#some saying its 1 day some saying its indefinite and uh. the fact that no one can get the facts straight is part of the problem

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

Tiktok is trying to plan a general strike in less than a week and a half (on sept 1st) and... from the app that could not even properly organize a fake movie gimmick its going as great as you'd probably think it would

[soulmate-game]

Prompt: “How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that" with... hmmmm.... Dick? Yeah, with Dick!

Real quick, I think a few of you misunderstood. When I say 3-from-1, I mean I am taking your single quote and pairing, and using it in all three prompts, not just one. Maybe this first one will help explain. Here are parts 1 and 2, since I think I’ve gone long enough without giving you guys content. I’m still working on the last part for this prompt, but it should be done soon!

— Part 1: The Romantic One (so Dickinette)

Tom and Sabine had decided that maybe a break from Paris was in order. Nobody could tell if it was the maniac turning random citizens into superpowered villains every other day, the fact that their daughter had come home with a few bruises that suggested extreme escalation on the side of her school bullies, or how they had caught said daughter asleep against her mannequin— standing up and drooling all over her expensive fabric.

Paris was clearly not a healthy place for Marinette at the moment, and a nice month-long vacation to Jump City was just what they needed. It was similar enough, with its villains and heroes, that they wouldn’t get too whiplashed by the long change in scenery. But it was also a lot safer than Paris was at the moment, and without nearly as many frequent large-scale villain attacks that ended with half the city in ruins as other places (looking at you, Gotham and Metropolis). The lack of villains that took advantage of civilian emotions was a plus.

Marinette, for one, was extremely grateful for the change. Sure, she still had to teleport back to Paris whenever an Akuma showed up, but Jump City was so much easier to relax in. And the ability to see the city’s heroes just walking around in full costume during the day, just relaxing, was an unexpectedly nice thing to experience. Marinette, as it turned out, happened to have a similar taste for places to hang out.

Now, she never spoke to them. She tended to just smile at the sight of them and go back to her own business— she knew how annoying it could be when people always invaded someone’s personal life just because they were well known. So when she saw them every now and then at the best arcade in town, or at one of the few vegan-friendly restaurants she liked? It brightened her day a bit, and she was pleasantly relaxed for quite a while afterwards. It was like, despite never actually approaching them, she was still among friends for once. People who understood everything she had gone through over the past several years since donning the Ladybug miraculous.

So yeah, she was enjoying her time in Jump City. So much so that her parents extended the trip indefinitely, and went through all the necessary paperwork to open a second location for their bakery in the city. They liked it there too.

That led to Marinette standing in line inside of the bank, right after getting all her own paperwork to attend school in Jump City in order. She was already exhausted from all the waiting and general boredom that followed doing anything official in America, and it was already past sunset to boot. The last thing she wanted was to be around when a villain attacked. The bank was already about to close and she didn’t know if they’d call her up in time for her to do what she needed to do.

And what happens? A blue-skinned magician with clear insanity and far too much of a resemblance to an Akuma to give her any sort of comfort comes bursting in and robbing the place. Marinette could only sigh, taking out her phone and informing her parents about the change in plans with all the ease of someone who was far too used to these kinds of things to be healthy. Luckily, the Teen Titans burst in only a few seconds later— must have been on a stake out, she thought.

Marinette put her phone away, deciding just to watch everyone in action. It was almost surreal, seeing such a large team fighting with such fluidity and lack of arguing. They seemed like such a perfect team, it made her envious. Only Chat was a good partner anymore, Marinette dreaded the days she had to find another temporary holder because nobody was a safe choice anymore. But the Teen Titans? They were a beautiful sight to behold.

That is, until Mumbo set his sights on her. The only civilian who wasn’t currently restrained, panicked, or hiding. Marinette blinked.

Oh, she thought. I must have been so tired I forgot to react to anything again.

But Marinette was also too tired to care much about first impressions, so the second Mumbo grabbed her arm and tried to use her as a hostage, she Reacted. The Teen Titans could only watch as Marinette jumped up and over Mumbo’s head, dragging his arm behind him in the process, before slamming her other fist into the small of his back and sending him onto his knees. As he tried to twist away, she kneed his wand out of his hand and twisted his other arm behind his back before he could cast another spell. Right before he could say some magic word and turn the tables on her, he was met with her head hitting the back of his and sending him unconscious immediately.

Problem handled, Marinette let go of him and backed off, dusting her hands off before letting loose a huge yawn.

She turned to leave when Cyborg’s hesitant voice Called out: “Uh, Ma’am? You should wait for the police. They’ll probably want your statement.”

Marinette blinked, and sighed as her shoulders dropped in dismay. “Oh yeah. I forgot I actually fought this time. Sorry,” she sighed again before adjusting her purse on her shoulder and obediently walking further inside the bank, leaning against the wall to wait. That was when Robin approached her, passing a few glances between her and the now-bound-up Mumbo.

"How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that,” he cut himself off mid-question, shaking his head. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s nothing all that special, Monsieur Robin,” Marinette assured, still amused. “And I’ve seen you do far more impressive things, I’m hardly that good of a fighter. My Maman has a background in martial arts, her whole side of the family has a minor obsession with teaching the girls how to fight,” she admitted with a small shrug. “It’s how we bonded, growing up. Every weekend she’d spar with me and we’d spend the whole day just training, and my Papan would bring food in every now and then when he wanted us to take a break. We don’t do it as often now, my Maman says she’s getting a little too old to spar all the time, but I still practice on my own.”

The vigilante blinked, not knowing how to respond for a moment. It was then that Marinette noticed the entire team had been listening, the police having already arrived and taking Mumbo away in cuffs. She blushed a bit, coughing into her hand in embarrassment.

“A-Ah, well. I wouldn’t have interfered at all if I wasn’t so tired, I’m sorry if I got in your way,” she began to babble, the usual nerves that came with having so many eyes on her kicking in. “I tend to space out when I’m exhausted, and so I kinda forgot to react when Mumbo came in? I just spaced out, and I got distracted watching you guys fight so well, and then he tried to grab me and I just… kinda… reacted?” Her voice got faster and higher as she spoke, until she ended her babbling by making it sound like a question. “I promise I won’t make this habit or anything, it’s just been a long day!”

“You…” It was Beast Boy who spoke up, eyes wide. “Did that while you were exhausted?! Woah! I’ve never seen anyone other than Robin fight like that when they were tired!”

Marinette knew her face must have been completely red by then, because it felt like her head was on fire. “I-it’s really not a big deal!” She started waving her hands in Marinette Denial, shaking her head like crazy. “P-probably just a fluke or something! I’ll just give my statement and get out of your hair!” She didn’t wait for a response before fleeing to the police out of sheer humiliation, and giving them the world’s fastest statement. The Titans tried to get her attention as she left, but her face was still one giant, ripe tomato and she just speed walked right past them without a word.

She didn’t even notice that she was followed home, or that she had a team of heroes watching her for a while before they completed their background search and left back for their own home. Or that Robin cast a glance back at her apartment several times as they left, questions crossing his mind too fast to recall all of them.

It wasn’t until a week later that Marinette saw them again, this time when she was at the grocery store. She let her shoulders drop when she saw them talking to each other in the middle of a random aisle, debating over which brand of a product to buy. Once again, a small smile crossed over her lips and she walked on by, fully intent on leaving them be and enjoying the aura of calm that their presence always seemed to give her. It was as she was calmly debating over which kind of fruit would make the best filling for the danishes she wanted to make, that a hand tapped her shoulder. She hummed, tearing her eyes away from the blueberries and raspberries to turn around.

“Yes? Do you need—“ she cut herself off when she saw that the person who had tapped her shoulder was none other than Robin himself, with the rest of his team giving her friendly smiles over his shoulder. She blue screened for a moment before shaking her head, sending him a small, confused smile. “Is there something you need, Monsieur Robin?”

“As a matter of fact,” he ran a hand through his unfairly fluffy hair as he gave her a far too charming, lopsided grin. “I hope you don’t mind that I did some research on you and your family after we met last week—“ Marinette almost laughed when she saw how his teammates face-palmed behind him and quietly groaned about how much tact he lacked. “—and I realized why your movements seemed so familiar. Your mother wouldn’t happen to be from the Cheng family in Hong Kong, would she?”

Marinette immediately lost most of her embarrassment, snorting. “You’re the one who did my background check, you tell me,” she teased. The rest of the Titans seemed floored by the fact that she wasn’t at all annoyed, insulted, or creeped out. “But since you’re asking anyway, yes. The group of primarily female martial artists in Hong Kong, the Chengs, is run by my Aunt. Why?”

Robin’s smile grew. “Well, it just so happens that they have one of the only unique combat styles that my mentor— Batman, of course— was never able to learn.”

Marinette actually did laugh now, connecting the dots as to what he wanted to actually ask. “Ah, because they only accept male pupils if they are blood-relations, non? Let me guess,” she crossed her arms and popped one hip, giving him a smug little grin. “You want me to teach you?”

“We have the best training facilities you have ever seen,” he bribed, eyes practically shining at the prospect of training in a new style of combat.

“I don’t doubt it,” Marinette got a little dreamy eyed herself at the thought. “And Maman can’t spar with me anytime soon… why not? I’m not bound by the Cheng rules after all, nobody can get mad if I teach you. And it requires a lot of gymnastic ability, which you clearly already have. Just one question,” she turned, gesturing to the fruit behind her. “Do you prefer blueberry or raspberry? I’m trying out a new danish recipe and don’t know which to choose.”

She did not miss how, as she was walking out with a few new acquaintances by her side and a few cases of blueberries, Cyborg whispered to Beast Boy:

“I can’t believe Robin actually picked up a girl when he led with the ‘we did an extensive check on your family history’ schtick!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slam! Marinette’s shin collided with Robin’s waist while they were both mid-air, sending the vigilante flying to the ground, tumbling until he could gain traction and stop himself. Marinette, on the other hand, landed on the padded floor of the training room nimbly.

“Not bad!” She praised. “You’re picking it all up really quickly!” Robin scoffed goodbye-naturedly, smirking as he stood up.

“If you didn’t restrict me to only using Cheng-style, I’d have won,” he boasted. Marinette’s eyes shone playfully at the challenge.

“Are you sure? I restricted myself to that style as well,” she teased. “It is the best way for you to learn, after all.”

As per usual, the rest of the Titans were nearby either doing their own training or snacking as they watched. Nobody left Marinette alone when she was at the Tower, which she understood. Apparently they had had someone betray them in the past, so she understood being cautious around her even if she had been teaching Robin twice a week for the past two months. Starfire floated up, flying over to tell them both about how much more exciting this spar had been than the last few, but the Tamaranean was interrupted when Marinette’s phone let out a loud alarm.

Being who they were, all the Titans stiffened and were immediately at alert. Marinette cursed softly, pulling out her phone to see—

“What’s an Akuma Alert?” Robin, ever the nosy idiot, asked. Marinette clenched her jaw. This was not good. It was only nine in the morning in Jump City, making it three in the morning back in Paris. Marinette had hoped he wouldn’t decide to have a late night attack when she was in Titan Tower and essentially trapped.

Marinette looked up from her phone, looking around as everyone’s gazes grew suspicious the longer she stayed silent. Until, finally, she sighed and silenced her phone. She began to speak even as she unzipped her purse to put it away.

“It’s an alert from Paris. I’m sorry, and I understand if you do not wish to see me after this, but I must go.”

“Go where? Paris?” Raven asked, sweeping up to stand next to Beat Boy. If this turned out to be another Terra situation, the boy would need support again. Terra had torn his heart out, and Beast Boy had finally allowed himself to like Marinette and get close to her as a friend. All of them had. “How?”

Marinette clenched her eyes shut, mourning the friendships she was sure she had just lost. Maybe she should stick to the opposite side of the city from then on, so they wouldn’t have to run into her again. With that plan in mind, she drew the magical pair of glasses out of her purse and put them on, making Kaalki materialize.

The Titans stiffened, and Marinette felt her heart shatter a little. But she still called on both of her transformations, and left to save Paris.

She did not go back to the Tower. When the battle was over, she just opened the returning portal straight to the alley outside her apartment and went back home to sob into her pillow. She couldn’t explain what was going on, wasn’t sure they would even want to listen. And she and Robin had been getting so close, too.

But Marinette would not stick around after keeping secrets. She was certain they hated her, anyway.

She went out of her way to avoid them, not even looking their way when they passed by her apartment— on purpose, she was sure. She did everything she could to avoid them. But one day, she couldn’t. She was in the middle of trying to lose them in the alleys on her way to go grocery shopping, when a wall of black cut her off, shadows moving to pile up dumpsters and block her escape. Marinette shrunk in on herself— so they were finally moving up to using their powers, huh?

She heard Starfire drop down to hover behind her next, then the sight of a green hawk landing on a balcony nearby gave away Beast Boy. Robin dropped down from a rooftop, and Cyborg pulled up in the T-Car to block the entrance of the alleyway.

“Marinette,” Robin started, but she shook her head and cut him off.

“Robin, I’m trying to stay out of you guys’s way. I get it, I kept secrets and that’s not cool, I’m not gonna interfere in your fights, you don’t have to worry about—“

“Friend Marinette, we are not angry,” Starfire spoke up, flying over to land next to her. She put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. Her eyes widened, and the smaller girl gulped.

“You… aren't?”

“We hacked into Paris news and street cams after you left,” Cyborg admitted, crossing his arms before giving her a wide smile. “Why didn’t you just tell us you were one of Paris’s heroes? Did ya think we wouldn’t understand or something?” Marinette froze, and then her face grew red when realization set in.

“... Oh Kwami. I’m freaking out about heroes finding out my identity… as a hero…” she groaned as soon as she said it, her head falling into her hands as her friends laughed around her.

“Guess I don’t need that plausible deniability for the reasons I thought,” Robin joked, making Marinette glare at him.

“Don’t tease me, I’m too busy being mortified.”

“Too busy for me to offer you a room at the tower?” He asked, and Marinette looked up to berate him for continuing to tease her, only to stop and realize that his expression said he was completely serious. Her eyes widened in shock once again, and she opened and closed her mouth only for her voice to not work. Robin smiled, holding out one of his hands to her.

“Just for whenever you need a break. Judging by your reaction, your parents don’t know about Ladybug, right?” Marinettte winced at his words. She gave them a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“No, back when we lived in Paris it was way too risky for anyone to know, even them. And now that we’re in Jump City, it’s been so long that…” she shook her head. “I don’t think they’d take it well.”

“Because they don’t understand,” Raven guessed, earning a nod and a small smile from the Parisian girl.

“And that’s why we’re offering you a room,” Robin continued, crossing his arms and giving her a confident, relaxed smile. “A temporary one, for whenever you need to drop by and be around people who understand you a bit better. Now, everything outside of the bedroom itself will still heavily monitor you for a while, but—“

“That’s fine!” Marinette agreed easily, beaming happily. “I get it, trust isn’t something that is easy to earn especially when it’s already been broken before. But the offer itself is already extremely generous, thank you!” Marinette lunged forward, tackling Robin in a tight hug. He laughed, returning the embrace.

“Dogpile!” Beast Boy yelled, of course transforming into a giant Saint Bernard as he leapt to start a group hug. His huge, furry body slammed Marinette and Robin to the ground, making them groan in pain and annoyance before Starfire picked all three of them up and started her own crushing hug. Followed by Cyborg wrapping his hands around the pile of superhero on the opposite side, and Raven… just kinda floating over to slump on top of the ball of teenaged heroes in the laziest hug ever.

Marinette didn’t stop laughing until her sides hurt.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had become a constant presence at the Tower, and Ladybug had even become an occasional member of the Team. She was officially labeled as a reserve member of the Titans, since her duties in Paris came first. But she was fine with that. She didn’t want to draw Hawkmoth’s attention to Jump City after all, but the few and far-between appearances she made weren’t too odd. It had already been a year and a half of her new life in America, on one of the weekends where Marinette found herself sprawled against the couch scrolling through Instagram on her phone, that everything changed. She heard the elevator door open, and took only a second to narrow down who it could be.

First; Kori was visiting Tamaran and wouldn’t be back for at least another week. Victor was working on the T-car and probably wouldn’t come back up for a while. Rachel was meditating, as always, and Marinette could still feel the magic aura from the floor above that told her that she had not moved a muscle. Gar was taking a literal cat nap on the kitchen counter. Only Robin was unaccounted for, since he had gone to Gotham to visit Batman for some “top secret Bat business” and could come back at any moment.

Deduction done, Marinette felt herself smile unintentionally. Her and Robin had become immeasurably close, and she had been pining after him for almost— well, since she first started training him all that time ago. So she sat up, ready to go attack her best friend and major crush in a hug.

“Welcome ba— WHAT THE FUCK?!” Marinette tripped over thin air like she hardly did nowadays, floored by the sight in front of her. Robin was a stickler for his identity, though the rest of the Titans weren’t really. She had never seen him out of uniform, including mask, in the entire time she’d known him. Never heard his real name.

But here stood a boy her age, with extremely familiar fluffy hair and strong jaw. Who seemed extremely conflicted and distraught, in a black hoodie and sweatpants. It was the glimpse of red and yellow under the fully zipped-up hoodie and the slip of black fabric he held in one tightly curled fist that solidified exactly who this blue-eyed beauty was. Marinette swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Her yell had startled Garfield awake, who burst into his normal form and was staring at the scene equally wide- eyed. He made a few rapid gestures with his hands before choking out;

“I— I’m gonna… go see if Cy needs help,” before he scrambled away and into the elevator, flabbergasted. Robin didn’t say a word the whole time, just silently moving out of the way for the other boy.

Once Beast Boy was gone, the silence returned with stifling intensity. Marinette finally managed to clear her throat and get her thoughts in order.

“Are you okay?” She asked, because his well-being was more important than the fact that she was seeing his whole face for the first time. Because the fact that this was happening at all meant that something was probably very wrong. Just to make sure, she reached out with her Guardian abilities to read his aura— and yes, it was Robin. It couldn’t be anyone else.

But he didn’t look at all like their normally composed, erratic, confident leader. He looked like a young adult who had just had his world upturned and didn’t know how to manage it. He finally raised his eyes from the ground to meet her’s.

“... Batman got a new Robin… a while ago, apparently.”

Marinette sucked air through her teeth, grimacing. Yeah, that… that was a lot. “Come here,” she sat down and patted the couch next to her. “You clearly need to talk. We can even spar later if you want.”

He walked over, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “For once, I don’t think sparring will help. I mean yeah, I left Batman a long time ago because he wouldn’t take me seriously, but…”

Marinette understood. That was different than Batman giving his title to someone entirely new without even telling him. So she sat, and she listened as Robin explained all about his new adoptive brother, about the fight he had had with Bruce. Because apparently Batman was Bruce Wayne, but Marinette would shelve that headache for another day. At the end of it all, she hummed.

“Sounds like you need a new name then.”

“Mari,” Robin glared at her half heartedly. “That’s all you have to say? Really?”

“No,” she shrugged. “But I can’t keep calling you Robin, can I? But okay, you want me to be serious? It sounds like he was trying to do a good thing, getting Jason off the streets. Was he right to just give your moniker away with no warning? Of course not. But I don’t think he did it maliciously. If anything, I think this proves that Robin is a title for Batman’s sidekick to hold. And you’ve gotten way past that point in your life.”

“Well, for starters,” he said after a while. “My real name’s Dick.”

Marinette deadpanned at him, raising an eyebrow. “... I’m sorry, what?”

That got a snort out of him, and he smiled for the first time since he got back, running a hand through his hair again as he grinned at her. “Well, technically it’s Richard. Richard Grayson. But I prefer going by Dick.”

“Oh for the love of— good luck surviving Victor and Gar after you tell them that,” she warned, rubbing her temples at the mere thought of the chaos that was going to ensue. Rob— Dick— just laughed. But this time when he fell silent, Marinette didn’t immediately notice through her preemptive headache. But when she did, she looked up at him only to see him staring at her silently, an odd spark in his eyes. “What?”

“Well, if we’re admitting things and getting rid of secrets…” he started, leaning back a bit as his cheeks suddenly took on a pink tint. He cleared his throat, but met her eyes bravely. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, Marinette. If, uh, if you want. To go out with me, I mean.”

Marinette sat there, out of order, for a moment as her brain refused to work. Dick panicked.

“I mean, I get it if you don’t. Dating in the team and all, probably not the smartest move ever. So I get it—“

“Shut up,” Marinette interrupted, her face entirely pink. “I just couldn’t talk for a sec. yes, Dick. A million times, yes I’ll go out with you. Holy crap how dare you catch me off guard like that you jerk,” she glared at him before the two of them broke, bursting into laughter and leaning on one another.

They had gone through a lot. If the others found them slumped against one another on the couch, asleep and still holding hands, well they deserved the rest after the day they’d had. Now whether or not they deserved the many photos that had been taken to be held as blackmail against them? That was up for debate.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 2: The same prompt, but siblings this time

[crystalkleure]

I have a Concept.

BeyBurst beyblades are supposed to burst. As in, it’s actually a necessity. In spite of the Exploding Beyblade mechanic potentially causing sharp little bits of spintop to go flying everywhere and hit people, what if it’s actually a safety feature?

If I recall correctly, all the way back in s1 territory [specifically in the manga though, can’t remember if we saw it in the anime or not], Valt and Shu just straight-up got their original beys from a store. And there are also all of those Unimportant Characters running around with different-coloured versions of preexisting beys. This indicates that beyblades are, in fact, mass-produced and sold in stores, and those are all built to be able to burst. In fact, I still haven’t seen the newest two seasons of the Burst anime yet, but I’m pretty sure super special fancy custom beys, that some important character explicitly made themself, that have some really creative [and strong] anti-burst features built into them, don’t ever show up as NPC recolour beys? In spite of the trend of “random background characters in new season use recoloured versions of Prominent Character beys from LAST season” to me seeming to indicate that those new recolour beys are either bootleg copycats, or those actual official shelf models have just suddenly started selling really well, due to someone having just recently done something cool with one in a tournament/on TV lol. [Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong on which beys get NPC recolours, I don’t exactly actually, uh, pay attention to all the random background scrubs. That point’s not particularly important anyway because I’m sure unofficial bootlegs are a thing that exists, mmmm delicious plagiarism. The point is the stores seem to sell beys with the normal level of burstability. And so I’m only caring about the everyday random NPCs with no names or anything, if another important character specifically goes and painstakingly recreates a bey similar or identical to another important character’s bey just because they idolize that other character, that doesn’t count. That’s not important here, implication-wise.] So...

What if it’s actually a really bad thing that people keep making their own custom beys now that are increasingly more and more ludicrously difficult -- or even near-impossible -- to burst?

What if the self-destruct mechanic is intended to be an emergency shutdown switch, and actually really needs to not be subverted? We’ve seen what an adept beyblader can do while running at full-throttle -- they’re dangerous, to themselves and their surroundings. Beys have the power to be obscenely destructive...while they’re spinning and battling, primarily. They are by far the most potent while actively in use. But if they hit things too hard like 3-4 times or so...they burst. Their locks disengage, they fall apart, and thus they are forced to abruptly stop. That makes them theoretically incapable of just rampaging indefinitely.

Picture this: One day, in the probably-decently-distant history of the BeyBurst world, a kid has a spintop. Probably made that spintop themself. This kid, it turns out, happens to be one of the Super Special Powerful Kids, who’s not only REALLY GOOD at using that spintop, they also possess that funny little supernatural ability to accidentally create an incredibly powerful incorporeal monster ghost creature thing with their brain. And because they love playing with their little spintop so much, that spintop becomes the vessel for this Terrifying Monster-Shaped Culmination Of Spiritual Elemental Energy or whatever that they’ve manifested. That’s...good, probably, because at least that means the Scary Monster Thing isn’t 1. just stuck in the kid’s brain with nowhere else to go, which would lead to possession that would decidedly be incredibly difficult to deal with without harming the kid, or 2. funneled into something more dangerous to control, like a car or a nuclear warhead or some shit. But then it turns out that the kid is ABSOLUTELY still able to wreak impressive havoc and cause Large Amounts Of Destruction, even accidentally...until the spintop stops spinning. The Power Level drops dramatically as soon as the demon top is still, and it takes a little while for it to build back up once it’s launched again. But what if a feature is implemented into the spintop that allows it to keep spinning for much, much longer? Or just The Supernatural Monster Power itself becomes capable of sustaining it, through wind manipulation or something?

Now, imagine you’re idk, the government or something, someone with Power and Influence over the masses, and you see THAT happen. Shit, that was just a random kid that did that! Looked like any other kid, acted like any other kid! There is no feasible way to tell a kid with Brain Monster potential apart from other kids who are NOT That Powerful, until a brain monster happens. So, if you can’t predict it, and thus can’t do anything to mitigate the potential destruction on a case-by-case basis...well, how about you convince ALL the little kiddies that spintops are just the greatest thing ever, everyone should play with spintops, AND you ensure those spintops are mass-manufactured specifically to not be able to Hold A Charge for too long because...they burst! You’ve designed them so that violence itself causes them to fall apart and stop to cool down! It’s perfect! That way, anytime an odd mutant child with Brain Monster powers comes along, the chance of them funneling their Brain Monster into their spintop is now Very High, meaning that all the Brain Monsters will hopefully end up inhabiting these little plastic toys that actively inhibit them instead of possessing children or nukes. It’s brilliant!

This does raise some questions, though:

1. What happens when someone’s spintop breaks, and they DON’T get it repaired, after they’ve already manifested a Brain Monster to live in it? Where would the Brain Monster go in that case? Uh oh, demon on the loose? Exactly what we were trying to avoid? Shu’s change between Legend Spriggan and Spriggan Requiem in God does seem to indicate that the Brain Monster probably 1. by default, does just camp out in its blader’s brain until a new Spintop Vessel is created for it, and 2. the Brain Monster itself is probably not actually completely strictly sealed into any bey, because it doesn’t disappear as soon as the bey is destroyed, and it doesn’t stay with an old/broken bey that’s been discarded when a new bey has been made for it. Legend Spriggan was discarded and left on the riverbed, and Spriggan Requiem was then made from scratch, seemingly using no recycled physical parts from Legend Spriggan, but Spriggan Requiem’s bitbeast looks only very slightly different from Legend Spriggan’s. All of Shu’s Spriggans are honestly probably still the same creature, just progressively evolved. I don’t think we’ve ever seen somebody make an entirely NEW Brain Monster that does not resemble their original one, it seems the original simply gets developed more and more. One person apparently only possesses the ability to make a single individual Brain Monster. You Get One (1), but you can upgrade it. But what about Hearts? His Dead Hades, which very much had a Brain Ghost in it, was not only destroyed, but assimilated into Phi’s Revive Phoenix, to make Dead Phoenix. What happened to that situation, over time? We haven’t gotten to see. Is Hearts’ Hades truly actually fused with Phi’s Phoenix, ceasing to be its own entity anymore, or does Phoenix simply very slightly resemble Hades now due to its bey being upgraded with physical bits of Hades’ bey? What if it’s not even POSSIBLE to truly fuse Brain Ghosts, especially without consent? In which case...is Hades itself just lingering around back in Hearts’ brain, waiting for a new bey to inhabit, and Hearts isn’t making one because he doesn’t realize Hades isn’t just Part Of Phoenix now? That sounds potentially dangerous, there’s no more outlet for your Brain Ghost, buddy. I want to see Phi and Hearts again, to know what eventually happened there.

2. Why do the tournaments not actually enforce a rule that says “Your bey HAS to be able to be reasonably burstable”? Chouzetsu Wings and the Mugen Lock System did not equal disqualifications. Has it maybe, over time, been forgotten exactly WHY we Need Beys To Burst? Well, that’s a ticking time bomb, then. How difficult a bey is to burst does seem to directly cause its Potential Destructiveness Levels to scale accordingly. [With somewhat of an exception of Pot and his Pegasus, but it should be noted that Pot was not exactly terribly serious about beyblade initially and yet was STILL considered one of the strongest ‘bladers in the world, GT3 iirc, AND he’s very into the whole “Love and light, chillax, be in-tune with yourself and all the energy in and around you, etc.” peaceful thing.] This HAS To Be A Problem. Why is nobody concerned.

3. ...What is causing the general public not to panic about this? Why are people okay with Brain Ghost and Mass Spintop Destruction happening, instead of terrified? This shit is broadcast on TV. The stands during tournaments are packed with spectators. It may be that perhaps not everybody can SEE the Brain Ghosts themselves [and I’m skeptical about that, because there have absolutely been MANY indications that other people know what someone’s bitbeast looks like], but the Big Bada Booms they cause are DAMN sure Highly Visible. Aiga’s father seems to be the only one truly properly concerned about the incredible mass-destructive potential of the spintops. Realistically, The Salem With Trials 2: Electric Boogaloo should be happening due to the Scary Spintop Kids being Fucking Scary, and sometimes quite clearly even out-of-control of themselves.

Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure this is not a direction canon will ever go in, or I think it would have already done it. I don’t think they’re going to explore this route. It’s a shame I don’t have the chops for writing long-haul fanfiction, because if I did I would absolutely be hardcore capitalizing on this idea. This has incredible Worldbuilding Lore Potential.

[ziee]

Blinky x Reader (18+)

Arcadia. Back once more after the 15 years you've been gone. You were a friend of the Domzalski's, and the un-paid babysitter of their baby son. The day they won the lottery, you cheered in excitement for them. And the day they fell into the sea, you cried for them.

The heartbreak of your 2 best friends struck you so severely, you couldn't stand being in Arcadia any longer. The memories, the high school all 3 of you went to, the restaurant you went to after every celebration. You just couldn't bear it. The last memories of the small town were bidding little Toby and Nana goodbye.

But now, you're back.

Nana had contacted you, saying she needed help with Tobies. Half-blind and all, old and raising a teenager, you could see why. You didn't want to be out of your best friend's childs' life completely at the loss of his parents, so once in a while, you phoned your adoptive nephew. Just checking up on him, seeing how he was.

You had accepted, of course. Slightly jumping at the opportunity and a reason to come back to Arcadia, you called in sick for an indefinite amount of days and packed a suitcase. Filling up your car, you hopped into the driver's seat and started the long drive.

You were kind of thankful that you didn't have to buy a plane ticket, hating planes and airports, but the long, lonely roads brought into account new emotions. This is the first time you're going back to your hometown in 15 years.. You're going to see the high school. And the restaurant. And.. Their house.

The house you saw them buy, build and love. You remember watching them set up a room for the new baby. Deciding the colors, layout, and designs of the wall. You remember getting sloshed in the living room, accidentally breaking one of the photos upon the fireplace. Your kind of glad you did, seeing as you took the photo and hung it in your house.

The photo of the 3 of you.

The days were long in your small car, the best you could afford. Stopping at family dinners and shitty motels to rest. The cycle stopped on day 6, finally reaching the sign with bold letters spelling out, 'Arcadia'.

You picked up your phone and dialed Nana. She picked up after the 3rd time. "Hello dear! Y/n, are you coming soon?" She spoke happily, a bag crunching in the background.

"Hi, Nana. I just got into Arcadia, I'll be there in less than 10 minutes!" You smiled as you heard the old lady scolded one of her many cats.

"Alright dear. See you soon." She ended the call before you could bid farewell. You chuckled and rolled your eyes, setting your phone down into your cup container. You took in a deep breath as you entered the small town.

Driving past the buildings that seem so familiar but have changed so much, you felt an array of emotions. Happy your here. Confused as to why they would change things. Sorrow as you remembered multiple memories in the areas you passed.

Driving into the neighborhood, your car stilled at the infamous yellow house. Their house. You stared at it through your window, looking into their own as light shone from within. You sighed and started your car again.

Eventually, you pulled into Nana's driveway. Strolling up to the doorsteps, you knocked 3 times before waiting. A shuffle, a huff, and then the door opens. You smiled as your eyes suddenly felt teary. "Y/n! Oh dear, come inside, come inside." She urges you inside, holding a foot out to prevent a black cat from escaping.

You enter the warm house, the smell of bread and... Burritos filling the room? You shrug it off as you're ushered to the couch. Sitting down, you let out a heave of relief. You're not sure why. "So, how have you been?" You ask as Nana moves towards the kitchen, presumably to make you some tea.

"Oh, I've been fine. Toby and the cats keep me busy." She laughs as she grabs 4 cups. 4 cups? You could understand that the other 1 would be for Toby, so who was the other one for?

"That's great Nana." You smile, sinking into the soft cushion. Your car was not the worst, but my god the seats were terrible. It felt like nails were digging into your back and ass. Not that good for almost a week's road trip.

"So how are you dear?" She spoke as she took the kettle off the burner as it began to scream.

"Oh I've been better, I mean- WAIT- NANA, LET ME HELP YOU!" You shout, running towards the old lady, taking the opened kettle out of her hands. Unbeknownst to her, she had almost poured boiling water onto her cat.

"Ohoho, your so helpful already." She mumbles, skittering off into the living room. You look down at the tea bags sat in one of the empty cups. Orange Pekoe..  She still knows what kind you like after all these years. Your heart swells as you pour hot water into the cups, your lips rising like a goofball.

Stirring the drinks, 2 of the cups had hot chocolate and the other 2 had tea. You could guess which is which, so you handed Nana a cup while placing your own on the table before grabbing the other 2 mugs.

"I'm gonna bring this to Toby and..?"

"Oh! Toby has a friend over. His international friend, his names Arthur-San." You nodded and headed upstairs. From the top, you could hear loud cheers from inside the room you thought to be Tobies'. You knocked and waited, but you don't think they heard you from the loud volume of a video game.

You sighed and opened the door. Inside, 2 backs were turned to you. One, obviously being Toby and the other.. It was a white sheet. A large, very large in fact, figure was sat beside Toby, wearing a bedsheet. Uh-

"Hey Toby, and Arthur, Nan-" You stopped mid-sentence as the heads turned to you. A large, circle-ish face appeared from the draped sheet. A green, mossy beard decorated its chin, a mouth with 4 long teeth sticking out, and are those- HORNS??

"T-Toby.. Who is that?" You cautiously, and very slowly, set the drinks down onto a nearby dresser.

"Aunt Y/n?! What are you doing here?" Toby gets up and comes near you. You quickly grab onto him, wrapping your arms around him as you run out the door. "Wait- Auntie Y/n, he's a friend!" You turn around and quickly shut the door as you place Toby back down.

"Toby, go get Nana and run!" You scream. He just stands there, sighing. A knock from the inside of the room startles you. "Wingman?" A gruff voice speaks. You shriek as the knob is pulled from your grip, the door opening as the large head sticks out, right in front of you. Its black nose presses against your shoulder, pulling in a long sniff.

"Oh go-" And your fainting. A stone hand stops you mid-fall, preventing you from hitting a hard bottom as your eyes closed.

"I'll call Jim."

-

You awoke on a soft plush. Feeling around, you realize you're on a bed. "Master Jim, Lady Y/n is awaking." A deep voice calls out, sensing that you knew he was close to you from how loud he was. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the light of the room. Looking around, it was just a regular room. Including a monster with 6 eyes.

"AHHHH!" You scream, scrambling off the bed. The moment you do so, 2 teenagers including Toby run into the room. You move near Toby, your eyes locked on the monsters.

"Woah! Calm down Miss Y/n, if we can just explain everything-" You cut the boy with twig legs off.

"Oh, you kids better explain as to why there is a- .. A-"

"I believe the word is 'Troll." The blue monster says.

"Yes! That! Why there is a troll with 6 eyes and 4 arms staring at me right now!" You pointed to Toby, "And you! Explain what happened earlier, with that big guy. Right now." You huffed.

"Is she talking about Aaarrrgghh?" The girl with a blue streak in her hair spoke.

"Aaarrgghh? Wait a minute.. Arthur?!" Your brows furrowed. "Toby, have you been lying to Nana about this 'International student'?" You made finger quotes as you looked upon your nephew's embarrassed face.

"Uhhh, maybe?" He shrugs. You sigh, disappointed in your nephew.

"If you'll allow me to explain, Lady Y/n,"

Oh- no man, or at least you think it's male, has ever called you lady..

"Aaarrrggh and I are trolls. Master Jim as you see over there," He points to chicken legs, "Is the troll hunter. Underneath your world, there is a magnificent other world, filled with trolls and things you couldn't possibly believe." He waves his hands up in the air.

You nod, taking it all in.

"Ugh, this hurts my head." Another world? Trolls? Troll hunter?? Jim moves beside the blue troll whose name you don't know and speaks to him softly.

"Hi, I'm Claire." There's a hand that's shoved in front of you, in which you awkwardly shake.

"Hey, I'm Toby's aunt. Not biological but I knew his parents well." She nodded before removing her hand from yours. You leaned down, whispering into Toby's ear.

"Who's 6 eyes?"

A voice answered you before Toby's mouth even opened. "My name is Blinky. A pleasure to meet you, lady Y/n." The troll paddles over to you, his stone feet making satisfying clicking sounds as he walks. He holds one of his upper hands out for you to shake.

He didn't seem like such a threat, in fact, he seemed like a gentleman. You smiled and shook his hand. His skin was stone, as you could feel the cracks engraved into it as your hand flooded with a strange warmth.

"Nice to meet you too, Blinky." You release his hand after a few seconds of shaking.

"Master Jim and I were discussing a matter regarding you. If you would like, we could show you Troll Market."

"Troll Market?" You question.

"The home of trolls such as myself, and Aaarrrgghh over here." He points behind him, your eyes wander over to the window as you see that large head. The large troll waves a hand and smiles, seeing as everybody's eyes are now on him.

"Has he been out there the whole time?" You ponder. Why isn't he just in the room?

"Rooms too small." You look around, finding it is indeed smaller than your nephew's room. Oh well. You think about the opportunity to travel to this unknown world. Eh, why not. You would be keeping an eye on Toby as well, so that's always good.

"Um, well, if your offering then, of course, I'd come. Thank you for inviting me." You smile at the blue troll. He smiles back, his 6 eyes staring into your 2. His eyes just seemed so soft.. And mesmerizing, having never seen anyone like this before. Your eyes ghost his face, inspecting upon closer details on the stoned troll.

...

"Ahem." Jim coughs. You both suddenly break eye contact as Blinky coughs, making his way towards the exit.

"Aha! Yes, we should be going. Daylight is rising." He muttered as the teens follow him out. You follow, exiting the house as the breeze of the night flushes your already pink cheeks. Your lead to the bridge you had driven over while entering the town, but now under it.

Aaarrrgghh is tossed a glowing stone by Blinky, creating a semi-circle on the stone of the bridge. He punches the wall, creating a crack before it starts to fall apart. Yellow swirls around the stone before creating something like a portal?

The trolls head in, followed by Jim and Claire. "Cmon auntie, it won't hurt you." You begrudgingly sigh and follow him inside the glowing portal. Stepping inside, you wince as you close your eyes.

Not even a second later, you could feel your area darken. Opening your eyes, you see everyone else staring at you. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Goddammit. The kids laugh as Blinky looks at with you an indescribable expression.

Is he disappointed? Shocked? Unbeknownst to you, the corners of the blue troll's lips rose. "This way, lady Y/n." His 4 hands motioned you to the crystal stairs, swirling downwards in a circle. Oh my god- Wow.

Everyone makes their way down the steps, in comfortable silence. Coming further down, you stop as you take in the view. The magnificent, one-of-a-kind, breathtaking, OH MY GOD, view. "Wow." You mumble in awe, looking up at the enormous, orange crystal in the center. Everything was so beautiful.

"Welcome to HeartStone Troll Market!" Blinky exclaimed from behind you. The other smiled as they watched your reaction. Stepping down the steps, you ended up beside the 6 eyed troll as you stopped.

"Where should we go first?" Toby asked as you gazed upon the well-spoken mystery. Now taking a better look as the others speak, you watch as his eyes blink simultaneously. How the 2d tooth on both sides of his mouth is cracked. The deep grooves into his stone skin. You paid minor attention to what he was wearing before, but now looking closer you see the 2 satchels sporting each hip on his brown overalls.

Your gazing ventures further down, looking at his flat feet. Heh, they look stumpy. "Great! We'll take you to the forge, where you can see my impressive hammer skills!" Toby proclaimed, steering your head up from your gaze.

6 eyes met yours. Oh god, did he see you staring at him? Did he see you staring below his waist??? He doesn't bring it up if he did, instead leading the 5 of you to the 'forge'.

"This is the forge, where many of our great warriors have trained." Blinky gestures around the grand room. You look around in awe, feeling a little overwhelmed by such a beautiful realm.

"It's amazing." You whisper, settling yourself on the sidelines of the giant arena as the kids grab weapons. Weapons?! Oh god.. Aaarrrgghh comes and sits behind you, jolting you with a loud thud as he sits. Blinky stands beside you, gazing out at the children.

"Indeed they are." Your eyes meet his 6, a glance before breaking contact. You smile, proud of your little nephew.

"Aunt Y/n! Look!" The ginger boy yelled from across the large expanse. You watch as he pulls out a small item, before smashing it to the ground. It sprouts a large, flaming orange hammer. Your mouth widens in shock as you see him swish the weapon around. "Impressive, right? It's my war hammer." He says as he trudges over to you.

"Uh yeah, just please be careful with that." He laughs before skittering off. Guess he gets that from Nana. You sigh as you watch the kids spar, rather impressed by Jim's armor and Claire's staff. After they were done fooling around, you see as Claire checks her watch.

"Guys, it's almost 6:30. We should get going." Mumbling as she puts away her shadow staff. Toby groans, retracting his hammer as Jim takes off the amulet.

"Ughh, I forgot we had school today." You slightly chuckle at the kids' words, being the exact same as a child. Jim, Claire, and Toby all run towards the exit of Trollmarket whereas you stand still. Toby looks behind him, seeing your unmoving form.

"Are you coming, auntie?" He cocks his head.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, I just thought I would have more time checking the place out.." You trail off, glancing at what you thought to be your last look at the mysterious underground world. From behind you, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh look towards each other.

"Ahem, if I may, Aaarrrgghh and I will accompany Lady Y/n down here while you're at school. If.. That is alright with you?" His dark, red eyes turn to your form. You nod excitedly.

"Yes! Yes, I would love that." His lips form a smile, 6 eyes gleaming at you before turning back to the other 3 humans.

"Now, run along kids. Aaarrrgghh and I will keep Lady Y/n safe." 2 of his hands form a 'shoo' motion as they smile. You move towards Toby, wrapping him in a hug before bidding goodbye. Turning towards your new-found troll friends, you couldn't help but grin as your leaded into the busy streets of the market.

"This place is so beautiful. How long have you guys been living down here?" You wonder, looking around at all the shop stalls.

"A few centuries, after the battle of Killahead bridge, we had traveled until we found the heartstone you see today." Blinky gestured a hand to the bright, orange crystal towards the center wall of the market.

"Hated boat." Aaarrrgghh chimed in from behind, his large statue circling both the conundrum troll and the female human.

"Yes, we all did." Memories flashed in his 6 eyes before he shivered, obviously not liking that part of his life.

"Killahead bridge? What's that?" You question. You're stopped in front of what looked to be a bookstore. The 2 trolls enter, you following closely behind them as you take in the view. Books littered the walls everywhere. Bookshelves, books on tables, and some even on the floor.

"Ah, and that's the reason why I took you here. You seem like a lover of history, as I am. Therefore, Lady Y/n, I have taken you to my lodgings to learn about troll history!" He exclaims, clearly excited.

"This is your house?" Looking around, it does suit him.

"Indeed, now make it as if your own. I will fetch you some books you can read that will fully satisfy a craving for troll history." He runs around the room, 4 arms stacked full of large books that would most likely take you hours to read. Aaarrrgghh yawns from the corner, bored.

A few minutes later, he sets the books down with a thud on a large table. You sit in one of the chairs presented, grabbing one of the books from the top of the stack. Opening it up, you stare blankly. Turning the pages, you realize you can't read the language.

"Blinky, I can't read this." You say, head popping up from the pages, meeting his 6 eyes. He walks over to you, standing closely behind you as he looks over your shoulder. Your heartbeat quickens as you can see the strands of each of his hair. His long ears softly flap as his eyebrows furrow while reading what you can't.

"Hmm.. That is an issue." He sets a hand on his chin, pondering for a quick while before getting an idea. Sliding a chair over, he sits in front of you, grabbing the book from the table into his 2 upper hands. "Well, I'll just read it to you!" He smiles as you nod, eagerly wanting to learn about something you didn't know existed until 2 hours ago.

And so began the many hours of Blinky reading trollish to you. At some point, Aaarrrgghh decided to leave the hole, leaving you and the conundrum troll alone. You arch your strained back as he finished reading the last sentence of the 3rd book. "And those were all the creatures starting with an A!"

"Wow Blinky that was really, informational." Stretching your legs outwards, you bump onto his foot with your own. Recoiling your legs, you speak quickly, "Oh, sorry." Your cheeks flush.

"No worries Lady Y/n." He sets the book down on the table. "This may sound a bit odd," His eyes find yours, "but I've always been fascinated with the human body. If it's alright with you, lady Y/n, may I take a look at you?"

You thought for a second. Of course, you would also be curious about a different type of species other than your own. Plus, although you've only known him for a few hours, you trusted him. You nod, "Yea sure." He visibly relaxed at your answer. "But," You continue, " I want to look at you too."

He blinked, processing your words before smiling. "Of course." You were unsure of what to do now, sitting in silence as you both watched each other. It was only when he scooted closer, the sound of his chair scraping the ground broke you from your gaze.

"If I may..?" He gestured towards your resting arm. You quickly lifted it up and bent closer, showing him your fleshy arm. He told ahold gently, stone hands that were surprisingly warm against your skin. He traced up and down your arm, squishing a few times.

His breath tickled your skin, resulting in tiny goosebumps forming. "What are those small bumps?" He mumbled, eyes fixated on your arm.

"Those are goosebumps. Humans get them when we're cold." You answer, enjoying being the teacher for once.

"Fascinating." He moved down from your arm towards your fingers, squishing, prodding, rubbing. Your hands tingled in his own as he poked your fingernails. "And these?" He pointed towards them.

"Those are fingernails, they're made of keratin." He nodded, placing your hand down.

"Thank you for allowing me to look at you, lady Y/n." You smiled, waving your hand.

"No problem. Now it's my turn." He lifted his lower arm and extended it towards you. You grab hold, a bit taken aback at the size. His hand could easily fit around your whole face. You rub the warm stone, strumming your fingers along it as you play a rhythmic tune.

Unlike you, he only had 4 fingers, every one of them very large. While your head is down playing with his hand, his 6 eyes gaze upon you. Never did he allow a human he just met to poke and prod at him, so why did he allow you? The moment you had awoken in Toby's house, a scream and a stumble he had expected when you saw him, but he didn't expect you to shake his hand for so long.

He would have sufficed a quick shake and a fearful let go, leaving you in his 'ok' books. But, you just kept staring at him, even now, he feels his heart shake a little as you examine his arm. Standing near him willingly, refusing to leave with Master Jim and the others, but to stay and explore more of his world? Oh dear.

"You know," Your voice snaps him out of his daydream, "even though you're made of stone, you're actually very warm." You note as you caress his arm.

"Ah, yes, rather strange isn't it?" He brings an upper hand of his to his mouth and coughs. He could feel as you trace the engravements on his skin, your fingernails scratching him a little.

"Can I touch your belly?" He sputtered at the question.

"My stomach?" You lift your head, watching as his face contorts into a confused expression.

"I mean, uh- never mind." You release his hand and try to laugh it off. Well, that was embarrassing. You feel your cheeks rise in heat as you look at the ground.

"You may." A soft voice beckons you to look up, staring at the oh-so-kind troll, looking down at you with gentle eyes. You smile, giving a small thank you before moving your hand towards the troll's exposed stomach. Settling your hand on the stone belly, you felt him jolt slightly.

Tracing the engravings upon his skin once more, you lean closer and place your other hand onto him. Your eyes focus on his body, not daring to make eye contact. Whereas, his 6 eyes stared intently down at you. Watching, feeling your every move. He could somewhat feel your breath on his stone skin as well. Although he did find it odd you would want to touch his stomach, it did feel nice.

Your hands caress his body, leaning your face in as you stare into the cracked stone. Wonderous. As you slid your hands up, you went a bit further than you assumed as your hands went upon his chest. "Oh- sorry about that, getting a little handsy heh." You remove your hands and scratch your neck as you mentally slap yourself. Goddammit Y/n. You could feel your cheeks reddening.

He says nothing, so you look up at him. His eyes, half-lidded, staring at you with an unexplainable expression. What is..?

"May I smoosh faces with you?"

"Pardon?" You lower your hand from your neck, head shooting up from his words. Smoosh faces? Wait.. Did he mean kissing? "Do you want to kiss me?" You whisper.

"Yes! That's the word." He nodded.

"Then, yes." You nod, slowly leaning back towards him. He swallowed as you closed your eyes, coming towards him ever so slowly. He pushed his face towards yours, his large lips pressed against yours. His teeth touched your cheeks, but he was careful not to hurt you. 2 of his arms came and clutched onto your shoulders.

Unconsciously pulling you closer towards him, you lifted yourself out of your seat and onto his lap. Lower hands settle onto your waist, holding you close as you continue the kiss. He pulled away first, 6 wide eyes settled upon you.

"That was.." You try and find the word.

"Magnificent." He breathed out. His arms slowly slid up and down your waist, caressing your clothed skin. "May I.. Remove your shirt?" Struck with lust, you nodded, lifting your arms up as he removes your shirt. Discarding the shirt to the floor, he leans in and breaths in your scent.

"Blinky," You whisper in his ear, "take off my pants." You slowly grind against him in his lap, breathing heavily. He aides you in removing your clothing, until your sitting on him with only a bra on. You unclip your bra and toss it to the side, your breasts free from the barrier. Your nipples harden at the cool air, gaining the troll's attention.

He asks for your permission, "Blinky, I wouldn't get naked just so you can't touch me." He removes his upper hands from your shoulders and placed them over your breasts. He experimentally kneads, pushes, and rubs your fat lumps. You softly moan, encouraging him to continue.

"You are very squishy.." He mumbles, softly pinching your nipples. You arch your back, pushing your chest further into him as one of his lower hands moves to support your back. You grab his hand attached to your waist and pull it between your legs.

"Touch me here." You release the stone as he complies, his large fingers fiddling between your folds. He takes experimental rubs into you, finding your clit with your help as you release a loud moan. His hands continue to rub your tits, rubbing your nipples with soft strength.

"O-oh.." You grind into his hand as he rubs your button.

"I'd like to take a closer look, if I may?" He puffs in your ear. You nod, frowning as he removes his hands from your body, only to lift you up and carry you towards a back room. Entering the new room, you see a pile of pillows and blankets littering the floor. He sets you upon them before removing his overalls.

You move a hand between your legs and feel your wetness, circling your clit a few times as you beg for him in your mind. He lays his clothes on the side before returning to your side. Settling his face between your legs, he inhales your scent deeply through his large orange nose. "Human anatomy is rather fascinating up close."

He says it as if he.. You sit up, bumping against his nose before he brings his head up, a confused expression on his face. "Blinky, is this the first time you've done it?"

"Done what?"

"Had sex..?" He smiles at your worried expression. "Cause we can stop if you want to-"

"My dear, this is only the first time I've done anything with your kind. As well, I am positively overjoyed to be with you right now. Rest assured, I want to do this." You exhale and smile, flopping your head back down.

"Well, that's a relief. And I am too, Blinky, really happy to do this with you." You avoid eye contact, your cheeks too flushed to be seen. He returns his head back down, his fingers spreading your lips as he explores you.

He blows air, rubs, licks. As his mouth plays with your outer part, a stone finger gently prods your entrance. Sliding into you with ease, you gasp as you thought how a single digit was so thick. You're having sex with a troll, duh.

Soon enough, with all of his stimulation, you came around his finger. "AhhH~" Crying out, he halts his movements as you come down from your high. He leans up as your thighs twitch, bringing his soaked finger to his mouth before licking.

"Was that alright?"

You panted, holding up a thumbs up. "Amazing." He gave an innocent smile, amusing in the situation that had just occurred. You leaned up, sitting on your butt. "Blinky, so um," You gestured towards his blank pelvis.

"Ah, for me to release my, 'intimacy', I will need to be coaxed open. Protective plates will shift, revealing myself." You nodded, crawling closer towards him as he leaned back, parting his legs. You didn't know exactly what to do, so you started with rubbing the stone. Looking up towards your lover's face, he seemed to like it as his 6 eyes fell half-lidded, staring down at you.

You continued rubbing until what he had said happened, his plates parted, revealing not one, but 3 appendages. The middle, being the largest, whereas the other 2 were shorter. "Ah.. Yes, the middle one is the functioning one, carrying the sperm. The others are for added stimulation." He muttered as your hand softly caressed his cocks.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You lie down or me?" You stroke him as he ponders.

"It is your first time with a troll, so allow me to take command." A breathy voice mutters, hands removing yours from himself as he sets you on your back. "I fear the other way around would have you in pain." He was right, cowgirl position usually gets deeper.

You settle down as he scooches near you, hands ahold of his larger phallus. The smaller ones swirl and wrangle as their placed near your thigh creases. He angles the middle one to your hole, as 2 of his hands grasp your waist. Pushing his hips forwards, he slowly slides in, stretching you no man, or toy had ever done to you.

Your hands find his attached to your skin, grasping onto his hand and signal him to slow down. He does, waiting for you to adjust to his girth. It takes a long while as you wait for the pain to settle as he pushes himself in little by little. After a couple of minutes, you finally have him all inside without any pain. Discomfort? Yes, but nothing you cant handle.

As he pulls out, the first few pushes are testing. Testing your levels and discomfort. Hearing the soft sounds you make as he slowly enters you, he speeds up his thrusts. Rocky digits hold onto your skin, moving upwards towards your breasts as another set comes onto your skin. He leans over you as he rhythmically pounds into you.

His smaller tendrils wiggle and surround your opening, gently prodding your hole. You couldn't dare to fit another one inside, could you? He stares at your form, looking for any signs of pain. "Are you alright so far?" He rolls his hips against you.

"Yes! It feels so good.." You lift your arms and place your hands onto his cheeks. He gives you a toothy smile before returning to the task at hand. Your arms fell to clutch his own around you as he gives a sharp thrust. You moan as he bites his lips.

A deep growl resonated within the bookworm's chest as one of his smaller tendrils slowly pushes its way inside of you. You whine as it snakes its way through your hole, wiggling against your walls. You feel so full. You could feel yourself coming undone, a ball in your stomach forming as he slithers inside of you.

The outer phallus slides up your vulva, towards the top of your lips, finding your little pink button. You squeal as you are overwhelmed with pleasure. He grunts over you, clenching his teeth as he continues to thrust. Wet sounds surrounded the room, the slapping of him against you is the only sound in the room.

You clench down around him, both of his cocks still moving as you release onto them. Soaked in your juices, they glisten in the light as they're pulled from you in mere milliseconds before pounding back inside you. You cry out from the overstimulation, your face contorting into many expressions as your opening's abused by large cocks.

As he nears his end, his chest rumbles as he begins to make curious sounds. Deep throaty rasps, before a loud yelp lets out from his tusked mouth. Hot seed envelopes your insides, soaking your walls. He continues to thrust, riding out his orgasm before he settles down. Pulling out from you, he leans to the side and flops down.

You pant and turn towards him, grabbing onto his hand as he heaves. You both lay in silence, catching your breath from such an exhilarating activity.

[snifflyjoonie]

House Call

In which after a week of contemplation, Jimin finally decides to call Min Yoongi.

snz-centric with Yoongi as the sickie and Jimin as the caretaker.

Word Count: 3325

FlowerShop!AU Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

a/n: Um...surprise? 💀 Taking a break from my regularly scheduled request taking to bring you this pure fever dream word vomit. I went back and forth a lot on the prospects of continuing this AU and decided what the hell -- I had a few more ideas up my sleeve for our little florist yet. And I mean...a few of you asked if I’d be adding more to this AU ever so that technically makes this a request fulfillment, right?...right? Hell. We may even see more of these boys in the future. Who knows? Anyway! Without further delay, I hope you enjoy this random af extra content lol.

-

Oh, god. How long had the phone been ringing for, now? Surely for much longer than normal. 

Jimin paced nervously around his flower shop and chewed anxiously on his thumbnail. After a week’s worth of mulling it over, and some gentle (albeit persistent) encouragement from his friends, he had finally decided to give Min Yoongi a call. For one reason or another — and Jimin wasn’t entirely sure why — he couldn’t get the blonde out of his head. But now that the other man wasn’t picking up his phone, Jimin was quickly starting to believe he may have misinterpreted the other’s advances. 

God. This had been such a dumb idea. Of course Yoongi wasn’t going to answer — why would he? He should just hang up and never think about Min Yoongi ever again in his entire —

The sudden sound of fumbling on the other end of the line made Jimin stop dead in his tracks, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Hello?” A deep, gravelly voice answered. It vaguely reminded Jimin of the way someone might sound after just waking up from a nap, but it was nearly pushing 5pm.

“Um!” The florist cleared his throat and shoved his free hand into the pocket of his trousers. “H-hello is this, uh, Min Yoongi?”

He was met with a brief silence, and for a split second he started to worry that he’d possibly dialed the wrong number before the other finally responded.

“Could be.” The voice hummed with the same deep, croaky tone. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, gosh I’m sorry I-I should have said.” Jimin felt himself start to flush as he stumbled over his words. He was very grateful the two of them weren’t face to face as he knew he’d be even more of a mess than he already was. “This is, um, Park Jimin? From the flower shop?”

“Oh shit, the florist?”

Jimin felt himself nodding. He didn’t know why — the other couldn’t see him. Habitual, he assumed, as he confirmed the other’s statement with a nervous waiver to his voice.

The man on the other end instantly snorted, but it had a very obvious hint of amusement to it. Jimin felt almost as if he could hear the playful smile ghosting his lips through the phone.

“Jimin...why didn’t you just text me?”

Jimin’s expression quickly fell. Right. Texting.

“Oh my god. You’re right I should've just — god. I’m just so used to making calls at the shop, I—“

“Stop panicking, I think it’s cute.” Yoongi cut in with another low chuckle before adding, “Old-fashioned, but cute.”

Jimin flushed even deeper still — he couldn’t help it. He was starting to wish he could go back in time and try the whole exchange over again; possibly even save himself any more potential embarrassment with the anonymity of a text message.

God. Why didn’t he think of that?

The pair stayed silent briefly, the atmosphere heavy and a little awkward, before Yoongi finally broke the dead air with a sniffle.

“So, what’s up? You called?” He sniffled again and quickly added, “Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, of course. I’m glad you reached out.”

Jimin swallowed thickly as he began to resume his anxious pacing. The entire phone call had flowed so much more smoothly when he’d rehearsed it in his head — but now that he was actually executing it, it felt choppy as his confidence steadily dropped. In fact, he debated just hanging up and forgetting the whole thing, but remarkably convinced himself to press on.

“Well, I…” he started, pausing to take a deep breath. “I-it was really nice talking to you the other day, and…I sort of wanted to see if we could, um...get to know each other a little better. So I guess I was, uh, wondering if you might want to grab dinner? Maybe...tonight? With...me…?”

His question hung hauntingly in the air as he waited for Yoongi to say something — anything. Even rejection was better than silence.

“...Dinner?”

Jimin found himself nodding again, his stomach in his throat from the unsure tone in other’s voice.

“If you’re free?” He managed back, his voice catching a bit as he spoke. “I know a, um…really great sushi place.”

“Sorry, but no.” Yoongi’s response was blunt, to the point, and had no trouble instantly making Jimin feel absolutely horrible. Worried he may have overstepped his bounds, the nervous florist wasted no time falling into a self-deprecating, rapid apology.

“O-oh. God. I’m so sorry. Did I...misunderstand? God this was so stupid — look I’m really sorry, Yoongi, I—”

“Jimin. Calm down. I’d love to, just...not tonight.” He broke away from the phone to try and muffle a poorly-timed cough, but Jimin could still hear just how much the sound rattled in his chest. “I caught some kind of bug. I wouldn’t want to pass it along to you.”

There were a million different things Jimin wished he would have said back: “Don’t worry about it” “Your health comes first” “Let’s try again when you’re feeling better”.

Instead however, all that managed to come out of his mouth was a quiet, choked, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi sighed back and it was only then that Jimin started to clue into the way his words sounded much more rounded and nasally. “I have pretty piss-poor timing. But if you would’ve just called me a few days earlier,” His tone was teasing, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, Jimin felt he may’ve smiled.

“I guess I have bad timing then, too.” The florist offered with a meek chuckle, rubbing the side of his neck with his free hand. “I guess we’ll just...take a rain check?”

“Guess so.” Echoed the other before sniffling sharply and breathing out a hurried, “S-sorry, ‘scuse me—” 

Jimin could hear him fumble the phone away from himself before stifling harshly, just barely being able to contain the sudden sneeze that scraped its way out of his throat. Jimin’s own nose twitched in response, his damned phantom itch problem rearing its ugly head, before he quickly scrubbed the feeling away as Yoongi followed up his sneeze with a low, unhappy groan. 

Jimin pursed his lips. The poor guy really did sound awful.

“God, sorry.” Yoongi apologized again after returning the phone to his ear with another sniffle, this one audibly more wet. “Look, I’d love to keep talking, but.” He let out a tired sounding laugh that made Jimin’s stomach fill to the brim with butterflies. “I really feel like shit. Like… ‘wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy’ type of shit. But...I’ll text you, yeah? When I’m feeling better.”

“O-okay, yeah.” Jimin tried to hide the disappointment in his voice as he spoke. “That sounds good. You, uh…just make sure to get lots of rest.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi huffed out an amused breath. “Will do. See ya later, Park Jimin.”

Jimin ended the call and let out a long, defeated sounding sigh. Min Yoongi was sick. Because of course he would be. Jimin wished he could kick himself. If only he had worked up the courage to call him a few days earlier, then maybe, just maybe, he’d be getting ready to go on a nice sushi date with an extremely cute guy. Instead, any thoughts of a potential ‘something more’ had been squashed indefinitely. 

Granted, the other had said he’d reach back out later, but after the way Jimin had stuttered through the phone call he didn’t have very high hopes of ever hearing from the handsome blonde again.

He figured he’d simply try not to let himself think about it, which ended up proving very difficult when he got a curious phone call from his friend Namjoon a mere few minutes later.

“...Sick, huh?” Namjoon gave a sympathetic sigh that somehow just managed to make Jimin feel worse. “Sorry, Jimin. That really is too bad. Doesn’t mean you’ll never hear from him again, though.”

“Yeah...I guess we’ll see.” Jimin grumbled as he flipped his shop’s small ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. Give the guy some credit.” Namjoon encouraged with a small scoff. Jimin knew he was being a bit melodramatic, but he didn’t care enough to stop. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway? You never told me.”

“It’s, uh… Min Yoongi.” Jimin murmured, keeping his voice small as if to pretend he didn’t already have the name memorized.

“Wait — Min Yoongi?”

“...Yeah?”

The sound of Namjoon’s sudden laughter bubbled through the phone line and made the florist cock an eyebrow curiously. 

“Jimin — I know the guy.”

Jimin nearly dropped his phone.

“You...know him? Really?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon laughed again, clearly amused. “He used to bartend with me a few years ago. We haven’t spoken in awhile, though. God...what a small world.”

Jimin echoed his laughter, but it sounded much more forced and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “no kidding.”

There was a brief pause before Jimin heard Namjoon take a deep breath.

“...You said he’s sick?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah.” Jimin hummed in confirmation. “He sounded pretty bad.”

“Well…” Namjoon’s tone had taken on a sing-song quality, reminding Jimin of kids passing secrets in a playground. “Do you want his address?”

“Namjoon, what—”

“To swing by, I mean.” Namjoon was quick to cut in and clarify his intentions. “Maybe drop him off some dinner? To my knowledge he’s never moved.”

“Wouldn’t that be...kinda weird?”

“I mean…” Namjoon seemed to mull it over a moment. “You said he gave you his number, right?”

Jimin hummed a yes.

“Then, no. Not weird. Just tell him I told you where to go.” Jimin could hear Namjoon smiling through the phone. “Jimin. Do you want his address or not?”

“W-well…” Jimin thought it over. “Do you know if he likes sushi?”

*

Jimin stared at the outside of Yoongi’s door as he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. He barely knew Yoongi, had only ever spoken to him really just the once, and yet there he stood: take-out sushi in one hand and over-the-counter cold meds in the other. A voice in the very back of his mind kept screaming at him to just leave while he still had the chance, before Yoongi realized he had even showed up, but he did his best to try and ignore it. He had already come all this way, bought all these things, now the very least he could do would be to deliver them. With a nervous sigh, Jimin mustered up every ounce of courage he had left and quickly rapped his knuckles against the hardwood of Yoongi’s door.

Sure enough, a raspy cough could be heard approaching from inside of the small flat, and not a minute later, the door started to unlatch and pull open.

Jimin watched with a tight-lipped smile as Min Yoongi’s head slowly peeked into view, his eyes squinting against the bright rays of sunlight that streamed in through the open door. His bleached blonde hair was disheveled with sleep, sticking out in ways that made him look much younger than he actually was. He had a tissue crumpled in one hand that he kept tightly pressed against the base of his red, raw nose, and he wore a pair of black glasses that, for one reason or another, Jimin just simply had never pictured. 

He had only seen the man one other time previously, but his rumpled, sickly appearance still somehow managed to catch Jimin a bit off guard. Out of everything though, the part that easily surprised Jimin the most were the beautiful floral tattoos that ran up and down Yoongi’s small arms. They seemed to stop just before his wrists and extend upwards towards his shoulders, and if the splash of colour at the base of his v-neck was anything to go by, they clearly bled their way onto his chest as well.

“...Jimin?” Yoongi’s voice dripped heavily with congestion and made him sound as if his nose was stuffed full of cotton. He took a deliberate step into the space created by his open door, seemingly trying to stop the other’s view inside, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “How the fuck did you…?”

“Uh! Well, do you know Kim Namjoon…?” Jimin watched Yoongi’s glassy eyes soften as he seemed to recognize the name. “He’s, uh, a friend of mine from high school. He passed along your address when I told him you weren’t feeling well. You sounded pretty awful on the phone so I just thought I’d…” Jimin trailed off sheepishly and raised both of the bags in his hands up a little higher as if that was somehow a good enough explanation.

“So you decided to make a house call, huh?” Yoongi scoffed, “...You really are old-fashioned.” He turned his upper body in towards his apartment and coughed roughly against his fist before facing Jimin again. “I don’t even know what to say. This is—” He gestured to the two bags as he searched for the right words, “—very sweet. Thank you.”

Jimin felt his cheeks grow warm as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. At this point, the logical thing to do would be to hand the poor man over the food and medicine and be on his way. But for one reason or another, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to miss an opportunity to chat with the man he’d somehow become so heavily infatuated with. That’s why instead, without too much of a second thought, Jimin simply found himself blurting out: “I brought enough food for two. Do you think I could come in?”

Yoongi seemed to hesitate a moment at the other’s forward request before he stole a glance over his shoulder at the room behind him.

“I mean...yeah, alright.” He shrugged and ran a knuckle against the underside of his nose, sidestepping out of the doorway so Jimin could enter. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors, so uh, sorry about the mess.”

Jimin shook his head in understanding as he waddled his way into Yoongi’s flat, kicking off his shoes in the doorway. He passed the plastic medicine bag over to the other as Yoongi mumbled something about looking for a facemask before Jimin allowed himself a quick moment to look around. 

The walls of the flat were filled with stunning floral artwork, and many half-finished easels were scattered in small stacks along the floor. Yoongi had a sketchbook laid out on his coffee table next to a pile of used tissues and a cup of what Jimin assumed could only be tea. The air smelt vaguely of eucalyptus and menthol and there was a gentle beat of music playing from his television.

“Are you...an artist?” Jimin couldn’t help but ask as he shuffled his way towards the coffee table to set down the food. He stole a glance at Yoongi’s open sketchbook and cracked a smile at the beautiful sunflower drawings the other had been working on.

“In a sense.” Yoongi affirmed, joining Jimin by the coffee table with a facemask now resting beneath his chin as he pulled a tissue from a nearby box. “I’m a tattoo artist.” 

The surprised expression on Jimin’s face was enough to coax a small chuckle out of Yoongi as the blonde wrapped the new tissue around his nose and twisted his upper body away to blow.

“I didn’t even know you had tattoos.” Jimin admitted as he started laying out the containers of sushi onto the table. “You were in a jacket the last time I saw you.”

Yoongi hummed in remembrance as he switched the pressure of his fingers from nostril to nostril to try and clear himself out. 

“Not a fan?” He asked teasingly after finishing, coughing lightly against his fist as he threw the tissue into a nearby bin.

“Oh Yoongi, are you kidding?” Jimin gasped, shifting his attention from their sushi dinner to the artwork that stained Yoongi’s skin. “They’re beautiful.”

Jimin could tell Yoongi seemed a bit taken aback by his sincerity as a small pink blush started to dance its way across the man’s face. He offered him a warm smile before plopping himself down onto the sofa with a small grunt. 

“All the rolls are, uh, basically the same.” Jimin explained as Yoongi took a seat adjacent to him. “I just doubled my normal order, so I hope you like it.”

Yoongi nodded, dabbing his wrist against his nose as he made a grab for one of the containers and a pair of wooden chopsticks. If he seemed at all put off by Jimin’s sudden appearance on his doorstep he didn’t show it. Instead, the man continued to carry himself with an air of nonchalance that left Jimin wondering what he might have been thinking about the whole situation. 

Suddenly, an urgent sounding sniffle from Yoongi pulled Jimin from his train of thought as the older man hurriedly set his container of food back onto the coffee table. He gasped in a way that bordered on sounding erotic and swiftly tried to yank his mask over the lower half of his face. Turning his upper body as far from Jimin as he possibly could, Yoongi finally fell into himself with three sneezes that he tried to crush into the crook of his elbow.

“hH’INGx’shh! ‘NNGT’tshh! hH’ISSHhh’hiuu!” He rose back up with a harsh sniffle and pulled his glasses from his face. “Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry.” He grumbled as he smooshed the heel of his palm against the corner of one eye.

Jimin shook his head, bringing a sweater-donned hand up to cover his nose and mouth as Yoongi stole some tissues from a nearby box.

“Don’t be sorry.” The florist managed, his own nose itching empathetically from Yoongi’s sudden outburst. He did his best to fight the feeling — his sympathy sneezing always made him feel a bit silly — but his fight proved to be in vain as he sucked in a shuddering breath through his teeth and rocked forward against his sleeve with a single breathy sneeze.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him from behind a tissue, chuckling slightly mid blow.

“I told you we should’ve done this a different day.” He joked as Jimin scrubbed his nose against his sleeve. “Now look at you.”

“No, no, I’m really fine, trust me.” Jimin assured as Yoongi finished blowing his nose. 

“Oh, that’s right. You ‘just sort of sneeze a lot’. How could I forget?”

Jimin buried his face into the sleeves of his sweater and groaned, cringing at the memory as Yoongi placed his sushi container back into his lap with a laugh.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed.” He snapped his wooden chopsticks in two before continuing. “I was a mess the last time you saw me. Honestly I’m shocked you even called me.”

Jimin let out an airy chuckle at the memory of Yoongi’s first appearance in his shop a week prior. The poor man couldn’t have been in the shop for more than five minutes before the sickly sweet aroma of the flora overwhelmed him. With the memory now fresh in his mind, Jimin once again turned his attention to the beautiful sunflower drawings in Yoongi’s sketchbook.

“Honestly I’m a bit surprised to see all the floral artwork you have. I mean...even your tattoos.” He gestured towards one of Yoongi’s arms with another small giggle. “With an allergy like yours I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t be a fan.”

“Hey, I told you before — I love flowers.” Yoongi popped a piece of sushi into his mouth before continuing. “They just don’t love me back.”

“Well I mean, if it’s any consolation, I’m a florist and so far I don’t dislike you.”

“Hey,” Yoongi snorted. “That works for me.”

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Three

Ao3,  MasterPost,   C.1,   C.2

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality

Warnings: swearing, innuendo (thanks Remus), a bit of spiraling thoughts, even more guilt (patton get a grip man),  

Word Count: 2,721

Patton stood in the center of Remus’ room, waiting patiently while the being darted this way and that. Maybe he should’ve sat down, but none of the furniture in the room looked domesticated enough. Maybe he should’ve moved out of the way, at the very least, but the edges of the room rolled and moved and Patton did not want to know what made the corners seem so indefinite.

Remus moved in repetitions. First, he would reach into some shelf or jar or receptacle (or, on occasion, stick his hand right through the wall)- retrieving some item large or small- and hold it in his claws. He would then turn it over in his hands, and smell/lick/poke it. Each time he’d deem it not what he was looking for, drop it- never in the same place that he’d gotten it from- and then move on again. Around and around he went in the room, doing the same thing on each cycle. 

Patton was starting to get dizzy watching it, honestly. 

Remus stopped in front of his closet this time, and leaned in. He rummaged, loudly, but this time there was a shout of “Aha!” that made Patton start in surprise.

“What-!” He cleared his throat, “What did you find?”

Remus jumped to his feet, shimmying his shoulders back and forth. A loud clatter followed each movement, like legos in a barrel. When Patton tried to see what he had, though, he turned his back to him again. 

“I found something to do that won’t traumatize you!” He sing-songed, dancing around and keeping up the clamor of his mystery object. Patton laughed, light and surprised, trying again to take a look. Again, Remus danced ridiculously out of the way.

“Well, that’s very considerate of you," he trailed behind the source of the noise, smiling,  “Mind telling me what it is?” 

“What’s it sound like?” Remus shook the box again. Although- Patton could see now that it wasn’t a box as much as it was a case; a very, very large and heavy-looking case, half the size of Remus’ torso. 

“Um- bean bag filling?”

Remus cackled, his head tipping side to side.

“Nope! I’m pretty sure I would’ve eaten it by now!”

“Uh-huh,” Patton couldn’t help giggling to himself, as Remus’ laughter- along with many things about him- was infectious. “Is it a box full of maracas?”

Remus bounced on his heels, shook his head. Patton didn’t waste time guessing again. He knew just what an impatient Creativity looked like, and so he waited the last few moments before Remus couldn’t help turning around on his own and happily displaying the container. 

  Cradled in the Duke’s arms was the enormous case of clear-plastic, filled to the brim with what Patton could now see were pony beads. The beads came in every color thinkable- plenty of varieties, too. Glitter, metallic, letters, star-shaped, heart-shaped, tooth-shaped, et cetera et cetera! There were also, of course, spools of elastic. And charms, metal or rubber, plenty of those for decorating.

Patton examined this carefully, as a cautious excitement warmed him through his chest. He looked from the case to Remus, finding the side grinning proudly up at him. 

“Bracelets?” Patton questioned.

“Bracelets!” Remus answered.

He was caught off-guard by such a wholesome hobby, he couldn’t lie, but Remus showed no signs that any of this was odd at all. As he wandered across his room, kicking heaps of trash and laundry out of the way to make room for them to sit, Patton found himself following his lead without much debate. 

“I know you like to make those little thread ones,” Remus sat down on the floor, gesturing loosely to Patton’s arm, “And I make these beady things every now and then, so.” 

“But I’ve never seen you wear any?” He sat down across from Remus, folding his legs beneath himself. The carpet was stained with many unpleasant colors- mostly dark red, and an upsetting amount of yellowed-gray. He was careful to avoid those patches. 

“I wear ‘em under my sleeves, for when I wanna play with them. Making them gives me something to do with my hands, I guess,” Remus slid his fingers under the ruffled cuff of his sleeve, slipping a bracelet off his wrist. He held it up, displaying its murky green and black beads, the word ‘vomit’ spelled out with square beads in the middle of it. 

“Oh!” Patton reached forward in excitement, rolling the plastic between his fingers. It felt smooth, movements fluid, the beads rattling pleasantly against each other. “You use them to stim?”

Something in Remus’ expression lit up like fluorescents, replacing his usual unnerving mania with a flash of genuine excitement. 

“I use everything I wear to stim, Daddio,” he gestured first to his frayed sash, then the teeth sewn into his shirt, and onto the layers of glittered fabric. He was covered in flashing colors and textured fabrics and different parts, all apparently intentionally placed.

That spark of similarity was all it took for Patton to forget the vestiges of his awkwardness, as he let go of Remus’ bracelet and yet again laughed.

 He helped Remus set up the case, slotting the different sections of it out and setting them down in between themselves. There were so many, and once it was all set, Remus wasted no time in getting to work. The motions he went through were practiced, well-worn with almost nothing other than muscle memory and a vague sense of design. 

Just like that, they were both quiet again- Remus because of his focus, Patton because he lacked the words to say. He tried to follow the other side’s lead, snipping a bit of elastic off a thick spool from the center of the case and grabbing a handful of beads, haphazardly.

Opening up his hand to look at the selection, he found a few neon pink ones, reds shaped like anatomically accurate hearts, and an oblong metal charm that bore striking resemblance to a-

Oh! 

He tossed that one back, feeling flustered. 

They’d both been quiet for too long, he realized. He didn’t know what to say, still, came the dawning fear next. Patton looked up from his work, mouth falling open without any plan, to find that Remus was already staring at him. Intently.

“Hi,” Patton blurted.

“Do you like music?” Remus said it at almost the same time as him, the words chasing each other. In his voice was a trace of awkwardness- not nearly as much as Patton’s, but it was there, and that was… comforting, somehow. 

He looked down at his hands, looping a few pink beads down his string. 

“What kind?”

Remus hummed confusedly, giving the distinct impression that he’d forgotten music came in different varieties. 

“Most kinds!” He began, “But today, I think I’m feeling violent- violent in a cute way, don’t worry,” he smiled, too, like that made sense at all, like he was trying to be persuasive. It was- what, endearing? Or at the very least it was funny. 

Patton smiled back, his hands twisting around his string.

“Whatever you want, bud.”

Remus had summoned a speaker already, but as he leaned over to place it he dropped it with a weighty thump. Patton jumped, seeing Remus sitting slack-jawed in surprise across from him. Concern filled his head, but then it clicked.

He’d never called him anything so… friendly.

“Oh- Remus, I-”

“It’s fine!” Remus scrambled to grab the speaker, claws skidding off it more than once. “Call me whatever! I don’t care!”

But his voice was a little too pitchy, and his pupils a bit too dilated, and Patton thought that he did care- that he in fact cared very much. 

When music filled the room, painfully loud at first, Patton said nothing. He watched Remus, twisting the volume knob in a very focused manner, and he felt warm. 

The sounds weren’t what he was used to, to say the least, but it was almost nice. Everything was a little too noisy, and a little too vulgar, and a lot too foul, but beneath it all he could see the appeal. He listened to it, and it seemed almost like he was learning. Patton scooped up another set of beads- this time with a bit more care- threaded them together contentedly. 

It felt like Remus was really trying to be hospitable. He wasn’t doing too bad of a job about it, either- which was more than Patton could say about himself, in years past. A lot more, actually. 

Remus’ voice broke through the music: “What are you thinking about?”

Patton blinked, smiling up at his maybe-sort-of-potential friend. 

“What do you mean?”

Remus’ face was angled down towards his project, contorted with concentration.

“You’re thinking about something. You make less noise than a day-old corpse when you get caught up in your head.”

“Oh!” Was he really that easy to read? Wait, don’t answer that… “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Take it from me- reigning champion in thinking about upsetting shit- talking about it is how you make sure your brain doesn’t devour itself Ouroboros-style.”

And Patton said, quietly:

“Yeah, but your upsetting thoughts don’t upset you.”

“Who said they don’t?” Remus sounded confused- genuinely, sincerely confused. Patton winced, taken aback by his own insensitivity. 

“Oh my goodness, it- I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” 

Remus’ confusion mounted.

“That’s alright?” He started, “I’m used to it all, I know how to handle it. Which is why, I was going to say, if you keep it all up here-” he tapped his head, a faint rattling resulted in it, “-then all your brains are gonna goosh out from your ears and eyes and nose from the stress! Probably.”

“I-” his voice wobbled, “I know.”

There was a beat.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” it wasn’t a question, but it was soft enough to sound like one. Patton refused to look up anyway, hands pulling taut the elastic of his bracelet. His eyes slipped closed for merely a moment, and he sighed.

“I can’t stop feeling guilty around you… but that’s just my problem, okay?”

Remus’ reaction was unexpected, even for him. He breathed out slow, exhaustion crawling down his face in such a foreign expression for him. His lips were quirked down in a half-scowl. 

“I make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He rolled his eyes, gesturing with his free hand. “This was your idea, you know. You can leave anytime you want, I’m sure as fuck not gonna think you’re rude- you think I’m in a place to judge people?” 

With a sudden intake of breath, Patton twisted his partially made bracelet around his hand and pulled it taught, startled and fidgeting. 

“What-? No! You aren’t the problem, Remus, I am,” he shook his head in bewilderment, “I don’t- I have no idea how to talk to you, but I know that I do want to! Everything you’ve done today makes me want to talk to you more, and I still can’t figure out how, and I- I’m sorry. I can’t get over the- well, the everything, Remus.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Remus looked oddly vacant.

“Do you-” He stopped short.

“I should-” Patton cut off. 

This was a bad idea. It was a bad idea and he never should have done this and he never should have accepted Remus’ help in the first place. He wasn’t going to get the hang of this no matter how hard he tried, and now he’d somehow rendered Remus speechless, which clearly meant he’d messed up beyond what he thought possible. Patton hadn’t changed a bit, still so ungrateful and insensitive to this creature, who’d so selflessly helped him and held him and. And.

He felt sick. 

“It’s not your fault?” Remus’ words came out like a question. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, actually. Or why you’re doing that.”

Patton dropped the last few beads onto place, staring blankly at the untied jewelry in his hands. He counted the beads. Tried to breathe. 

“I’m sorry because you think that I don’t like you.”

Remus snorted. 

“You don’t like me.”

“Wh- yes, I do!”

“Oh, do you? Or do you like that I did something nice for you, and you think you need to pay it forward.”

Patton ground his teeth, indignant. No, he was confused about a lot of things, but this much he knew wasn’t the reality anymore.

“You know what? Maybe that was true, when I first decided I ‘had’ to do this, but I’ve done a lot of thinking- I can’t stop thinking about you, actually. I had so many ideas about what you were, what you meant, and it’s hard to understand that for thirty years- thirty years- I was wrong,” Patton set his jaw so tight it hurt. “But I’m going to understand it because I can see that you’re- you can be kind. You did a nice thing for me and you didn’t have to. You’re funny, too, I never thought you’d make me laugh, but you-”

Remus interrupted him with a snort. And then, he was cackling, doubled over and wheezing and Patton had no choice but to wait for him to finish. 

“Stop, fuck, stop talking,” Remus giggled, “I knew you were a himbo, but wow, dumb. You’re really beating yourself up about this, huh?” Remus had his chin resting on his hand, leaning forwards with half-lidded eyes and a lazy grin. “You don’t have to list all the reasons you should like me. You don’t owe me anything, and I like it that way.” 

Patton didn’t respond. Remus continued anyway. 

“I let you cry on me cuz you were having a meltdown. That’s just what people do. You’d do it- you’re way more cuddly and lovey-dovey than me, you’d do it for anybody. Anybody would do it for anybody. It doesn’t matter, Pops.”

Patton tied the knot of his bracelet, finally. looped the string over itself thrice and tightened it well. The backs of his eyes stung.

“Is it really so bad that I want to try being friends with you? Is that really so stupid?”

Remus’ expression cleared, the words not yet processed. Slowly, his mouth twisted, his eyes went just a bit wide, all in a look that shouted something like epiphany. He sunk his teeth into his lip. 

Remus snapped the bracelet he’d made with his claw, letting the beads scatter across the floor. He dove forward for the case, scooping up a new set, and got to work. He ordered them strategically, fixing them all into a line and moving so quickly that Patton realized he’d only been working so slowly before so that he was matching Patton’s own pace.

He was done in a minute or less, tying it off and slicing off the excess elastic.

“Arm, gimme.”

Patton felt a small rush of surprise, not even hesitating to stick his wrist out and let Remus push the bracelet up past his hand. The touch was gentle, letting the accessory fall into place on his arm.

It was bright and neon- more so than anything Patton would ever wear, usually. The colors were an eyesore, but they were. Well. Teal, white, interspersed with occasional green, and that said more about the jewelry than however saturated it was. There were unique beads dotted throughout, too- teddy bears and hearts. It was cute. It was comfortable.

Patton glanced up, so many things that he thought he should say but none of them came to fruition. Remus’ eyes bored into him with their intensity, questioning and fierce and almost confused.

Patton picked up his own small creation. It was pink and gray and white, all pastel and pretty, with metal charms that were cool to the touch. He nudged it over to Remus, fully aware that it contrasted with the side’s aesthetic even more than Remus’ gift did for him, and that he already had so very many.

But Remus didn’t hesitate either, shoving his sleeve up and adding the new piece to his collection. He grinned. 

And, as cheery as he ever sounded, like nothing odd had happened at all, Remus said:

“We should do this again sometime, then. Maybe I’ll even make you something with real hearts!”

Chapter Four

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 20)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: none, just an unexpected visitor, a protective Bucky, and a very worried Pepper Potts

Word Count: 1554

Author’s Note: Well lovelies, we’re in the endgame now. We have probably two days left depending on how long I decide to draw this out/ how long it takes me to scrub over the last four parts. Yep, we’re going to 24 parts total. Then that’ll be all folks. But let’s not dwell, we still have a little left in this journey. For now, let’s find out who was knocking  at your door so early in the morning...

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 20

Bucky opens your front door to reveal a very confused Director of SHIELD. “Barnes, this is a surprise.” he says as he enters your apartment.

“Hi Fury.” you say affectionately, going over to give him a quick hug. Despite what most of the agency thinks, you know for a fact that Fury is a sweetheart. He rarely shows it but you have spent enough time with him over the past eleven years to have built up a solid friendship with the man. 

Fury purses his lips and glares at Bucky but he accepts your hug and reciprocates it. “You didn’t tell me you had collected a stray, Minnie.” 

“I did too! You knew he was flying back to stay with me.” you protest. Bucky moves next to you to pull you in against his side by your waist, it’s blatantly territorial but you let him. 

“Yes, but letting him crash here is very different than the lack of clothing going on here. And I’m betting if I so much as move wrong towards you, lover boy here would have me split in two.” 

Bucky shrugs and nods at Fury who chuckles at his brazenness.

You turn bright red as you realize you’re in only a t-shirt and Bucky is just in his sweatpants. It looks, well, it looks like exactly what it is. “Come on, Fury. I’m a grown up.”

“I know you are. I’m just a little surprised. Never seen you with a man before, Minerva.” 

Your face flushes even harder. “I’m selective.” you bite back at him.

Fury laughs hard and recovers himself quickly. “So what’s the deal here, Barnes? Do I need to ask what your intentions are with our girl?”

Bucky’s grin is wolfish, “Well, Fury, I just got done making her breakfast and once we’re done I was gonna take her back to bed and-”

“No!” you yelp, cutting him off, “Nope, don’t you dare finish that sentence.” 

Fury is laughing again, “I get the idea, Barnes. How long is your little sabbatical going to take?”

Bucky gives you a sidelong look before responding. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to you about it yet and doesn’t want to over step, but he can’t imagine leaving your side anytime soon. “Take me off the list for now. I won’t be doing any more missions for a while. I’ve already emailed Pepper letting her know I’m out indefinitely.” 

This is news to you. You had hoped but didn’t expect him to really step away from it all. “You didn’t tell me that.” you say, your voice hopeful. 

Bucky kisses your cheek, “I was going to over breakfast. I don’t want to get pulled away right now. I’m going with you to work next week, see how it goes.” 

“Okay, we’ll see how it goes.” you agree. Your heart is beating out of your chest and you jump when Fury clears his throat. 

“Well, isn’t this cute.” he deadpans, “Minnie, if you need anything, call.” he says fondly to you before shooting another glare at Bucky, “Barnes, if you need me, good luck.” 

Bucky laughs and you roll your eyes. Fury hands the case he’s been holding to Bucky and he thanks him for the delivery. 

“Yeah, well, I hadn’t seen our girl here in a while.” Fury shrugs and turns to you, “Your paycheck from the mission was deposited yesterday, by the way. And Barnes, the kids at St. Agnes and the shelter over on East 33rd were both very appreciative of the donations. They’re set up nicely for the foreseeable future.” 

You both thank him and Fury says his goodbyes, reminding  you again to call if you need him. 

“I didn’t expect him to show up like that.” you tell Bucky as you sit back down to your breakfast. 

“He’s just looking after you. Probably wanted to make sure you were okay since he knew I was crashing here.” Bucky guesses.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him surprised like that before. He cares though, I can’t fault him for that.”

“Absolutely not, the more people keeping an eye on you the better.”

You pout at him, only slightly offended, “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.”

“Not saying you can’t, mouse. But it doesn’t hurt to have backup from some very powerful people. There’s something about you that brings out a guy’s over protective instincts.” 

“Like I’m a damsel in distress?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“No, like you’re the most valuable thing in the world and must be protected at all costs.” 

Your face heats and you give him a shy smile, “Smooth talker.” 

“Only the truth, doll. I would give up my right arm before I let anyone hurt you.” 

You can see the seriousness in his eyes and you drop your fork. A warm, desperate feeling is bubbling up inside you, but it’s too fast, too soon, not even rational. And yet still it forms deep in your chest. You’re blinded by it and its intensity. “Bucky… I…” you flounder for words. 

Bucky sees the emotions flitting across your face and he knows. He sees the emotion you’re trying to stifle down and it echoes what he’s felt forming in his chest since he woke up to you in that hospital room. It doesn’t make any sense to him either and he refuses to think too deeply on it, but it’s there and he knows it’s only getting stronger the longer he’s around you. “It’s okay, doll. Come on, eat your breakfast before it gets any colder. I’m gonna go start on the laundry.” 

Bucky deposits his empty plate and cup in the sink and goes to gather up the dirty clothes. He’s glad you’re tidy by nature, all of your laundry is easy to find in a wicker basket by your dresser. His clothing is strewn between his bag and the floor next to it on his side of the bed. He smiles to himself as he picks up the socks and shirts, he has a side of the bed now. Bucky had noticed the stacked washer and dryer when he was looking for towels in the hall closet and hauls the basket, now full of both of your clothes, over to it. The dials are simplistic and close enough to the ones he had to figure it out on his own. Once he gets the load started he goes back to make the bed, wanting to give you time to eat in peace. He’s finishing up when he hears the sink running and realizes you must be starting on the dishes. Bucky makes his way back to the kitchen and sees that he was right. “Come on, mouse. I’m supposed to be doing all this.” he complains lightly.

You shake your head at him, “No way, you cooked, I’m cleaning up.” 

Bucky grumbles but lets you go. He heads off to find his phone and see if Pepper has responded to him yet. It turned out she didn’t email him back, she called him. Four times. The voicemails range from curious, to annoyed, to concerned. He slips out onto the balcony to call her back.

“Hey Pepper.” he says when she answers.

“Bucky, god, you had me worried!” she yells at him.

“I’m fine, just taking some time off.”

“Time off? Your email said indefinitely. And you won’t even say where you are. What am I supposed to think, Bucky? So soon after Steve, and Tony, and you went on that stupid reckless mission…” she’s genuinely upset and Bucky feels guilty for worrying her.

“I’m sorry, Pep. I get it and I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“So where are you? What happened on the mission? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, the mission was a success. I did get shot but I’ve already healed and I decided to stay with a friend.”

“I’m not even going to start on the ‘you got shot’ part. I know all of your friends, Bucky, they’re here at the compound. So where are you?”

Bucky snorts a laugh at her determination. “I made a new friend. I really can’t tell you where I am though. I can’t do that to her, she’s very private about her life outside of SHIELD. All I’m going to say is that she’s a newly retired agent and I’m perfectly safe.” 

“Wait… you’re with a woman?” 

“Yes, Pepper. She’s a woman.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Pepper says in shock. “Is this woman a friend, or a friend?”

“I care about her very much and I'm leaving it at that. Maybe I’ll bring her out to the compound to meet you guys but don’t expect it anytime soon.” 

“Wow. Just… wow. Okay. As long as your safe. If you need anything from your room here let me know how to get it to you, and you have your card so you don’t need to worry about that. I, uh, I just… wow. Okay, well, be safe and let me know if you need anything. I’ll make sure to take you out of rotation until you tell me otherwise.”

“Thanks, Pepper. I appreciate it. You take care, tell everyone I said hey.”

“You take care too, Bucky.”

They said their goodbyes and Bucky heads back inside to you. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms @rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

[keepeacer]

Let me collect dust.

more gyjo! a chaptered slow burn this time :)

Chapter 1 - Lady Grinning soul

Words: ~5673

Rating: M (for future chapters)

Content Warnings: drinking, getting hit in the head with shoes

Summary: It’s the summer of 1977, and Gyro Zeppeli is the bassist in a band. He does the singing, too. After getting a late start to a show day, he meets someone in a bar that he has the feeling he’ll be seeing a lot of in the future.

Ao3 Link

Full chapter under the cut

The Sunset Strip has been, historically, a breeding ground for talent. Some artists rose through the ranks of the clubs like Aphrodite from the froth of the Mediterranean, and others suffered a fate akin to Icarus— melting and collapsing under the weight of their own excess. It was, and still is, a veritable neon mausoleum.

Legions of would-be rock stars and pin-ups flocked to these musical establishments like flies to rotting meat, drowning themselves nightly in swathes of glitter and narcotic cocktails made up of ingredients they couldn’t begin to pronounce. It was a fairly common occurrence to see people dragged out on stretchers from a bad high, or simply knocked out cold on various surfaces and left there until some good Samaritan hauled them over their shoulder and took them home... wherever that was.

The overarching theme was that most of these lost souls didn’t exactly have a home to return to.

Diego Brando was not one of these lost souls.

No, Diego Brando had himself a stuffy little apartment in the Hollywood Hills, with a balcony on one side facing that horrid white lettered sign, to boot. In this apartment he had installed a rather large conversation pit with red upholstery, upon which was perched a grey miniature poodle with the name tag “Silver”. Silver was currently chewing happily on a pair of cherry red Doc Martens.

The owner of these boots lay splayed across one section of the couch with one arm covering his face and the other dangling towards the floor, a pea green sheet haphazardly thrown onto his otherwise nude form. His snores were thunderous and his sleep was deep, deep enough that he didn’t register the indignant shout from across the room, or the half-eaten boot that was flung at his head until it had been picked up and he had been slapped with it again, a bit more insistently this time.

He twitched as he stirred from his sleep, a long yawn escaping his lips, which he smacked after the fact. A wince; his breath tasted absolutely rancid.

It suddenly registered in his mind that he had been attacked in his sleep. He hoisted himself up on his elbows and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. His assailant had gathered Silver into robed arms, a violent expression raging in pointed turquoise eyes.

Despite his diminutive form, Diego Brando managed to be the exact kind of disheveled morning-after-terrifying that caused Gyro Zeppeli to physically recoil, pulling his sheet over more of his person as if it would serve as some sort of protection.

Gyro did not know what he did to warrant such venom, but it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been woken up in such a way. He smiled sheepishly, hoping that he’d calm the other man down with his trademark disarming grin. “Good mornin’, sunshine.”

It did not work. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Uh… sleeping?”

Diego all but growled as he stomped into the pit, leaning over slightly and picking up the victimized boot with the hand that wasn’t cradling Silver. He advanced toward Gyro, waving the boot in the air. “Do you know what this is?”

“Yeah, that’s a bo— Huh?! ” Gyro spluttered, eyes widening at the realization that those were, in fact, his prized cherry Docs . His gaze shot from the boots to the poodle in Diego’s arms, a poodle that looked almost smug . It knew what it had done. “The fuck happened to my boots?!”

Diego threw Silver’s newest chew toy at Gyro, connecting with his chest with a dull thud and an “Ow!”. He ran his hand over the tuft of hair on Silver’s head, cooing down at his pet.

“I’m sorry this oaf tried to poison you, darling,” Diego purred, scratching under Silver’s chin.

Gyro looked at him incredulously. “How? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your boots.”

“And?”

“You left them where my sweet angel could have choked on them.”

Gyro scoffed in utter disbelief. He had half a mind to jump up and start yelling, but he remembered his physical state and decided that, what with the wide-open windows, Diego’s neighbors didn’t deserve that kind of performance this early in the morning. He instead contented himself with sitting upright completely and angrily gripping his boot. His poor, poor boot.

“Your angel?!” Gyro scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at the doe-eyed Silver. “That little rat that chewed the absolute fuck out of my fucking boots? That’s real goddamn leather!”

This was met with an eye-roll. “Oh, please. They cost you what, 20 dollars at most?”

“20 dollars at most,” he mocked, putting on the most obnoxiously fake English accent he could muster. Gyro gestured around angrily to the opulent apartment he’d regrettably become a guest in for the night. “ Just 20 dollars . You know, you were so much nicer last night. Weren’t beating me with my own damn things, for one.”

“You endangered the life of my pet, you brute!”

“You owe me new boots.”

“I don’t owe you a bloody thing!”

Gyro threw his hands up into the air and dragged them down over his face in exasperation. He’d made several unwise decisions in his life and going home with a psychotic Englishman was proving to have been one of the worst. He drummed his fingers on his cheeks, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

The previous night had been spent on the Strip, because where else would it have been?

Club Asphodel was much like its namesake, in that its patrons tended to wander aimlessly around the venue indefinitely on any given night; at least, until something interesting pushed its way through the peeling velvet-lined doors. That night’s attraction had been a locally established outfit by the name of The Clergy; its members donned themselves in dark, cult-like attire and played gloomy tunes that dealt with occultism and blasphemy. As for what the actual genre was, it was up in the air, but the members described it as “an unholy cross between blues and plainchants”.

Gyro had taken his usual spot by the bar, leaning against the counter and tucking into a bottle of Hamm’s. The standard procedure for a night out.

Gyro was a very big fan of people-watching. Not for any sort of creepy purposes, but moreso because he simply got a kick out of observing people as they went about their lives. He liked seeing the desperate teenagers plead with the bouncer for passage into the club; he was intrigued by sudden breakups on the dancefloor when one lover noticed the other’s gaze lingering too long on someone else. Got a good laugh out of overzealous drunkards that had their beers slapped into their faces by the unlucky recipient of their harassment. If someone he saw interested him, he’d go over and talk to them. It was a simple enough game that had made him plenty of friends in the clubbing scene, as well as the inevitable enemy or two. Or three. He’d long lost count.

The Clergy had begun playing, and they were stellar, as usual. It was a wonder that they hadn’t been signed yet, though there were whispers in the crowd that night that scouts from Elektra were prowling the Strip, and that a couple could very well be in Asphodel.

Gyro loved The Clergy— he really did. It’s just that he found it incredibly hard to focus on their music while sticking his tongue down a pretty blond’s throat. All it had taken was a hand down his pants and the feeling of hot breath against his neck and he’d made his plans for the night. One speedy trip in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle and he’d found himself pushed into a conversation pit, only to awaken with that same pretty blond from the night before beating him over the head with the docs he’d slaved away an entire summer over a deep fryer for. Only now, they’d been chewed up by his shitheaded dog.

His boots. His fucking boots. Why did it have to be his boots?!

Diego had set down Silver and was now ambling around the pit and picking up Gyro’s clothing, throwing them at him as he went. Gyro held up his hands to shield himself, but to no avail; he was hit square in the face with his own underwear, as God would have it.

“Hey, c’mon, I can pick up my own clothes,” Gyro whined, grabbing his underwear off of his face and setting it down next to him. “You don’t h—”

“I want you out.” Diego was fuming, eyes alight with a fury that Gyro considered wholly unsuited for the situation. And especially in his eyes. If anything, he should be the angry one; that’s not to say that he wasn’t angry, but it was more of a ‘now I have to buy new fucking boots’ than an ‘I will unleash the gates of hell upon thee’ type of rage.

“I still want new—”

“Get dressed and piss off before I call building security on you.”

And that was how Gyro found himself wearing his shirt on backwards and missing his socks on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, waving down a cab. Diego had hardly given him enough time to dress himself before practically shoving him down the staircase, throwing a bag of coins after him (which he’d caught, thanks.)

He had intended on walking the entire way home before he’d noticed the time on a clock attached to a lamppost. It then dawned on him that it was in fact, Saturday, and he’d spent the better part of his morning ambling around the Hollywood Hills in an attempt to make his way out of the labyrinth of ostentatious housing and unnaturally green lawns.

Upon seeing the time he’d gone into panic mode—he had to get back to his apartment and he’d have to do it in record time. It was currently 11 AM, and he had to be somewhere by 11:30 AM.

But he’d have to get his bass first.

It wouldn’t have been so awful to miss practice for a day, if it weren’t for the fact that him and his motley crew of idiots had somehow managed to book themselves a gig. And of course, it was slated for that very night.

A two-toned green and cream Checker Taxicab pulled up next to him and unlocked the doors, Gyro smiling gratefully as he slid into the back seat. “Corner of Vine and Romaine, please.”

The driver grunted in acknowledgement, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Newports. Fun guy. He held it towards Gyro, who muttered a small thanks and took a couple into his hands. Can save these for later , he thought as he deposited them into the pocket of his jacket. The driver then held out a lighter, shrugging when Gyro declined. He smacked the button on top of the taxi meter and shifted the gears out of park, the axles of the vehicle squeaking dangerously as it sped off down the street.

Anxiety and hunger bubbled in his stomach as he sunk into the leather seat, lazily observing the morning bustle of the Hollywood streets through the dusty window. His mouth watered at the sight of the first Burger King they drove past; it registered in Gyro’s mind that the last thing he’d ingested since the previous afternoon was alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. Alcohol that could do to be sponged up with a nice, gooey Yumbo.

He felt surprisingly put together for how much beer he’d consumed. It was possible that he’d simply developed an iron stomach and was thus immune to the adverse effects of intoxication. Maybe getting smacked with a saliva-covered boot was the ultimate hangover cure.

Gyro glanced at the clock installed in the car; 11:08 AM. He then looked to the street signs they were passing up; they were on Sunset, just about to pass Highland. Almost. He chewed on his lip anxiously; his bandmates wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he ended up being late on such a big day. Any other day, they wouldn’t have cared, but gig days were of the utmost importance.

The next few minutes stuck in morning traffic were absolutely agonizing, but ultimately they prevailed, with the driver depositing Gyro on Romaine at approximately 11:13 AM. Gyro gave a hurried thank you and tossed the man a couple dollars before hoofing it in the direction of his apartment.

He ignored the greetings of his neighbors as he ascended the stairs, fishing out his spare key from under the doormat. Gyro practically slammed the door open after rapidly turning the key in the lock, making a beeline towards the stand where he kept his bass. He stopped in front of it, smiling fondly as he knelt before the case.

The case itself was a simple, faux-leather thing, beaten and worn around the edges. A few stickers had been slapped onto the surface; some of bands that he hadn’t even heard of and others of silly teddy bear drawings. Just for peace of mind, he unhitched the clasps holding it closed and slowly opened the case, smile widening to a grin as he took in its contents.

His baby was a monochrome Gibson EB-3 that he’d affectionately dubbed Valkyrie. The neck was a sweet-smelling black mahogany that contrasted with the white walnut body. The pickups and pickguard were black as well, though in another life they’d  been a deep, wine-red color. While he’d slaved away over a grill for his Docs—as well as much of the rest of his clothing—Gyro actually won Valkyrie through a fistfight with the bassist of another local band, Wekapipo from Ataxia. Bastard got what he deserved.

Satisfied, Gyro closed the case and secured the latches, picking it up as he stood. He gave his apartment a quick once-over before shrugging and heading out the door, grabbing his keys before locking the door.

He gave an apologetic wave to his previously rebuffed neighbor as he headed down the stairs again, half-jogging on his way to his car. That was nothing special; it was simply a ’65 Mustang with chipped baby blue paint and fucked suspension that he couldn’t afford to fix yet. Sometimes the starter relay would straight up fail, and he’d have to play mechanic on the side of the road until he fixed it himself by some stroke of dumb luck. Either that, or until another driver took pity on him and gave him a hand.

Today was one of the Mustang’s good days, and so it started without a hitch. Didn’t even make a loud churning noise when he sped up on the 101 in an effort to make it to his bandmate’s place in time. In fact, it was so well-behaved that it didn’t start sputtering and dying until it pulled in front of the building, whining obnoxiously before Gyro shut the engine off.

Exhaling, he exited the car and grabbed his bass, nervously stepping through the gate to the house. He was definitely late, and he was definitely going to hear about it. Gyro was two seconds from knocking on the door before it swung open, a silently seething Sandman on the other side of the screen door.

“You’re late,” Sandman said simply, opening the screen and allowing Gyro to waddle in. Predictable .

Gyro smiled sheepishly, setting his case down next to the rest of the band’s equipment. He held his hands up innocently, trying not to falter under the intense gaze of the man before him. “I’m sorry! I got, uh, caught up…”

“Heads up!”

There was barely any time to react as a small styrofoam clamshell went flying at Gyro’s head. He managed to catch it between open palms, the container squeaking slightly as it bent inwards. Poco grinned from the doorway, a half-eaten cheeseburger in hand. “Glad you finally made it.”

He stuck his tongue out, opening the clamshell to reveal a slightly jostled Big Mac. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, though it proved to be in vain. Gyro had only taken a single bite before recoiling, making a face. “It’s cold.”

“Get here on time, then,” Sandman deadpanned, taking a long, obnoxiously loud slurp out of his cup of soda. Gyro scowled and took a seat on the couch.

“Not my fault you two live all the way in goddamn Echo Park.”

“It isn’t our fault you live in Hollywood.”

“Fuck you. Rent’s cheap on my street.”

“Sure. You owe me 65 cents for that, by the way.” Sandman pointed at his burger.

Poco held up a hand to silence the two, chewing thoughtfully on his cheeseburger before swallowing. “Who was it this time, Gyro?”

“Huh?” Gyro was mid-chew himself, trying his best to stomach this achingly cold pile of mushy bread and meat that they dared call a Big Mac.

Poco walked over and poked Gyro on the neck. His hands went up to cover his exposed skin, flushing in embarrassment at the knowledge of what decorated that particular stretch. He shot Poco a look, which dealt absolutely zero damage to the knowing grin plastered on his bandmate’s face.

“What was her name?”

“ His ,” Gyro grumbled, “name was Diego. Prissy rich ‘Hills type. Bottle blond. Nice ass.”

Gyro listed all of the above information willingly because Poco (and more subtly, Sandman) would hound him for it endlessly if he didn’t. The two were very preoccupied with who he slept with; they claimed it was because they were looking out for him, but he personally thought it was because they were both perverts.

It was Sandman who spoke first.

“…Diego? Diego who?”

“Uh… Brando. Why?”

Poco spluttered. “Did you just say Diego Brando?”

“…Yeah? What, you know ‘im?”

Poco and Sandman both stared at him like he was stupid. He even felt offended for a split second. Did he do something wrong? Was Diego Brando Poco’s long lost brother, or even Sandman’s? He spoke up again when neither of them answered his question. “Guys?”

Poco shook his head and walked away from Gyro, exiting the room. Gyro turned to face Sandman, who rolled his eyes and stood up. He, too, walked away and exited the room, but returned shortly after with a stack of what appeared to be tens of Star magazines. These were dropped unceremoniously at his feet, with Sandman sitting next to Gyro and scooping up the one at the top of the pile.

“Do you see this?” Sandman pointed to the cover of the magazine, which featured none other than… Diego. He was sitting on the floor against a rocking horse in classical jockey apparel, tongue sticking out of plump lips between two fingers. A bit risqué. The issue was relatively recent, too; April 1977.

Gyro blinked. He didn’t know Diego was famous. “Um, yeah. ‘BRITISH ROCK SENSATION TELLS ALL’…? He a singer?”

The corner of Sandman’s mouth twitched. “Do all Italian expats live under a rock?”

“What? I just know the metal and punk shit from there. Not any of that obscure crap.”

“It’s not obscure. Or ‘crap’. Be respectful.”

“Whatever…,” Gyro muttered, scanning over the other captions on the cover. “’What really happened to Joe Kid?’ Who? What?”

“Oh, that is unforgivable !” Poco yelled from the other room. Sandman shot Gyro a disapproving look, grabbing the magazine out of his hands and setting it back on the pile.

“You’re really so ignorant.”

“What the fuck? Why am I supposed to know all these people?! They’re obviously only big in uh... not-Italy.”

“Whatever. Get your stuff set up so we can practice. Hopefully you won’t be late to your own show, too.”

Sandman didn’t seem to notice Gyro flipping him off as he moved himself over to his drumkit. He twirled a stick around and tapped a cymbal, the crash echoing throughout the house. “Poco!”

There was a shuffling noise from the other room before Poco’s head emerged in the doorway. “On it!”

Gyro set down his burger, still muttering under his breath as he set up his bass and cab. He didn’t know why his bandmates expected him to know about everything that crawled out of the British Isles. Sure, Diego was very clearly loaded, but he figured that big time rockstars had better things to do than peruse seedy dive bars in the dark corners of Sunset. Like, go to stuffy wine tastings, or whatever.

It wasn’t like Gyro was totally ignorant of popular culture as a whole. It was just that growing up, his parents didn’t allow him to do anything fun. If it didn’t relate to preparing for medical school, he wasn’t permitted to participate. That included listening to fun music, watching television, hell, even playing outside with the local kids. As a result, Gyro didn’t get a taste of any type of music aside from jazz until he was late in his teens, and that was only for what was prevalent in Italy. He knew big names like AC/DC, The Beatles, Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin, sure; but anything that hadn’t made a considerable dent in the Italian musical market, he was unfamiliar with prior to arriving in Los Angeles.

It was a sensitive spot for him, but he knew enough local bands to earn him at least a little bit of respect in the LA scene. At least, as much respect as could possibly be afforded to a newcomer, and a foreigner, at that. People early on hadn’t really taken him very seriously, so it was by chance that Gyro bumped into Poco and Sandman, who’d been looking for a bass player to jam with. They’d all hit it off, and Vertigo had been formed practically overnight.

Their band was one of misfits, as was typical of any other non-glam band that popped up in the vicinity of the strip. They shared more traits with the burgeoning punk scene than anything else, yet they were finding that the sound shared by their peers just wasn’t… enough. Didn’t have the right crunch, wasn’t as intense, as demanding. Their music ached for something more.

He thumbed at the strings of his bass in thought. They needed more… gravel.

“Alright,” Poco chirped, plugging the amp chord into his guitar. “I think we oughtta, uh… practice the shit on the setlist.”

“What setlist? We agreed on a setlist ?”

“Christ,” Sandman sighed.

Poco pointed at a piece of paper taped to the floor before Gyro. He squinted below him. Sure enough, 8 of their songs were scribbled onto it in black marker. He winced at a few of the choices; Poco seemed to have gone out of his way to pick what’d make their fingers bleed the most. Which was pretty hardcore, so he couldn’t complain… much. Still, he’d have liked to have had some sort of say, since he’d be the one singing them. Or shouting, more like. More heavy that way.

Practice went as it normally did, which was to say that it was incredibly flawed, but charmingly so. Sandman’s snare only fell off of its stand twice, and the amp managed to not cut out at all. Hopefully, it’d be about the same for their set later that night. Gyro had mastered the technique of yelling without fucking his throat up too bad, so sucking on a lozenge would be more than enough in the hours between practice and the actual show.

It was funny, the anxiousness that festered within him. It wasn’t as if he’d never played at Señor Rosado’s. He’d had a slew of awful shows there, actually, but the audience (and the band) was often too drunk to really care; fast and loud music didn’t need to be good when combined with alcohol. The chaos of the pit was fun to watch from the stage, and it was even more fun when he got to set his bass down and dive into it at the conclusion of the show.

After lingering at Poco and Sandman’s house for a while longer after practice, he packed his stuff together and headed home for a quick shower. He still smelled like sweat and Hamm’s. And Diego, he thought with a wrinkle of his nose.

He didn’t spend too long in the shower and spent even less time on his outfit, throwing on a raggedy pair of jeans and an equally ratty old Stones shirt. He frowned at his chewed-up boots but decided to put them on in favor of his Chucks, deciding they added character. Saliva coated character.

The car ride to Señor Rosado’s wasn’t anything of note, and neither was the club itself from the outside. The inside? Also unremarkable.

The real appealing part of Rosado’s was not the interior decorations, nor was it the obnoxiously large neon sign with a racially insensitive vaquero displayed above the front entrance. It most definitely was not the restrooms, which, even when ‘clean’, had an odor akin to rotting pig shit on a sweltering July afternoon.

No, the thing that drew the local miscreants and rock n’ roll weirdoes to Rosado’s was something known as ‘The Carnage’. The Carnage was the utter chaos that drove the underground scene in Los Angeles. It was the way of being, the ideology, the look. It was a lot of things, and one way it could visualized was by a chick in a mullet snuffing out her cigarette on a bloodied bonehead’s chrome dome amidst a particularly disastrous barfight. The Carnage manifested only in certain spaces, and Señor Rosado’s was one of them… much to the chagrin of its owners.

One of whom was approaching Gyro as he lugged his bass cab towards the stage to set up.

The incredibly skeevy co-owner, Devo, sneered as he took in Gyro’s appearance, lighting a cigarette. “Peavey? Really, Zeppeli?”

“Good enough for Van Halen then it’s good enough for me.”

“Who?”

Now it was Gyro’s turn to scoff. He ignored Devo as he set down the cab, fumbling with the wires behind the rig. It was in that moment that he was endlessly grateful for gaff tape.

He waved in greeting to his bandmates, smirking when they realized that he’d actually arrived before they did. For once. Gyro looked to Sandman for any sort of emotion on his face and, of course, was given nothing but a resentful glare. But what was Sandman if not a little venomous?

It didn’t take too long for them to get completely set up. Their opener hadn’t even arrived yet; why would they? The bar wouldn’t permit its patrons to enter for another couple of hours.

Poco and Gyro took to entertaining themselves by playing darts in the green room, with Sandman acting as a half-hearted referee as he buried his nose in a thick textbook. Gyro understood partially; though he himself was a med-school dropout, he was no stranger to taking any possible moment to cram knowledge into his noggin in preparation for tests. He’d understand completely if it weren’t for the fact that Sandman didn’t go to college.

Eventually Gyro had grown bored of absolutely demolishing Poco in every aspect of the game, so he took to laying down on the hole-infested couch that Devo had deigned to plant in the room. He closed his eyes for what he thought was a little bit before peeking one open, trying to read out what the dusty clock on the opposite wall read. If it was right, it meant that the bar had already opened its doors for the evening.

He figured it was as good a time as any to get a good soundcheck in. For the sake of the openers; testing acoustics and all that jazz. Gyro honestly had no clue who the people playing before them even were. Not that he hadn’t heard of them... it was just that Devo literally didn’t tell them. Likely to be some other local shitshow that was even more obscure than Vertigo. He supposed it didn’t matter, so long as they were loud.

Gyro pushed a dozing Poco off of his legs and stood up, grabbing his bass and mumbling to Sandman that he’d be back. He received a disinterested hum in response.

A few patrons milled about the club already, some sitting on the chairs provided closer to the bar. Gyro couldn’t say that he recognized many, if any of them, but they were all probably locals. He sincerely doubted anyone from like, Montana had flown in just to see his little band of talking mice.

He found that the openers had already set up their own equipment, but were currently absent from the stage. There’d probably be time to actually meet them sometime between sets. He picked up a stray cord from the floor and plugged it into Valkyrie, giving a test strum before going back to fiddle with the cab knobs.

Once he was satisfied he took his place by the front mic, adjusting it for his height. The current setting was a bit short, and it wasn’t really going to cut it for a lanky guy like him.

“Blegh!” he gurgled into the microphone, pleased to hear his voice echo through the room. A few giggles came from customers in the non-visible vicinity. With the way the lights glared in the direction of the stage, and the general dimness of Rosado’s itself, it was hard to really see anyone.

He experimentally strummed on his bass, a few isolated chords before they melded together in his standard soundcheck song. Gyro was aware that he was likely totally butchering the genius of Geezer Butler, but he bassically had it down.

Gyro leaned into the mic, laughing softly as a random man in the back of the bar whooped loudly.

“Some people say, that my love can’t be true…”

He grinned at the girl that sat on the stage near him a few more lines in, adding a wheezy rasp to his voice as he progressed. It had devolved into a straight shriek as he got to the “My name is Lucifer” line, cackling maniacally as he suddenly ended off the song there. The girl stayed even after he went back into the green room to drop off his bass and reemerged; perhaps she was expecting something out of him. She wouldn’t be getting it.

Gyro decided that he was absolutely parched, and that the swill Devo left a cooler of in the room wouldn’t cut it. He hopped off of the stage and into the pit, swaggering over to the bar.

And that was when he saw him.

Peeking out from under a red fiddler cap were a pair of azure eyes, eyes that stared him down as their owner took a sip from some syrupy green cocktail. They were the type that demanded the completely undivided attention of those around him. His face, framed by feathers of blond, was set in a pout, though it didn’t seem like a particularly affected one. It was the kind that rested.

He was dressed a bit stuffily for the location, though his outfit seemed worn around the edges. A white cotton button-up shirt was accented by a soft yellow tie that had seen better days, his crimson high-waisted pants hugging his hips a bit more snugly than was probably standard.

The barstool next to him was invitingly open. Gyro took it.

“You the one that was singing just now?”

His voice was quiet, tinged with a subtle splash of sadness and what sounded like those ‘Southern country’ accents Gyro heard on TV now and then.

Gyro nodded, a slight grimace on his features. “Yup. How bad is it, doc?”

The young man gave a huff through his nose that Gyro thought was supposed to be laughter, though his lips did not show any sign of curling upwards. In the dim bar light, he idly registered a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Not bad’t all. Pretty damn good, actually.”

“Hey, thanks. Means a lot.”

“No problem. You the one from uh...Vertigo, right?”

Gyro’s eyes lit up. Being recognized was a relatively new thing, and it somehow felt even better coming from this person. “Yeah! Yeah, I am. Bassist and lead shrieker.”

There was a hum from his conversation partner, who took another sip of his cocktail. Gyro didn’t know what exactly was in it, but judging from the smell it was some pretty strong stuff. He flagged down the bartender and ordered a whiskey on the rocks, catching it as it slid across the table towards him.

“We’ve been trying to sound heavier lately,” Gyro found himself blurting out, earning a cocked eyebrow from the fellow across from him. “I dunno if I gotta start yelling about blood and guts, or play faster, or what, but—ah, fuck. Sorry, didn’t mean to start rambling at you.”

“You try downtuning? Pedals?” The young man didn’t seem bothered by Gyro’s verbal diarrhea at all, swirling around the cherry in his cocktail.

“Hm? No, I—”

“Try out E. No drop tuning. As for pedals, Boss’s Overdrive crap might work for what you’re talkin’ about.”

The way he delivered this information, he’d seemed almost bored, but there was a notable glint in his eye that wasn’t there before.

“I dunno why I didn’t think of that,” Gyro mused, taking a swig of his whiskey. He looked behind himself to the stage, where he noticed Poco trying to wave him over.

Gyro frowned. Figures, when he finally finds someone that was actually interesting to talk to he’d be summoned by his bandmates. They’d barely gotten any real words in; Gyro didn’t even get the chance to ask him his name yet. He groaned and finished off his whiskey, slamming it down onto the counter and earning a glare from the bartender.

Gyro swiveled around to face him again. “Hey, I got— oh?”

The boy in the red hat was gone.

[pleasurextreasure]

Ascension (pt. 1/?)

genre: mama!exo, reader x baekhyun

warnings: none yet

word count: 1.6k

prompt(s): Holders have always been shunned by the world, until an organization came about and started to kidnap their race to experiment on - your brother being included. You planned to only take him back until your plans take a complete twist when you cross paths with Baekhyun.

a/n: gotta make admin kay suffer sometimes too you know - ➵admin kiki

Ξ r e q u e s t Ξ

I shouldn’t be here. None of us should be here.

I’m not sure how all of this started; How we all got confined to this white-walled place and spending our days worrying over who would be the next to be experimented on. We’ve lived these past few days in constant fear and deprived hope, wondering if we’ll ever make it out of here alive. If we’ll ever make it out of here at all.

They treat us like rats, their methods filled with punishment and reward. If we don’t cooperate, we’re tased or beat, on rare occasions, and drugged before they roll us away on a gurney to our indefinite doom. If we’re smart and cooperate, they barely use any force in bringing us to our experimental room. I’ve learnt bending to their will and going along with their rules is less painful.

My fingers rub against the metal bracelet they gave me upon my arrival here. Subject 4, it reads. I never really thought much of the number. Am I their fourth experiment? The fourth prisoner here? I throw these thoughts away because they don’t make much sense. Jongin, the tanned boy across the hall, bears Subject 88.

The two of us had arrived the same day, or at least that’s what he’s told me. I had woken up in this white-walled room and panicked, darting towards the metal black door - the only thing in this room that actually had any color to it - and yelling through the small barred window. That’s when Jongin told me to shut my yap or else they’ll come back. Back then, I had no clue who ‘they’ were.

But now, I’m afraid of ‘they’.

␛␛␛␛

The screams are loud. So loud that I can hear them even when I press my hard pillow against my ears and crawl up into a ball. They’re so loud. I wish they would stop but if they did, that would mean one of two things. Either their session ended or they died on the hospital table. I would much rather opt for the first.

I feel bad for the poor guy, Subject 94. He’s so skinny for his height that I wouldn’t be surprised if he tipped over from the blow of a wind. He came in just this morning. I don’t know his name, though. Which is sad because if he was to die on that table, I wouldn’t be able to mourn for him properly because of the unknowing of his name.

I clench my eyes shut when another ear-splitting scream makes its way into my cell. I want to leave this place. I want to go anywhere but here. Some place where I won’t have to worry about hiding my ability and live in worry, wondering when the next person will find out my secret.

But I’m here because of that specific reason. They found out. They watched me and watched me, waiting for the perfect chance to accuse me of magic. I don’t dabble in magic, though. I was just born with this. It’s not like I wanted this power that allowed me to summon light. I didn’t ask for any of this so why am I being punished for it? Because I’m different?

Come to think of it, I recall asking Jongin what got him in here a few days ago. All I can remember is him saying something about not being able to disappear fast enough. I wonder what kind of secret ability Subject 94 has. Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask him when they release out into the courtyard for lunch later. That’s if he even survives until then, that is.

The first few days here are torture. I can say that with firsthand experience. All I can remember through the haziness of pain is a woman clad in a white dress and coat sticking a needle into my arm that was hooked up to a bag that held a bright red liquid. The burning sensation that followed the liquid was excruciating and I recall screaming out, asking why they were something like this. I’ve never done anything wrong so why was I being treated this way?

The days following that terrible event were just as bad. I would be unconscious for a good part of the day and during the times I was awake, I was whisked away to the experiment labs. I tried pretending to sleep one of those days, hoping they would be fooled and leaved.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

They tased me twice for my offense and told me they know everything. And I believe them. They truly do know everything. When I sleep, when I’m awake, even when I need to use the restroom. They know all these things. Yet I know nothing of them.

I only know of the name of this building, W.O.M.A., which I had the misfortune of hearing when two workers walked by. I wonder if anyone actually knows I’m here. That I’m trapped in this cruel place along with other unfortunate souls who are fearing for their lives just as much as I am.

I shouldn’t be here. None of us should be here.

␛␛␛␛

The buzzing that comes from the doors when they open makes me wince. They’re loud and ear-piercing and overall annoying. It’s not like I can actually complain about them vocally, though. A punishment would come my way if I speak out of line.

The thin electric handcuffs around my wrists keep my nerves on edge, a reminder of how little freedom I now have. The person in front me shifts forward, meaning we’re moving again. I stare at the back of his head as I trudge along. Jongin manages to step on the back of my heel and I nearly fall into the boy in front of me.

“Sorry,” Jongin whispers, voice low and cautious.

I give the smallest of nods and continue to look forward. Looking back also results in punishment. The rules given to us on the day we arrive are too many to keep track of yet we are expected to know and follow them.

Rule 27: Look ahead at all times. Failure to do so will result in discipline.

I’ve only remembered the ones that would lead me to severe conditions. Although my time here hasn’t been that long, I’ve grown accustomed to how they work around here. You would too if it meant having your life dangling on a line.

The guard leading our group swipes his identification card in the courtyard’s security system and it glides open with an obnoxious beep. Outside, the sun is high and blinding, making me want to shade my eyes with my hands. But I can’t.

“Alright, you all know the rules,” the guard says. “No roughhousing or trying to use your… abilities. You know what’ll happen if you do.”

With those words, he allows us to roam free in the caged yard and takes his position by the door that was beginning to close. I cast a glance at Jongin and he motions towards the new boy, Subject 94, a few feet away from us who looks lost and unstable. I get the hint and lead us to him.

“Hi there.”

“Hello.” His greeting is firm and short. Unsurprising.

“I’m Baekhyun, this is Jongin.” I nod at Jongin who still stands behind me. “What’s your name?”

“Other than ‘Experiment 94’?” He snorts, eyes clouding with anger. “Sehun.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Can’t say the same.” I don’t blame him. The only ones who we can truly blame are the people who brought us here in the first place. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be in this stupid cage.

“Would it offend you if I asked you why you’re, uh,” Jongin gives a helpless smile, “you know.”

“Why I was kidnapped?” Sehun tries. Jongin purses his lips. “I don’t know. I guess they didn’t like the fact that a kid younger than them could control the air they breathe.”

“So you…”

“I can control the wind.” He clarifies. “I can whip up a windstorm in the matter of seconds. I can even take away your last breath with the snap of my fingers. I can do anything you can imagine that involves the wind.”

“Sounds terrifying.” Jongin shudders at the very thought.

“Which is probably why I’m here.” Sehun muses. “What about you guys? What did they lock you up for?”

“To put it in short, I couldn’t teleport fast enough. Bastards caught me when I was off guard. I was literally on the toilet when they barged in.”

“Sounds like a good time to get the shit scared out of you.” Sehun’s comment earns a laugh from all of us. But our laughter soon dies down when the guard shoots us a warning look. The towering boy then looks my way. “And you?”

“I’m not sure how I would describe this but I summon beams of light?” He raises an eyebrow in question. This makes me nervous and I add in, “Well, and I can take it away.”

“That’s something.” Sehun’s eyes show the smallest hint of amusement and it makes me loosen up a little. “I do have a question. Why can’t I use my ability now?”

“It’s the stuff they put in us.” I say. “It neutralizes a part of our brain that controls our abilities. They have to give us daily doses because it can only stay in effect for so long.”

“So I’ll be getting another painful shot of that red liquid tomorrow, then?” Sehun grimaces at the thought and I sympathize with him. Mainly because of the fact he still has no idea of what he will be facing in his oncoming days. “Well I guess it could be worse. I could be dead.”

It’s a possibility.

[youveneverbeenalone]

This one is for the lovely @irelandhoneybee. I hope you enjoy it! I certainly enjoyed writing it! This is for prompt #23 from list 1: Imagine person A walking out of the bathroom after a shower, half-naked and wreathed in steam, and B immediately dropping whatever they were holding. Bonus if it’s an animal which gives them the stink eye before slinking away.

I’m kind of posting on topic today. Maybe. I mean, it’s AU ish in that .... it’s an established domestic relationship and... they own a cat? Sure, we’ll go with that. Anyway, here is some Karedevil fluff and banter and almost but non-quite smut. I hope you like it!

Ugh, I’m sorry about the title, btw. I don’t particularly care for the song or it’s artist, but the reference was too perfect to pass up.

(And P.S. the cat is named after Blanche Dubois- like, from Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire. Maybe one day I’ll write the ficlet in my head in which they find and name her. Can you guess where I’m going with this...?)

—-

Cat Scratch Fever

Leaning against the kitchen counter in Matt’s apartment, first-aid kit out as she works to disinfect a seriously nasty scratch on leg, Karen is starting to regret their decision to adopt a rescue. Or at least this one - their new calico, Blanche. The feline in question sits, glaring and grooming herself, on the back of the couch. Karen thinks if the cat could laugh at her right now, she would. This seems particularly true as Karen hisses at the burn of antiseptic on a patch of her shredded skin, and the cat turns its head to survey her, wearing its feline grin. Karen gives a frustrated sigh as she fumbles with the flimsy wax paper wrapper of a band-aid. That’s when she hears a bemused chuckle from the bedroom.

“You know, you could have asked me to help you.” The sound of a dresser drawer being opened and shut a moment later underscores Matt’s comment.

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “See, your smug demeanor just now is exactly why I’m doing it myself.”

This time he gives her a full-blown chortle in response. “I love it when you get all righteously indignant about something. It really brings out your stubborn streak.”

She smoothes a bandage over the deepest part of the gash and crumples the wrapper in her free hand before tossing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”

His voice gets closer as he crosses from the bedroom to the kitchen. “Oh, it was meant as one.” He stops at the end of the counter and leans over to kiss her.

She hesitates for a moment, considering whether she’s frustrated enough with his antics to deny him, but in the end decides the cat is more to blame that he is, and she won’t punish herself by denying him the chance to kiss her. She leans the rest of the way across and meets his lips with a smile.

He hums softly as he kisses her and for a moment she can barely believe that this is really her life because it seems too good to be true. Well … except for the cat scratches, that is.

As she breaks the kiss, she finds herself yelping as Matt suddenly picks her up by the waist and slides her up on the counter. She fights a shiver as he slides the hem of her skirt up ever so slightly and trails soft fingers from her knee to her ankle to survey the damage. “Ouch. She really wasn’t happy with you, was she?”

Karen swallows thickly. “No. She wasn’t. But I guess I can’t exactly blame her. I did get a little … distracted while I was holding her.”

Something about her tone must pique his interest, because Matt tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow at her, a knowing lilt in his voice. “Distracted? Care to share with the class, Ms. Page?”

A blush rises on her cheeks because she doesn’t particularly want to tell him why she was distracted, even though he likely already knows. She pushes off of the counter and begins picking up the first-aid supplies.

“It was nothing, really. I was just holding her when you came out of the shower and went into the bedroom. But as soon as you did, you, uh, asked me for something, or you asked me a question ... o-one of the two. So, I just turned to do whatever it was you asked of me, and I must have been so focused, I accidentally dropped her. But she wasn’t very happy about it. She landed on her feet, but she still got in a good scratch or two on her way down.”

With a purposeful click, she closes the first-aid kit case and walks past him toward the bathroom where she had seen him leaving the shower a short while before. And she allows herself to replay the moment in her mind as it had actually occurred.

She had been distracted, yes, but it hadn’t been by anything he’d said. Matt was distracting simply by existing in the world, but particularly so after a shower, when he was naked with water droplets beading down his god-like form. And she was nothing if not a devout disciple. She’d had nothing short of a religious experience as she watched him walk naked - save for a verrrry casually slung towel - from the bathroom to the bedroom. The poor cat had simply been a casualty of her worshipful gazing.

Sighing to herself at the mental image of Matt without clothes, she returns the first-aid kit to its place in the under-the-sink cabinet. But her internal reverie is disturbed by a skeptical hum and the sound of Matt comforting the cat in a sing-song voice that would be cute if he wasn’t currently siding with the enemy.

“Did mean old Karen drop you, Blanche? Did she? Because she was ‘distracted by something I said’?”

Karen rolls her eyes at his mocking tone and walks back out of the bathroom. She finds him perched on the arm of the couch, scratching Blanche between the ears as she purrs contentedly. And something about the whole scene really irks her.

“Yep. That’s what I said,” Karen says with a flat tone. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans into her hip as she stares across the room at him.

Matt smirks at her as he stands and crosses toward her. He stands before her in the middle of the floor, mirroring her pose, save for a look that is the epitome of smouldering. Her heart skips a beat at the sight, and she curses internally because it’s just not fair how he can do that.

“That’s funny. I don’t remember asking you to get me anything. I don’t remember saying anything at all, actually.”

Karen licks her lips and shrugs. “Huh. Weird. I hope your memory’s okay. How’s your head? Taken any serious blows while Daredeviling lately?”

Both of Matt’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “Wow. That’s the line you’re gonna go with? Accusing me of, what, brain damage? Or a concussion at the very least? Rather than just admit that you were staring at me and you were so enthralled that you dropped our poor, innocent cat?”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and squares her shoulders as she recrosses her arms. “It’s not a line if that’s what happened.”

He gives a scoff, a playful sneer on his face. He moves closer while he speaks, his voice going lower and with an edge of danger that he knows she likes. “And you call yourself a journalist. I thought you had principles, Page. That you were committed to telling the truth. I’m very disappointed in you.”

She can’t even pretend to hate the fact that he can hear her heart starting to pound, because while she might be caught, that doesn’t mean that she can’t have a little fun. “Is that so?” she asks, voice going low and sultry to match his.

A shiver runs down her spine as he comes toe-to-toe with her and hums an affirmative non-verbal that she can almost swear she feels reverberate in her stomach. He brings his hands up to trace light but purposeful fingertips up her arms to her neck. “I think I need to set the record straight.”

She tries and fails to swallow a breathy gasp as he drags his fingers across her collar bones.

And her heart stops for a moment when he lifts his lips to whisper directly into the shell of her ear.

“That, or I won’t be able to trust that you can handle yourself around me. I’ll have to institute an all-clothes-all-the-time policy. All in order to save you from yourself, of course. And our dear little Blanche.”

Karen tries for an exasperated sigh, but it doesn’t sound very convincing; maybe because he’s still ghosting his lips over her ear and stealing her capacity for coherent thought, let alone mock outrage. Eventually she musters enough of her wits to put her hands on his shoulders and put some space in between them.

“You’re holding me for ransom, now?” she asks, with an arch tone. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

Matt leans in close again and presses an open-mouthed kiss to her neck beneath her ear. “Justice isn’t always fair, Ms. Page,” he says in a low drawl. “I’d assume you’d have learned that by now. Still, the choice is yours. Admit to your staring, or lose the privilege entirely.”

His actions rile her so effectively that she can barely hear him for the blood that is rushing in her ears. Biting her lip is all that keeps her from moaning at him, and it’s a wonder that she doesn’t draw blood in the process. Part of her thinks she might just combust where she stands.

Karen closes her eyes and draws in a breath. She is losing this fight and she knows it. But when she really thinks about it, losing is the only acceptable outcome in the long run. Because the real tragedy here would be having to indefinitely forego the opportunity to see Matt’s beautiful form unencumbered by clothes. She’s not entirely sure that he would stick to his word, but she wouldn’t put it past him to try, all in the name of making a point. He says she’s stubborn, but he’s no better. He is a lawyer, after all. And she knows better than to try to call his bluff on something like this.

She doesn’t really have a choice.

At the sound of her annoyed huff, he pauses his lavishing of her neck and looks at her expectantly. She just rolls her eyes at him.

“Fine. I take it back. Let the record reflect that I was, in fact, so distracted in my staring that I dropped the cat, and thus, the fault for the cat scratches rests solely in my own hands. Are you happy now?”

“Absolutely delighted.”

He begins kissing her neck again, but this time works his way up until he reaches her mouth. And then he pulls her in for a very intense kiss that stops her breath, stops her heart, stops time itself as far as she can tell. Or maybe it’s that she’s finally starting to combust.

She wraps her arms around his neck in a rush because she fears she might just turn to ash if she doesn’t. And then his hands are everywhere - on her neck, in her hair, sliding down her back and the curve of her ass to hitch her leg up to his waist (or as high as her skirt will allow). But she winces as her band-aid catches against the fabric of his pants in the process and pulls at her still-sore skin. Matt pauses for a half a second to assess her hesitation before he notices the problem, picks her up in a bridal carry, and starts off toward the bedroom - all while kissing her as passionately as he had moments previously.

And if the look on his face as he does is any kind of a clue, she’s guessing that in the end, the scratches will have been well worth it considering all the other good that she is getting out of tonight.

Maybe the cat can stay after all.

[urfavmurtad]

Can you find me anywhere in the Quran that says women should be executed if they’re not virgins or if they were raped? Where are honor killings allowed?

I mean… I don’t really wanna encourage any sort of religious legitimacy of killing women for exploring their sexuality, which is evil bullshit, but it’s from the ahadith. The Quran itself suggests that women who engage in “zina” or sexual indecency should be confined to house arrest indefinitely and be made to give back their mahr/dower (4:15-19) as well as lashed a hundred times (24:2). Or some combination thereof. The death penalty is not mentioned… in the version of the Quran we have. Yes, you have accidentally stumbled upon a very dumb topic. Let me try to explain.

This is one of those unresolved issues of Islam that’s probably more complicated than a tumblr post allows but I’ll give it a shot. This is a sahih hadith from our bud Umar.

Verily Allah sent Muhammad (ﷺ) with the truth, and he revealed the Book to him. Among what was revealed to him was the Ayah of stoning. So the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) stoned, and we stoned after him. I fear that time will pass over the people such that someone will say ‘We do not see stoning in the Book of Allah.’ They will be misguided by leaving an obligation which Allah revealed. Indeed stoning is the retribution for the adulterer if he was married and the evidence has been established, or due to pregnancy, or confession.

Now what in the name of fuck does that mean? Stoning isn’t mentioned in the Quran… it’s referenced (Mohammed’s rant against the Jews in 5:41-45 is about the Jews refusing to practice stoning and him getting mad about it) but there is no “ayah (verse) of stoning”. There’s another narration in one of the ahadith books that says it was in Al-Ahzab (surah 33). So what is he even talking about? Was it one of those verses that Mohammed said just don’t count anymore? Or is there a missing verse here that… someone… took out?

Well that brings us to this, which is one of the most controversial hasan ahadith in existence. I present it to you without commentary.

Aishah said: “The Verse of stoning and of breastfeeding an adult ten times was revealed, and the paper was with me under my pillow. When the Messenger of Allah died, we were preoccupied with his death, and a tame sheep came in and ate it.”

Uh huh. Well, let’s take a look at this subject.

We know for a fact that Mohammed himself proscribed stoning for those found guilty of zina (sexual indecency in general, not limited to intercourse–a sahih hadith says even arranging your own marriage without permission falls under this category) on several occasions from the strongest possible sources–both men and women. In this one he orders a woman stoned to death for having an affair while her male lover gets exiled and a hundred lashes. Here he has a man stoned to death for zina. In this one two Jewish lovers are stoned to death together. Ali stoned a woman to death “according to the tradition of” Mohammed. (Whether people were killed or “just” lashed/imprisoned/whatever seems to have largely depended on their marital status.) There are various other sahih ahadith on the subject, and the fact that those who were found to engage in zina were sometimes stoned as punishment is not something that’s debated.

Since there’s no question that this was an accepted punishment used both in and after Mohammed’s time, the four main schools of Sunni Islamic jurisprudence (and the main Shia ones as well as far as I know) consider death, by stoning or another method, a valid punishment for zina provided the proper conditions are met in terms of guilt, witnesses, etc.

Yet as I said, the Quranic punishment for zina is corporal+financial punishment and imprisonment, not death. Not every legal precedent in fiqh comes directly from the Quran itself–there are many important things that “Allah” forgot to put in the Quran, you see, he just got too excited talking about Moses 5,000 times–but here we have a sahih hadith stating that this was from the Quran. Could that absurd hasan hadith about a dog goat eating my homework embarrassing Quranic verses (the adult breastfeeding one was less violent but also weird and dumb, don’t ask, let us go along with the early Muslims and forget this ever happened) as Mohammed lay dying possibly be true? I tend to not put much stock in anything other than sahih ahadith, but take it as you will…

But let me mention the more acceptable interpretation of what Umar said. In Islam there is a deeply stupid concept called abrogation or naskh, which is mentioned in the Quran itself (2:106 etc). There are multiple forms of it. The first and most common means that whenever you see a contradiction in the Quran, an early verse is replaced by a later one. This was necessary because Mohammed often changed his mind, ordering his followers to do one thing and then telling them to do a different thing, and the evildoing disbelievers made fun of him and this made him sad. So “Allah” said that he wasn’t contradicting anything, he was abrogating it. They still laughed at him tho :(

In addition to two verses contradicting each other, there is also a form of naskh in which a verse that was originally deemed part of the Quran was “abrogated” and removed from it (on Mohammed’s orders), as in this verse. None of these verses are in any Qurans we have, obviously, as they all date from after Mohammed’s death and after it was all put into its standard order; the only evidence we have for their existence is found in other verses that reference them or in the ahadith (like the original qiblah being Jerusalem).

So what does this mean for the apparent stoning verse, which was once part of the Quran and then declared to be… not part of it? Was the punishment itself nullified, and if so, 1) why and 2) why was it still followed even though non-lethal alternatives were available?

This brings us to second and third forms of naskh. The second form involves both the verse being removed and the ruling/law within it (if any) being cancelled. The third and more questionable form involves the verse itself being removed but the ruling remains in effect. Since Umar says that the stoning verse was originally part of the Quran, yet it was followed even after it was removed, this is would be the third form.

This is obviously torturous logic and it drove many early Muslim scholars crazy but there was no other way to reconcile all of the above without saying “Mohammed didn’t know wtf he was doin lol”. Some just ignored this whole debacle and said that stoning was acceptable because it followed the sunnah/the example of Mohammed and his followers, regardless of whether it was abrogated in any form or not. And in a modern-day context, obviously the majority of Muslims are not savages, so this whole thing has fortunately been left in the past in most countries despite its acceptance by all the major schools.

………….you know I wrote that whole damn thing as straight-faced as possible but shit I can’t even hide how dumb this is. I blame Umar as per usual, none of us would even be talking about this if he just kept his mouth shut. If no one takes anything else from this blog I hope I’ve convinced y’all to hate his dumb ass.

[benjaminschreave]

just one time

a/n: hello! so ester and I present to you another fic that we co-wrote which will play into the second practice challenge and possibly the future of the selection, starring our two princes in third person pov. PC2 will be posted tomorrow as to give you all time to read this and ~take it all in.~ two little reminders before you continue reading: 

1. keep an open mind about our boys 

2. your characters will only be able to form opinions based on the information reported to them from here on out by magazines. in other words, they don’t know a lot of the inner thoughts or truths of this moment about ben and wyatt. 

anywho, I’ll stop rambling and let you all read. enjoy! word count: 4869

••••••

Wyatt considered himself an expert when it came to his older brother, so standing in front of Ben’s room, watching him hunched over his desk, surely lost in his inner thoughts, he let himself in, slipping through the slightly cracked open door.

His experience with this kind of situation made his footsteps quiet as he got closer to his brother, a smirk weaving its way up his lips. He stood a feet or two behind him and bent his knees slightly, then he yelled with the most believable panic he could muster, “BEN, OH MY GOD, THERE’S A SPIDER IN YOUR HAIR.”

Ben immediately jumped up, hands frantically running through his hair as he yelled back, “WHAT? GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!”

Wyatt could barely hold back a laugh at the expected reaction and as a snort came out, Ben quickly realized there was nothing in his hair, let alone a spider. 

The eldest turned around to glare at his brother, but Wyatt didn’t even bother wiping the smirk off his face at the sight of his brother’s hair spiking upward like a tornado had just passed. Truly a sign of what arachnophobia could do to a person. Ben’s glare didn’t waver, however, pointing one finger at the door and saying, “Out.”

“That was priceless.” Wyatt wiped away an invisible tear and Ben rolled his eyes.

“You know you’re the source of my fear. It would be nice if you remembered that when you choose to give me a heart attack.”

“Hey!” Yes, Ben was right, but what was he to say? His nine-year-old self had good intentions at heart. “I thought I was showing you something cool. Not my fault you were boring.”

“You put the spider on me and it climbed all over my face.”

“It just liked you a lot.”

“I can’t say the same about you,” Ben intoned with a flat look.

“Wyatt waved one hand with a “pfft right” expression, then he peeked over at Ben’s desk, knowing very well his brother disliked many weird things, but he wasn’t one of them. “How long have you been immersed in the delight of the...” he moved one page to read the title, raising an eyebrow, “Daucus City Bypass Construction?”

Ben sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign of his draining patience over the tedious work. “Dad asked me to take on a few more tasks while him and Mom are on vacation. This is just one of the many other riveting projects.”

His tone hid none of his sarcasm and Wyatt nodded, taking Ben’s chair and acting like the project sounded incredibly interesting when in reality, they both knew how the other felt. He reached out for some of the other papers and read over titles, eyebrows quirking up more than once. They seemed pretty... dull compared to other things Wyatt knew their father was working on.

“I think there’s projects people would care more about getting done in the country than these... but whatever. Many things to consider, I get it.” He set the papers down again, spinning on the chair to face Ben, hands clasped together. “How long?”

There was no need to clarify what the time in question was. Gluing himself to a desk was a bad habit Ben had, and as he slumped down on his bed, lying back and checking his watch with a wince, Wyatt knew the answer would be far from optimal without a break.

“About four hours,” Ben admitted.

Wyatt jumped back up and headed for Ben’s closet. “Perfect.” Rummaging through some suits and clothes, he pretended to wonder where his brother’s sense of style was as Ben sat up at the noise. He did so in time to catch the black beanie Wyatt threw at him from across the room.

“Where to this time?” Ben couldn’t hide his relief at Wyatt’s idea, the beanie representing their usual tradition of leaving the palace.

Wyatt didn’t look away from Ben’s closet, finding a jacket he considered decent enough to throw on over his hoodie. “I heard there’s a new bar opening down at Valentino Avenue.”

In response, Ben slipped on the beanie and made his way to the bathroom to take out his contacts. Glasses made for better disguises. “Sounds good to me,” he called out behind him, “but all I ask is that you don’t try anything with the name “fire” in it. You ruined that jacket.”

Wyatt turned around to glare at his brother, remembering the late incident from when they’d started going to bars. It wasn’t even that long ago with barely five months passed since Wyatt’s eighteenth birthday. “As the eldest, you should’ve been looking out for me, you know? I bet Mom wouldn’t be too happy knowing you let me—”

Ben rushed back out into the room, only one contact out. “Don’t you dare tell our mother. You know how she feels about drinking.”

Wyatt made a face at the sight of his finger so close to his eye. “You know how I feel about getting drunk.”

Ben retreated back into the bathroom, secret safe for now. “Like I said, just refrain from any special drink they may offer you and we’ll both be fine.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair again, adjusting his ankle boots. “Uh huh.”

••••••

Ben ordered a whiskey neat and leaned one elbow against the wooden bar, facing the crowd that had already filtered in for the inauguration. Getting into any bar or restaurant wasn’t that hard for them. Usually just showing who they were was enough for whatever gorilla guard in charge of the entrances to let them in.

Everyone knew the eldest sons of the King sneaked out often into the lively nights of Angeles, more often than not without a tail of guards. Owners and bartenders knew better than to make a fuss if they recognized the pair. It was better for business if they didn’t interfere and later on people discovered the two had been at the establishment, especially if the young royals managed to successfully go out without paparazzi following them everywhere. Once a bartender had called in a magazine to get some money for himself, but the fallout ended his work at the bar indefinitely. “Com d’Vine” spent a week or so on local news with magazines commenting on how their staff had sold the Royals out for money—never mind the fact one of them was probably the one making the payment. Other prominent figures avoided the bar at all costs after that and its reputation was effectively ruined.

Suffice to say, the princes had managed to pull off a system that worked for them. Ben heavily relied on it to take a breather from the palace and pretend he was normal at least an hour or so. Nevertheless, that night, for once, he would’ve been better off not letting himself get pulled by the desire of normalcy too much.

••••••

His younger brother had paused midway to the bar, eyes skimming over the crowd with the usual glint of contempt at humanity. Ben wasn’t really surprised, nor was Wyatt when he continued to make his way to the bar. He stopped a few feet away from him with a calculating raised brow, then taking out his smallest hand camera from his pocket and snapping a picture of Ben without even looking. Wyatt had developed a rarely shared delight in candid photography a few years back.

After giving the place a glance, assessing how well it could do in its future, Wyatt leaned his back against the bar and spared the drink the bartender offered Ben a glance. “Why whiskey?”

Ever so polite, Ben thanked the bartender before turning to his sibling with a sigh. He took a long gulp and hoarsely added, “It was a long day.” Wyatt didn’t comment on the fact that he might want to tone it down a bit and asked the bartender for an Old Etonian.

“You’re usually not this depressing about work.”

“It’s like you said, there’s more meaningful projects I could be doing with my time instead of Bypass Construction.” There was a slight scoff at the end. Wyatt almost joked that admitting he was right wasn’t that horrible, but didn’t as his brother took another drink to continue. “Sometimes I feel I’m not being given responsibilities that show what I can do, and—” he hesitated, “I don’t know why.”

“I don’t know either...” Wyatt nodded at the bartender when he passed on his drink, “but hasn’t it always been for you to get experience with simple stuff?” For a moment he changed his voice like Advisor Clay’s, a chirpy old man from their father’s cabinet that was a bit too enthusiastic about things. “’Revise this old project we made 20 years ago, Ben. Hands-on experience!’”

Ben smiled slightly at his brother’s antics, but then shrugged. “Sure, when I was 13 maybe, but I’m about to be 20 years old, even married this time next year.” The fact still didn’t seem real. Even if the 35 girls had already been announced, by himself, in front of a camera that same week. “I should be able to be trusted with more responsibility. I can do more.”

There was a moment of silence as they both took sips from their drinks. “Maybe tell Dad about it sometime. I’m sure he won’t be opposed. Well... almost certain.”

“I’ll wait for a good time.”

The younger prince raised an eyebrow in his direction at that response, certain he knew his brother more than Ben did himself at that moment. “Such as...” he waited for a second or so, giving his brother a chance to fill in the rest of the sentence, but then shook his head with a small smile. “You know, never mind.”

Ben spared him a glance. “What?”

“Just that you’ll never decide on a good moment.” Wyatt knew he would put it off. An eternity could pass for the perfect moment to come.

Ben mumbled, “I will,” but they both knew better.

“Mhmm...”

••••••

Beer landed at Ben’s feet as a girl bumped into him. A gasp followed as she looked up at him with feigned shock, but then it was replaced by her giggling. “Sorry cheekbones, didn’t see you there.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile. “No worries, blondie, happens to the best of us.” He shook the drink off his shoes, not wishing to ruin one of his nicest pairs.

Wyatt side-eyed them but said nothing. That’s when the girl noticed him—after flashing a smile at Ben, of course. She watched him with the same drunken smile, but the second prince didn’t seem as amused.

It took her another beat, but her brows knit together after giving them a closer look. Even in the dim light of the bar, hazy from the alcohol, and with the shadows of a hoodie on Wyatt’s face and hipster glasses on Ben... she couldn’t help but squint at them, slurring out, “You know... you two look familiar...” She tapped a lazy finger on her chin and looked at the dancing crowd, mumbling under her breath, “Maybe she was right.” Neither of the princes could make out her last words though.

Wyatt raised both eyebrows, then spared Ben a glance. “You hear that? We look familiar.”

Ben was biting his lip to hold back a laugh. “Huh. You know I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before.” A lie as he looked back at the girl. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

Her already flushed face turned even redder at the charming smile he offered. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have forgotten those cheekbones.”

Wyatt was ready to roll his eyes so hard he’d be thrown into a different dimension, but sadly, that wasn’t a thing that could happen and he was stuck with another girl weirdly obsessed with cheekbones. Especially Ben’s, “because they’re sleek enough to cut cheese.” It was barely a mutter in a high pitched voice, a slight attempt to emulate a girl that had actually said that once, but Ben gave him a warning glare before turning back to the girl with a polite smile.

“You’re very kind.”

Always such a diplomat. He better not start flirting about his own face. Wyatt spared Ben a nudge on the ribs and the girl just batted her lashes, leaning closer just as a second girl appeared reaching for her arm. “God, Aria. I’ve been searching for you the last 15 minutes.”

“Three minutes too late,” Wyatt muttered and that’s when Ben—as discreetly as possible—jabbed his elbow back into Wyatt’s side and turned to the new girl.

“I’m glad you found your friend.”

The girl they know knew to be named Aria laughed, reaching for a drink the bartender had just served someone else and taking a swig of it. “I’m not her friend, I’m her cousin.”

Said cousin sighed, reaching for a bill to pay the bartender with a sheepish smile as he gave them a flat look, then she pulled Aria away from falling over Ben. “Yeah, whatever.” Finally, she spared the two guys her cousin had been with a glance. Wyatt almost felt like her eyes lingered with a hidden grin, but just as quickly the expression was gone as Aria yelled, “Oh, this is my favorite song!”

Wyatt shoved his hands into his pockets, not too comfortable with keeping the conversation going. They usually avoided talking this much to people. “It’s just the same chord played over and over again,” he grumbled. But Aria only blinked in his direction and asked, “What do cords have to do with music?”

Ben snorted into his drink but his brother was more offended. His protest got cut off as the girl reached for his arm, making him almost spill his drink. “Let’s go dance, grumpy pants.”

Wyatt didn’t budge. “I’d rather do so with a cord.”

Ben smirked. “What my friend here means is that he’d love to dance with you.”

Her cousin sighed again, saying her name in a warning tone, but Aria shoved her drink and the one she took from Wyatt into her hands. “Off we go!”

She pulled at Wyatt’s arm again, but his eyes were wide as he stood there, seriously contemplating how bad he would look if he pushed her away and how much he actually cared. “I doubt this is a good idea.” His glare at Ben couldn’t have been more evident, but his brother grinned innocently at him, lightly pushing him towards Aria instead of helping.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

His eye twitched once in Ben’s direction before he got dragged into the dancing crowd. Aria’s cousin mumbled, “We should probably save him.” Yet Ben could only stare, amused as his brother stood frozen with Aria dancing in front of him. More than not knowing how to dance anything other than a waltz, he really didn’t want to.

“He could use the social interaction.”

“Is he your friend or cousin?”

He gave a half smile, more truthful than dishonest. It was lucky he meant what he said, given that his more than usual drinks would have enabled Aria’s cousin to see right through him. “He’s both really, depends on the day.”

She laughed a bit. “That sounds really nice. Aria is usually a handful... but sometimes she’s helpful.” Her soft smile only added to the flirtatious tone that didn’t go unnoticed by Ben, and he realized her hidden meaning behind the word “helpful.” Aria was a matchmaker even through all her drinking, it seemed. 

While normally he wouldn’t have reciprocated the flirting, the whiskey had already gone to his head. When she added, “I hope she wasn’t too embarrassing,” Ben was quick to reply.

“Hmm, lucky for you I don’t scare off too easy.”

The hint of a smile appeared as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and set Wyatt’s drink aside. “So what brings you to the inauguration?”

“Just out for a good time, what about you?”

“Same for me, I guess. Group of friends tagging along to hit the new bar,” she shrugged. “The usual, am I right?”

He smiled at her short chuckle. “Definitely the usual.”

They didn’t say anything for a few seconds that felt longer than they should’ve, and as she looked at him from under her lashes, he felt the smile on his face widening. That’s when she turned to the crowd, shyly asking, “Wanna dance then? Out for a good time.”

It was his turn to chuckle and set his drink down on the bar. “One question first. What’s your name?”

Her flirty tone was back as she offered a hand, her shyness surprisingly gone and replaced by a grin. “Take a guess.”

As they reached the dancing people, he pulled her a little closer. Their proximity set off an alarm in the back of his mind. That it was wrong. He was having a Selection in bare days. This wasn’t him. But then he silenced it, shoved it, and kicked it aside. Just this one time. “I’d wager something pretty.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Such as?”

He studied her as they danced. “Charlotte?”

She laughed again, her voice louder when the music proved to be difficult to speak over. He noticed her getting closer too, however. “I wish. Mine’s a bit more boring than that.”

His hands went to her waist without thinking. “I somehow doubt that.”

Her arms went over his shoulders, smirking. “Hmm, really? I’m flattered to get a compliment, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”

He smirked back. “Try me.”

Between laughs and averting her gaze, she said a “Rosie,” her fingers twirling the hair at the nape of his neck. The charged energy between the dancing, one too many drinks, and the soft scent of her perfume made Ben’s next words sound as if they came from a completely different person.

“That’s ten times better than Charlotte.”

“Liar.”

“I’m many things, Rosie, but a liar isn’t one of them.” The irony of the sentence at the moment was lost to him. But it was true. He wasn’t a good one.

She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lip lifting. “They all say that.” There was a glint in her blue irises, something his fogged mind couldn’t even begin to place as she asked, “What’s your name anyway, cheekbones.”

“My trademark,” he chuckled, pulling her a little closer when she linked her hands behind his neck and did the same. “Call me Benji.” He should’ve said something that didn’t resemble his name that much, he usually would’ve tried, but he wasn’t really thinking anymore as she leaned closer to his face, and after all, lying only came off believable sometimes from him. Working with a truth was easier.

“That’s kinda cute, you know?”

“I could say the same for you.”

She smirked when he did.

Then her lips were on his.

••••••

Wyatt had somehow convinced Aria to pull away from the dancing crowd by suggesting getting some drinks. The girl didn’t need to hear vodka twice.

Leaning on the bar, he stared at all the empty glasses Aria and others had left with annoyance, but then he tilted his head, staring at the small residues of colorful liquid at their base.

He snapped a picture.

Next to him, Aria observed a floating olive on her newest drink with the deepest focus he’d ever seen. “Don’t you want something?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Ugh, I got the boring one,” she muttered, facing the crowd.

Wyatt pressed his lips together at her comment, but kept his eyes on the glasses as he muttered back, “So I’ve heard...”

Thankfully, Aria didn’t say anything for a minute or so. A delight Wyatt couldn’t really savor as she opened her mouth again. “Damn, she actually did it. That’s 10 bucks I’m not getting back.”

He frowned at that before following her gaze. His jaw dropped as he saw Aria’s cousin kissing his brother. And the weirdest part was... Ben was kissing her back. I let him have too many drinks. This was a problem.

“I don’t get how she does it,” Aria slurred, pouting at her drink like it held the answers she needed. “Why didn’t I get the charming personality?”

The youngest prince was too focused on Ben to even say anything to her. This is bad. REALLY BAD. His eyes frantically scouted the crowd. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, even if it was completely out of character for Ben, nobody would even care about two random people kissing in a bar—except the group of girls dancing nearby and laughing. One of them with their cellphone at the ready.

“You idiot...” Leaving Aria forgotten, Wyatt tried to push through the people. There was no way he would get in the girl’s way in time. Or that he’d be quick enough to tackle Ben, which sounded rather appealing at the moment. Yelling would have to do. “BE—”

Plan B didn’t work either as a random dancing guy got pushed by one of his friends in Wyatt’s direction and stumbled into him, making the royal in turn, stumble back into a guy with a platter of drinks. Wyatt lost sight of the girls and his newly french-kissing brother as he tripped over his feet and a dozen drinks fell over him, glass shattering as it hit the ground, Wyatt going with them.

His hoodie had completely fallen back as he clenched his jaw and tried to get up, but his hand landed on a shard of glass in his hurry. He hissed, pulling it away as the drunk man that started all the havoc towered over him. “Sorry man, didn’t see you—” he paused and Wyatt gulped, feeling all eyes on him. Noticing him. Recognizing him. “Wait, aren’t you that snobby royal?”

Yes, yes he was.

••••••

The sound of pictures being taken made Ben’s eyes snap open. Glass shattered and people turned, but not in his and Rosie’s direction. He stared at his brother on the floor, hair wet from the drinks that must’ve fallen over him. Then his eyes drifted to a group of girls giggling and still taking pictures of him. The fog seemed to clear for a moment. The alarm in his mind coming back, blaring and in full force. “Wait, did you—”

Rosie smirked, a half-apologetic look on her face, but there was no real shame behind her gaze. “You don’t kiss too bad for a prince.”

On the other side of the bar, Aria stared at Wyatt, confused as he sat on the ground like a cat that hadn’t been ready to get wet. She cocked her head to the side, “You okay, Highness?”

They knew.

Wyatt pulled his hoodie back up, shaking the drinks off his jacket and ignoring the guy mumbling to the others about who he was. Rolling his eyes at words like “pretentious” and “his most royal Highness.” He just wanted to get out of there.

Ben’s expression immediately turned cold as he focused back on Rosie, letting her go and backing away. ‘Not too bad for a prince.’

They knew.

“I can’t say the same for you.”

His stomach seized up at the realization he had been played all along. How could I have been so stupid? he wondered, the haze of the alcohol quickly fading away into an embarrassed sobriety. It was this shame that made him push through the crowd to get to Wyatt, yanking him up by the back of his jacket to drag them out of the bar and away from the awed, drunken stares.

Wyatt would be angry for Ben grabbing him the way he did, but the eldest prince couldn’t bring himself to care, hurrying his steps into a secluded alley. He tugged off his beanie angrily, barely noting Wyatt adjusting his jacket with irritation. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Wyatt brushed off his hand and wiped the blood with the edge of his shirt.

Ben glanced over at him, losing none of the anger at himself. “Is your hand okay?”

“Sure, it’s fine,” Wyatt stated without much concern, beginning to walk further into the alley.

Ben shook his head and stared straight ahead, muttering, “Sorry I got you into that mess.”

“Sorry?” Wyatt turned to face him, incredulous. “Ben, what were you thinking?” He walked over and snatched the beanie from Ben’s hand. “We don’t get close to people. Rule number one when being outside alone.” He shoved the beanie into his older brother’s chest. The guy that usually knew better than this. “You’re not Clark Kent. Covering your hair and adding glasses doesn’t make you invisible.”

Ben couldn’t handle the lecture he was giving himself, let alone from someone else, so he snapped back, “Oh, and a hoodie makes you completely unseen? Don’t lecture me about the rules Wyatt, I know them better than anyone. So I had one moment for myself,” he held up a finger, “sue me for wanting to be normal just this once.”

He knew that wasn’t an excuse. Those girls had taken pictures. Of him kissing a girl. A week before the Selected arrived. That was sure to give him a great first impression. His statement was true nonetheless. He had been so stressed lately and for once he simply wanted to let go. 

Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to go kissing random girls to be normal! Seriously, before the Selection? Why couldn’t you do something else?” Buy a puppy! Try eating lettuce! Get yourself a goldfish! Taking a deep breath, he placed the same hand in the pocket of his jacket.

Ben sensed his frustration, most likely from being recognized, which always seemed to put him in a strange mood. When Wyatt frowned, pulling out his small camera to see a piece had broken off, Ben felt even more miserable. The gift from Layla was special to Wyatt, even if he didn’t admit it outright.

Wyatt’s shoulders slumped and he sighed, shoving the camera back inside his pocket and turning around again, voice small. “Let’s just—let’s just go home.”

Ben rushed after his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Wyatt, wait, I—I’ll get that fixed for you. I’m sorry.” He frowned, the guilt curling up and settling in the pit of his stomach.

Wyatt stopped but didn’t look at him, gaze firmly on the ground. “It’s fine.”

The heir could only look at his brother, at a loss for words. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. 

Taking his hand back, Ben put his beanie back on and shoved both hands in the pockets of his worn, brown leather jacket. He filled the awkward silence with a muttered, “Let’s go home.”

Wyatt was silent for another beat, then mumbled, “I’ll tell them it was my idea.”

“Don’t do that. I kissed her, it was my decision. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. Just... just leave the explaining to me. Don’t worry about it.” As far as Ben was concerned, Wyatt wouldn’t have to answer for this... scandal, as the press would call it, no doubt. 

Wyatt looked at his hand, blood at bay for now. “She did it with all the intention Ben, you couldn’t have known... I’m sorry.”

Ben clenched his jaw, not meeting Wyatt’s eyes. Other people may not have been able to decipher Rosie’s true intentions, but Ben should’ve. He was the Heir. “Yeah, well I learned my lesson. Won’t happen again.”

Wyatt glanced at Ben, upset their outing had been so disastrous. He was unsure of how to make it better, a feeling that never sat well with him. In the end, he simply brushed past him, pulling Ben’s beanie over his eyes and stating, “Dramatic doesn’t suit you, Benji.”

Ben adjusted the beanie and his glasses, cracking a grin with an eye roll as he caught up to his brother. “I’ll remember that, Wy Wy.”

The corner of Wyatt’s lips rose into a half smile. If Ben was using Hazel’s old nickname for him, it meant he would be fine, so he kept walking, hands in his pockets. “Shut up.”

Ben knew he wouldn’t be able to escape his mistake and how it would change everything. The light in which the public had him was close to his true self—it hadn’t been his facade falling away, it was an overwhelmed boy dealing with things stupidly like everyone else. But when a young prince does that, adults scramble to come up with the best headline.

For now, he decided not to think about it though. He just took one hand out of his pocket and shoved Wyatt practically off the sidewalk.

Wyatt spared him an unimpressed look and showed his scraped hand dramatically. “I am wounded!”

Ben didn’t bother glancing at him as he kept walking. “I think you’ll live.”

A click of Wyatt’s tongue was all Ben heard as Wyatt placed his hoodie back in place, following Ben back home. 

[101scenes]

Wanna One Ong Seong Woo - Lovebirds Pt. 2

✽ suggested by: anon

✽ featuring: ong seongwoo

✽ genre: fluff

✽ word count: 1,984 words

✽ summary: you took the offer reluctantly. it’s not like he liked me anyway. time seemed to drag on as you sat on your bed, staring at the beautiful party dress that your roommate has kindly lent you. you had no other choice.

you awaken to the conversation of at least 7 different people outside your room

you indefinitely made out some sentences the people

slowly, murmurs turned into shouting 

you were finally shaken awake by the scream of who you assumed to be, kim jaehwan

you swiftly grabbed the glasses from your bedside table and shoved it onto your face

you opened the door, only to see jaehwan being tickled by daehwi, jinyoung and seongwoo

you rubbed your eyes, trying to open them wider

“you have the mood to do this at 6am in the morning??” you asked, scratching your hair

the 4 apologised as you closed the door shut and waited for nayoung and chaeseol to finish getting ready

by the time you gained access to the bathroom and got out, you realised it was 6:50am, and you’re supposed to be in homeroom by 7:10am

there was at least a 15 minute walk to the school campus, so you begin rUSHING

you shoved your necessities into your bag, opening your room door, to see seongwoo waiting at the lift

“y/n! come on, we’re going to be late!”

you ran over to the lift, still trying to slide on your leather shoes on the way there

you and seongwoo sprinted out of the apartment building to the school campus, trying by all means not to be late

you were slower than seongwoo cause cmon his legs are definitely longer than yours

he noticed,  swiftly grabbing your wrist

you looked up at him, only to see him looking right back at you with his cheeky smile

“come on y/n, you’re dragging me down too!” he said while laughing

the sudden skin contact made you a little flustered

also the fact that you were running, holding hands (more like wrists) with a guy older than you by a year

you just hoped the cold wind blowing in your face could lower the temperature of your boiling cheeks

by the time you reached school, you two were panting so much

the time was 7:05am, nearly late

you two forgot that seongwoo was still grabbing onto your hand

people were already beginning to shoot glances at you two

you noticed obviously

“umm, seongwoo?”

“yeah?”

his eyes darted downwards to see his left hand still gripping onto your right

“ah, shit, right i’m sorry ahah,” he said, looking away and rubbing his neck

“its okay!” you said a little too enthusiastically, moving closer to him

you realised that he might actually take this the wrong way

before you could even take back what you said, seongwoo already smiled back at you

“then it’s okay for me too,”

this made you think

wait whAT? he’s okay?? with holding hands?? what is he talking about??

he stopped the deafening silence between you two before making it worse by prolonging it

“well, see you later y/n!” he says, waving goodbye as he continued sprinting up the stairs

you smiled and went to your homeroom class, reaching just before the teacher began giving his welcome speech

the day seemed to drag on but as soon as you know it, you were on the way home, reaching the 5th floor once again

once you stepped in, you looked around the dorm, only to see seongwoo, sitting at the dining table with chaeyoung

he was sitting unusually close to her, with his arm used to point to whatever he was trying to teach her on her worksheet

but chaeyoung was looking at seongwoo very suggestively

she looks as if, she likes him

but thats just your untrustworthy girl intuition talking

seongwoo noticed your presence, looking up from the worksheet

“hey y/n! welcome back!”

chaeyoung waved to you and smiled

you greeted them both back and sped your way to your room

you dropped your bookbag on the ground, and flopped down onto your bed

you felt your heart sink

your heart was shattered

come on y/n, its just one incident. how can you be so protective over some guy that you’re not even close to?

you closed your eyes and just laid there till it was time for dinner

the next day, you let everyone use the bathroom first as usual, and by the time you came out, everyone had already left, including seongwoo

you looked at the time

6:35am

it was still early that day, so you decided to stroll to school

however, you couldn’t help but to feel disappointed

even the fresh occasional breeze that grazed your face didn’t help you cure your moodiness

the walks to school over the next few days were as mundane as always

there wasn’t anyone to tease you or initiate in small talk

seongwoo would still talk to you, but he made sure to keep a distance

he refused to be intimate with you or even touch you, even if its just a simple arm around the shoulder

you start to realise how much he may not see you as a significant other or even a crush

you also refused to confront him about the situation, it would probably just make it more awkward than it is

over the course of 2 weeks, your relationship remained stagnant

until the 3rd week of school, on a thursday morning

you walked into class, yawning 

once you reached your desk, there was a post-it on your desk, with the words “open me!” on it

curious, you flipped it open

“dear y/n, if you can make it, please meet me at the benches between block C & D during lunch break :) -anon”

your face brightened up

maybe its seongwoo? ugh y/n what the hell are you thinking, he doesn’t like you.

you continued analysing the paper, and you thought

why not?

during lunch break, you made your way down to the benches between block C & D, like what the post-it said

turning the corner, you spotted your classmate, yongsun, sitting on one of the benches

he spots you, and waves to you

you walked over to him and he gestured you to sit down next to him

once you sat down, his face turned a bright shade of pink

after some light small-talk, his tone became very serious 

“y-y/n, look, we’ve been in the same class ever since freshman year,”

thats true

“and.. uh.. i may have developed.. feelings for you!” he said, lowering his head

silence fell

and just as that moment, seongwoo walked past

for a split second, you two made solid eye contact, before he turns away and speeds off

“y/n? will you.. go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

you switched your attention back to him

pft, its not like seongwoo likes me anyway. lets give this boy a chance

“yeah, sure yongsun,” you said, smiling at him

his face brightens up at your statement

“o-oh! okay! see you tomorrow then, 7pm, at the grill place near the school,”

you nodded and departed

it was the first ever confession you had in the past 2 years, why not give it a shot?

fast forward a day

it was the evening of the first date

everyone met up with their group of friends that day, so you assumed no one was in the dorm

you sat on your bed, staring at the beautiful party dress carefully laid out

it was a shade of dark blue, embellished with sequins all around the torso area, slowly fading down towards the skirt

you really liked the dress, but for some reason you felt really guilty inside

once you slipped on the dress and put on your flats to match your dress, you looked at the time

it was already 6:30pm

you opened the room door, hoping no one was there to question your getup

but of course, someone had to be there

out of all people, it was ong seongwoo, completing some homework at the dining table

once he looked up, he laid his eyes on you

it was a surprise for him, since you didn’t really dress up often and you would always just wear a simple jumper and slacks

but you tried to ignore him and quickly race to the lift before he could say anything

well that plan failed miserably

“y/n!” seongwoo said and he stood up from his seat

the sound of the chair dragging against the floor made you flinch

you turned yourself to face him, seeing him walking towards you

“uh.. so whats the occasion?”

“oh um, i’m going out,”

“with who? is it a date?”

you could see he was genuinely curious as he maintained eye contact with you

but being who you are, you couldn’t maintain it

you looked up at him, only to look away again, taking a step back

“with yongsun, my classmate. we’re going out for dinner,”

at that moment you said it, you wished you had taken it back

you knew the amount of teasing you would get for the next few days after going on a date, especially from seongwoo and your roommates

but seongwoo stayed unnaturally quiet

looking at him for a reaction, you could see the life drain from his face

“l-like a date?” he asked with a hopeful tone

you had no idea what he was getting at

usually he would begin teasing you and ruining your hair, telling how much you have grown up from being a kid

despite being 1 year younger than he is

so you were quite confused

“yeah, you can say that,”

you two stayed silent for the next few seconds before you decided to leave

“well, see you late-”

“don’t,”

what?

you were confused at first, now you are extremely confused

did he mean, don’t go on my date? or did he mean don’t see him later? what is this awkward situation???

“uhh, what do you mean?” you asked, hoping to clarify your numerous doubts with him

he hesitated, and he began playing with his thumbs behind his back

“u-um, like, isn’t it better studying here with me??? like i could help you.. solve.. um, math equations..?”

ok what the hell is going on

your face basically gave it away when you stared at him in utter bewilderment

“oh gosh, what am i doing..” he said, twisting his body to the side, before looking back to face you

he took a deep breath

“okay, y/n, i like you okay?”

the room fell into silence

he liked, what?

“hope you don’t feel the obligation to like me back, i just want to get it off my chest.”

you just stared at him in shock

but shock changed into amusement

and you got a charge of confidence, taking advantage of his shyness at this point

“aWW, is seongwoo jeaLOUS?” you said, before tiptoeing to pinch his cheeks

he stared back down at you and took your hands from his face

his hands were literally twice the size of yours

“yes, yes i am,” he murmured, directing his eyes away

realizing that he grabbed your hands unknowingly, he let go of them

“shit, sorry,”

but of course, you had to

you took his hands back and intertwined yours with his

“i like you too, and i’ll stay with you,” you said, smiling up at him

he in turn smiled back, and pulled you into an embrace

you never felt safer before??

he then led you two to the couch where you two just talked about stuff

for the rest of the night you two just conversed, shared a blanket and watched a movie

but of course you told yongsun you couldn’t make it due to a “complication” and you would explain on monday

while watching the movie, you fell asleep to him stroking your hair on the couch, and he fell asleep as well soon after

daniel returned a few hours later, only to see you in the arms of seongwoo on the couch together, fast asleep

daniel smiled

“psht, lovebirds.”

✽ hope yall enjoyed!

✽ thank you anon for the suggestion <3

[ceruleanvulpine]

re-reread special edition: footnotes

that is to say, the bad beginning: rare edition footnotes, which some helpful person has posted here. Book Club Beware, Spoilers Abound

In the years since the book’s publication, many people who have read the book have besieged me with questions concerning the iotas of the story, exactly how I came to know these iotas, and if I cared to add anything to my report. My reply to these questions is always the same. “Look behind you,” I say, and then I leap out of the window and slide down the drainpipe of the hotel, art gallery, or interrogation room in which I have been staying. Sometimes there is a car waiting for me. Other times it is someone in the car who is waiting.

The actual Bad Beginning doesn’t have as much of that lemony fresh style to which I have become accustomed, so it’s nice to get back to this. Mr. Snicket, please stop leaping out of windows. 

I have a few moments to add the following notes to iotas within the text of The Bad Beginning, reprinted here in the feeble hope that these police inspectors, art dealers and chambermaids will leave me alone.

Oh! They pulled part of that monologue in episode two from here!

On that particular occasion, the Baudelaire parents not only gave their children permission but encouraged them to leave the house, as the adults had some pressing business to attend to. This business was delayed indefinitely due to death.

I have no comment on this it’s just very good. 

The Baudelaire table was not used exclusively for dinner. (…) One thing I remember from my time at the table was that it was always necessary to use a coaster underneath one’s beverage so as to not leave an unsightly ring on the wood.

@snicketsleuth​ has used this as evidence that Lemony was at the Baudelaire mansion on the day of the fire, but they have also discussed how the family tree in UA only works if Lemony’s mother’s initial is the branch he comes from; given the fact that Beatrice is allergic to peppermints and Lemony refers to “the famous Baudelaire peppermint allergies,” it seems just as likely to me that Bertrand took Beatrice’s name rather than the other way around, meaning that Lemony is reminiscing about much longer ago.

This was an official fire department, which despite hundreds of years of existence has not managed to stamp out fire completely. Just recently I was forced to stamp out a fire completely, when I became so immersed in reading a philosophical work entitled Nobody’s Family is going to Change that I completely forgot about some Gruyère cheese fondue I was reheating. Also, I have reason to believe that the O that appears on the official fire department insignia stands instead for a person’s name.

Our narrator, in fine form, pivots from absurd literalism (the fire department has failed to completely get rid of fire) to, uh, apparently unaware hypocrisy (of all people, Snicket, YOU let unattended food catch on fire?) to unfounded paranoia (I don’t THINK it stands for Olaf Fire Department, L). 

I love him.

Curiously enough, Mr. Baudelaire’s brandy bottle was found on the remains of the dining table, with no coasters nearby. This would indicate that either the coasters were burned beyond recognition, or the Baudelaires had received a visitor who had no manners whatsoever.

Count Olaf: shows up to your house! drinks your brandy without a coaster! commits arson!

For more information on the Doldrums, interested parties might turn to chapter 2 of Norton Juster’s alleged allegory The Phantom Tollbooth.

@jewishsnickets​ !!!

For more information on the destruction of the Royal Gardens, interested parties might turn to the following articles in The Daily Punctilio, the city’s newspaper: “Arson suspected in Destruction of Royal Gardens,” by Jacques Snicket, and “Absolutely No Arson or Any Other Suspicious Thing Associated with the Royal Gardens, which Simply Burned to the Ground and Then Were Covered in Dirt Due to Wind, Says Official Fire Department,” by Geraldine Julienne. Incidentally, the Royal Gardens had several ornate wooden benches ideal for sitting and reading, or for contemplating the more exotic plants contained in the Poisonous Pavilion. All of these benches where lost in the destruction except one, which has since been moved to the lobby of a hotel. It is easily recognizable due to a small unsightly ring, left by someone who did not use a coaster underneath his or her beverage.

1) The reference to poisonous plants ties in with the theory that the case Justice Strauss was dealing with (with the poisonous plant, and the illegal use of someone’s credit card) was the destruction of the Royal Gardens, which Jacques was investigating.

2) This bench, apparently used by Olaf, turns up in The Penultimate Peril and again in The Beatrice Letters, which is fucking amazing. 

p.23 …the stuffed head of a lion, which was nailed to the wall. For more information about the abuse of lions, interested parties might turn to Book the Ninth. Professional lions are often named after their trainers, but I have been unable to determine if the lion on Count Olaf’s wall was Beatrice or Bertrand.

Hey……. this is uncalled for

Also, my sister has proposed that some of these eyes hid secret peepholes, cameras, or microscopic lenses, as in the Baudelaire home.

this sentence is a fucking journey, taking you as it does from “olaf that’s fucked up” to “as in WHERE??”

Despite Geraldine Julienne’s article in The Daily Punctilio “No Poisonous Plants Were Removed from Royal Gardens Prior to Destruction, Official Fire Department Reports.” I have reason to believe that the poisonous plant Justice Strauss referred to was removed from the Royal Gardens prior to its destruction.

See!!!

pp.41-42 From a street vendor, they purchased olives after tasting several varieties and choosing their favorites. My commonplace book contains following interview: LS: On the day in question, did three children-a fourteen-year-old girl, a boy a bit older than twelve who was wearing glasses, and a young baby with somewhat peculiar teeth-purchase from you some olives, after tasting several varieties and choosing their favorites? Vendor: Yes.

LEMONY, YOUR RESEARCH IS BAD

p.55 …if anyone had looked into the Baudelaire orphans’ bedroom… Two people did, of course.

Ah, no, see, this is where the really creepy note I remembered was.

._’

p.62 …the Fountain of Victorious Finance… Readers of Book the Seventh will remember that fountains are like top hats in that they provide hollow spaces in which things can be hidden (please see my note to page 6), and I imagine the damp surroundings of a fountain’s innards would be comforting if the person hiding inside had recently survived a fire.

(waves “beatrice survived” flag)

The songs include the following: “Dreary, Dreary” “The Butcher Boy” “Vide le Cercueil, Vide Mon Cœur” “Place Daturas on My Grave” “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” “Dry Bones” “Bizarre Love Triangle” “Dans des Terrains Cendreux” “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” “Lately I’ve Become Even More Lonely, So I’m Crying Harder Than Usual” (unfinished)

Dreary, Dreary is a real and upsetting song by the Gothic Archies, based on the books. 

“The Butcher Boy” could be either a sad folk song called The Butcher’s Boy about a man who abandons his lover or a “bawdy” and “festive” Italian tarantella sometimes called The Butcher Boy?? 

“Vide le Cercueil, Vide Mon Cœur“ (”empty the casket, empty my heart”) is…. a fictional aria from a fictional opera called “The Posthumous Revenge,” which is itself in a book by Edward Gorey. Amazing. 

“Place Daturas On My Grave” doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else, but daturas are referenced in a later footnote.

“La Belle Dame Sans Merci” is, of course, a poem by Keats. 

“Dry Bones” is a biblical folk song??

I had previously assumed “Bizarre Love Triangle” was just a reference to the events of the VFD backstory, but no, it’s a New Order song and now it’s making me sad about Lemony, thanks Haniel. 

“Dans des Terrains Cendreux“ is the opening line of the poem “La Béatrice” by, yup, Charles Baudelaire. 

“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” is a song by Hank Williams, although the last one is… uh… presumably Lemony’s take on it. 

The Victorian art of flower arranging is a coded system in which each flower in an arrangement conveys a certain message. Below are some flowers and their Victorian symbolism: Aster: Cheerfulness in old age Chrysanthemum: truthful 

Datura: “I dream of thee”

Peppermint: cordiality, warmth of feeling Fennel: worthy of praise Nasturtium: heroism, patriotism None of these are flowers believed to have been used that evening. Please see also my notes to pages 6, 18 and 62

Bolding mine. Also, those footnotes are the thread about the possible survivor hidden in the fountain. HMMM. 

p.142 No one seemed to notice that he held a walkie-talkie the entire time. My commonplace book contains the following interview: LS: On the night in question, during the performance of Funcoot’s play The Marvellous Marriage, did you notice that Count Olaf, the production’s start, was holding a walkie-talkie the entire time? Audience member: No. LS: How about you? Another audience member: No. LS: You? Another audience member: No. LS: You? Another audience member: No. etc. p.146 “But Violet is only a child!” one of the actors said. “She’s not old enough to marry.” My commonplace book contains the following interview: LS: On the night in question, did you say, “But Violet is only a child!” one of the actors said. “She’s not old enough to marry.” Actor: I think so.

YOUR RESEARCH METHODS ARE BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD

P.157 In the darkness, Violet looked like a ghost, her quite wedding gown moving slowly across the stage. My commonplace book contains at least seventeen interviews with people who remarked that due to the facial resemblance, the white dress, and the dim lighting, Violet Baudelaire looked quite a bit like a woman who is no longer alive.

hello…….. this has killed me

[disorientedblog-archive]

Back in Korea

by Chris Yang / photo: Flickr Creative Commons

On the first day at my new high school, my history teacher began his class by asking a question.

“Why are you Korean?” he asked. There was a brief moment of silence in the classroom.

“Uh, ‘cause we were born in Korea?” one of us finally answered.

“So just because you were born in Korea you are a Korean?” the teacher retorted.

“Yeah, because I have Korean citizenship.”

“Don’t approach the question like that. Stop thinking of the law. What makes you Korean? Why do you think you’re Korean?”

Another long moment of silence.

We sat there for minutes without being able to provide a clear answer.

“Because we grew up in Korea.” Another one of us broke the silence.

“Because you grew up in Korea. But what if you grew up in Korea and were born in America in a typical American family? What if you grew up in Korea, but attended international schools and knew nothing about Korean culture?” the teacher posed even more questions.

“...then you’re an American.”

“So the place of your birth doesn’t matter,” he pointed out.

He waited another few minutes in silence in the hope of one of us coming up with a good answer.

There was no good answer.

He finally gave up waiting and gave us his answer. “You’re Korean. You’re Korean because you speak Korean and learn Korean history. Because you know Korean history better than the history of any other nation. Because you speak Korean better than any other language in the world. Because you are comfortable with the Korean culture. Because you take that culture as part of yourself.”

Everyone else seemed to agree.

I did not.

On July 26th, 2013, my cousin and I boarded our first flight to Toronto, Ontario. It was the very beginning of my temporary life in Canada. I lived in Scarborough with my host family and attended a private elementary school about thirty minutes away from the house. My parents stayed in Korea and my younger brother joined me six months later.

My memories of those next three years have been glorified a little, but, in the end, it is an undeniable fact that those years changed me in more ways than anyone can possibly imagine.

I came back to Korea on June 26th, 2016. I was fourteen years old at the time.

When I transferred to my local Korean middle school in August, I was quick to realize that I no longer fit into Korean society. I felt like an outsider. I couldn’t quite understand this strange feeling. I was born in Korea, grew up in Korea and had absolutely no affiliation with Western culture until the age of eleven. Yet, when I came back to my home country, the very culture I was raised in seemed unfamiliar. It was like living in a foreign country all over again.

I remember telling my friend, just a few days before my final trip back to Korea, that I missed home after three years of living abroad. She told me she could never imagine herself doing what I was doing. That is, studying alone in a country halfway across the earth within a different culture and using a different language to get around. Until then, it didn’t occur to me that not only did I leave my parents behind, but also my country, culture, and language. I began feeling nostalgic and was finally ready to go back home.

But when I did come back home...home was no longer home.

I spent months thinking about why I felt so foreign in the very country where my identity originated from. I managed to come up with two broad, reasonable answers by the time I graduated middle school: 1) bilingual problems and 2) cultural differences.

Being bilingual comes with its benefits. But for me, those benefits came with a somewhat costly price, particularly during the first six months back in Korea. I had rarely used Korean in the past three years and now I had trouble with my native language. I would have sentences I wanted to say that I could only think of in English. I would spend most of my speech stuttering while trying to translate words in my head.

The same problem continues even to this day although it is not as severe as it used to be. I use two languages interchangeably but in different proportions. I speak faster and more fluently in Korean, but I have a richer vocabulary in English. While I still have trouble understanding idioms and cultural references in English, my comprehension of academic materials in English is undoubtedly better. In my history class, I was asked to explain my opinion of the dissolution of Singanhoe, a Korean nationalist organization during the Japanese colonial era. I knew my stance, but I struggled to get my answer out in Korean. After spending a few minutes stuttering out a few random words for my argument, I gave up and said the sentence in English, just like I did other times when I faced similar situations. My classmates understood and kindly translated the sentence for the teacher. I also remember spending hours trying to understand the concept of quantum fluctuation before my first science exam in high school. I struggled to understand the sentences in the textbook. It was as if Korean was my second language, not my native one. My friend suggested to Google it in English. It worked and it only took 15 minutes. My Korean writing is so hopeless that at one point I decided to write my entire physics essay in English and use Naver Papago, an online translating service, to translate my essay to Korean. But again, my English pronunciation is nowhere close to being that of my native Korean one and I have always had difficulties with various English accents. Oh, and of course, definite/indefinite articles and preposition struggles are real.

The cultural issues I faced are slightly harder to explain in words, even though it was just as problematic and complex as the challenges of my bilingualism. There were certain aspects of Korean culture that I had forgotten about and, as a result, had grown distant. Think of head-bowing. You know how in Asian countries you bow your head to show respect for others and especially elders? For some reason, I had to relearn this and probably appeared to be extremely rude on my first day of school until I got used to it again. I also had trouble keeping a straight face as strangers at school grabbed my hand, hugged me and made other physical interactions. Korea has a very intimate culture and I did not realize this until I came back from spending a few years in a culture where physical intimacy was not as socially accepted.

Another aspect of Korean culture that I struggled with, and still wrestle with to this day, is the hierarchy of students. And by hierarchy, I mean the alpha-omega relationship between students in different grades. I understand the need for teachers’ authority over students. What I don’t understand is how upper-class students are granted the same, if not more, authority and control over younger students. Age is power in Korea. Younger students are openly exposed to frequent physical hazings and have absolutely no voice within the student council and no say in any form of decision-making processes. Whatever is decided by older students, we are supposed to follow without question.

Most problems with cultural differences faded after a few months, but not the student hierarchy as I was part of that pyramid of authority. Likely, language issues were also something I had to face every day. My inability to use my native language as fluently as others around me and my struggle to fit into the culture I grew up with, but left behind years ago, made me question who I was. Legally I was a Korean; but, did I consider myself a Korean? Did I belong in the same country and culture my classmates belong in? Do we share the same cultural understanding?

I couldn’t come up with a clear answer.

“I’m Korean because I speak Korean the best”. But what if that’s limited to certain situations? What if I feel more comfortable with English? “I’m Korean because I learn Korean history”. But what if I learned Canadian history first and then Korean history next? Do I know Korean history better than Canadian history? I’m not sure. “I’m Korean because I take Korean culture as part of myself”. Do I? Am I able to fully immerse myself within Korean culture? Can I consider that as part of my identity? Again, I’m not sure. But if so, am I more comfortable with Korean culture than Western culture? My answer is closer to a no.

So who am I? Am I “Korean” enough to call myself Korean?

After countless debates with myself, I have come up with the answer. No. I no longer feel like I’m part of this country, this culture, nor this society. I have no idea why but I do not see myself as the same person as I was before I left for Canada. I feel foreign no matter how hard I try to assimilate myself back into this community. I just don’t feel like I belong here.

Then where do I belong?

Because as much as I don’t feel like a Korean anymore, I don’t see myself as a Canadian either. I know I don’t belong in that country either. I lived there only for three years. That time took a chunk of identity away from me but didn’t give back anything to replace that missing piece.

It left me stuck between two nationalities.

My theory is that I am in this position now because I spent my early teenage years in a culture so foreign to my home country. I went through a lot of rapid, personal changes during those three years. It was in Canada that I established my identity, shaped my beliefs and developed my personality. This does sound a little odd, but my lifestyle changed dramatically from that very moment I landed at Toronto Pearson International Airport. I became a completely different person.

I used to define myself as a Korean, especially in Canada. My identity was my nationality. Whenever someone asked where I was from, I answered “South Korea” without a moment of hesitation. My answer stayed the same even when someone asked me who I was. But when I came back to the place I defined myself with, I realized I was no longer who I used to say I was. That realization was basically the denial of the person who I believed I was.  

Although I came to admit that my nationality no longer defines me, I still question where I belong and where I fit in. The sense of belonging has been missing ever since I came back to Korea.

Now after about two years of living in Korea, I am planning on leaving again. This time not to Canada, but to the U.S. Partially for better future opportunities, partially to redefine my identity, and partially as the result of my failure to adjust back to the culture that I left behind years ago.

But for now, I shall go back to my school and try to figure out how to survive another year of what some teachers call “a government sanctioned, illegal social experiment.”

Chris Yang is a student at a foreign language high school in South Korea.

[thepreseedblog]

I am just quoting some of the statements from the whole article to make for a shorter read for my readers of the future. 

1. Hassabis replied that, in fact, he was working on the most important project in the world: developing artificial super-intelligence. Musk countered that this was one reason we needed to colonize Mars—so that we’ll have a bolt-hole if A.I. goes rogue and turns on humanity. Amused, Hassabis said that A.I. would simply follow humans to Mars.

2. An unassuming but competitive 40-year-old, Hassabis is regarded as the Merlin who will likely help conjure our A.I. children. 

3. With a neural lace inside your skull you would flash data from your brain, wirelessly, to your digital devices or to virtually unlimited computing power in the cloud. “For a meaningful partial-brain interface, I think we’re roughly four or five years away.”

4. Elon Musk smiled when I mentioned to him that he comes across as something of an Ayn Rand-ian hero. “I have heard that before,” he said in his slight South African accent. “She obviously has a fairly extreme set of views, but she has some good points in there.”

5. Marc Mathieu, the chief marketing officer of Samsung USA, who has gone fly-fishing in Iceland with Musk, calls him “a cross between Steve Jobs and Jules Verne.”As they danced at their wedding reception, Justine later recalled, Musk informed her, “I am the alpha in this relationship.”

6. As he told me, “we are the first species capable of self-annihilation.”

7. 28 years away from the Rapture-like “Singularity”—the moment when the spiraling capabilities of self-improving artificial super-intelligence will far exceed human intelligence, and human beings will merge with A.I. to create the “god-like” hybrid beings of the future.

8. y, in another shock to the system, an A.I. program showed that it could bluff. Libratus, built by two Carnegie Mellon researchers, was able to crush top poker players at Texas Hold ‘Em.

9.  “Sex robots? I think those are quite likely.”

10. Last June, a researcher at DeepMind co-authored a paper outlining a way to design a “big red button” that could be used as a kill switch to stop A.I. from inflicting harm.

11. Google executives say Larry Page’s view on A.I. is shaped by his frustration about how many systems are sub-optimal—from systems that book trips to systems that price crops. He believes that A.I. will improve people’s lives and has said that, when human needs are more easily met, people will “have more time with their family or to pursue their own interests.” 

12. Some in Silicon Valley argue that Musk is interested less in saving the world than in buffing his brand, and that he is exploiting a deeply rooted conflict: the one between man and machine, and our fear that the creation will turn against us. They gripe that his epic good-versus-evil story line is about luring talent at discount rates and incubating his own A.I. software for cars and rockets. It’s certainly true that the Bay Area has always had a healthy respect for making a buck. As Sam Spade said in The Maltese Falcon, “Most things in San Francisco can be bought, or taken.”

13. Zuckerberg introduced his A.I. butler, Jarvis, right before Christmas. With the soothing voice of Morgan Freeman, it was able to help with music, lights, and even making toast. I asked the real-life Iron Man, Musk, about Zuckerberg’s Jarvis, when it was in its earliest stages. “I wouldn’t call it A.I. to have your household functions automated,” Musk said. “It’s really not A.I. to turn the lights on, set the temperature.”

14. “His wife, Talulah, told me they had late-night conversations about A.I. at home,” Vance noted. “Elon is brutally logical. The way he tackles everything is like moving chess pieces around. When he plays this scenario out in his head, it doesn’t end well for people.

15. on HBO’s Silicon Valley: “I don’t want to live in a world where someone else makes the world a better place better than we do.”

16. Zuckerberg replied. And clearly throwing shade at Musk, he continued: “Some people fear-monger about how A.I. is a huge danger, but that seems far-fetched to me and much less likely than disasters due to widespread disease, violence, etc.” 

17. “If we slow down progress in deference to unfounded concerns, we stand in the way of real gains.” He compared A.I. jitters to early fears about airplanes, noting, “We didn’t rush to put rules in place about how airplanes should work before we figured out how they’d fly in the first place.”

18. Zuckerberg can be just as dismissive. Asked in Germany whether Musk’s apocalyptic forebodings were “hysterical” or “valid,” Zuckerberg replied “hysterical.” 

19. “Do you own a house?,” Tegmark asked me. “Do you own fire insurance? The consensus in Puerto Rico was that we needed fire insurance. When we got fire and messed up with it, we invented the fire extinguisher. When we got cars and messed up, we invented the seat belt, air bag, and traffic light. But with nuclear weapons and A.I., we don’t want to learn from our mistakes. We want to plan ahead.” (Musk reminded Tegmark that a precaution as sensible as seat belts had provoked fierce opposition from the automobile industry.)

20. Meanwhile, the European Union has been looking into legal issues arising from the advent of robots and A.I.—such as whether robots have “personhood” or (as one Financial Times contributor wondered) should be considered more like slaves in Roman law.

21. Steve Wozniak has wondered publicly whether he is destined to be a family pet for robot overlords. “We started feeding our dog filet,” he told me about his own pet, over lunch with his wife, Janet, at the Original Hick’ry Pit, in Walnut Creek. “Once you start thinking you could be one, that’s how you want them treated.”

22. When I went to Peter Thiel’s elegant San Francisco office, dominated by two giant chessboards, Thiel, one of the original donors to OpenAI and a committed contrarian, said he worried that Musk’s resistance could actually be accelerating A.I. research because his end-of-the-world warnings are increasing interest in the field.

23. He went on: “There’s some sense in which the A.I. question encapsulates all of people’s hopes and fears about the computer age. I think people’s intuitions do just really break down when they’re pushed to these limits because we’ve never dealt with entities that are smarter than humans on this planet.”

24. Kurzweil has a keen interest in cats and keeps a collection of 300 cat figurines in his Northern California home. At the restaurant, he asked for almond milk but couldn’t get any. The 69-year-old eats strange health concoctions and takes 90 pills a day, eager to achieve immortality—or “indefinite extensions to the existence of our mind file”—which means merging with machines. He has such an urge to merge that he sometimes uses the word “we” when talking about super-intelligent future beings—a far cry from Musk’s more ominous “they.”

25. “That’s just not true. I’m the one who articulated the dangers,” Kurzweil said. “The promise and peril are deeply intertwined,” he continued. “Fire kept us warm and cooked our food and also burned down our houses . . . . Furthermore, there are strategies to control the peril, as there have been with biotechnology guidelines.” He summarized the three stages of the human response to new technology as Wow!, Uh-Oh, and What Other Choice Do We Have but to Move Forward? “The list of things humans can do better than computers is getting smaller and smaller,” he said. “But we create these tools to extend our long reach.” 26. Just as, two hundred million years ago, mammalian brains developed a neocortex that eventually enabled humans to “invent language and science and art and technology,” by the 2030s, Kurzweil predicts, we will be cyborgs, with nanobots the size of blood cells connecting us to synthetic neocortices in the cloud, giving us access to virtual reality and augmented reality from within our own nervous systems. “We will be funnier; we will be more musical; we will increase our wisdom,” he said, ultimately, as I understand it, producing a herd of Beethovens and Einsteins. Nanobots in our veins and arteries will cure diseases and heal our bodies from the inside.He allows that Musk’s bête noire could come true. He notes that our A.I. progeny “may be friendly and may not be” and that “if it’s not friendly, we may have to fight it.” And perhaps the only way to fight it would be “to get an A.I. on your side that’s even smarter.” 27. Russell doesn’t give a fig whether A.I. might enable more Einsteins and Beethovens. One more Ludwig doesn’t balance the risk of destroying humanity. “As if somehow intelligence was the thing that mattered and not the quality of human experience,” he said, with exasperation. “I think if we replaced ourselves with machines that as far as we know would have no conscious existence, no matter how many amazing things they invented, I think that would be the biggest possible tragedy.” Nick Bostrom has called the idea of a society of technological awesomeness with no human beings a “Disneyland without children.” 28.  ‘Well, we’ll upload ourselves into the machines, so we’ll still have consciousness but we’ll be machines.’ Which I would find, well, completely implausible.”

29. “Yann LeCun keeps saying that there’s no reason why machines would have any self-preservation instinct,” Russell said. “And it’s simply and mathematically false. I mean, it’s so obvious that a machine will have self-preservation even if you don’t program it in because if you say, ‘Fetch the coffee,’ it can’t fetch the coffee if it’s dead. So if you give it any goal whatsoever, it has a reason to preserve its own existence to achieve that goal. And if you threaten it on your way to getting coffee, it’s going to kill you because any risk to the coffee has to be countered. People have explained this to LeCun in very simple terms.”

30. Russell debunked the two most common arguments for why we shouldn’t worry: “One is: It’ll never happen, which is like saying we are driving towards the cliff but we’re bound to run out of gas before we get there. And that doesn’t seem like a good way to manage the affairs of the human race. And the other is: Not to worry—we will just build robots that collaborate with us and we’ll be in human-robot teams. Which begs the question: If your robot doesn’t agree with your objectives, how do you form a team with it?”

31. “If you want a picture of A.I. gone wrong, don’t imagine marching humanoid robots with glowing red eyes. Imagine tiny invisible synthetic bacteria made of diamond, with tiny onboard computers, hiding inside your bloodstream and everyone else’s. And then, simultaneously, they release one microgram of botulinum toxin. Everyone just falls over dead. 32. “From even the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent.”