just wear whatever you want. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at the non-committal response, and instead shut them briefly so that you can focus on slipping into his mind. Smiling a little at the way his kinks and fetishes seemed to have evolved from last time, you let yourself savor and get to know his taste.

“…is she okay? Fuck, Jimin, she’s probably glitching out or something. Throw more salt on her; maybe the call is running out.”

“I’m not gonna throw salt on her. Y/n, are you good?”

You crack open your eyes with a satisfied smile, then look down at you clothes, dematerializing the casual attire and replacing it with a pair of black shorts and an oversize yellow sweater that hangs off one shoulder to expose your bare skin, no bra strap in sight.

Jimin’s mouth hangs open, and he closes it to swallow hard. “That’s… that’s my sweater.”

“The one you were wearing at our first meeting, correct. It was the only item of clothing of yours I had seen in enough detail to recreate. Is this acceptable attire?”

Jungkook sighs out dreamily. “Most certainly. Stealing his sweater? Classic girlfriend. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

Before you can answer, a doorbell rings somewhere outside the room. Jimin swears and puts a hand across his forehead nervously. “Oh god, what if they don’t believe me? What if they won’t have sex with her and I have to sell my soul to make up for the deal? Oh god, what am I doing?”

“Calm down,” Jungkook commands with a soft punch to Jimin’s shoulder, “it’s probably just Hoseokie-hyung getting back from the store. Y/n,” he swivels and fixes his gaze on you, “just pretend like you only just arrived, okay? We’ll introduce you.”

‘Hoseokie-hyung’ turns out to be a boisterous, extremely friendly young man with black hair and tanned skin, and before Jimin even gets your name out, you’re enveloped in a tight hug, feet almost lifting off of the ground.

“So nice to meet you! Jimin’s been pretty hush-hush about everything. Guess he wants to keep you all to himself, huh?”

“No!” Jimin yells suddenly, making Hoseok flinch in surprise. “Uh, sorry, we’re just not, um, monogamous. I didn’t tell you guys much because…”

You smile softly, internally cringing at the way he awkwardly stumbles on his words. “I asked him to keep quiet,” you pitch in, “I didn’t want him talking me up too much!” Your eye twitches when Jimin laughs in relief a little too loudly.

“Oh,” Hoseok states, a little less energetic than before, but still with a radiant, friendly beam on his face, “that’s fair enough, I know Jimin certainly likes to overexaggerate things. But you seem lovely, it’s nice to meet you!”

“You too.” You remember Jungkook’s advice: compliments, physical contact, and agreement. Without warning, you’re leaning into Jimin’s side and slipping your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Secretly loving the way the muscles in his ass jump at the pressure, you smile pleasantly. “Any friend of Jimin’s is a friend of mine.”

Jimin tugs at the neck of his white sweater, then lets his arm gingerly rest over your shoulders. “Hobi-hyung, when are the others arriving?”

Hoseok’s eyes light up. “Soon, I hope! Most of the others met up at the main station to get an Uber together, but-” A ding breaks his concentration, and you frown, craning your neck to locate the origin of the source.

Hoseok pulls out a black, flat device from his pocket and stares into the light that comes out the surface. You were of course familiar with mobile phones, had seen them in the wild, but had no use for one yourself. You watched curiously as he looked at it for a moment, squinting to try and make out what showed up on the surface. “Oh! Yeah, so as I was saying, most of them are en route now, but Yoongi showed up separately. He just text; he’s at the front door.”

Your head rocks back and your pleasant façade freezes. Jimin feels you tense up, and hastily removes his arm from your shoulders as if that was the problem, then asks you if you’re okay, but you’ve tuned out the earthly plane you’re on, homing in on your other senses.

It could be a different Yoongi, you had hoped for a moment. Maybe it had become a popular human name. But no. You could feel his familiar energy radiating through your skull, the way it did when he was near.

Another ding sounds in the back of your mind, but this one doesn’t come from Hoseok’s device, but the direction of the front door. Your ex-boyfriend is here.

#btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #jimin x reader #bts fic #bts au #jimin oneshot #jungkook #namjoon #yoongi #hoseok

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rebellect-writes · 4 years

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[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] Old enough that I'm getting tired of answering this. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I took a trip into Hell and found you.

[b]Name:[/b] Lazarus Donovan [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Laz will do. [b]Age:[/b] 40. Though he looks 35. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] May 28th 1971. [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Questionable. [b]Occupation:[/b] Jack of all trades, that, and he's Twist's hound.

[b]Animal Species:[/b] WereDog. [b]Animal Description: [/b] [IMG]http://breederinfocenter.com/images2/20061111213659_074529_1.jpg[/IMG][LIST]For a supposed medium sized breed of dog, Lazarus’ canine half is actually quite big compared to some dogs and still not the biggest mutt on the block. He stands at 26 inches at the withers, and weighs in at 90lbs of streamlined muscle that can make some humans cringe in fear. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail; he’s 5 feet and 4 inches so it’s easy to get scared. He’s not a long coated German shepherd dog at all, though the thick black and tan fur would make you think so. Screw your pure blacks and your pure white variations; he loves his dog form the way it is. It makes it easier to blend in with some working dogs as the breed is generally used for labour. [/LIST][b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] [URL=http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=Weredog&order=9&offset=96#/d2lw0fb]Scooby Snack? Yeah!... You idiot.[/URL][LIST]Of course he has an alpha form; it was practically beaten into him. Standing roughly at 6’11, and weighing in at 250lbs, Lazarus isn’t that much bigger in this form. Of course he’s a bit menacing but that’s a good thing – so he thinks – and isn’t something that anyone should want to meet in a dark alley in the middle of the night. Laz retains his black and tan markings in this form, though his fur is only a little thinner in this form then his full dog form. He looks like he’s a dog that can walk quiet comfortable on his hind legs really, with cone like ears, a muzzle packed full of fangs and hands with curved claws and a brush like tail. [/LIST][b]Rank:[/b] Rogue. [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] All his life. [b]Mindset:[/b] Dominant. [b]Power level:[/b] Beta by choice (hides his alpha status).

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Josh Holloway. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/600full-josh-holloway.png[/IMG][LIST]Lazarus is 6’1 inches tall in his human form; he’s pretty average in the height department which is fine with him. He’s your average kind of guy in all honesty, he’s used to hard graft so he’s pretty toned, Lazarus only weighs in at a simply 200lbs even if he doesn’t look like it, and most of the weight’s packed away in muscles. With pale green eyes that darken considerably when he’s angry, the shaggy cut of dirty blond hair, and dusting of stubble finish off his rugged look quite nicely. Some day’s he clips his hair back, sometimes he forgets to shave. It’s not something he really pays attention to.

Does a sense of style matter, really? Well if you insist on it. Laz doesn’t like clothes and he doesn’t exactly hate them either. He’d be much more comfortable lounging about in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt than a suit – though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look smart when he dresses up! He just needs to be poked and prodded hard to do so -, so his style doesn’t differ from torn and shredded jeans, open dress shirts and t-shirts and a pair of boots. Jewellery and tattoos now eh? Well he does wear the odd pendant or handmade wrist band. It’s just a matter of practicality most days. [/LIST][b]Special Skills:[/b][LIST]Gee, you mean all those street smarts have gone for nothing? Shame. Other than that, he's good staying under the radar as a dog. Also, this is pretty important becuase not everyone can be as cool as he is. He’s a full blown animal servant, meaning that from the first mark he became less breakable and susceptible to vampire mind tricks. From the second mark, gave Mordichai the ability to draw power from him and taste food and drink through Lazarus. The third mark gave them both the ability to communicate telepathically with each other but only when his Master is awake. The forth mark gave him immortality by drinking his masters blood, better mental stabilisation/communication with his master and the ability to draw on Mordichai’s strength. Oh the perks of his job! [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b][LIST]Lazarusarus is a firm believer in ‘survival of the fittest’, that being said, he’s got a sort of soft spot for weaker dogs. He won’t actively help them, but he will keep other folks from breaking people even more if he can see that the ‘underdog’ can pull themselves through whatever task it is. What can I say? He likes a challenge and if he sees one, he’ll prod at it but, he’ll likely lose interest and go about his business after awhile. Idiots have little appeal to him. He’s a smart man, intelligent so he won’t rush into things from the word go. He’ll exploit weaknesses that he can find for his (and the his Master’s) own benefit if he can, and if he can’t, he knows when to cut his losses. Sure Lazarus can charm people, smile and joke around, he can also be cocky and egotistical at times, and closed off as well at times.

He loved once, or lusted, he doesn’t know what it was but he thinks its love. Oh sure he’ll deny it if he’s ever asked, but he knows the truth. He won’t open himself up fully to another person again, unless he can help it. Does that mean he’s looking for someone to open up to? Heck no. He’s just going to keep himself apart from people and still be around them. Trust issues is probably what you’d call it, actually, it’s what he’d call it to. The woman that stole his heart earned his trust, but when she left, that hurt him. So, he’s made it a personal mission in life to just not care what people think about him, and as long as they make no trouble that he has to fix, he doesn’t care what people do.

A common thing with Lazarus is, until you can prove yourself to him, you get a nickname. You can bitch and moan and demand that he use your real name, but he’ll stubbornly start making said nicknames worse. It doesn’t mean anything to him really, but dog’s minds are different in some respects. Scents and actions are easier for him to remember then names are. The only acceptation to this rule are the dominants to this dog, he’ll go out of his way to remember their names.

Donovan won’t take an insult lying down; to him that’s like losing an ear or something close to death. Making him sit out of things will make him whine and pout like a toddler deprived of sugar. He may or may not voice his complaints but to people that know him; you’d be able to tell by the tension in the man’s shoulders and the snarky attitude. It’s sort of the same way when he knows he has to submit to someone but doesn’t really want to. He may think he’s bigger and stronger, but if he’s forced into a position that makes him back down, he does it with as little snark as possible and takes off to the pub afterwards, or in the worst case scenario, takes a pocket knife to the inside of his arms to release the tension he feels. He hasn't cut for a long time, since before he was in love even, but it was an old habit and you know how they die don't you?

Lazarus doesn’t think of himself as mad, not in the conventional sense of the term. So he can kill without hesitating, it’s the predator in him, not the human. That and the fact that any good cat is a dead cat, was beaten into him when he was growing up. He’s not afraid to do what must be done to protect what’s his, if it means submitting to someone to get something he wants, he’ll do it. Practicality really when you think about it is something any animal knows. A weakness could get him killed, and he certainly doesn’t want that. He’s not afraid to bleed for a good cause either believe it or not, if a show needs to be put on, he’ll put his name forward and that will be that. Someone called him masochist when he was younger, so maybe that is true.

Marked by the Master vampire, Mordichai, hasn’t changed him much at all. Red (Violent Man) is someone he can relate to in some ways, and he’s pretty fond of that personality when he’s not being a prick trying to scare everyone. Blue (Business Man) is the side that draws out Laz’s more controlled side. He cares when Blue is around. Mordichai’s well being is one that Laz puts before his own. He’ll stop Red at a cost to him if he has to, distracted Blue and anything else that needs doing. The vampire is his master and owner, mind, body and soul. [/LIST][b]Likes:[/b][LIST] [*] Carving figurines and sketching. [*] Reading when he's alone. [*] Playing with his tennis ball when he's in his dog form. [*] When Mordichai isn't bugged by Kiss vampires. [*] Chasing cats in dog form. [*] Sleeping in occasionally. [*] Mordichai's attention. [*] Quiet nights at the Raven. [*] Walking instead of getting in a car or on a bus. [*] A challenge in any form. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b][LIST] [*] Having to suffer idiots on a regular basis. [*] Mordichai's disappointment. [*] Losing his ball. The last time it was under the couch. [*] Kiss vampires poking their noses in where they're not wanted. [*] Humans thinking that they're all that when they aren't. [*] Drunks in the club. [*] Being around other were-dogs for a long time without a reason. [*] A bad horror movie. [*] Rainy nights. [*] Not being able to find someone for Red to kill. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b][LIST] [*] Repetitive shifting with little fuss and bother. [*] Doesn't mind being Red's puppet. [*] Partial shifting. [*] Marked all four times. [*] Keeps his eyes and his ears open for anything useful. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b][LIST] [*] Not catching the change in Mordichai's moods. [*] He's too curious at times. [*] Silver still burns, even if he's a born shapeshifter. [*] He has a bit of a sweet tooth. [*] Won't ever allow his master to hurt a woman under 18. [/LIST][b]History:[/b][LIST]Born back in the cold July of 1971, Lazarus Donovan was pushed into the world by a teenage mother named Aileen in a back alley in East Cork, Ireland. Aileen should’ve told her parents, she should’ve done a lot of things to ensure that the baby would be safe and sound but she didn’t. Instead, she’d hidden it until one day she couldn’t hide any longer, just like she hid that she could shapeshift. Unprepared for everything, the youngster dumped the baby the first she could find that would offer the babe some chance of survival, in the ambulance bay of the CMC (Cork Medical Centre) before fleeing and never looking back. The father was never notified, Aileen didn’t even know his name, didn’t even care about that dog.

The baby was stumbled upon by a human nun of all creatures. The human sister found Lazarus tucked away out of the worst of the cold weather, and heartbroken for the little mite, Sister Magdalena brought him inside to get checked over by one of the clinic doctors. There looked like there was no option for Laz at the time, declared fine by the doctor, the Sister had no choice but to contact the Priest that resided over the parish and go through the appropriate channels to get the baby into a loving home. For some reason Magdalena was protective of the whelp, she wanted to take him home with her and raise him as her own son, but she did not. The only thing she could give him was a name, and that was Lazarus. Lazarus’s earliest childhood memory is that of mean and spiteful nuns with bony fingers prodding and poking. Magda may have given him a name, but she had no say in where he went after she gave him up. During his earlier days in Cork, Lazarus knew one human family in the space of three years. The Donovan’s didn’t have him long, they didn’t even get to call him son and he didn’t get the chance to recognize them as parents before Mrs Donovan’s husband died in a car accident and his ‘mother’ put him back into care before moving to England. Not understanding what was happening around him, the wee lad just carried on like any normal child would.

Bounced around allot over the next few years from home to home and foster group to foster group, Laz finally hit a wall. He’d always know that he was different someway, but he didn’t know how different until one day he was kicking a football around in the park on his own and the next, he was a dog. A bloody big dog too, in his thirteen year old mind. It was his thirteen year old mind that passed it off as a dream the first time, and the second time it happened without his control, but everything fell apart when he hit fifteen. Laz was with his foster sister, Olivia. She was a great girl, pure human and also a strict catholic just like her parents. When she saw him shift, at first it was fun and games, but then she began to grow wary, thinking he was the devils hound and that her brother was unclean. When he shifted back, despite what he said and did, she began to panic and ran home leaving Laz to watch her go.

He could’ve followed, he wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead he shifted and went the other way, running for days and days until his paws bled and he couldn’t go any further. He stuck to the minor roads, out of the way, and never once went near humans. They didn’t understand him, he didn’t even understand himself. Eventually he found himself in Dublin, and he still hadn’t shifted. He wanted to be a dog, to forget the look of horror on Olivia’s face. That didn’t last though, it was perfectly logical for the youngster to want to hide and forget everything that was happening, but it just wasn’t meant to be as he found out a year later. Tearaway teenager Mary found him, scavenging on some scrubland that was passing itself off as a parkway. She coaxed him out with food, and he went to her. A year as a dog is a rough time, Laz had lost weight, forgot a lot of things, almost forgot how to shift back. Once the food was gone, so was he for a few days and they played this cat and mouse game for days, until finally Laz decided to stop running away. She’d proven she wasn’t going to hurt him, and he’d had a lot of time to think about things and what he wanted to do.

Eventually, he found his way back to human form. He had learnt a lot, noticed a lot too. Humans weren’t the only things out there. It was probably what brought him back into the world of the living, but with no money or place to stay, the teenager had to do what was necessary to get going. He stole, lied and cheated his way through the supposed conmen and women stalking Dublin’s shady alleys over the next few years. When he managed to get a place to stay for himself and wasn’t reduced to squatting as a dog, Laz found a job in one of the bars. He always kept an eye on Mary, she knew him as a dog, she didn’t know him as a human though and it was one of those things that he wanted to change. Ok, so he supposed he stalked her for a little while, in a platonic kind of way. It was hard at the time to get his emotions straight between human and canine. The pub he worked in was her regular, and he saw her every night coming and going with strangers. Eventually summoned up the courage to talk to her and she blew him off. Obviously, he’d said something wrong but Laz couldn’t work out what it was, pushing twenty one, he really didn’t need the aggravation of dealing with a woman when he was trying to be normal.

Over the next fourteen years Lazarus made a name for himself. He never had a stable partner; he worked and charmed the people around him. Did good things for the people he considered friends and eventually ended up buying the lease for the pub he worked in. The Kings Head became his little kingdom, a place he could control and do with what he wanted as the world changed outside the front door. The biggest thing that happened in his little life was that the supernatural came out of the closet in the late nineties. However in 2006, the supernatural world was very much a part of day to day life for the thirty five year old hound dog, Laz. He often spent time around other shapeshifters and vampires, he just enjoyed their company and that’s when everything turned upside down. A bar fight broke out, some angry vampire that had stopped in to get out of the rain had been assaulted by humans, two from the local church. More religious fanatics than anything else, they’d had that type in the pub before and they’d always punted them out on their backsides. It was complicated and Laz only remembers a little, just stepping in between a priest and the vampire, a blade punching into his side rather than the vampires. He didn’t even know why he did it; it just felt right to him, like he needed to be there. How was he supposed to know that he’d sparked the vampire’s curiosity with one act? Mordichai dispatched the rest of the rabble that was there, it was bloody and violent and by the end of the night the Kings Head was burning down. Laz didn’t care, the knife had done some serious damage that his body was struggling to heal and he was pretty much out of it.

He was dragged back to a house that Mordichai had rented while he was in the city, the vampire poked and prodded at him and Lazarus did the same back. He quickly found out that the vampire wasn’t just one person but three and he came up with names for each personality. Red, Blue and Mordichai. He must’ve done something right because in the last five years, he’s not wandered away from the vampire – actually, scratch that, he wouldn’t leave the vampire he called master – and his master hasn’t killed him. Supposedly, if Mordichai wanted him dead, then Red put his foot down on that buy giving Lazarus the marks of an animal servant binding the dog and master together for all eternity. That still doesn’t stop Mordichai from skinning him, or something really creative but one thing is for sure, they need each other and that’s that...No matter how much they deny it. [/LIST][/SIZE]

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skeletorific · 6 years

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I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Skeleton

The name changes. To some its known as Reaper’s Grind. To others, Bones and Brew. To still others, MarshMarrow. It depends who’s in charge that month. Regardless of the name, it is always painted in black script on a driftwood sign, carved so that it appears to be cradled by giant skeleton hands.

Most see this sign and assume its some kind of Halloween or Goth themed establishment. However, the caffeine addicted of the city know there’s no better place to get your fix. As long as your willing to put up with the quirks of the owners.

The cafe is a cozy space, varying levels of clean depending on who’s on staff. The walls are beige, with abstract murals of black paint covering the walls. Frequent patrons will notice that the murals seem to expand as time goes on. Every now and then they’ll come in to the walls completely blank, having apparently been painted over, only to start again. Rumor has it that if you squint you can make out swear words, or even bad jokes in the design. Squinting is not encouraged. There is also a shelf of books for customers to peruse or even purchase. Mostly trashy romance novels for reasons no one has ever been able to figure out, as well as joke books, science textbooks, car magazines, and, most bewilderingly, puzzle theory.

The cafe has 8 owners, usually with only two or three on staff at a time. They all look so similar that most believe they’re related. Some will even call each other “brother” or “bro”, which seems to confirm it, but everyone worries it’d be racist to ask.

Papyrus is usually on staff in the mornings, which is a good thing. He’s a bright and perky presence to start your day with, and he does his best to create a welcoming environment for those on their way to an early morning commute. He specializes in perk ups, something to get help you shake off those last remnants of sleep while preventing those midmorning crashes. He’ll usually try to coax customers into the healthier versions. “REALLY, ALMOND MILK IS MUCH BETTER FOR YOU!” He also is very good at remembering small details about his regulars. Some of them come to depend on him as a daily reminder to take their meds. Now if only he was better at remembering names...he tends to come up with nicknames for people he sees a lot and they stick with him more than their actual names. An absolute sweetheart who keeps the store spotless, but if he tries to get you to sample his latest pastry invention, politely decline.

Sans is a less energetic presence to be sure (he can usually be found asleep and propped up in some corner if no one on shift bothers to wake him up), but he’s also a well-liked staple of the cafe. He has an easy, laid-back small talk that can set even the most agoraphobic introvert at ease, and writes bad jokes on coffee cups. His coffee is mostly pretty basic stuff, but if you know him well and ask him for the secret stuff....well, you’d be be prepared to deal with the fallout. That particular menu option is the last resort of grad students trying to get through their thesis. The effects are somewhere between Red Eye and Speed. One girl reported a full week of being unable to close her eyes, by the end of which she could taste color and was carrying on active conversations in a language that she did not know. It is varying levels of legal depending on who you ask. Just dont narc. And don’t ask in front of his brother.

Its easy to tell when Red is on the clock, his motorcycle is easily the most ostentatious thing in the parking lot. So much so that he insists on a two parking spot bubble around it to avoid scratches. He also refuses to take off his leather jacket, wearing it over his uniform. No apron. Not a fuckin chance. His customer service is at best ehhh (unless he considers you attractive, in which case, prepare your flirtatious barista fantasies), but the boy makes a pumpkin spice latte so good it should be illegal. Spiced drinks as a whole are his specialty. When fall and winter roll around he brings customers in like flies to honey to get a taste of it, and it make the cafe smell amazing. Don’t tell anyone but he has a habit of “forgetting” to make people pay for their coffee when they look like they’re having a rough time. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he’s kind of a softie. Abysmal cleaning, and he’s usually making drinks for himself on the clock, but once you get to know the guy, he’s a pretty good dude. Also his music taste is fire and the cafe playlist gets infinitely better whenever he’s on staff.

Edge is a different story. While all of them technically own the store in equal parts and no one is legally in charge, it was pretty quickly discovered that mixing Edge with customer service was a recipe for disaster. So he takes on a more managerial role, dealing with finance, shipment, rent, and advertising deals. Everything needed to keep the place afloat. When he’s on shift (and he usually is), he can generally be found in the office unless the place is absolutely slammed. Though he’s not much for dealing with customers, he’s excellent at making gourmet drinks. His skills were made for Instagram. He also has just a biiiit of a soft spot for the kids that sometimes come in, and may have quietly slipped in some more child friendly options to the bookshelf, as well as a couple action figures that Red swears look familiar.

If you want a high octane burst without risking your life, Blue is your guy. I mean, the dude’s practically a walking five hour energy. He is more than generous with his definition of what a shot is, and blends in truly irresponsible amounts of sugar and sweetner for an extra kick. Kids naturally love the insanely sweet taste but it is not recommended that parents let them finish a full sized one. If Edge is on the clock he will straight up slap it out of his hands before people start bouncing off the walls. Blue is also incredibly sweet and friendly with the customers, and has amassed a decent sized collection of regulars who only became regulars due to a crush on him. He flirts shamelessly but never lets it go too far.

Stretch likes doing novelty drinks. Did someone say Unicorn Frappucinnos? The weirder and more poorly conceived the better. He also does most of the baking for the cafe. Muffet taught him a lot about pastries back underground, although it took a while to make the transition from spider carcasses to just...you know, normal flour. He switches the menu up a lot when he gets bored of making the same thing, although for some reason corndogs are always an option. The kitchen really is the best place for him. Leaving him unattended on the front tends to lead to miscief, especially if his brother is there to egg him on. He’ll loosely detach his hand only to enjoy the horrified looks when it pops off as he hands a drink to the customer. They get more negative Yelp reviews that way, but a lot of customers enjoy his sense of humor. He has absolutely tried to pull the Salt and Pepper diner bit by editing the playlist for the cafe

Black is a bit of an odd duck in the cafe. He doesn’t have the patience to sit still long enough for managerial responsibilities. He’s terrible with customer service. His drinks arent bad, but the coffee is as black as his soul regardless of what they actually ordered. Even when forced to make something a little less straightforward he makes it incredibly bitter, because to him, coffee should never be sweet! If you don’t want bitter, don’t get coffee!! some wonder why the others even bother to let him on staff. But Black’s role is vital. Its inevitable that asshole customers pop up in a coffee shop. Entitled, being a dick to either the other baristas or even other customers. And this is where Black shines. Come hell or highwater he can get any customer out in less than a minute with little to no scene, both reducing the time they’re in the store and the risk that watching the altercation might cause an anxiety spike in one of their customers. He just up and carts them out of the store, then returns a few moments later, quietly checking in on everyone involved to make sure no one was hurt or too shaken up. When asked what happens to these guys the only thing Black will ever say is “NOTHING YOU CAN PROVE”. He also keeps the place spotless. May or may not help Blue and Stretch with the pranks, though he’ll deny it to the bitter end.

While Blue may lowkey flirt with a few and Red may highkey flirt with a lot, Rus is flirting with everyone. No, seriously. Everyone. Not being creepy, but chances are you’re leaving with red cheeks that have nothing to with the hot drink in your hand. He’s fairly popular for precisely this reason, though very few have ever gotten a serious date out of it. The man makes a mean cappucinno, great herbal teas and has those smoky bedroom eyes. There’s buzz that he’s also the one responsible for the ever evolving mural, though he never confirms it. Rus takes far too many smoke breaks and doesn’t clean worth a damn but is responsible for nearly half of their consistent customer base. He has a sixth sense for creeps. If he sees a date going on where one of them is looking exceedingly uncomfortable, he can effortlessly swoop in and charm the pants off them until the other asshole leaves in frustration. If he sees someone looking nervous he has ways of subtly getting out of them what the problem is. And if he ever gets the vibe that someone is being harassed he may or may not sic Black onto them without batting an eye. Much as he seems not to give a damn about anything regarding work, Rus takes it as a minor point of pride that their cafe is a safe space for people to get away from it all, if only for a couple minutes.

Bonus:

Axe is their maintenance man who comes in whenever equipment breaks, while Crooks is the night janitor who will often come in with his brother on daytime calls. Both of them are a bit too...unstable for regualar shift jobs. Maintenance positions allows them to be on their own if they need to be and generally avoid stressful triggers. Still, Crooks loves the cafe. On his good days he helps Stretch with the baking, and when the day is really slow Blue and Papyrus will teach him how to mix drinks. Axe is a little more grumbly about it but even he admits its kind of a calm space to be in. The man drinks exculsively black coffee though so he kind of misses out on most of the menu. When he’s in a good mood he competes with Red over flirting with customers.

Special thanks to @jezziconvair who gave me the idea for a lot of the drink specialities and who Tumblr isn’t letting me tag for some reason!

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kylo-ren-writes · 6 years

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Attraction, Epilogue

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, Epilogue

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader

Warnings: uhhh, angsty I guess? Age gap, time jump.

Tag List: @beautifulbows924 @celestiaelisia @bluudhavens @majestic-sith-queen @kyloren-supreme-ben @samarantha @kirah34 @redhairedfeistynerd @drtiberiussith @hoe-for-daddywise @bisexualbitchbabe @hostofthefirenation @ayatimascd @fralackles @imyourdreamwife @kylos-sassy-cousin @blxkstar @thesquidni @kylosskywalkers @ymariejp @sassyspacepizza @the-illustrator-of-melodies @just-another-starwars-fangirl

A/N: well, everyone. This is the last part to this series. I’m so happy that I decided to rewrite it and that many of you enjoyed it. Thank you very much for reading it and I hope to write more series in the future! But for now, I hope you enjoy this last part, and do forgive me for taking a bit of time to write it! (Gif not mine!)

You sat on your small cot in your even smaller cell, with your legs crossed and your back against the wall.

A whole year. A whole year today, exactly. You did not keep track of the days that passed, only guessed... and got a hold of stormtroopers who you compelled to tell you the date upon asking.

It was almost a surprise that that much time had gone by already. But yet, at the same time, you weren’t surprised at all. The days spent in your little cell all blended together, so even though it was almost hard to believe, it also made sense.

Head tilted back against the cool, dirty wall, your eyes closed as the memory came back to you. It was a day that you held onto even though it had been painful, and still was painful to think about. But it was real, something more real than all the time you spent on the dark side and in the First Order. You were determined to think about it everyday so it would not fade. And so you wouldn’t forget a certain face, or rather, forget what a certain someone looked like.

The thought of forgetting the face of the man who’s name you did not bother to think about anymore was almost terrifying. It was a fear you had created inside your head, a fear that made you replay all the prominent features you could remember so clearly even a year later.

How could you forget him, anyway. He was more than unique, with his dark head of curls and waves, whose softness you could just barely feel on your finger tips. Light, pale skin that contrasted against his locks, almost making him look sickly with how it exaggerated the dark circles under his eyes.

It made you smile, remembering the tiredness always evident on his angular face, knowing that he never quite got enough sleep. And smiling even more when you remembered the sleep he had gotten with you that day when he had revealed it all to you and had become one with you.

You had a mark in the wall, near the end of your cot where you had estimated his height from what you had remembered later on, cause he was so very tall and that was not a detail you wanted to forget. Nor did you want to forget the muscle that added build to his body, evening out the otherwise scraggly look he would have had without it.

The way his strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe in his embrace, against his chest while he muttered how he was going to protect you from then on. If only he had known how much that wasn’t true.

But the features about him that you remembered most, those and others, like the golden brown shade of his eyes or the fullness of his pink mouth, was what kept the last memory of him that you forced yourself to remember, so vivid. That memory was certainly more preferred to the other one, the one that twisted you up inside.

After waking up from the long nap turned sleep that morning, you had woken up alone to a cold, empty bed. Kylo had not been there, you hadn’t felt him anywhere within his quarters. But that hadn’t initially alarmed you.

You had stayed in his large bed for a bit longer with your face pressed into his pillow, breathing in his clean scent and remembering what had happened between you many hours before.

Now that was another good memory, but only one that you saved for special nights that left you especially... lonely and sad.

After you were done with the ‘burying your face into his pillow’ and remembering, you had gotten out of his bed with a stretch of your limbs over your head and headed into his bathroom. The reflection you saw in the mirror above the sink looked like a different person. You had felt like a different person, a happier person. At least in that moment. It was the after part where you had changed out of his shirt and back into your own clothes so you could go back to your room and change, when things took a turn.

The minute you had walked out of his quarters after folding up his shirt nicely and leaving it on his bed, when you had been seized.

Three stormtroopers led by the one and only Kane, who you had barely seen much of over the last few weeks prior, and was even more surprised to see then, took hold of your arms tightly. One limb in each of their two while the third trooper stood behind with Kane and his annoying smirk standing in front of you.

You couldn’t remember much of Kane in your memory, or really much of the rest of this memory, but it still pained you regardless. You mostly remembered being taken away to a ship and Kane’s normal cruelness as the reality of what had been going on set into your brain. Kane didn’t need to explain it to you, although he did anyway because he wanted to, what was going on. You were being sent away.

That is exactly what had happened. You had been taken away to who knows where and kept in this little, dirty cell which had a regular rotation of troopers to make sure you stayed in.

It had been depressing, it was depressing, but you weren’t dead. Although, at times, you certainly wished you were.

The worst part of it all was the fact that you could not feel His presence through the force anymore. The minute Kane and his trio of stormtroopers had seized you, the connection and bond you had newly shared with him had severed. It had almost been a crippling feeling, a deep pain that had not ever gone away and at times felt linger strongly. At those times, you liked to entertain the idea that maybe it was Him trying to reach out for you through the force. It gave you comfort even though you knew it wasn’t true.

You missed him more than anything, but like most pain, it had lessened over time.

Now, even though you still made time to remember him, almost treating him as if he were dead because if you were honest, it felt like he was, you still tried to keep your mind busy in other ways.

You liked to read and gain knowledge, even though you did not need to learn anything anymore. Your lightsaber had been taken away by Kane and it wasn’t like you could really practice anything in your small space. But over the year, you had managed to acquire some old books from stormtroopers you had compelled, and read them. All of them you read more than five times at least.

Light exercise was another way you tried to keep your mind busy. Even though you couldn’t do much, you still tried to keep fit in what little ways that you could.

Then of course the two meals a day that you got and your sleep were the other ways in which you kept busy. Eating was a distraction and sleep was an escape. And when more time had passed during your time in the cell, the nightmares you had over it almost stopped. You barely had them anymore. It was mostly just deep, dreamless sleep. But you didn’t mind, not at all. Better than the alternative for sure.

Right now it was the time before breakfast when two stormtroopers switched places and another brought you your tray of food.

It was the time you reserved for remembering and for him, the time you allowed any and all thoughts to wander recklessly. It reminded you of meditation—something you rarely did now—with how deeply you fell into your thoughts. At times you wouldn’t leave your mind until you got taken out of it by a clanking from one of the troopers as he banged on your cell. At those times you were sure that it could have been meditation.

That didn’t happen today, however. You pulled yourself from your thoughts quite easily and tilted your chin back down as you opened up your eyes. You were done remembering for today, or at least the morning. It was time for breakfast anyway... or at least you thought it was.

You had gotten pretty accustomed to waking up at the same hour everyday and calculating the in between time of the shift changes of the troopers as well as breakfast, in your mind. A trooper had left but one had not come to take its place. It was odd but sometimes it did happen, so you kept your gaze on the opposite wall and waited. Your thoughts stayed empty, only counting the seconds up until five whole minutes passed. After that, you turned your head to the side, towards the door to your cell, and furrowed in your brows.

Why were the troopers late? They were often punctual and on time, and surely even your breakfast would have been delivered by now.

Pushing yourself up from your bed, you stood, a few feet away from your cell door. Nothing seemed to feel off, only quiet. Although you never really bothered to tap into your force abilities anymore. There wasn’t much of a point. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden feeling in your head that something was indeed off.

You listened carefully, to the quietness that filled your small space. Your cell was down a narrow hallway, so you could not see anything other than another cell opposite of you that was empty. But what you couldn’t see, you could hear, and you certainly were not hearing things when the abrupt sound of footfalls sounded out on the floor.

Your shoulders sagged and your expression relaxed, no longer confused nor concerned. It was the trooper taking the other troopers place. With that in your head, you returned back to sitting on top of your cot, your legs dangling over the edge of it and a book in your hands. You might as well read a bit while you wait for breakfast.

That’s what you did. You read, ignoring the sound of the footfalls and not even noticing how differently they sounded to the traditional troopers. It wasn’t until the “trooper” was standing in front of your cell that your peripheral picked up on the darker attire of the person that you assumed had been a stormtrooper.

Fear picked up in your mind, your heart beat beating quickly. It had you frozen in place as you dared not move or even twitch an eye. A stranger was in front of your cell, something that was not customary. Something that was not protocol. But a voice inside of your head urged you to lift it, to look up at whoever was here, to see them. And so you did, and the sight of them made you drop your book onto the floor.

A dream, this had to be a dream... no, a nightmare. Only a nightmare could produce something so cruel and awful for you to see. Although what you could see wasn’t awful to look at, but it was painful.

Kylo Ren stood there, in front of your cell, dressed in different clothes from what you remembered and with different hair.

You couldn’t help your mouth from parting open and the stare you had on his face. Your expression a mixture of disbelief and horror. He looked the same yet different. His skin was still pale but it held a... scar? And his dark hair wasn’t as curled and styled as you remembered, rather more wavy and stuck to his head, framing that same angular face. That face that looked even more tired than what you remembered.

Kylo stared at you as you stared at him, mirroring the same expression as his eyes flitted over your face and body. You knew that you looked different, too. Thinner with longer hair, although you did not know what your face looked like, you hadn’t seen a mirror since that day. You imagined you had to have looked pretty much the same with only little differences. Just like him.

You seemed to stare at each other, taking each other in, as the minutes ticked by. But this time you weren’t counting the seconds. Somehow you managed to find your voice, and the first thing you could only manage to mutter was: “are you real?” It had been a strangled sounding sound, but they were words regardless.

“Are you?” Kylo croaked out in a reply, although his voice had sounded stronger and deeper. His. The sound brought instant tears to your eyes.

You nodded slowly then carefully stood back up from your cot, keeping your gaze on him as you willed your legs not to give out on you. Your head already felt like it was swimming.

“I... I’m r-real,” you stuttered out, a single tear managing to escape your eye and trail it’s way down your cheek, dripping off of your jaw onto your shirt.

Kylo was quiet, so quiet you feared that he really wasn’t real and that this was a nightmare after all. But then he turned his gaze towards the panel on the wall that could authorize your release by opening the door of the cell. You weren’t thinking of that, however, only of him and keeping your eyes on him as you barely kept yourself up on your feet. Your legs felt like jelly.

Your cell door opened seconds later and you still did not notice, until Kylo was suddenly moving closer as he rushed to you, everything feeling like it was moving in slow motion. One minute he was too far from you, the next you were scooped up into his arms, barely able to breathe with how those familiar, strong—stronger—arms engulfed you into a too tight embrace. That’s when you broke, allowing the tears to fall from your eyes as you frantically wrapped your arms around his neck, him lifting you off of the ground.

A sob broke out from your throat and Kylo quickly hushed you, pressing your face into his chest, underneath of his chin, as he held you up and against him. It had been so long since you had felt him against you, since those arms had embraced you, since you had heard his voice. You missed him even more than you knew.

“H-how... how...” you tried, but Kylo only hushed you again, pressing a hard kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m here, I’m real,” he assured. “I’m real. I’m real.”

You couldn’t help the relief you felt over his words and how reassured and soothed you felt by them. It was him, it was really him. Kylo was here and holding you now. “B-but how—“

“I killed Snoke,” Kylo cut you off. “I killed him, he’s gone, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you and get to you, but he’s gone. You’re safe.”

Safe. You were safe. Snoke was gone. Kylo killed him. Kylo killed Snoke.

It was a lot to process, but at the moment you couldn’t care less. Not with how Kylo was here with you now and you were in his arms. So you only nodded slowly and briefly, legs wrapping around his waist as you figured out how to move them again. You believed that if you clung onto him, that he couldn’t possibly disappear.

You could feel Kylo turn and him carry you, presumably out and away from your cell. You couldn’t even think about your books you were leaving behind, but those didn’t matter. Not at this time.

Kylo carried you down the hall and out of it, up a narrow set of stairs to the ground floor of the base you had been kept on. It was an old base belonging to the First Order that didn’t serve much purpose most days. But it was the planet that served the most value, as it offered many resources and allegiance to the First Order. The base was only a necessary aspect of it.

Stormtroopers he had brought along waited there for their new Supreme Leader, and the ones stationed there stood aside and out of the way.

You kept your arms firmly around his neck and your face pressed into his chest as you remained unaware of your surroundings or of what was happening. All you chose to focus on was Kylo and how he felt against you, so warm and hard, and comfortable. No, comforting.

Kylo quickly carried you out of the base and onto his command shuttle, the well trained stormtroopers following behind like the soldiers they were.

The crew didn’t need to be told to take off, and that’s how you realized that Kylo had carried you onto a ship. You felt the familiarity of taking off, something you hadn’t felt in a long time, and you finally pulled your face away from his chest. Just enough so you could glance and skim your eyes around the ship, and look up at him. He was seated on a bench with you on his lap.

One of your arms unwound itself from Kylo’s neck, and your hand rested on his jaw, making him look down at you.

By then your tears had dried and your sobbing had stopped. You still couldn’t believe that he was really here, but you were working on it. Like now, with how you were staring up at him. Up close you could see the moles and freckles that dotted his face, a detail that had somehow slipped your mind from your memories. You couldn’t help the frown that turned down the corners of your mouth slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Kylo asked immediately, hugging you closer to him.

“I forgot about the freckles and moles on your face,” you said softly, throat a little dry and hoarse from crying.

Kylo leaned his face down and rested his forehead against yours. “That’s alright.”

“No it’s not.” Your frown deepened. “I made sure that I wouldn’t forget you and what you looked like, but I forgot something so important.”

Kylo pulled his forehead away and replaced it with his lips. “It is alright,” he insisted. “You will never forget them now or anything about me, because this time there is nothing or no one that can possibly take you away from me.”

Your frown turned into a small smile. “You sound so sure.” He did, and it helped you relax, but you could not help but be skeptical.

“I am,” Kylo said confidently. He was right, no one could take you from him. “I’m the Supreme Leader now, I run the First Order.”

You were surprised, but you knew that you shouldn’t be. After all, he did kill Snoke. Your smile got a little bigger and you hugged him, arms wounding back around his neck. Kylo hugged you back, chin resting on your head.

“I will tell you everything, I promise,” he muttered. “But not now. We have so much time and right now I want to spend some of it holding you.”

You had to agree with him, but you didn’t respond, only snuggled into him to show him how much you agreed.

This time you felt the surety in his words. But unlike before, you had an overwhelming feeling that this time everything was going to be fine. You could live out your lives together. Kylo was going to be your master and train you again in the force. He was the ruler, he didn’t have anyone to tell him what to do. Not anymore.

Peeling your face back from his clothed chest, you looked up at him again as he raised a dark brow. You smiled, then lifted your head, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss.

Kylo kissed you back, harder than you kissed him, but you didn’t mind. It was a kiss to make up for not kissing again since that day. It was a kiss that was nice and something you wanted to replicate and evolve on many, many times in the future. And you would.

For the first time in the life you could remember, the only life you knew of being here, in the First Order, you felt happy. It would have otherwise been a foreign word to you, but right now, it was the only appropriate word. Because you were happy, more than happy. And the cause of your happiness was Kylo.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagines #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren x you #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo fanfiction #kylo #kylo fic #kylo x you #attraction fic #kylo ren star wars #star wars kylo ren #star wars imagine #star wars fan fiction

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standfortheangels · 5 years

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what would you do if i say 1-15 forthe power couple yis~? >W>

I would say Tough challenge but I accept!! X)

It’s under the read more because it’ll be a lot of writing -w-

1. Who is the one who asks crazy questions, and who is the one who tells the other to go to sleep?

Chester, he’s always asking himself crazy questions and rarely sleeps, so if Cinder’s with him, you can bet he’d be sending those questions her way. She tells him to go to sleep mostly because his questions make less and less sense as time goes on and she worries what the lack of sleep is doing to his brain. TwT

2. It is summer by the lake side, their best friends owns the lot beside them, what shenanigans do they pull?

I feel like whatever it is would be Cinder’s idea at first, but they’d end up not really pulling any “shenanigans” as such, at least not in their own eyes.

Chester would end up reorganising something in their house, from a shelf up to a whole room, while Cinder searches about, comes across a pet the owners left for the weekend or whatever, and just walks out cradling it. It is their pet now. There are items left everywhere that Chester promises he meant to put away. A little trail of pet food tracks from room to room where Cinder has tried to take all the relevant supplies at once. The homeowner probably isn’t their friend anymore. No-one has any regrets.

3. Who wants to take lots of pictures and is always smiling and who looks pissed off no matter what photo they are in?

Hmmm.. well Cinder does have a serious mode she can/does access a lot more than Chester ever does, but not usually when the two of them are together. I could see this being the way around though in some kind of au where they’re both in the same wider group, one that’s together all the time. Maybe like a band of orphans or something.

If they bonded there, Chester would be so happy to feel a reciprocated connection and thinks that Cinder is so beautiful anyway that pictures could naturally come to mind as a fun pastime, while maybe Cinder becomes protective of him around other members of the group, and ends up looking serious often- possibly even annoyed at Chester’s oblivious photo-taking when she feels he’s more under threat.

4. Who is more likely to start a fun rap battle with the other?

(Again I’m going to guess this is like a modern au since I’m not sure either of them know what rap even is otherwise >w>)

Maybeee.. Cinder?

I have a feeling that, with the slightly more confident and goofy personality I see him with in a lot of modern aus, plus his musical interest, it would start out as Chester, just for fun. But Cinder, an avid reader in modern twists mixed with her confidence and the strategy involved in fighting in her canon verse, I feel would probably be a lot better at it than Chester~

So he would stop trying to challenge her as much, but encourages her to rap sometimes about random things as entertainment for them both, and then gets pulled back into the fun himself by Cinder~

5. Water balloon fight! Who wins?

They’re in a water balloon fight, sounds like they’re both already winners~ >w>

6. It’s a cold winter day and they are cuddled up in blankets by the fire, what stories do they reminisce about?

Fun things first. Well, things that maybe weren’t fun at the time, or wouldn’t be fun to us, but they find ways to laugh about them later. Like their meeting, they can laugh about how they were so at odds at first, seeing each other as threats when they didn’t know what their relationship would end up becoming. Or the time maybe Chester did something dumb and nearly got crushed by his own invention. The time Cinder flooded his house and they had to dry out all of his clothes bit by bit over the much smaller fire, once they could finally get hold of dry kindling.

And then they might drift onto sadder things, looking at how important the fire is to sustaining life at the camp. Maybe how shocked Chester was at what their winter is like. Wondering together why they can’t live in warmth like this, as happy as this, and as safe as this, all the time.

And deciding that someday, they will.

7. Who made the other laugh so hard their beverage came out their nose?

Chester, and it’s the proudest moment of his entire life.

8. How do their personalities compliment each other?

Ohhh dUde. Is there a single way that they don’t? X’) The closest I can think of to them opposing each other is when Cinder’s “fight for what’s right” attitude clashes with Chester’s “stay quiet and they won’t have a reason to get worse” one. But even that, over time, changes.

As Chester gets more confident, he has enough strength to fight for Cinder and the camp when he needs to. He will find a non-violent way wherever possible, while still taking action. Given that he’s under oath and they’re working together, Cinder (also now allowing herself to balance out her fierce, steely personality with her softer side more often), understands that more too, and doesn’t push for action when she doesn’t need to.

They sort of blend those parts of themselves with each other and end up, still mostly on different sides of the line, but close enough to the middle to understand each other’s decisions and coordinate incredibly well~

(And again, that’s not counting any of the many aspects of their personality that complimented each other at the start!)

9. Who tells their partner to be careful before their partner goes and does something incredibly stupid?

Probably both, but, differently. When Chester has to warn Cinder, it probably means she’s about to go and take a risk or act rashly. When Cinder has to warn Chester - which, probably happens more often - it’ll be more… Traditionally stupid. X)

Messing with something that’s about to zap him, “don’t touch tha-” followed by the clanging sound of Chester dropping the thing on the floor, “isn’t this piece supposed to go on this side?” And then whatever machine Chester is building just, falls apart. Stuff like that I can see happening a fair amount -w-

10. Who is completely oblivious that the other likes them all while hoping that the other does?

I feel like both of them would be oblivious, but differently, but also the same?

Chester would fall for Cinder first, in a way, because his culture involves being very open emotionally, but he would never consider that Cinder might like him back and would never dare to hope for it.

Cinder on the other hand is used to forgetting her wants and needs and can’t really allow herself to dream about sentimentality and love because for one, her job is inherently self-sacrificing and two, you need strength and focus more than anything to survive in that environment.

So I think she would battle for a while between wondering what these feelings are about and telling herself not to feel them. But when they really hit peak and she realises, she would hope inside that he likes her back while still trying not to show it. Which, would work on Chester, because, again, oblivious. -w-

11. Who is ready to throw hands for their partner?

Both now, but it’s probably just Cinder early on.

12. Who always kisses their partner before they leave?

Both!! ^^

13. Who is the one who gets really sappy when they are tired and who thinks it’s adorable?

Hmmmm…. I’m not sure? When Chester gets tired (which, given his regular lack-of-sleep schedule is pretty often) he gets more animated, edgy, jittery, etc. And I don’t know if Cinder would be one to get sappy when she’s tired or not. Buut, I do kind of imagine she might if there’s alcohol involved >w> not sure why

14. They decide to become criminals, but they need a cool criminal name(s) before they can go and steal from banks. What name(s) do they come up with?

Ooooohhhhhhh that’s so hard though!! Aarghh sorry bud, I have no good ideas (but we could so do an au of this some time. Like, they pull Robin Hood manoeuvres like a rebel group or something? >w>)

15. Who tries their best at something new and who hypes their partner up with lots and lot of encouragement?

Both again! They encourage each other in less of a cheering on way; it’s often more softly than that, so they can guide each other through whatever new thing it is~ :)

#Some of these I could just feel myself guessing so hard #so I hope they're okay!#and I mean it about the criminal one #if you're interested I think it would be pretty cool #>w>#ooc #Chester Meltori #asimplerper #Chester x Cinder #headcanons #a-simple-rper

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superspifferrific · 6 years

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Marvel AU: You and I remember Germany VERY differently

Marvel AU Concept: A Winter Soldier that wasn’t quite as well brain-washed as Hydra would’ve liked . . .

So this time when Hydra sends their little Winter Soldier to off Howard Stark, Stark takes one look and goes, “Bucky Barnes? What the actual fuck dude.” (Because Howard hung out around Steve Rogers, and probably spent at least some time around/hearing about the other Commandos, so why address his friend Steve’s bestie by his rank?) And the Winter Soldier gets as far as, “Who the hell is -” before, bam! Years of brain blending are now down the tubes as the simple act of hearing/thinking his name again has banished the Winter Soldier and brought back Bucky Barnes. (Because that stubborn shit somehow managed to subconsciously hang onto his nickname being a trigger to bring himself back, both because he IS that stubborn and because it’s convenient for my plot. ANYWAY.) Bucky, last he remembers, was plummeting to his death in the mountains but now finds himself standing in the middle of the friggin’ woods in front of a random old couple with no god damn clue what the hell is going on. He is somewhat cranky about this.

Howard and Bucky stand around talking for a bit and staying very confused, because wtf Barnes you’ve been dead for like 50 years but you’re standing here looking like a freaking goth male model and wtf Stark is like a 30-something-year-old mad scientist man-whore not an old married dude tf are you?? Eventually Howard, while still hella confused, is at least convinced it’s Barnes so he sighs and tells Bucky to get in loser, I’ll deliver my latest batch of science-I-REALLY-shouldn’t-have-tampered-with breakthrough to Carter to be pissed at me for later. (After all, resurrected dead friends is a level of bullshit even Peggy is likely to give him a pass for dealing with first - as long as he’s not the one responsible for having caused it, anyway.) So Bucky, while still not sure what to believe, still finds himself lost in the middle of the damn woods and not even knowing which damn woods so he decides to at least agree to bum a ride for now but stay on guard.

Howard heads back home to sort things out and upon walking into the house probably finds Tony, a teenage boy left unsupervised, doing literally everything and everyone he isn’t supposed to, and most likely in the middle of the freaking living room or something no less. “Well, you’re home early.” Howard looks ready to blow his stack and Maria looks mortified, but everyone freezes as Bucky just cracks. the fuck. UP. “I’m still not convinced you’re actually Howard, but if you were that kid would definitely be yours.” Howard buries his face in his hands while Tony promptly smirks and decides he likes whoever the hell this guy is.

. . . Until a little while later, when he finds out the random dude his parents brought home with them is supposed to be the second-in-command of the legendary Howling Commandos, the larger-than-life hero of World War II and best friend of the man Tony Stark loathes most in the world, Captain Perfect. Barnes just stands there in supreme confusion as Tony rants on and on about how his dad never shuts up about how freaking wonderful Captain America was, how goddamn perfect the Man with a Plan was; how he always knew what to do, how he always did the right thing, how he had his priorities and his shit SO sorted and on lock and ‘Tony why can’t you be like that’ and just UGH. Bucky is wondering amusedly if maybe Tony’s somehow confused Stevie with the character he played during the USO tour when his thoughts suddenly whirl to a full stop after finally catching on the word Tony kept using: ‘was.’ Tony stops mid-rant when Barnes suddenly just drops.

After finally pulling himself together somewhat (to Tony’s immense relief, god, please don’t let me accidentally break my dad’s 2nd-favorite war hero like immediately) Bucky manages to croak out, “How long?” Seeing the blank look on Stark jr.’s face, he explains that he wants to know long it took after he supposedly died before Steve decided to join him. Tony replies by reciting the epic saga of Captain America’s Last Great Noble Sacrifice, which Howard has told him so many times he probably knows it better than his own name by this point. By the end of it Barnes looks ready to kill someone and Tony is hella confused because, “Shouldn’t you be proud of your friend? Isn’t that just SO Captain America? Like why are you even surprised??” And Bucky, SUPER pissed, is just like, “Yeah, I suppose I shouldn’t be, should I? I left that moron alone for ten minutes so he took all the stupid and ran with it; goddamn it Stevie! UGH.” This is followed by a multi-hour-long rant/bitchfest of how many ways Steve could’ve done things differently and exactly how big of an idiot he was and some highlights of the Stupid Shit he pulled during missions as Captain America and during their childhood running loose trying to pick a fight with half of Brooklyn. ”’Perfect Man Who Always Knew What He Was Doing’ my ass.”

After he’s finished explaining what Steve was really like to the skeptical teen, Bucky promptly heads off to find Howard and call him out on his bullshit. “He picked a fight with Nazi Germany because I was missing because of it and because it was a good excuse to fight a bullying country, Howard. Wtf kind of bullshit have you been feeding your brat about us? You’re giving him anxiety already, knock it off.”

Eventually Bucky decides to go after Steve, because end of the line means end of the fucking line and I am bringing my moron home goddamnit. This should have been a pretty hopeless task, but between an enthusiastic Peggy putting all of SHIELD’s resources at their disposal, Stark Sr.’s rekindled obsession and addition of all of Stark Industries’ resources, Stark Jr.’s willingness to lend a hand because it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do while grounded-until-he’s-30, and Bucky Barnes’ unfailing Steve’s-in-trouble-must-locate-my-idiot senses, it was an astonishingly short period of time before Steve Rogers was found and then defrosted. (Bucky sat with Steve’s body while they thawed him out, ostensibly for his funeral, so you can imagine the freak-out that occurred when his best friend’s ‘corpse’ suddenly rolled over and started mumbling the words to ‘Star-Spangled Man With a Plan’ in his sleep).

Steve and Bucky, reunited at last, have a very messy, somewhat violent, utterly heartbreaking and incredibly tear- and swear-filled reunion before being loosed upon ‘the future.’ They then take it upon themselves to spend time with what’s left of their old friends, whip Howard into being at least no less of a decent human being than he was when they met him, and revamping the Captain America legacy to make it less of a legend of a perfect human being (Steve was literally crying laughing when he heard what people thought he was like) and more the story of a bunch of brave idiots trying to do what they could to help.

SHIELD has fits over them giving their versions of how some of the stories went either because “That’s classified!!” or “You’re destroying a legacy!” or, their favorite, “That’s not even remotely how that could have possibly gone. No. NO. You did NOT punch a robot Adolf Hitler hundreds of times before melting the Red Skull into a puddle of goo like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz using a magic light box, no less. NO. Just, please, please stop talking.” Peggy and the remaining Commandos find the whole thing amazing and hilarious and thus refuse to refute anything those two say, and Steve and Bucky help raise Tony Stark to be a much more put together adult, help out with the odd SHIELD mission when they feel the need to punch something or Hydra’s being irritating, and just generally have a good time. That is, they do until the events of the Avengers rolls around, at which point they then proceed to have a great time fighting with a team of ridiculous, well-intentioned, violent thrill-seekers again and decide to make it a regular thing. “This is gonna be GREAT Buck, you’ll see.” “That’s what you said about World War II Steve.”

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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The Watch Controversy Explained: How Different is the Show From Discworld?

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This article has been kept as spoiler-free as possible, but since it discusses differences between the Discworld books and The Watch TV show, there will be discussion of changes to characters and setting, and some vague allusions to plot.

Let’s say one thing first and foremost: if you’ve never read any of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books, and you like quirky, funny SFF television, you’ll probably enjoy BBC America’s new show The Watch. It’s genuinely funny, well-acted, and well-made, even if it does have an obviously-television-sized CGI budget.

Here’s the problem though: if you are a fan of Pratchett’s Discworld books, on which the show is (very loosely) based, you’ll spend most of your first watch-through scratching your head in confusion.

The level of controversy around this new adaptation is unusual. Any book to screen adaptation always involves a certain amount of changes to the source material, because that’s simply in the nature of shifting something to a different medium. There will always be some fans who disapprove of any changes whatsoever, but the majority will generally grumble about a few irritations but enjoy the show anyway, and accept it as a new version of the story.

The controversy around The Watch, however, goes far further than a few fans grumbling because Glorfindel has been replaced with Arwen and Tom Bombadil has been cut. The series hasn’t even been released yet, but reactions of shock and surprise have followed the trailers, as a result of the sheer scale of the changes made to Pratchett’s world. Pratchett’s daughter Rhianna diplomatically summed up the situation on Twitter as, “it’s fairly obvious that The Watch shares no DNA with my father’s Watch. This is neither criticism nor support. It is what it is.”

Now that the first few episodes have been released to the press, there’s a bit more opportunity to survey just how substantial the changes are. Are they really that extensive? Well, yes and no. But mostly yes.

First of all, the series is not adapting the plot of any specific Watch novel, but taking elements from at least two of them (Guards! Guards! and Night Watch) and creating a new plot arc. This is a fairly sensible idea, in itself – there’s a case to be made for a series that tells a broad range of stories, with plots based on the novels. This also allows the setting to reflect some of the later additions to the city of Ankh-Morpork.

However, the plots of the two novels being used are not only fused together, they are substantially changed (Vimes and bad guy Carcer Dun now grew up together in an orphanage, for example, and sadly it is no longer the secretive Elucidated Brethren of the Ebon Night trying to summon a dragon). Some of the new elements added, including substantial references to Arthurian legend not present in the books, are also rather odd, leaving the viewer who knows the Discworld wondering just what’s going on here.

Character-wise, there’s at least one character that could almost have leaped from the pages of the book. New recruit Carrot Ironfoundersson is by far the closest to his book counterpart in the series, although possibly the explanation that his name refers to his tapering body rather than his red hair should have been left out, since actor Adam Hugill is tall but not especially muscular. Whether his backstory will also be the same, only time will tell.

Other characters clearly have bits of their original DNA in them. Vimes is reasonably close to his book counterpart, though the decision to have all the actors use their own natural accents does mean that people who grew up together have somehow managed to develop entirely different regional accents. The Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socio-economic unfairness is one of Pratchett’s best bits of socially conscious satire and is reproduced more or less in full, which is nice.

Lady Sybil Ramkin is an interesting case. Her general characterization has echoes of her book counterpart, but instead of being a somewhat reclusive upper class animal enthusiast, she’s now a weapon-wielding vigilante who has been given a tragic backstory and is considerably more of an action heroine than in the novels. Actress Lara Rossi also has a slim figure and is fairly young, as opposed to her book counterpart’s bigger curves and middle age, and she has lost some of her more deep-seated inhibitions (though her hair is still a wig, we’re glad to say). Still, her general attitude is not a million miles away from the Sybil books fans know, her sheer upper class confidence shining through in a familiar way.

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Some of the changes made to the book characters’ physical descriptions help to diversify the cast. Pratchett’s Discworld is a bit dominated by white male characters, so it’s not surprising that a couple of characters have been gender-flipped, in addition to the show casting racially diverse actors. The gender-flipping of Lord Vetinari might reasonably result in some fan disappointment as he is described so vividly in the books and readers might have a very clear mental image of him. But overall, changes to race or gender are usually not insurmountable for fans, and there are good reasons for those changes.

So far, then, all of this sounds like the sort of changes that might be expected from a novel to screen adaptation. There are adaptations that might stick more closely to their originals, but this would be nothing out of the ordinary.

But there’s more.

The character changes go on and on – Angua is officially still the same species, but her often-described long flowing hair is absent and she is physically tiny. The nature of her species has also changed substantially, following a more common and angst-filled recent template seen in many other shows, rather than Pratchett’s more complex depiction (Angua’s feelings about her family and nature being a major theme of The Fifth Elephant).

Angua is at least still the same basic species though, unlike her colleague Cheery Littlebottom. In the books, Cheery is a dwarf, but in the show, they are a human. The motivation for this change may have been well intentioned. Discworld dwarfs all identify as male, whether they are biologically male or female, and those who are biologically female have secondary masculine characteristics like facial hair and so on. Cheery goes against dwarf convention by openly identifying as female, wearing skirts and high heels and make-up and using feminine pronouns, eventually changing her name to Cheri. So she is, essentially, transgender, except in a fantasy way that doesn’t exactly map on to any real life situations. This is very characteristic of the 1990s tendency to address LGBTQ+ issues through fantasy and science fiction ideas rather than directly (see also some of Star Trek’s Trill episodes).

It’s possible that the decision to make Cheery a human, played by non-binary actor Jo Eaton-Kent, rather than a fantasy metaphor, came from a desire not to offend anyone by hiding behind fantasy tropes, combined with a desire to cast a non-binary actor in the role (the number of non-binary available actors with dwarfism being, presumably, quite low).

However, this does have the side effect of substantially changing Cheery’s character. Cheery/Cheri clearly identifies as female – Cheery in the show appears to be a transgender woman, as the first episode has them clearly state a preference for feminine pronouns, but the show’s publicity states that Cheery is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns. They are no longer agitating for change among their own particular community (of dwarfs), nor do they have any regular dwarf characteristics (love of bread, etc.). Cheery in the books continues to sport a full beard because she is a dwarf and its culturally significant to her, while Cheery in the series is horrified by the thought of a beard, so their non-binary gender identity has also subtly shifted.

All in all, the change probably comes from a good place, but it is somewhat distracting for book fans, who may see little connection between the two versions of the character. The series also doesn’t include a single dwarf character, which is very odd – in addition to Cheery, there are several dwarf Watchmen in the books, most prominently Lance-Constable Cuddy, who could have been included in the series (Warwick Davis would have made a great Cuddy).

Also missing in action are two of the main characters from the Watch, Sergeant Colon and Corporal ‘Nobby’ Nobbs. Perhaps this exclusion sums up the way the series simply doesn’t seem to represent or “get” Pratchett’s Watch in any meaningful way. Unlike the new television characters, Colon and Nobby are not action heroes. They are heroes of another kind, and they carry out acts of bravery in different ways, whether by shooting at a dragon, going undercover dressed as washerwomen, or just providing Vimes with the right information at the right time. While they represent some of the worst the Watch has to offer – racism, or rather speciesism, and corruption – they are also a handy reminder of the Night Watch’s humble origins, and a rich source of comic relief (fulfilling pretty much the same role as Hitchcock and Scully in Brooklyn Nine Nine). The Watch without them is incomplete.

Even more distracting than the character changes are the widespread changes to the setting. The Assassins’ Guild’s form, style and function are quite different to the books’ version. Ankh-Morpork also appears to be situated in the middle of a desert, which is distinctly not the case in the novels. Pratchett’s city is a blend of London, New York City, and Rome, and is surrounded by the fertile Sto Plains, and in Jingo, our heroes travel to a desert country, where the culture is markedly different from their own. We can only assume that this was a budgetary decision. The series was filmed in South Africa, so the desert sequences are a combination of location filming and CGI, and presumably much cheaper than trying to recreate a European plain.

Most distractingly of all, however, the series seems to have moved into a sort of blend of science fiction and urban fantasy. Each episode opens with the text ‘Somewhere in a distant secondhand dimension’, suggesting science fiction, while set and costume design have an urban, contemporary look, with electronic devices and lighting readily available, characters wearing bomber jackets, and elements of modern culture, including punk rock and old people’s homes.

This is a problem because the Discworld started out as spoofs of sword ‘n’ sorcery paperback fantasy books. The stories were deliberately set in a very familiar High Fantasy-style pseudo-medieval world, and a world which remained stubbornly pseudo-medieval for a long time despite occasional invasions of rock music, moving pictures, and shopping malls.

There were always odd bits of magically-driven technology in the Discworld, like cameras (with images painted very quickly by imps) and dis-organizers (also driven by imps). Towards the later parts of the series the world did start to evolve into something a little bit more early modern, with the permanent introduction of clacks machines (for sending telegrams), printing presses and even, in the penultimate book, steam trains. The first Watch book Guards! Guards! even includes, as the series does, a brightly lit neon sign – but it is clearly stated to be a magical item. So there is some precedent for the style of the TV series, but the extent of the punk rock aesthetic it adopts is surprising.

Discworld is not the only property to be radically reimagined for television. Other adaptations have taken a fair few liberties too, and some have even undergone the same sort of radical re-tooling as the Discworld has here. For example, Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories have been reimagined in similarly extreme ways, including updating the setting, and gender-flipping Holmes’ sidekick Watson.

But the Sherlock Holmes stories have been adapted many, many times in different ways over the years. Adaptations that follow the books more closely are easily available, so there’s more appetite for something new and different. The original stories also, importantly, weren’t period pieces when they were written – they were contemporary detective stories. There’s a certain logic, then, to updating the setting and creating a new, contemporary, crime story rather than a period drama.

But the Discworld is a created secondary world, and a fairly recent one (the books were published 1983-2015). There have been a handful of screen versions, both live action and animated, but none of the Watch books. There seems no pressing reason to reimagine it in this way.

The truth is, to get fans excited about a book to screen adaptation, you have to show them something that feels like it’s leapt off the page. The Lord of the Rings film adaptations and the early seasons of Game of Thrones, for example, both made changes to the source material, but when you looked at a few minutes’ footage, you could tell which character was which and they felt recognizable. This doesn’t mean they have to be exactly like their book counterpart – Frodo was 50 years old in the book, whereas Elijah Wood wasn’t even 20 when he started filming. But when fans watched the first trailer for The Fellowship of the Ring, all those years ago, they could pinpoint exactly which character was which from a few seconds’ footage, and were (mostly) overjoyed to see the characters they loved come to life.

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Ultimately, the issue with the series is this: if you changed the names, it would not be recognizable as an adaptation of Pratchett’s Discworld stories. For anyone who hasn’t read the books, this is no problem – but it’s a strange decision, for fans of the books will have little incentive to watch something that takes the names of beloved characters, but doesn’t include anything recognizably adapting the stories they love. In the end, if the resemblance between books and series becomes so slim you can barely see the relationship between them, you’re no longer watching an adaptation, but a new series that’s pinched some beloved characters’ names.

The Watch premieres Saturday, Jan. 3 at 8 p.m. ET on BBC America.

The post The Watch Controversy Explained: How Different is the Show From Discworld? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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freedom-shamrock · 6 years

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A Little Secret - Chapter 5

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When Making a Whole Cheese

"Hey, Marinette," Adrien called as his petite friend entered the classroom well before the bell. "I've got hot jasmine tea for you." They both had literature final period, and had partnered up early in the year. He'd had a mid-afternoon shoot, and managed to swing by the coffee shop before returning to school.

"Oh thank you, thank you," she murmured, wrapping her hands around the hot cardboard cup with a sigh. "Oh god this is perfect."

She'd been a lot of fun to work with, but she'd seemed so sleepy the last couple of weeks, and it worried him. He wasn't quite sure if his concern was independent of, or partially fuelled by his similar worry for Ladybug. "I've got something else to warm you up, too," he said with a grin. Last year, Alya told him that she suspected Mari had seasonal affective disorder or some form of anemia. That had been the start of their group's warm-up-Mari efforts, and he had to admit, he liked the close contact. Taking care of her in both his forms made him so happy and it gave him all sorts of ideas for how to best help Ladybug.

"What?" she asked, sliding into her seat beside him.

He shrugged off the coat he'd been wearing, but didn't need. "Here you go. Pre-warmed."

Her eyes went huge, and for a brief moment he was reminded of their early interactions, when she couldn't seem to string three words together around him. "I love you," she blurted, snatching the jacket out of his hands and shoving her arms into the sleeves. "Ooooh," she moaned, hugging the fabric to her. "Sooo warm."

He couldn't hold back the chuckle, and didn't want to anyway. "I run a little hot."

"A little?" she teased.

Shaking his head, he continued. "It's my high metabolism or something, and I'm happy to share." He reached out and zipped the front for her, allowing her keep her fingers tucked in the over-long sleeves as long as possible. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you." Her smile made his chest feel tight, not with sorrow or hurt, but so full of happiness it was stretching.

"Alya said you've entered something in my father's latest contest," he said, nudging her with an elbow. To be more accurate, he'd asked Alya about it so he could claim to have talked to her about it. Chat was fully in the know, though he'd unfortunately not been able to stop by to see the finished piece before she turned it in. The photos she'd taken were good, but he suspected they paled compared to her vision.

Marinette nodded. "Yeah." She glanced up at him and grinned. "I kinda took the suit coat theme to an extreme." She'd included elements of Victorian men's tailcoats, corset lacing, and angel sleeves for something incredibly striking, yet adjustable.

"Yeah, why did my father pick suit coats?" he asked, shaking his head. "They're a freaking plague in my closet."

"We hates them, my precious," Marinette said, pulling off a pretty passable Gollum imitation before switching back to her regular voice. "The official word is that he wants to see what we can do with something we see every day. How do we embrace the mundane?" she said dramatically.

"I personally prefer to embrace them with a torch," Adrien suggested. "Foom! Bye bye poly-blend."

"Oh my god Adrien." She reached out and rested a hand on his arm, her face concerned. "Who is dressing you in poly-blends? You can tell me." Her sleeve-covered hand patted him gently. "What they're doing is wrong, and I can help you."

He let out a strangled giggle. "You going to protect me from my father, then, are you?"

She sat up straighter, suddenly radiating a fierceness that should not have fit in the tiny sweet package known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. "If that's what you need, then yes." The look she gave him was suddenly far too serious and pointed for the joking they'd started with.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, her fingertips just peeking out of the oversize jacket. "Thanks Mari."

Her hand gave him one little squeeze before withdrawing so she could pull out her tablet. "Anytime Adrien."

"Can you tell me about your design?" he asked. "You've got me all curious now."

"You hate suit coats," she pointed out. Her eyes went wide. "Oh no! You're going to have to model the winning design... and you hate them." She sighed. "I hope I lose."

"Why?" he demanded, surprised. "I'm going to have to model one anyway."

"I don't want you tortured by my design," she said. "Do you think I can pull out of the contest?"

Adrien shook his head. "No. And even if you could, I wouldn't want you to." She'd taken first place in five of the last seven contests, only being beaten by university students enrolled in design programs. He was hoping she could bump the odds up a bit more with this one. He liked what he'd seen of her design, practically designed with him in mind, and he really wanted the opportunity to wear it.

"But…"

"No, Mari," he said firmly. "I have to wear one anyway. It may as well be yours. After all, at least it won't be a poly-blend." He grinned and settled back in his chair. "Tell me about it?" Their teacher walked in and the bell rang.

"If you have time after school, why don't you stop over," she suggested. "I've got photos and fabric swatches."

"Princess?" Chat leaned down and tapped on Marinette's skylight. It was odd for her to not be in at this time of evening, and he couldn't help the stupid alarm bells going off in the back of his head. He was probably over-reacting. She was probably with Alya. But it couldn't hurt to check, right? The skylight lifted easily, always a sign that he was welcome, and he dropped into her darkened room. He listened for a moment before descending the stairs. He'd nearly been caught early on when he was still stupidly excited to be so welcome and Marinette or her parents had company. He picked up Tom and Sabine's voices, and the obvious sounds of food preparation.

"Evening Chat," Tom said, waving from the kitchen, where he stood over a deep silver kettle. "Did you bring Maricake back?"

Chat shook his head. "She wasn't in, and…" he caught himself before he could confess his stupid groundless fear. "There was something I wanted to talk to her about." He didn't like the frown that appeared on Tom's face. "Umm. Where is she?"

"She went to the library directly after school," Sabine said, pulling out her cell phone.

He didn't remember her saying she needed to go study, but then, he'd noticed she tended to not tell him what her plans were when he was scheduled for fencing and Mandarin, because he'd just miss out. "Which one did she go to?"

"François-Mitterrand," Sabine said, holding the phone to her ear. She waited a moment, then shook her head. "She's not picking up."

Chat felt the rush of adrenaline, as her words seemed to reinforce the strange feeling he'd gotten that something was wrong.

"She might just be unable to pick up," Tom cautioned, though his voice was tight.

"Yeah," Chat said with a nod. "But I'm not going to bank on that." He pulled out his baton. He flipped up the communicator and scrolled to Tom and Sabine's contacts, sending them each a message so they could reach him easily. "I'm going to go find her. Message me if you hear from her."

"We will," Sabine promised, her eyes on her phone. "I'm going to check in with her other friends in case any of them have seen her."

"Good plan. Text me what you learn." He didn't even wait for a response, and just darted up the steps to her room.

François-Mitterrand was far enough that she would have taken the train. He ducked in and out of the stop near her house, before taking to the rooftops to get there faster. He forced himself to check the train station near the library before heading to the main desk. As a well-known superhero, he was greeted with enthusiasm and immediate support from the library staff. Each floor and section was quickly checked by librarians and clerks who reported their findings to the head of security while Chat watched the surveillance footage for the main entrance. The clerk from the textile and fashion collection called in to report that three books had been checked out by Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng forty minutes earlier. Chat forwarded the video to times closer to that record.

"Ah!" He pointed, pausing the playback. "There she is."

The head of security tapped the corner of the monitor. "Twenty-two minutes ago." He resumed the video. "And she headed south-east."

Chat scowled at the screen. That was the wrong direction for her to catch the train. "Thank you so much for the help." He lurched to his feet and dashed from the room. When he got to the sidewalk on Avenue de France, he pulled out his communicator and tapped Sabine's contact info.

"Hello, Chat?" she answered.

"Yeah," he replied. "She left the library about twenty-five minutes ago."

"I just got a text from her," Sabine said quickly. "She said she was cold, so she went to L'Arobase Cafe on Rue du Chevaleret, and she'd be leaving any minute."

Chat closed his eyes and let out a sigh as his concern was abruptly abated. It wasn't completely gone, but he could breathe now. His focus was suddenly less narrow and frantic. "She couldn't have gone to one of the three cafes on the library campus?" he wanted to know.

Sabine chuckled. "Apparently they all have less than stellar reviews for a reason."

"I'm going to go meet her," he said. "I'm already here and…" Would he sound controlling and creepy if he mentioned he was still worried?

"I was going to ask you to," Sabine said happily. "She's been having so much trouble with the cold this year, we can't help but worry," she admitted. "And if it fits into your schedule, we'd love to have you stay for dinner."

His fingers slid over the screen to glance at his schedule. "Yeah. That would be great." He never turned down the opportunity to feel like he was part of a family.

Once he'd hung up, he took the quick route to the cafe. He was getting close when his extra sensitive ears caught the sound of a mighty pissed off Princess.

"I have already declined, and I'm not sure why you're having such a hard time understanding that I've said no," Marinette snapped. "Are you stupid?"

Chat really disliked the sound of that, but he slowed his movements to creep up on the situation from above. Marinette stood on the sidewalk a few doors down from the cafe. A young man with light brown hair and a red jacket stood directly in her path.

"I just can't help but feel like we have a connection," he said, his tone wheedling and reasonable, though his words and body language were anything but. "If you give me a chance, I'm sure you'll feel it too."

Chat couldn't quite see her glare, given the angle, but he knew it was there and he grinned. Mari wasn't someone to mess with, and could definitely handle herself in normal conditions. It would only irritate her if he interfered. He'd have no qualms jumping in if she needed it, and given her problems with the cold, it seemed sensible to be ready to intervene.

"The only thing I feel right now," Marinette said, "is a strong urge to bust your kneecaps and kick in your teeth."

"See, I knew you were feisty," the man said, as if this justified his earlier argument. He reached out to touch her chin. "You're beautiful when you play at being dominant, princess."

The growl hadn't even left Chat's throat when she reacted, and she was wicked fast. In mere seconds, the man's hand was twisted up between his shoulder blades while his face was pressed into the nearby brick wall. It was a move his Lady was partial to, and she was probably the only person he'd ever seen do it faster.

"Only one person is allowed to call me Princess," she snarled. "And you are not him."

That sounded as good as any entrance cue. "While it looks like you have this well under control," he said, slowly twirling down his staff. " Is there any chance I could lend a paw?"

She beamed up at him. "Chat Noir, what a delightful surprise. It's fabulous how you're always exactly where you're needed."

"Aww, shucks." Her praise felt genuine so of course his cheeks went hot. "Just doing my job." He embraced the opportunity to look at his communicator for police dispatch, hoping the blush would fade before she noticed. "Hello, this is Chat Noir. I'm at Rue du Chevaleret near L'Arobase Cafe, and we have a harasser for you to pick up."

"It wasn't like that," the man objected, his voice muffled a bit by the wall.

"Hmm," Chat growled. "It looked rather a lot like that, actually. I was watching for a bit, you see. I recognize that some ladies are quite prepared to handle men like you." He allowed his disgust to feed into the last three words. The nerve of the guy. How dare he touch Princess without her consent, and after she'd told him to back off? "And miss, may I congratulate you on your very fine skills? My Lady is fond of that particular defense." Did he imagine that her eyes went wide at that statement? The sudden pink tinge to her cheeks had nothing to do with the weather.

"Oh!" She turned away, seeming quite focused on checking her hand placement, which was still perfect. "Yeah. I've… uh seen Ladybug use it in videos, and I really liked it. So I've practiced it with a friend of mine."

Chat nodded. Had she tried it out on Alya or Nino, or someone else entirely? "Smart of you and your friend."

He stayed with Marinette until the police arrived, and added his witness report to the record, knowing it would hold enough weight that she wouldn't have to be bothered with this mess again. As the young man was being tucked into the back of the car, he approached the door. "A moment, please." He leaned in, leveling the man with a glare that had been quite effective on others. "I realize things didn't go as planned, and you're probably quite upset just now. But I advise against making friends with any purple butterflies, because I will not feel inclined to restrain myself if I have to fight you in akuma form. And Ladybug's miraculous cure doesn't entirely fix those injuries."

Marinette was looking at him oddly when he rejoined her at the sidewalk. "Chat," she said quietly. "Did you threaten that man?"

He shot her low-level kitten eyes, the ones he used to imply innocence that didn't exist. "Why Princess, I would never." He shook his head. "I just recommended against getting akumatized over this incident."

Her lips twitched as she tried not to smile. "Oh. That would be inconvenient."

He nodded. "I've been invited to dinner, and I'd hate to miss it." He held out a hand. "Might I escort you home? Your parents were worried about you."

" Just my parents?" she asked as she slipped her much smaller hand into his.

He shrugged. "My Princess can take care of herself," he noted. "But I don't like it when you have to." He pulled her close to his side, the way he preferred to carry passengers for optimal mobility and safety. "Um… I'm pretty sure you would’ve told me by now, but watching you deal with that jerk just makes me want to be clear on something."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Is it okay that I call you Princess?" He'd hate to give up the nickname, it had come to mean so much more than the word itself. But if it made her uncomfortable, he wouldn't hesitate to stop. Well, try to stop. It would probably take a few weeks to retrain himself if necessary.

"You heard what I said, right?" she asked, leaning forward to look into his face. "I was talking about you. Only you get to call me that."

He spontaneously hugged her, something he didn't usually do. "Thank you Princess." Why did this make him so ridiculously happy? "Let's get you home. Mama Cheng has dinner ready.

Chapter title - "Making a whole cheese" is a French idiom equivalent to "tempest in a teacup."

Chapter artwork by @soundofez, posted with permission, can be found here.

Huge thanks to my betas: Karnival and @chatbug-jk

#Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Big Bang #fanfic #my writing #soundofez #art #A Little Secret

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iamsarsa · 7 years

Text

Selphie headcanons

What does their bedroom look like? Selphie’s current apartment in Ul’dah is pretty messy. Books strewn about, bottles of gysahl wine *everywhere*. Papers scattered. She does like having art on the walls - and also a giant moogle statue that she stole “just cos.” She basically uses her apartment to sometimes sleep in, mostly just to store loot she does not currently need. Her Inn room however at the Forgotten Knight is pretty clean. Just the few essentials she needs. When Haurchefant was alive and would visit her, she would attempt to make it more “home-y” which led to her odd obsession of always having flowers and other weird objects she thought made a place a “home”

Do they have any daily rituals? She bathes without fail, every morning. As soon as she gets up. Does not matter where she is, she will find someplace to clean herself. She does not like to be dirty! (This extends to her eating habits - for being such a boisterous person, she eats very daintily) I wouldn’t say this is daily, but it’s definitely a ritual habit she does every few days (she doesn’t go more then 2 days), in that she will usually make her way to Haurchefant’s memorial spot and sit there for a few hours.

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often? Haurchefant got her into exercising and before his death she would do squats/running with him, (occasionally he could convince her to do more, and regretted it almost immediately when she pushed herself too hard to do more push ups then him.) She still does this, but not quite as often

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy? Just go eat somewhere, she doesn’t cook very often to begin with so she has no problem eating out at inns.

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.) Her apartment is a mess, mainly because she uses it as a dumping place for any spare loot she does not need. Personally she’s very clean, always taking baths, even when she was still a rogue on the street - she would single out noble’s apartments where she knew they would be gone for a while so she could use their shower and steal their things. She heavily dislikes being dirty in any sense. After any serious battle where she gets extra grimy, she will just go and soak in a bath for hours if allowed.

Eating habits and sample daily menu Answered

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time gold saucer, and just in general fucking with rich people. Sometimes when she wants to be alone she’ll just go on walks by herself and sit/lay down underneath the sun. She doesn’t like to waste time perse, as she is always sort of kind of on the run, she likes to keep busy, but she considers everything she does to have a reason behind it, even if it wasting time.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging Alcohol and sweets. Her favorite drink is Gysahl wine and will FIGHT anyone for it she does not care. She feels anybody should be allowed to indulge so long as it doesn’t get out of hand (as it does with nobles.) If you work hard - it’s good to indulge. And just because you may be poor doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the right too.

Makeup? Not really. Maybe a little bit, and she would certainly dress up and wear make up if she needed too to infiltrate the nobles. but for the most part, no.

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such? She is neurotic about making sure 129A is safe, and can blend in with Eorzeans. To the point where people are like “you’re making up really dumb plans because you’re freaking out.” Also again, the cleanliness thing.

Intellectual pursuits? Eh, she’s fairly smart already due to her clone nature. However most of the knowledge given to her was obviously battle related and mostly related to Garlean history. So she enjoys learning about the other City-States, the history of Ul’dah, Limsa, Gridania, etc. She studied Ishgard heavily when she met and fell in love with Haurchefant (becoming slowly angrier and angrier at the injustice on the lower class.) She also has a slight interest in Allagan history, considering what she is and how she was made, but is hesitant to learn more.

Favorite book genre? History. and Romance. She’s a sucker for crappy cheap romance novels, and will absolutely 100% read pervy ones as well.

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general? I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I don’t think Selphie really cares either way. However, she only really becomes sexual with those she truly loves and cares deeply for. So I guess demisexual, but it really does not matter what parts there are. If you manage to get her to love you, she’s open and willing.

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.) Her lavender hair has white streaks, and her... i wanna say it’s right i can’t remember off the top of my head, her right eye is white. As a clone made via Allagan technology, her body is subsisted by aether - a lack of aether will cause her to become ill, memory loss, and the gradual lack of her own personality - she would eventually become nothing more then a doll. When she was still held by the Garleans, they gave her regular aether treatments as she was the prototype and they did not yet know how to create a clone body capable of simply syphoning off aether in the world. (This was fixed with 129A’s model class.) She has to regularly inject herself with aether treatments to stave off any side effects (which she genuinely hates) She claims to be allergic to ALL vegetables but this is a lie and she just hates eating them.

Biggest and smallest short term goal? biggest: not being captured by Garleans, smallest: get a decent nights rest for once.

Biggest and smallest long term goal? Biggest: not dying amid the chaos. smallest: be as proficient with her fists as she is with daggers. (aka be as good a monk as she is a ninja)

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress She typically favors tight fitting clothes, that are easy for her to move around in. Often shorts, thigh high boots to run in and the Arachne Shirt of Scouting. She has tried to wear this same outfit in Coerthas/Ishgard, and to a certain extent *can* (her body can withstand quite a bit, but she still feels cold and doesnt like the feeling. That and Haurchefant insisted she wear something warmer and she begrudgingly accepted.)She can, and does dress up to infilitrate noble events, although 9/10 she feels uncomfortable in all of it. She does enjoy wearing the Scion top that Tataru had made her, and often wears it to any meetings she may have with the Scions, or if she needs to meet anyone on behalf of the Scions. She doesn’t really have any “rituals” other then again, she cleans her clothes pretty often, more often then most rogues from the street would. She does have a necklace she never takes off, from Haurchefant. She hides it so no one can see it, to deter thiefs/it breaking off/people asking about it.

Favorite beverage? Gysahl Wine. She has a stockpile where ever she is staying (a larger one at her apt in Ul’dah) and always has a flask of it on her.

What do they think about before falling asleep at night? Haurchefant, Aea, what she’s going to do next, how best to protect everyone. she’s a night owl to begin with (obviously, thief.) so when she does lay down to go to bed, her anxieties keep her up even more.

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them? No, as she was never a child.

Turn-ons? Turn-offs? She hates nobility, (she is grudgingly nice to Haurchefant’s father if only because Haurchefant loves him, she is indifferent towards his brothers, although she warms up to them after his death.), so don’t even try hittin her up if u a rich asshole. Being dirty even in the slightest. Turn on - idk i havent rly thought about this LOL

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? Answered

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life? She’s not really organized at all. She keeps track of things in her head, nearly always refuses to write things down. She’s fairly good at this, she has a good memory. but there are times where she forgets where she needs to be, or where something is.

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all? As stated above she does love history - while her Garlean history knowledge was implanted in her as a clone, she strives to learn about Eorzea and would rather forget the Garlean crap.

How do they see themselves 5 years from today? She just hopes she’s not dead or alone.

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout? Her plan was to disappear and let people fill in the blanks, hopefully presuming she was killed. However she was convinced that was a dumb idea and would do absolutely nothing. Her current plan is to just try and hope for the best as she continues to help the Scions.

What is their biggest regret? Being unable to save Haurchefant and then Aea. There’s not a day that goes by that she doesn’t think “well what if i...”

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy? The now... deceased Aea. While she attempts to consider 129A her best friend, she knows its not quite the same as the Aea who knew her like the back of her hand. Enemy - the Garleans.

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?) She’d probably be able to, surprisingly, calmly assess the situation and deal with it accordingly. She does well in these situations where there’s no immediate danger to her or the people she cares about, however in the case of the below....

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies) She can’t handle it. As evidenced by Haurchefant and then Aea’s death. Aea had to essentially pull her away from Haurchefant’s body as Selphie could barely move, let alone speak. After a few moments of having been pulled away, and being eerily silent she instantly switched and had to be physically restrained because of how angry she became. She basically loses all control of her emotions. When Aea died, it felt like all time had simply stopped for her. Because she had to quickly escape to not die herself, she didnt quite have the time to react the same way she did with Haurchefant. But as soon as she was safe and away, she quickly lost control, but couldn’t bring herself to harm 129A, she just ended up angrily punching the ground before collapsing into tears.

Most prized possession? Most likely her necklace from Haurchefant. And all her alcohol.

Thoughts on material possessions in general? She doesn’t mind them, she knows the comfort that material possessions can give - but she doesn’t think it should be the life long pursuit.

Concept of home and family? She considered home to be where she and Aea could sleep and be safe. When Haurchefant was alive, she considered the Inn room at the Forgotten Knight that they shared to be a “home” She basically considers home to be wherever the people she loves are at. Her only family is Aea/129A and begrudingly Kuj’a. but she also believes that a family is one that you make - doesn’t need to be blood.

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?) She’s a private person about her specific past - she’s tight lipped about where she came from. who she really is etc. But everything else? She is the BIGGEST blabbermouth. She does not care. Do not tell her that you started hooking up with so and so she will get drunk and loudly tell you how proud she is. When she and Haurchefant first got together, they had a drink at the Forgotten Knight and she spent 30 minutes telling everyone how much she loved him and in what WAYS she loved him. She once couldn’t help it and straight up told a noble in Ul’dah who was whining about a recent robbery that she was the one responsible. Honestly it’s a wonder she hasn’t been caught by guards because she quite frankly, does not care.

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time? She doesn’t really consider anything she does a waste of time... everything she does has a purpose even if it’s relaxing.

What makes them feel guilty? The deaths of Haurchefant and Aea.

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making? She’s both. She usually does take fighting pretty seriously, and in heavy serious battle with no emotional connection to her, she’s able to make pretty quick-thinking logical decisions thanks to her programming as a clone. However... she is also pretty impatient and has been known to just run into battles because of greed. (See: Aurum Vale when she thought Goldvine was actual gold.) When it comes to personal decisions she is 100% emotional. She will not think things through. See - her straight up flying into a rage when confronting Ser Zephirin to kill him for killing Haurchefant, without thinking “hm maybe i should think of a strategy before i get myself killed.” no she just straight up tries to brawl and stab him in anyway possible. When it came down to protecting the Scions, and trying to make sure nobody would get hurt due to her connection the Garleans, she did not go about that logically either, thus coming up with the dumb idea to fake her death.

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality? I would say Type B, while she is rather competitive, if she does end up losing she’ll just kind of brush it off and be like “yeah okay whatever...” she may sulk, but it doesn’t stress her out. The competition itself is what excites her.

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained? Going on a good robbing spree of nobles in either Ul’dah or Ishgard.

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither? Naw, Selphie can be pretty conceited but she doesn’t think she’s better then anyone else. (Other then nobles)

How misanthropic are they? Not at all, she enjoys being around others.

Hobbies? Answered.

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education? No formal eductation unless you count things being programmed into her during the cloning process. Everything else is is self taught from living on the streets. While she was able to be self taught, she realizes she had the headstart of being a highly capable clone created using Allagan tech. So she believes everyone should have the chance to have proper formal teaching.

Religion? She believes in the Twelve/Hydaelyn same as anyone else. Obviously moreso as the Warrior of Light. She does have a certain love/hate relationship with it because as a clone she wonders if she’s even really a person. (Much to Thancred’s annoyance because why the hell would Hydaelyn choose her as a Warrior of Light if she wasn’t!!!) Her birth deity is Rhalgr,

Superstitions or views on the occult? Not really. She does try and stay away from darker magic and arcane arts of Thaumaturgey and black magic as it kind of skeeves her out.

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds? Deeds absolutely. She rarely if ever will tell someone she actually enjoys them or likes them. If she’s nice to you - she likes you. She rarely outwardly told Haurchefant she loved him (often times would just sort of hide her face in him and mumble it into his chest) but he quickly figured out the quirks she had that meant “i love you”

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal? Haurchefant. LOL. No but he really was the ideal person for in that he believed in her, but he was also a very calming presence that was able to handle her nonsense. Thancred believes in her as well, but he’s not quite as calm and collected as Haurchefant could be, although she loves him all the same - it just means he’s less able to keep Selphie under control when she’s acting out of line. (And with the original Aea gone as well, yeah Selphie is not quite kept as under control as she should be.)

How do they express love? Little things like “did you sleep? did you eat?” she’d often bring snacks to Camp Dragonhead for Haurchefant. (Insisting that they were just “extras she had.”) She is also a very touchy-feely person to those she loves.. She won’t say I love you, but she’ll hug the moment she sees the person she loves and at night time she’ll curl alongside them and won’t let them go. It’s a pretty obvious thing because for the most part, she doesn’t like touching people. She gets put off by other people hugging her, or trying to shake her hand or whatever. But if she loves you, she wants to feel you. There were plenty of times Haurchefant would wake up in the morning to leave, only to find a Selphie clinging onto him still fast asleep. When she does say “I love you” she almost always mumbles it and gets embarrassed.

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like? She does have pug/monk training, she’s pretty skilled. She learned how to fight mainly on the streets though, so she can be vicious and sometimes sloppy.

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not? Answered

#FINALLY DONE WITH THIS #GOD

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tokupedia · 7 years

Text

Kamen Rider 45th Anniversary File: Decade

2009

Sing it with me now..♬ Chan-Chan-Bara Chanbara! Chan-Bara-Bara Chanbara! Samurai Sentai Shinkenjā! Appare!♬ The 33rd Super Sentai authorized by the network! Shinkenger, Goes Forth!

RPM! GET IN GEAR! Power Rangers RPM hits the airwaves on the new Disney XD channel (formerly Jetix in the US). Decreed by Disney to be the final original Power Rangers series, the company wanted to be super cheap by pulling the plug on production and re-airing old episodes next year. The franchise would then get tossed out by the Mouse House after this harebrained scheme backfires.

Fresh Pretty Cure debuts, airing alongside Decade (and Double) and Shinkenger. This season attempts to expand the Pretty Cure brand beyond its young female demographic, which would prove successful next series...

So~(I Can Fly!) Hurry!~ (You Can Fly!) Miracles!~ (We Can Fly) DRAGON CHAAAAAAARGE!~ Tomica Hero: Rescue Fire, the sequel season to Rescue Force, debuts and... sadly is the final installment of the Tomica Hero series. Among the supporting cast for the show was the man, the myth, the legend, Hiroshi Fujioka! Tomica Hero Explosively Completed its run in 2010.

Engine Sentai Go-onger vs. Gekiranger, the 15th Sentai Vs. series entry, is upgraded from a direct to video release to a feature film. It is the first Sentai crossover put on the silver screen since JAKQ vs. Gorenger in the 1970s. This marks the first time in history that Super Sentai has more than one film in a single year and would continue from here on out.

Victory Pose! Yatter! Yatter! Yatterman, the Tasunoko late 70s anime classic, gets a live action film adaptation courtesy of film director Takashii Miike.

Ishimori Pro declares 2009 to be the “Year of Cyborg 009″ because of the franchise’s 45th anniversary. The company does special events for the occasion, such as showcase Cyborg 009 concept art, animation cels and sketches from the private archives of Shotaro Ishinomori at areas such as Akihabara and the Ishinomori Manga Museum.

Lastly, Koichi Sakamoto of Power Rangers fame sits in the directors chair on several tokusatsu projects, including the Ultra Galaxy Movie and a few Kamen Rider movies.

(2009 was a busy year!)

Kamen Rider’s home network TV Asahi was celebrating 50 years of broadcasting and the number of main Kamen Riders in the Heisei Era had reached the milestone of 10 in total. To celebrate the two momentous occasions, TV-Asahi treated fans to not one, not two, but three Kamen Riders in a single year. The first was the non-canon Kamen Rider G, the later half of the year saw Kamen Rider W, and Kamen Rider Decade was right in the middle.

Decade brought forth tropes in super hero fiction with near limitless writing possibilities: The Multiverse and the reunified continuity trope. Not only was it now possible for a Kamen Rider to have a crossover with other Riders, but the series can go to other universes such as....

crossing over with its sister series Super Sentai!

For the first time ever on TV, Kamen Rider and Super Sentai had a team-up crossover special. While JAKQ vs. Gorenger in the 1970s mentioned Kamen Rider Amazon being part of a greater universe of heroes, this was never expanded upon any further other than a quick mention/cameo image.

Often comic book fans draw parallels of this show’s story to another...

Both serve a purpose, to unify all continuity back into one single linear pathway that audiences can follow. Thus the multiple variants of stories become one sole tale in one setting. That being said, unlike many who recommend Decade as a starting series, I would advise newcomers to hold off a little until they familiarize themselves with the Heisei era a little better, as otherwise the story elements may confuse them as they will have no frame of reference going in.

Heisei Kamen Rider up to this point allowed itself to avoid continuity ties by letting each series stand on its own aside from maybe Kuuga and Agito, but even that could be a stretch. Decade is where things began to merge back together, as after this series, Riders began interacting with one another on a regular basis in movies and direct to video films. Aside from a few teases of non-canon events like the Ryuki V-Cinema and the Den-O and Kiva Movie, Toei didn’t seem too interested in doing TV or film crossovers on a grander scale until this exact year.

So... what happened that may have changed their minds?

Oh yeah, THAT happened...Marvel made it known at the end of a little movie called Iron Man they were going to do BIG crossovers. So naturally, Toei possibly followed suit (with mixed results depending on who you ask). It is just speculation, but you have to admit it is odd timing given the franchise almost avoided crossovers entirely up to this point.

This show is also the last hurrah of Rainbow Zoukei as the costume designers, as their workload had grown to insane levels. RZ was doing Super Sentai, Kamen Rider, Ultraman, prop replacement parts for Power Rangers on top of various movies and TV commercials. In order to ease the burden, the company created a secondary studio based in Tama called Blend Master to divide the workload. Rainbow Zoukei does Super Sentai and new Metal Heroes costumes/replacements while Blend Master works on Kamen Rider from Double to the present day.

Another new addition to the franchise would be the introduction of Bandai’s Legend Rider gimmick for their Ganbaride arcade video game cabinets. Rider Cards were the primordial phase of this gimmick, utilizing the powers of past heroes in the show while being something Bandai could double up in profits on. Later iterations and Ganbarizng would incorporate the electronic collectible toy trinkets in combination with the trading cards. Another staple of this series was the introduction of the Rider lexicon term “Driver” for the belts (Get it? A belt is the driving force of the super powers of a Kamen Rider.)

The biggest thing this series did though was revive the Showa Riders presence in the franchise after a long absence from TV with a story arc about visiting the non-Heisei Rider worlds, with at least one of the originals physically appearing and returning to his role:

Tetsuo Kurata as Kohtaro Minami/Kamen Rider Black and Black RX! (Parallel universes thing, complicated to explain.)

Decade is a very divisive series, some love it for upping the stakes of conflict with the fate of reality itself hanging in the balance and a war between Riders of past and present series with a super powerful rider that had a cool belt voiced by radio personality Mark Okita.

On the opposite end of fandom, some hated it for undermining their favorite Riders with what some assessed to be a Marty Stu fanfic-y character who was almost super-invincible and ultimately served as a plot device.

On the upside to fans who dislike the show, at least we got a female Rider and a meme out of it...

ONORE DECADE!

Speaking of which...KAMEN RIDE: DECADE!

“The Destroyer of Worlds, Decade. What do those eyes see as he travels through many worlds?"

(Mr. Kadoya, circa 2014 in a crossover with Kamen Rider Wizard, lookin’ like a boss.)

Real Name: Tsukasa Kadoya

As a child, Tsukasa was often alone with his sister, but soon discovered she had the ability to create trans-dimensional gateways called Dimension Walls.

Tsukasa ran off into one of them one day and in his later years, came into contact with Dai-Shocker, a revived amalgamation of all the past villains the Kamen Riders had ever faced. They tricked him into playing the role of their Great Leader (which a teen Tsukasa thought was a “fun idea” at the time) and later offered him a new weapon to test out: The Decadriver. The belt device was the intense labor of Dai-Shocker scientists who HATED the Kamen Riders. The Decadriver could duplicate and surpass the powers of all Kamen Riders to obliterate them once and for all or use them as lifeless tools to enhance the Decade system. Tsukasa tested them out, but this ended badly for him as the overwhelming shock of crossing multiple universes all at once caused mental trauma that wiped his memories away. The Decadriver was somehow left hidden and abandoned in an unspecified alternate Earth.

Cut to 2009 and an amnesiac Tsukasa is on an Earth working as a photographer for the Hikari family. Natsumi Hikari is having strange nightmares about a figure who kills all the Kamen Riders in a great war, enveloped in a magenta light. Strange things then start happening as random unexplained catastrophes occur such as monsters appearing from silvery walls and people being randomly teleported to unfamiliar locations and slaughtered by more monsters.

As this happens, a familiar face appears to Tsukasa: Wataru Kurenai aka Kamen Rider Kiva who asks him where his “buckle and cards” are and that this “world will end if he doesn’t do something“. Tsukasa at first does not understand and is confused by all this, but Natsumi later finds the belt and gives it to him when she is being attacked by some Worms. Tsukasa transforms into a new Kamen Rider and then remembers how to fight, using the powers of past Kamen Riders to defeat waves of monsters effortlessly.

Once Wataru and the other Kamen Riders freeze the world in place with their combined powers to prevent further destruction, the veteran Rider explains to Tsukasa that the parallel worlds of Kamen Riders are merging due to an outside force and will destroy all of existence if it isn’t stopped.

To that end, Tsukasa as Kamen Rider Decade must go to the 9 Worlds and destroy the nine Kamen Riders of those worlds to preserve the Prime universe. Wataru laments that creation cannot come without destroying something and promises to hold the world in place for as long as he can with his comrades until Decade “fixes” the multiverse.

Decade ends up doing the exact opposite after befriending the Riders and connecting their stories. This at first did not sit well with the Prime Universe Kamen Riders and they attacked Decade to preserve their existence and those of their loved ones, thus the Rider War began.

But by being a destroyer and connecting with heroes, Decade did find a way eventually to save everyone. Tsukasa now spends his days traveling across space and time, exploring new parallel worlds and helping those in need in his own unique way.

(As many Rider Scouts will tell you: This one idea has massive fanfiction potential as Decade could have visited any number of universes of beloved franchises along his journey: Marvel, DC, Image, Transformers, Doctor Who, Star Trek etc.)

In one non-canon moment of a video game, an enemy called him the Destroyer of Worlds. Decade then casually responded that he is “retired” from that role. Even in Kamen Rider Taisen (*ugh*) any mention of this title seems to annoy/upset Tsukasa, as he feels he is beyond that part of his life.

Powers:

Decade can become invisible, make copies of himself, has expert markmanship and sword skill, enhanced strength and has the ability to travel across dimensions to parallel Earths.

Decade’s signature ability is for his Rider System to analyze an opponent and if it is a Kamen Rider, copy its data for Decade to assume the powers, weapons and forms himself in the form of Rider Cards. The Rider Cards can also upgrade/seize a Kamen Rider into a new form dubbed as a “Final Form Ride”, transforming them to act as a support such as a new power, a vehicle, a weapon or a device such as enhanced armor.

Decade himself can Final Form Ride into a giant sized version of the Decadriver for Kamen Rider J to wear and he assumes control of Kouji’s body as a giant sized Decade. Decade can obtain the power of Kamen Riders through cards in one of two ways, the first is the Magic of Friendship and the other is straight up beating them to near death and sealing the weakened Rider in a card in a manner somewhat similar to the Blade System with the Undead. Decade prefers option one, but in a rare instance used the second one as circumstances forced him to.

The Decadriver is also compatible with other card systems such as the Gosei Cards from the Goseigers and the Decadriver is shown it can utilize Super Sentai weapon Rider Cards.

Using some kind of construct projector somewhat akin to ZX’s Virtual Image Projection Unit, Decade can assume the form of ANY Kamen Rider. (As confirmed by recent toys, Decade can go up to Kamen Rider Drive currently. But Ghost and Ex-Aid are likely part of his card deck by now). Upon tinkering with it apparently, the Decadriver can holographically disguise itself as another Rider Belt (such as 1′s Typhoon) and through a voice modulator, Decade can fully impersonate a Kamen Rider for stealth/infiltration missions. This image projection is enhanced even further in Complete Form, as Kamen Riders in their ultimate forms appear on command and seemingly mimic Decade’s movements like a shadow for a double final form Rider Finisher.

In his more deadly Violent Emotion mode, Decade can obtain and use any power of a Kamen Rider automatically, even sometimes without the use of the cards and no form change needed. He is seemingly so powerful in this mode that almost no Kamen Rider can stop him and his Rider Kick pretty much becomes a human seeker missile (As shown when he chased down Skyrider in the air and kicked him, turning the airborne 8th Rider into a falling fireball.) Complete Form can summon the powers of the Heisei Rider’s ultimate forms and utilize their Rider cards in those forms to enhance Complete form further.

Tsukasa as a human is bestowed with new skills in every world he visits to serve whatever purpose the multiverse needs him for. (Ex. knowing the Gurongi language)

Weaknesses:

Decade, much like the the future Gokaigers who would adopt his same power copy gimmick, is not all powerful on his own in base form and can be beaten in some instances. (Blade in King Form gave Decade quite the beatdown once with just one slash of his sword) This is more to showcase that Decade on his own is neither stronger or weaker than any previous or succeeding Rider in base form and through the comradery of his fellow Riders sharing their strength with him, he can become the strongest of all of them.

His Rider Cards at first had a one use limit, it is uncertain if this still applies in some capacity. When the cards were used they would seal away the powers selected until they were activated again after gaining a Rider’s trust. Some universes disrupted or negated his power such as the World of Negatives, which rendered all his cards useless until he upgraded to Complete Form.

His Rider Belt is basically a big bullseye, as stabbing or damaging the Decadriver at close range will shut down the device and de-power Decade. Though if the first episode is any indication, dimension wall energy can automatically repair the belt. Still, like most modern belts which are not surgically attached to the Rider, Tsukasa could have the Decadriver knocked away from him or he could lose it.

The Decade system was designed to defeat Kamen Riders, thus other superheroes are immune to the copying of powers on some level. (though this does not guarantee opposing sides victory).

Kamen Riders sometimes had a bit of animosity towards Decade given his reputation and even after the Rider War, some view him akin to a Nuclear Option, as in someone who should only be called upon in a crisis or as an absolute last resort. Like Kuuga, Agito and Kiva, Decade has a dangerous side to the power he wields that could end all life..well..everywhere, especially if he succumbs to his darker impulses such as with using Violent Emotion mode.

Gear:

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Decadriver

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Rider_Cards

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Ride_Booker

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Machine_Decader

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Final_Kamen_Terminal_K-Touch

Signature Finishers:

Dimension Blast: Using the Final Attack Ride: Decade Card, Decade uses the Ride Booker in Gun mode to fire a charged shot

Dimension Slash: Using the Final Attack Ride: Decade Card, Decade uses the Rider Booker in Sword Mode and executes an energy charged Rider slash.

Dimension Kick: Decade’s Rider Kick which is executed using the Final Attack Ride:Decade Card. Variants include the Enhanced Dimension Kick in Complete Form which utilizes the power of the 9 Heisei Riders in conjunction with his own power and the Final Dimension Kick which after using the FinalKamenAttackForm Ride Card, turns all the Kamen Riders into Kamen Ride cards that Decade flies through to enhance his kick to maximum power.

Enemies:

Dai-Shocker

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Dai-Shocker

Dai-Shocker is a supergroup of past Kamen Rider Villains from various parallel Earths who scour the multiverse to find like-minded individuals to convert/recruit into their army for one ultimate goal: Total conquest, subjugation and absolute rule of the entire multiverse and creation itself!

Out of all incarnations of Shocker, that is a pretty ambitious goal for evil and difficult considering that Kamen Riders exist on other worlds as well as other superheroes who stand in their way. Tsukasa was once their Great Leader, but turned against them and the organization had been crippled and splintered into various forms such as Super Shocker and Space Shocker, but manages to revive at least once.

Narutaki

http://kamenrider.wikia.com/wiki/Narutaki

Nobody knows what his deal is, but he has a wide array of powers including the ability to create Dimension Walls, summon evil Kamen Riders or monsters and assumes the form of past Generals such as Colonel Zol of Shocker. He hates Decade for some reason and sees himself as a prophet of the Rider’s nature as a destroyer, warning other heroic Riders to try and stop him. He does flip-flop his allegiance at times.

Some fans have theorized he is an incarnation of the real Great Leader, while a still of the pre-production film shots of what would become Decade: Final Chapter gave a bombshell to his possible identity:

That pink camera is Tsukasa’s..so some speculate from this image that he is an older Tsukasa from an alternate reality.....

Sadly due to unknown legal issues and production delays, this plot was tossed out along with several other story ideas. So Narutaki’s identity and purpose for antagonizing Decade is never explained and his character was taken to a...very weird direction...

All we can say to those good stories and his identity not being told to us is...

ONORE DECADE!

Now we must go on the road to another Rider’s world.... til next time...

#kamen rider #45th anniversary #kamen rider decade #onore decade #kamen ride #attack ride #final attack ride #d-d-d-decade #henshin #multiverse #gackt #we are all travelers #journey through the decade #2009

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